#...y'all should have done something to keep your top stars.... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gurugirl · 1 year

Text

The Arrangement | "Like this, Daddy?"

Based on reader requests - was unable to find the original request but I know a lot of y'all really wanted this one. Enjoy!

Summary: Harry wants to make a cute video of Y/n stripping for him but it quickly turns into a sex tape.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, sex tape stuff

The Arrangement Masterlist

“Want to make a little video of you. How’s that sound?” Harry said as Y/n looked down at the pretty lacy nighty set he’d just gifted her. She was used to him buying her things but this little gift with silk and lace and bows was super sexy and feminine and exactly something she’d love to have.

Looking up at him with rounded eyes she smiled, “Anything you want, Daddy. Is this for the video?” She asked as she lifted the lingerie upward.

Harry brushed his fingers over the material and nodded, “If you want. You’ll be the star so you can decide what you’d like to wear or not wear.”

Looking over the delicate fabric she nodded and bit her lip, “I’ll go change. I really like this. Think it’ll be really pretty for a video.”

It was stunning. When she slid it up her hips and tucked her breasts into the flimsy lace she looked at herself in the mirror and grinned. It really was lovely. She imagined that the lingerie was very expensive. Nothing she could ever afford. But of course, nothing Harry bought her was in her price range.

The moment she walked into the bedroom, dawning the sexy lacy set and a pair of sleek black heels, Harry already had his cellphone recording and the lights dimmed. He was sitting on a chair with his legs spread and watching her as she stepped in closer.

She’d never done anything like it before. Being recorded was nerve-wracking. She wasn’t sure how to act or what to do as she stopped and stood just feet from her lover.

“What should I do?” She asked shyly as she brushed her hands over her sides and looked down at herself.

“Show Daddy how you touch yourself, baby. Use that chair next to you if you want to sit or bend yourself over it. Show me what a good girl does for her daddy.”

Harry was already aching for her. He’d been gone at work all day and had missed her. The vintage lingerie set that he bought her last week finally came in that afternoon and seeing it hidden away in the box under his desk had him imagining what she might look like in it all day. But what he imagined hadn’t even been close to reality. The way it fit over her curves made it look like it’d been tailored for her. Her breasts were held in as the lace softly stretched over her skin and her nipples were visible through the thin fabric. Tiny bows on either hip that dangled silk over her smooth skin. She looked edible.

She smiled and rubbed her hands over her breasts first. She felt her soft tits under the fabric and pressed her nipples through the lace to get them hard as she watched Harry. Moving her hips a little she laughed in embarrassment at herself as she lowered her hands over her stomach and to her hips. She felt silly. She wasn’t a good dancer in any setting but trying to do some sort of strip dance while being recorded? In front of Harry?

Harry had a serious expression on his face though as he turned on a sexy song for her to dance to, “You’re doing so well, baby. Look at how pretty you are for Daddy. Like a little present with lace on top and little bows on your hips. Keep going, honey.”

The music gave her something to move to so she swayed her hips a little more as she continued feeling the fabric under her palms. She kept her eyes on Harry’s, wanting him to give her cues but he was silent as he watched her. She decided to lift her arms upward and spin. She spun slowly and kept her neck turned so she could see Harry and when she saw him lick his lips and his eyes drag down her frame to her hips and her waist she felt like that was a good sign.

She bent herself down, slowly pushing her bottom out and lowering her hands to her ankles before attempting to sensually pull herself upright again. Her rhythm had never been great but she was doing her best to move to the slow and sexy beat.

Placing her hands on the chair she arched her back and wiggled her tush a little as Harry’s expression turned a little darker. He looked like he was getting turned on and that really had her tummy bubbling with excitement.

“You’re a natural, Y/n. So fucking gorgeous for Daddy. Keep going, baby. I wanna see you get a little nasty.”

She knew her face was hot and her ears were on fire. Her nerves were peaking but she felt like he was enjoying what he was seeing based on the way he was looking at her. And if that didn’t give it away, the bulge at his crotch was a good indicator.

She put her pointer and middle finger in her mouth, using her tongue to swipe up and down her digits as she sat down in the chair across from Harry. Spreading her legs apart she watched as he angled his cell phone toward her and she pulled her wet fingers out of her mouth, “Like this, Daddy?” She lowered her left hand down between her thighs and pressed her wetted fingers over the thin material at her crotch. She continued rocking lightly to the music as she gazed into Harry’s eyes and bit her lip.

Harry watched as she toyed with herself over the fabric of her lingerie and he was nearly bursting from his pants. He loved how sweet and shy she acted but he knew she could be absolutely filthy if she wanted to, “Bring your other hand up and play with your tits too. They look like they need some attention.” He directed.

She was thankful he told her. She preferred to be given directions and now she at least knew for sure he wanted to see her play with her breasts.

Touching the fabric over her boobs she poked one finger under the lace and brushed over her nipple as she continued circling over the fabric at her crotch with her other hand.

Harry pressed over his erection as he watched his girl do her thing. She was adorable but he could tell she was finally getting worked up, “Don’t stop touching yourself until it’s all wet. Want you to show Daddy how wet you can get.”

Y/n let out a deep breath and nodded as she continued fingering over her nipples and rubbing the warm spot between her legs.

“Daddy, want to touch it. Under this. Can I?” She poked her finger along the inside edge of her panties close to her pussy.

“Yes, baby. Pull it to the side. Let’s have a look at Daddy’s sweet little cunt.”

She pulled at the material and pushed it to the side, exposing her pussy to Harry and his camera. Spreading her legs further she leaned back and swayed her neck as she rubbed herself, “It’s getting wet for you Daddy. Just like you like.” She lifted her fingers and puffed a small laugh, “See?”

Harry groaned and undid his pants to let his cock have a bit more space. He was going to lose it. Yes, she was adorable, but she was a vixen and she knew what she was doing.

When the material of her panties was all wet and her soft panting had her chest rising and falling she began to pull at the lace over her breasts and bring her tits out, “Want you to see how hard my nipples are.”

Harry leaned forward and examined her body as her breasts bounced free from the top of the night set, “Now that your pussy’s all messy, want to see you dance a little baby. Start taking off your lingerie one piece at a time.”

Y/n moaned as she removed her hand from her pussy and stood up with a grin. Harry’s hard cock and his parted lips and dark eyes told her what she needed to know. He loved what he saw and her confidence to keep going was spurred.

The top part of the lingerie was unhooked and pulled off as she moved with the music and then she turned around so her bottom was aimed at Harry as she bent and looked over her shoulder, “Watch this Daddy.”

Harry was watching all right. That was never going to be an issue. He’d kept his eyes on her body the entire time, “Oh baby. You’re such a sweet girl with your ass in the air for Daddy like that. Can you stick your fingers inside your wet hole for me? Want to see you finger yourself like this.”

She grasped onto the chair and pulled the fabric away from her crotch again. It was soaked through. She kept her head turned so she could watch Harry as she brought her hand around her bottom and spread her legs, pushing two fingers into her pussy for the camera, “Feels good, Daddy. Wish it was your fingers inside of me.” She panted her words.

She arched her back further as she continued thrusting her fingers and keeping her eyes on Harry. The angle was perfect. Her backside was bare to him, the fabric pushed over so he could see everything, wet and puffy with her fingers stuffed into herself. Her tits swayed as she rocked herself to the beat and her high heels made her look extra slutty.

“Now turn to face the camera again. Want to see your perfect breasts.”

She pulled her hand away and stood as she turned and gyrated her hips and squeezed her tits together, “You like it, Daddy? Is it a good video?”

Harry nodded, “Very good. How would you feel about me fucking you and recording it? I promise no one will ever see it but us.” He hadn’t intended on it, but now that he had started it he figured why the hell not?

She would say yes to anything he wanted. She never questioned his decisions, “I like that if you want it. Want you to fuck me, Daddy.”

Harry groaned and let out a laugh, “In due time. Pull the rest of that off, baby. Keep your heels on, though.”

Her hips moved slowly as she pushed her fingers into the band of her bottoms and began to pull them down her legs, still attempting to keep up with the beat.

Harry stood up and held the phone out so he could capture everything, “Let’s have a little smoke, and then I’m gonna set this up and fuck you. Keep dancing baby.”

Lighting up a joint after he propped his phone up to record Y/n as she danced he took a puff and then handed it to her.

Taking it between her fingers she drew in a breath of the cannabis and continued dancing slowly wearing only her high heels. One hand she used to run over her curves, feel over her breasts, and down to her tummy while she inhaled and then blew out the smoke from her lips.

Harry took the joint from her to let her get back into the little strip tease she began doing.

“My pretty girl. Who’s girl are you baby?”

Y/n looked at Harry and ran her hands upward and swung her hips, “I’m your girl, Daddy.”

His smile and the sultry gaze had Y/n feeling quite bold so she tilted her neck from side to side with the beat then pinched her boobs together, “Mmm… look, Daddy…” her moans were soft as she thumbed over her nipples and swayed, “So pretty for you. Am I pretty for you?”

Harry swallowed and nodded, “So pretty for Daddy, that’s right.” He sat down on the chair she was dancing next to as the camera kept recording, “Can you give me a lap dance? Want to see how filthy you can be.”

Wearing only her heels she looked at the camera and then climbed over his lap, facing him. Her drippy pussy was on display for the video as she gently moved her hips and Harry kept his hands on the arms of the chair.

She arched her back and sighed as she rolled her hips and tried to stay steady over him as well as she could.

“You can put your hands on my shoulders if you want. I’ll allow it.”

She quickly lowered her hands so she could stabilize herself as she rocked and swayed to the music, “Like it, Daddy? I’m a good girl for you aren’t I?”

Harry groped at her ass and pulled her down over him, her pussy pressed against the zipper of his pants, “My good girl. Does exactly what Daddy asks of her.”

She smiled and nodded as she rolled her hips over him. She knew she was wet but as she felt Harry’s zipper under her she gasped and looked down, “Oh no, Daddy. I’m getting your pants all wet.”

Harry was barely holding it together. He was ready to destroy her, “S’okay. Wouldn’t be the first time, would it? Can be washed. You’re just a dirty girl. Can’t help it when she’s messy.”

When she felt Harry pull her in closer she felt like her body was on fire. She knew he was going to be fucking her soon. His cock was hard and his eyes and irises were nearly fully covered by his pupils, “I’m so messy sometimes, Daddy,” she said as she began to climb off his lap and settle onto the floor between his legs. Turning around to look into the camera before looking back up at Harry she hesitantly put her hands up to his zipper, “Can I pull you out? Wanna suck on you so bad.” The camera had the perfect angle of her taking him into her mouth as Harry struggled to keep his mind clear. He wanted to give her a taste but he really wanted fuck her brains out.

She took him down her throat as Harry pushed his hands into her hair and made her gurgle over him a few times before he lifted her up and stood from his spot and bent her over the chair, “Daddy needs to feel this pussy right now. Needs to fuck his little girl before he goes crazy. You did so good for me, baby.”

Harry watched the camera as he pushed himself into her tight, wet hole. She gasped and clung onto the chair as he stuffed into her, “Yesss… Daddy…”

Moans and grunts and slow, long thrusts started the scene. His sweet girl was only wearing heels as he was nearly fully clothed, his cock the only thing exposed to the camera as he started to work into her at a faster pace.

He pressed her down by the back of her neck, her face into the seat cushion of the chair with her mouth wide open. She could barely make a peep once he began to thud into her harder. The sturdy chair moved under their weight as each heavy plunge was given to her.

Harry kept one hand at her bottom, pulling her soft skin so he could watch his cock disappear into her slippery pussy over and over again. The camera was picking up the scene from the side and Harry knew his cock could be seen entering her pussy at the angle it was in. It was perfect for his own private collection.

When he spanked her bottom quickly she groaned and gasped, the first noises from her throat since he’d been inside of her and he smiled, “There you are. Wondered where your voice went. Little girl needs spankings to get her to speak up? Hm?”

She was being rocked and jolted at each of his harsh thrusts and her clit was rubbing hard over the fabric of the arm of the chair and it felt divine. Her eyes were rolled into the back of her head as she gurgled and tried to respond but her body was already sending her into an orgasm.

Harry coughed out a surprised laugh as he felt her clench and spasm over his cock and he closed his eyes as she came around him. It was the best feeling in the world to have Y/n’s pussy in orgasm while he was inside of her. There was nothing like it.

He landed another palm on her bottom as she began to come down and he pulled out, lifting her up gently. He wrapped his hands around her hair and pulled her back into his chest as he spoke into her ear, “On your knees for me little girl.”

Y/n clumsily got to her knees and turned to face Harry. She was a mess with drool on her face, palm prints on her backside, messy hair, and mascara down her cheeks. A gorgeous mess.

Harry grasped her hair into a makeshift ponytail and began to pump his cock in front of her face, “Open up wide and stick out that pretty tongue.”

She looked up at him in a daze as she opened her mouth and jutted her tongue out for him. She kept her hands behind her back, knowing that’s how he liked it. She only touched when he allowed her to.

The moment his warm, pink tip settled over her tongue she licked along the parts she could reach and moaned at the taste of his precome dripping. Harry continued stroking himself off, his slit in contact with her taste buds as he groaned at the sight, “My little fuck doll. Loves having Daddy’s cock in all her holes,” He pushed himself down into her throat in one swift motion and held her down on him as he continued, “Goddamn, baby. Always take it so well. So pretty when your mouth is stuffed and throat is gagging.”

He pulled back out as she gasped and kept her mouth wide open. She kept her eyes on his and slid her tongue out to reach for his pretty cock but with the way he was holding her hair she couldn’t move her head and Harry went back to stroking himself on her tongue.

He wanted to come inside of her pussy and show the camera the creampie and how cute she was dripping with him, but he also wanted to record himself coming on her face and her tits.

He felt his balls squeeze to his body as he moaned and felt his tummy swirl as his orgasm started to unfold.

Gonna cover you in my come, baby. Fuck, so pretty…” he pumped faster as his fingers tightened in her hair and he felt his legs quiver as he finally began to release.

The first pump of his come went into her mouth before he angled himself to spurt on her face and then her neck and to her tits. Harry’s groans and the sound of his palm stroking his cock, getting come all over his shaft as he poured himself all over her pretty skin was pornographic. He knew the video would be good for later. He’d have them watch it that night as he fucked her again before bed.

“Fuck, baby! God… ffffuuu…” his words were panted as he slowly came down and gently released her hair.

His chest heaved slightly as he caught his breath and grasped her chin, angling her face upward, “Time to lick Daddy’s cock clean, baby. Go on.”

Y/n got to it immediately, swiping her tongue over his shaft and down his balls and back upward, swallowing his come and her arousal, lapping at him like he was a lollipop.

“Mmmm…” she moaned as she looked up at him with her tongue roving over his skin.

“Yeah? Tastes good sweetheart? It’s cause your pussy was there too. Like how you taste don’t you?”

Y/n nodded as Harry backed away and tucked himself into his briefs. He bent down to his cute girl with his come all over her and swiped up a glob from her tits putting his fingers up to her mouth, “Taste.”

She happily opened her mouth and wrapped her lips around his fingers, licking those clean as well. Harry sighed and grinned, “Daddy’s dirty girl.”

Feedback/Thoughts | Support Me! | Main Masterlist

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕

*Tags: @ithinkimaslutforharry @millie-753 @theekyliepage @harryspirate @kathb59 @madrc @giabbyespejo-blog @cherryluvhobi @michellekstyles @golden-hoax @a-strange-familiar @yousunshineyoutempter @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @dirtytissuebox @closureesny @lhharrylilpumpkin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysmimi @itsgigikay @angelbabyyy99 @lllukulele @lanadelharry @novasblogofstuff @gills-lounge @damnasstyles @malwtilda @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @0oolookitsme @babybunharry @anothermannharry @love-letters-to-uranus @itjustkindahappenedreally @kelly-fushiguro345 @ssaama @onlyangellucifer

*updated some of the tags for this series bc some never interacted with the posts (so you got removed) if you see this and would like to be added back in let me know :)

1K notes · View notes

theperfectawful · 5 months

Text

Blind Item / Chapter 1

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC

Chapter 1: Gimme More

Rating: Explicit (18+) Series Summary: 2007. Hollywood, CA. As a former child star, you face the harsh reality of growing up in the unforgiving spotlight. A car crash on Sunset Boulevard and a cocaine scandal give you one option: Rehab. Reluctantly agreeing, you embark on a 90-day stay at Promises Malibu to attempt to salvage your career. But when Dieter Bravo arrives, your journey takes an unexpected turn. Drawn to each other, you navigate sobriety and the wreckage of your reputation. As the double standard of Hollywood's treatment of troubled stars becomes evident, you question if redemption is truly possible in a world of unequal consequences. Word Count: 11k

Content/Warnings: Age gap (~10 years, Dieter is in his mid-thirties), alternating POV, heavy drug use, illegal drug use, alcohol use, driving under the influence, frenemy dynamics, oral sex (f!receiving), dubcon/noncon, it is neither reader nor Dieter's finest hour when we meet them. Period-typical language and behavior, Hollywood assholes.

Notes: This is my first fic - I've never written or posted anything like this before, so please be kind and feel free to share any feedback or suggestions. I never would have been able to write something like this, let alone work up the nerve to post it, if it hadn't been for the kind and gracious support of @pennyserenade, @whatsnewalycat and @frannyzooey all lending me their advice when I slid into their DMs. They all inspire me endlessly with their work and talent and it’s because of their work that I was inspired to write something of my own.

Our reader is, for now, and unnamed OC. While I’ve done my best to avoid using physical descriptors of her, it should be noted that this story is a period piece that takes place in early 2000s Hollywood. The main character would have been a contemporary of stars like Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Richie, and there are certain assumptions I’ve made about what she looks like based on that factor of this particular story. The early 2000s could be dark, ruthless times, y'all, especially for young women in and effected by Hollywood. My intention is to examine that. Thank you for reading!

Desperate times call for desperate measures: sources say that this former child star’s team is working overtime to keep her employed. When she made her not-so-graceful exit from her latest film, the star cited conflicting schedules as the reason for her departure. The film’s producer has a different story: the Hollywood juggernaut has been heard around town calling the star unprofessional, accusing her of being late to her call times and using drugs in her trailer. She’s got a shot at a last resort: a return to television. Word is, the bad publicity has her team bargaining and drawing out sober contracts just to get her hired.

Whenever you were in town for work, you stayed at the Chateau Marmont. You were in Los Angeles often enough and long enough to justify buying a home there, but you refused, the idea of actually owning a home in LA never quite sitting right with you. Instead, you rented the same room each time you visited. You loved that little bungalow. The thick, lush landscaping shaded the windows and kept it nice and cool inside, and your front door was only a stone's-throw from the swimming pool.

It felt like home after a few years, anyway. These old, tucked-away places were what you liked most about Los Angeles, unlikely, quiet havens hidden between sky-high condos and overly sleek offices. The building breathed old-Hollywood luxury, vintage tiles and original hardwood floors and the ghosts of silent film stars wandering the hallways. The staff knew you well. The same breakfast was delivered to your door at noon every day. The top-tier maid service employed by the hotel kept the living room, kitchen, bathrooms and second bedroom impeccably tidy, though they were given clear instructions not to enter your bedroom.

Your bedroom did not inspire the same glamorous aesthetic as the rest of the hotel. Clothing was piled high against the walls and pouring out of dresser drawers, tags and receipts discarded in the wake. Empty bottles cluttered the hardwood floors, clear, crushed water bottles and rattly orange pill canisters. A full ashtray sat on a side table, a makeup mirror and various products scattered next to it.

In the middle of the room was a king-sized bed, an antique walnut headboard sprawling against the wall with a mountain of sheets and blankets layered atop a deep mattress. You laid swaddled in those sheets, rubbing your palms into your shut eyes and groaning as you rolled over, dragging your hands wide across your face to peek out at the clock on your nightstand.

4:41pm. You blinked, straining your eyes to focus and confirm you read that right. 4:41pm. Fuck.

Bleary-eyed, you reached for your phone, met immediately by a barrage of missed calls and unread messages when you slid it open.

MELANIE [3:21 AM]: Bathrrom

PETE [3:36 AM]: Did u leave

CORINNE [9:00 AM]: Call with NBC @ 1. Please be available. Corinne Roxford.

MISSED CALL: CORINNE

CORINNE [11:30 AM]: Confirming availability at 1pm. Corinne Roxford.

(212) 555-4325 [12:06 PM]: Hey gorgeous ;)

MISSED CALL [12:30 PM]: CORINNE

MISSED CALL [12:45 PM]: CORINNE

MISSED CALL [1:00 PM]: CORINNE

CORINNE [1:03 PM]: ??? Corinne Roxford.

MISSED CALL [1:05 PM]: CORINNE

CORINNE [1:07 PM]: Call immediately. Corinne Roxford.

“Hiiiii,” a soft, tired voice called from across the room. You looked up, squinting, at your best friend Natalie leaning in the doorway to the bathroom.

“Mmmm,” you hummed in response, peeking out from where you lay buried in the sheets. “Hi.”

She crossed the room, kicking piles of clothes out of the way and perched herself on the corner of the bed, her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. You cracked open one eye, locking eyes with her. In an unspoken acknowledgment of your situation - what you got into last night, the state you’re currently in, the splitting headache you’re certain she has, too - you raised an eyebrow at her. She smirked back at you and the two of you erupted into laughter. You lifted yourself up to sit, pushing your foot into her side from under the covers.

“You were insane last night!” she accused, still smiling as she resumed brushing her teeth.

“Me!” your voice was raspy and you coughed. “Me? You were the one making out with the bartender.”

“He wasn’t a bartender. He said he was with the DJ or something.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s better,” you snorted, the sound muffled by the plush pillows that cradled your head. You rubbed your palms across your face again, feeling the coarse texture of your own tired skin. The room was dimly lit, with the soft glow of morning seeping through the half-closed blinds.

Your phone vibrated on the nightstand, disrupting the quiet ambiance. You picked it up, groaning when you saw your manager’s name blaring across the bright screen. With a sigh, you slid it open.

“Hi, Corinne,” your voice was a hoarse whisper as you did your best to sound alive. Natalie stirred from her spot and crossed back to the bathroom, old floorboards creaking underneath her feet.

“I needed you on that call this morning. This is your career I’m trying to save here. Do you think I’m doing all of this for my health?”

“I mean… you’re not not…” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop it. She is on your payroll.

“Very funny. I don’t think I need to remind you that you’re running out of friends and favors here, hun. I don’t think you want me to join that list.” Her sentence was punctuated by the sound of her horn honking and a muttered expletive. She sighs. “NBC still wants to speak with you, and soon, but they want to do a four-episode Growing special. The rest of the cast is on board, and they think if we play this right we can turn into a full-on reboot. But you have to straighten up, do you understand? I need you in the Santa Monica office first thing Monday to sign the paperwork.”

“I’ll be there. I promise.” Your eyes closed again, and you sunk into the plush embrace of the king-sized bed, the soft cotton fabric soothing against your skin.

“I don’t know how to make it any more clear to you how much trouble all of us are in. This is your shot at a comeback.”

“I understand.”

There’s a bit of silence, the noise of New York traffic floating through the airwaves and into your ear. You insisted on total honesty from Corinne, unable to tolerate your team coddling you, so her words might have hurt more if this was the first time you’d heard them. Or maybe if the haze you’d woken up in were a bit thinner.

“Tomlin and the team will be in on Thursday night to get you ready for the VMAs. I’ll see you then, too.” Corinne changed the subject, her voice a mix of stern professionalism and genuine concern.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” Your voice was sickeningly sweet, a defensive baby voice you switched into when you were nervous, a trademark of yours that had been mocked by everyone from ex-boyfriends to the cast of Saturday Night Live. Corinne said goodbye and you felt Natalie’s weight return to your side.

You groaned, long and drawn out, tossing your phone into the labyrinth of sheets and blankets surrounding you. The show she referred to was a reboot of the sitcom you spent your childhood working on - Growing Together. It's one-half cast reunion, one-half desperate, nostalgic cash-grab. The producer you sat across from at the pitch meeting was almost delirious with excitement - explaining what a smashing success it was sure to be, a “televised homecoming for America's favorite family.” It took so much strength not to roll your eyes right in front of him that you thought you’d pop a blood vessel.

“Are you in trouble?” Natalie asked, a teasing tone in her voice.

"Yeah, almost always," you replied, casual in your admission. As you sat up, fully awakening, you stretched and planted your feet on the floor. You chugged the warm Vitamin Water on your nightstand before reaching for your bag on the floor and digging through its contents. Gum, a fluorescent orange paper wristband, a baby pink Juicy Tube, a black and white photobooth strip of you and Natalie with your tongues out. Not finding what you were looking for, you dumped it out onto your bed and continued rummaging through the items and garbage inside. Your iPod, a receipt from the drugstore, 3 loose cigarettes and half a dozen empty quarter-sized plastic bags. You sighed, shoving everything back inside carelessly.

“Did we finish everything last night?” You call out, patting the bed behind you, your gaze darting around in search of your phone.

“We?” Natalie’s laughter rang through the room. “I don’t know about ‘we!’”

“God, no wonder,” you muttered, the realization of this morning's particularly splitting headache dawning. Locating your phone again, you typed out a text message to your dealer, padding out of your room to the kitchen.

[5:13 PM]: Andyyyyyy. U going to Lush tonight?

You tapped the side of your phone restlessly for a beat, then texted again.

[5:13 PM]: Can you bring what u brought last night

In the kitchen, you opened the cabinet, revealing an array of neatly arranged pill bottles. Without looking, you pulled out a bottle of Advil and an empty glass. Seated at the kitchen table, engrossed in her Macbook, was your assistant, Rhea.

“Corinne’s pissed.” She said before she even looked at you, focused intently on the screen in front of her.

“Good morning,” you responded, filling your glass at the sink and beaming an exaggerated, pageant-queen smile at her. She scoffed in response.

“The sun is going down in… 40 minutes.” she retorted, her gaze flitting momentarily to the clock on the wall, then back down. You made a mockingly offended expression, hands lifting with dramatic flair.

“Time is a social construct, Rhea,” you declared, tossing back the Advil and chasing them with the full glass of water.

“Yeah, for you, maybe.” She muttered, still typing like a maniac.

You were fired six weeks ago.

The movie was meant to signal a departure for you, a leap into serious territory - a drama marking an overdue graduation from the teeny-bopper films you’d spent the last decade of your life making. You’d been lucky a year ago - a really excellent writer took a chance on an elevated high school comedy with you at the helm that had people in the industry, finally, taking you more seriously.

Seriously enough to get you in the door, at least. Being on set gave you a different impression. You felt as coddled as ever, still treated like an unqualified child star whose presence was more of a slightly annoying novelty than a creative asset.

You wanted to be treated like an adult - a real actress, a professional. This movie was supposed to accomplish that. Despite the fact that this project had a huge, award-winning director attached to it, it was subject to the same issues you’d experienced on countless, lower-tier productions. Poorly communicated call times, technical issues, handsy producers hanging around your trailer. The latter issue caused you to insist on Rhea being by your side whenever possible - power in numbers in an attempt to keep greasy Hollywood exec’s hands away from you.

You weren’t going out any more often than you usually did. Now that you were old enough to not have to sneak into clubs anymore, you were having fun. Though your evenings often bled into mornings, occasionally pushing the limits of your call times, it felt manageable. However, Corinne was relentless in reminding you of the stakes and your professional expectations: show up, behave, perform.

That morning, exhaustion hung over you more heavily than usual. The night before, you’d been out celebrating Natalie’s 23rd birthday. A friend of hers had just returned from Amsterdam and brought with him a bag of European ecstasy as a souvenir. After Le Deux closed, you threw an after party at the Chateau’s pool, you and Nat drank champagne on your floaties as the chemicals rushed through your systems. Your fingers dipped in and out of the heated pool, the two of you gossiping and giggling and floating along until the sun came up.

You were on set on time - early, in fact - but the MDMA had worn off and your energy was plummeting fast. You’d run through the scene several times with Rhea, but it didn’t seem to have helped much.

“Cut,” the director called out, sighing and stepping out from his position behind the camera. Your costar groans softly, standing up from his spot across from you and stepping away as the surrounding crew moves quickly to reset the scene.

“I’m sorry Alan,” you offered immediately as the director approached your mark. A makeup artist swoops in, tapping a brush to your under eyes.

“You’re furious with him, remember,” he coached you. “I understand it’s early, but I need you to manage to muster up some energy.”

You nodded, trying to focus despite the persistent buzzing in your head. “I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t need you to apologize to me like a punished child, I just need you to perform the way I’ve asked you to. Can you do that?”

"I'll get it right this time, I promise," you assure him softly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

He eyed you skeptically, his weaning lack of patience with you made clear by his expression.

“We’ll break for five.” He called out to the room, still staring at you as you stood up and shuffled off behind him.

Rhea arrived at your side with your cell phone and a Red Bull. You flip open the screen as you walk, quickly scrolling through your text messages and trying to distract yourself from your dull, nagging headache.

“That was okay, right?” You asked, trying to sound casual but unable to hide the uncertainty in your voice. “Is it as bad as he says?”

“You were fine,” Rhea’s voice was uncharacteristically high-pitched as she held out the straw of your energy drink in front of you. Her eyes flit back and forth, scanning the area, and her voice lowers into a whisper as she continues. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m tired,” You brushed her off, shaking your head and handing your phone back to her. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

Rhea nods, a concerned eyebrow lifting as you arrive at your trailer. Everyone in your life was looking at you like that lately - as if doing anything less than completely coddling you would cause you to fly off the handle. The cautious glances, the careful choices of words, the subtle tiptoeing around your every move - especially from Rhea, who never gave a fuck about your feelings - it all grated on your nerves like an itch beneath the surface.

She held out her hand and you took it quickly, grabbing an orange bottle from her and slipping through the door of your trailer.

In your trailer, you sat at the vanity and closed your eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths before opening them and gazing at yourself in the mirror. You opened the bottle, pouring out two small pills on the counter in front of you. Scanning the surface quickly, you located a plastic card and pushed it against the pills with the ball of your hand. You pushed it again and again, finally finishing and scraping the excess powder from the card onto the table. Dragging the powder into two lines, you leaned down to inhale them and stood straight back up. You licked your finger and picked up the excess residue, pushing it into your gums and taking a couple more deep breaths to re-center yourself.

The acrid taste of the pills gave you a Pavlovian surge of energy, the anxious buzz in your chest subsiding and easing into a steady hum. You sat at the mirror, dragging a finger underneath your eye to wipe smudged eyeliner from your face. You sniffled, forcing the action into another deep breath and staring at yourself in the mirror. You belong here. You do. You know what you’re doing.

A sharp knock at the door pulled you back to reality with a jump.

“Jesus,” You called out “Alright, Rhea, one second!”

“It’s Alan. Open the door.”

Fuck. You frantically began cleaning the counter in front of you - slipping the credit card into your pocket and brushing your hands across the surface.

“Now!” Alan boomed from outside.

“Okay, okay!” You moved to the door and turned the lock, opening the door just enough for him to see you. You sniffled again, trying to camouflage the reaction with a cough. “Yes?”

Pushing the door firmly, Alan moved into your trailer, his body dwarfing yours in the small space.

“Listen to me,” he said, low but firm. “I’m done. I’m not doing this with you. I am not letting you fuck up my movie.”

“What?” You were dumbstruck.

“Don’t play dumb. Not now. You know exactly what I mean.” He was inches from your face now and getting angrier by the minute. You swallowed, desperately looking around for Rhea. Tears stung the corners of your eyes and you fought them, willing yourself not to blink.

“They’re prescribed,” you attempt. It doesn’t work.

“I don’t care what you do on your own time,” he continued “But this is mine. This is important to me and to everyone else out there whose livelihoods depend on this project, and I’m not going to let some spoiled, coked-out little actress spoil it.”

Your face burned with humiliation.

“Corinne fought hard to get you on this project. This was more of a fucking favor to her than you. But this movie does not live and die by your actions, do you understand me? You can kill yourself if you insist, but you will not pull my movie down with you. You’re fired.”

Your jaw dropped. You were unable to find words let alone choke them out. Rhea’s face was stark white when you spotted her just outside the door of your trailer, her cell phone firmly against her cheek, whispering into the receiver with her eyes wide.

“This is no longer viable for me or anyone else on this crew. I want you off my set now.”

You couldn’t move, your heart pounding in your chest. He stood there for another moment before exiting the trailer and slamming the door behind him. The force of the slam caused the door to open slightly, revealing Alan standing in front of Rhea.

“I don’t want to see you here again.” He said to her, loud enough for you to hear, his voice stern and uncompromising. “You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on you for bringing drugs on my set.”

You hung in the doorway as he stormed away, and as the room swirls into focus you see the eyes of the crew on you, their faces filled with curiosity and concern. Turning your head, you quickly blinked away your tears and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand.

Officially, you’d been let go due to ‘scheduling conflicts’. It was flimsy, Hollywood jargon for your star showing up fucked up, and unfortunately, the euphemism did little to quell the relentless scrutiny surrounding you.

Rhea had shown you the footage of you that began making the rounds after your firing was announced - a creepy, shaky video leaked by some PA of Alan berating you on set, cut with another clip of you walking around the soundstage. It was embarrassing - your hair was disheveled and you were pacing around in a way that looked strange out of context, but there wouldn’t have been anything interesting about it at all if the rumor hadn’t gotten out that you’d been fired for your drug use. Since then, the attention on you had been relentless.

The paparazzi had been a regular part of your life since you were a young teenager. It, generally, wasn’t as bad in New York, which is part of the reason why you preferred to stay there, but in LA it felt as if you were never more than a few feet from a camera.

When you were 16 and working on your first film after Growing Together ended, you started going to clubs with your coworkers. No one ever gave you any trouble, and you didn’t even start drinking until you were 18, but despite that, the mere optics of a child star reveling in nightlife proved a lucrative angle for the media to exploit.

Since then, you were followed almost constantly. Leaving home, returning, getting groceries, getting your nails done, driving through McDonald’s - flashing lights in the corner of your eye were such a regular thing that you barely even noticed it anymore. There were photographers you knew at this point, friendly ones who knew your angles and creepy ones who constantly tailed your car.

It’d never been like this before, though. Literal throngs of photographers showed up anywhere you went, watching you like hawks, all waiting to swoop in on the slightest slip up. Going shopping was an event that needed to be scheduled in advance, boutiques needing to be warned that you’d be coming in so that they could prepare to lock doors behind you. Every step, every breath, felt scrutinized and captured for public consumption, leaving you suffocated beneath the weight of it all.

You were so angry about being let go - your behavior, truly, was no different from what any other actor your age was doing. You partied with your friends, you were out late sometimes, but you knew you were a good actress. It had been your passion since you were a child, and it was beyond frustrating to hear people tell you they loved you and wanted to see you win and then have them turn against you the moment you made a mistake.

So, although you’d behaved and spent the first week or two lying low at the insistence of Corrine, you were over it now. You stayed in LA, uninterested or unwilling to go home to your family and friends in New York and explain to them what's been going on. You were going out with Natalie every night, usually to Le Deux or Lush or Teddy’s. You stayed out late and slept in late and generally just did your best to avoid confrontation with any paparazzi or journalists or producers you’d pissed off.

You weren’t lying to Alan when you told him you were only taking what had been prescribed to you. It just happened that a lot of things had been prescribed to you. Lately, you’d been alternating between Adderall and MDMA for the last week or so, making you too speedy and anxious to really dwell on the current state of your career. You were, admittedly, running through your prescriptions more quickly than usual, causing you to need to make some calls in order to fill in the gaps.

Throughout dinner, you anxiously slid the screen to your Sidekick open and shut, open and shut. You thumbed through the wheel of apps, trying to will into existence a text from Andy that didn’t seem to be coming. It’s not exactly like you expected rigid punctuality from the guy who sold you drugs, but his radio silence was making you antsy.

[9:05pm]: Hellooooooooo

Natalie exclaimed as a tray of shots was delivered to the table, echoed by the group of acquaintances that you met up with at Don Antonios, the restaurant you always went to before a night out. Eagerly, you took one off the tray, blindly grabbing another as you knocked the first one back. You chased that shot with the other, the warmth of the liquid making you feel more like a human being and less like a raw nerve.

Seated to your right in the booth was a girl you kind of knew. She was always hanging out on the fringes of your group, some friend of a friend of a friend who was for sure going home and telling everyone she partied with you. She’d been gawking at you all night, beady eyes locked on you since you sat down, craning her neck and sitting uncomfortably close to you, your dress pinned under her studded jeans. You’d been resisting the urge to ask her what the fuck her problem was for the better part of an hour. As the group around you became distracted by the arrival of the shots, you seized the opportunity to confront her.

“Can you please get off of my dress?” you spat.

Her eyebrows shot up as she took her eyes off of you for what felt like the first time that evening to look down, apologizing and scooching over. She had tall red stilettos on and, when she looked back up at you, you could see the smudged mascara on her eyelid. Just as you were going to take the opportunity to move away from her, she leaned over to talk to you over the noise that surrounded you.

“Sorry. Hey, I’m Katie.”

You grimaced, not in the mood to talk to this person.

“Hi.”

You turn away for a beat, but your attention is grabbed again by Katie’s voice lowly in your ear.

“Hey, I have Xanax, if you want one,” the offer took you by surprise, the prospect lighting you up immediately.

“Oh, my god, I love you,” you said, quickly turning towards her and extending your palm. “Please?”

Downers really weren’t your thing, even booze wasn’t your favorite, but this evening was going to turn from boring to maddeningly insufferable fast if you didn’t get your hands on something.

“I know someone who needs one when I see them,” she laughed, discreetly dropping two pills into your palm.

The clubs in LA were the same thing every time. You showed up in big black SUVs, posed and made nice for the photographers outside for a moment and then clamored inside towards the booth that was waiting for your party.

It felt like high school. Well, you assumed, since your high school experience took place entirely on set. You saw the same people everywhere, all scattered around the room, broken up into their own little cliques. All gossiping, the room alive with murmurs and whispers. Who’d just shown up? Who was fighting with who? Who’d stolen whose boyfriend? It all felt so juvenile, but not being here was worse, so you put up with it. The people changed, but not really - you usually ended up surrounded by the same cast of promoters, wannabe socialites and greasy LA club dudes, swapped out every couple weeks by stand-ins and understudies and new arrivals. They circled your table like vultures, mingled with one another and made use of your tab while you sat engrossed in your Sidekick.

The night became slightly more tolerable once you’d taken one of the bars Katie gave you, but you were still desperately trying to get a hold of a dealer. By the time you left the restaurant and were climbing into the backseat of your car to head to Lush, you’d even resorted to texting backup options, people you’d partied with once or twice who you suspected might be around.

Sinking into the plush booth, you let your head loll to the side, eyes shutting against the assault of strobing lights. The steady, pumping rhythm of the bass sent a rattle through your bones.

After a minute, Natalie's hand landed gently on your knee, snapping you back to reality.

“You okay, girl?” She asked. Her voice felt distant, barely audible over the pounding bass reverberating through the room. The glitter on her eyelids shimmered in the blue light, the only part of her face you could clearly make out in the shadowy corner of the booth.

“I’m fine,” you answered impatiently, kicking your feet up into the seat next to you. Just then, your phone finally buzzed, your heart skipping a beat as your dealer’s name flashed across the screen

ANDY [11:03PM]: not goin tonite

You scoffed, pausing for a second before furiously tapping out a response.

[11:03PM]: FUCK U ASSHOLE

You hit send and threw your phone into your purse with a huff. You were going to have to come up with something else. Or maybe just slit your wrists right here at the table instead.

You surveyed your group as bottle service brought two large bottles of tequila to your table along with a tray brimming with shots. knew all it would take was a couple hundred bucks from a photographer outside for them to spill about how you’d begged them for coke. They'd probably do it for free just for the attention. You'd already asked Katie, but all she had was Xanax and a joint, and Natalie would've let you know if she got a hold of anything else.

You started scanning the rest of the room, looking for anyone you knew. The club was packed, some sort of launch party that’d booked a huge DJ filling even the VIP section from wall to wall.

Suddenly, your attention was grabbed by the sound of a man shouting at the booth directly across from yours. He was the typical guy you'd find in places like this: a douchey-looking producer type, each of his arms wrapped around two miserable-looking models to his left and right. Intrigued, you followed his gaze to see who he was yelling at.

Oh, bingo.

Dieter Bravo. You recognized him instantly. An actor like you, you knew you’d seen him around at award shows and parties, but you’d never met. His reputation preceded him, though; you knew he partied, knew that he, too, had been let go from movies due to 'scheduling conflicts' more than once. You knew he’d been in trouble for drugs. Last you'd heard, he'd been in the news for cheating on his wife or something. You were certain that all it’d take was a little bit of flirting and buttering him up to get him to share whatever he had with you.

Without a word to anyone, you rose from your booth, ignoring Natalie's questioning as you strode towards Dieter's booth. Immediately, though, you lost your footing, lightheaded from standing up too quickly. You brushed it off, saved from a fall by someone at your booth. Straightening your dress, you grabbed a bottle of tequila before pivoting on your heel and starting back towards Dieter.

Dragged out against his will, Dieter was a guest of honor at a launch party for Elysium Fragrances, the cologne brand he’d shot a campaign for last year. His presence was requested tonight as a make-good for being a no-show at the launch of his own campaign, instead being spotted that evening by the California Highway Patrol speeding down the Pacific Coast Highway with a model in the passenger seat.

He’d been stopped by a cop as he attempted to pump gas, some asshole photographer seizing the opportunity to swoop in on the interaction and hurl all sorts of insulting names at his date. Dieter lost his patience, blowing past the cop to shove the paparazzo to the ground, shattering his camera in the process. He was arrested that evening on five charges - assault and battery, destruction of property, drunk and disorderly conduct, assault of an officer (come on) and, thanks to a thorough search of his car, possession with intent to distribute.

As his smug-faced mugshot circulated the tabloids, it eclipsed the glossy editorial photos that the brand had invested millions in. The extravagant campaign was reduced to a joke, its over-the-top glamour juxtaposed with candid snapshots of Dieter’s angry face shouting at the photographer.

Unbelievably, the brand hadn’t thrown him out then and there. He almost wished they had - he preferred the couple of nights he spent in jail to the following days spent in meetings, his team arguing with Elysium over their ability to sway this and use his reputation to their advantage. Ultimately, they maintained his status as a face of their brand as well as his 6 million dollar contract, with the stipulation that he shoot another campaign and make himself available for any event, launch or party the brand requested for the next year.

Being asked to party in exchange for six million dollars was a sweet deal - he understood that - but the reality of being a cosmetics brand’s puppet meant that he ended up at the same fucking parties week in and week out, always babysat by an appointed employee of the brand or, failing that, someone on his payroll.

Tonight was particularly torturous. The tabloids had latched onto the whispers of his crumbling marriage - rumors that were, fortunately or unfortunately, completely legitimate. Heidi was meant to be the one to tie him down, set him straight, clean him up. Their wedding photos looked like a fucking editorial, glossy photos ran with headlines predicting their domestic bliss. But a year and a half, a relapse, a DUI, and a string of affairs - all on his part - had shattered those illusions.

Last week, Dieter returned home from a 3-day bender to Heidi’s mother on the landing at the top of his stairs. She was screaming and hurling the contents of his closet at him, plus whatever else was within arms reach. Heidi, her once-bright eyes now dull with tears, cowered in a doorway behind her mother, slamming the door behind her when he called out in an attempt to reason with her. Her mom located his Oscar, hurling it towards his head with a warning to leave the house before she called the cops. He’d ducked just in time to avoid the statue concussing him, it instead crashing through the glass window of the door behind him.

The stories spread like wildfire, his team scrambling to reshape the narrative, casting Heidi as the cold, unfeeling spouse who couldn't handle his demons. They painted her as the villain, accusing her of rejecting him for his vices - after all, she knew who she married - all the while conveniently forgetting that she had stood by him through more than most people would be able to tolerate. It was an angle he wasn’t happy with; He may have been hedonistic but he wasn’t cruel. In the interest of giving her space and avoiding any additional negative attention sent her way, he moved out. He kept an apartment closer to town, and staying there made it that much easier to avoid any reminders of his failures.

The word on the poor, dejected husband had spread, causing every asshole he ran into tonight to look at him with the same pathetic, sympathetic expression. He resented their pity. He resented this party, this club, his obligation to be seen holding some stupid bottle of cologne in order to maintain his career. The four whiskies he'd downed had done little to numb him from it, and even the lines he'd snorted on the way over had failed to dull the edges of this evening.

You’d stumbled in about an hour ago, perching yourself in the booth across from his own. Your eyelids were heavy in a familiar way, his dirtbag instincts making him suspect you’ve popped a painkiller in addition to whatever you’ve been drinking. A group of giggly, hungry hangers-on swarmed around your table like flies, posing for pictures and parting only to let bottle service in and out.

Dieter knew you - or at least, he knew of you. The cute little starlet who always popped up next to him in the tabloids. He’d seen you in enough movies and on enough billboards to recognize your face, and he’d lurked around clubs like this often enough to have seen you before. Before you’d walked in, he’d resigned himself to an armchair as far back in the VIP section as he could find, determined to wait out the evening before bringing home whatever model ended up in his car. The whiskey he’d been drinking was only just beginning to kick in and he didn’t fight it, leaning back and willing the time to pass faster. But you… you were interesting.

Your gorgeous legs were stretched out along the booth, climbing up to the hem of your dress, a pink silky thing he imagined he could tear off of you with the smallest amount of force. Glossy lips pouted at your phone, eyebrows furrowed in a sweet little frustrated expression. When you looked up he didn’t look away - he kept his eyes trained on you as you looked around the room. You were looking for someone, obviously restless. A boyfriend? The thought twisted at his stomach uncomfortably and he willed himself to stop watching you, putting his glass to his mouth and draining it with a single swallow.

“Bravo!” a voice bellowed from his left, snapping him out of it. Clint - some hack from Elysium Fragrances and tonight’s designated narc waved enthusiastically from the booth next to him. “You gonna sit there and fuckin’ mope all night, bro?”

Fuck this guy. Like most of his brand-approved chaperones, he was content to accept the babysitting opportunity and spend the evening running up Dieter’s tab and shamelessly hitting on the girls at his table. The least he could do would be to leave him the fuck alone.

His attention returned to you when he heard a commotion from your direction. There you were, knees buckled, held at your elbow by one of the guys surrounding your booth. A couple of cell phone cameras lift and snap photos behind you as you attempt to compose yourself. He can’t take his eyes off of you as you stand back up, adjusting yourself, your little dress riding up for just a moment before you smooth it back into place.

The bottle he’d finished had begun to cloud his vision, so it took him a moment to realize you were stumbling towards him, your plush lips slightly parted as you swung a bottle of tequila at your side. Despite the haze, your smile was unmistakable as you arrived at his chair. When you held up the bottle with a subtle lift of your eyebrow, he nodded in agreement.

He wasn’t entirely sure if you climbed into his lap or if you simply floated there, an ethereal presence that captivated his senses. You were such a gorgeous little thing, soft legs draping over him effortlessly, while your electric fingertips traced delicate patterns along his arms.

“Where’ve I met you before?” You slurred, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt as you settled in his lap.

You were fucked up. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. Good - he was, too. His plan had been to leave, get one of the models at his table to come home and roll over for him without much effort, but passing the evening with someone in his same state of mind would spare him from having another dull fucking conversation tonight. Plus, you were so pretty, big black pupils dilated and fixed on him beneath the lazy black fan of your eyelashes.

“You tell me,” he answered, running his finger along the rim of his glass.

Did you know who he was? He goes along with your guesses as to where you’d met before. Miami, London, the Met, whatever you said, as long as you didn’t piece together that you know him from a TV show that aired when you were still in middle school.

Music blasted through the speakers surrounding you, strobe lights flashing and highlighting flecks of glitter on your shoulders. He lifted his hand to run his finger along the thin strap of your dress as you lifted the bottle up between you and raised your eyebrows in question. He nodded, holding up his empty whiskey glass.

“Glastonbury?” You asked as you filled his glass.

“That must be it,” he agreed, knowing he hadn’t been to Glastonbury since 1995, and clinked his glass against your bottle. He watched as you took a long draw from the mouth and could see the grimace you were holding back as you squinted, your throat bobbing as you swallowed. He followed your lead, emptying his glass in three big gulps. Your eyes flitted over momentarily to the group he came with, crowded around the booth to his left, then back to him.

“You alone?” You asked him, glossy lips smirking.

“Just like you.”

You let out a knowing chuckle and leaned in closer to him, tequila and lime and smoke on your breath as it mingled with his own. The way you dragged your lower lip through your teeth had his cock twitching, the combination of the chemicals in his system and you purring in his lap like a kitten destroying any shred of inhibition he had left.

There’s an acknowledgment between people like you and Dieter. It’s one of those things that doesn’t lend itself to description, but he knew it when he saw it - in the mirror, in friends and acquaintances and enemies, in blown-up photographs on the covers of tabloids, suicides and DUIs announced in newsstands. Raw nerves covered in glitter, celebrity or civilian, death drives winning over life drives every time. He saw it in your dilated pupils and the way your thighs were rubbing together, the silk of your dress doing nothing to hide it. You’re like him, too, and most importantly, you know better than to ask why.

His hand cupped your face before he realized he’d done it and he closed the space between you, your lips soft against his the next sensation he was aware of. You tasted good, and he wanted more right away, deepening the kiss and digging his fingers into your thigh forcefully. He ran his tongue along the seam of your mouth, his own lips going numb as he licked into yours. He pulled you up to straddle him and you moved easily, hips lowering onto him immediately and settling, the lace of your panties brushing up against the thin fabric of his pants. His mouth trailed to your ear, worrying your earlobe between his teeth and guiding your hips to roll against his crotch again and again.

“You don’t give a fuck, do you?” He said, his voice low and hoarse in your ear. He knew you had the attention of his group and your own, not to mention anyone else who happened to look over, but it didn’t seem to matter to you. He knew you’d been in trouble lately - the same limelight, coming-of-age growing pains he’d been through himself several years ago - and his own instincts threatened to kick in and shield you from the excess attention.

You laughed with a shake of your head, tossing your hair over your shoulder and, without looking away from him, lifted his hand from your thigh to your lips, dragging your tongue across the length of his index finger and popping it into your mouth.

Oh, you were fun. You were already making him hard, and he knew you could feel it as you grinded into him again and again, letting his finger drop from your mouth when he pressed his lips back to yours. He needed to be careful - the linen lounge pants he’d thrown on to come here would betray nothing if you kept it up much longer.

It’s a noticeable absence when you hum and pull away from the kiss, the urge for more of you rolling over him and causing his fingers to dig into your thighs possessively.

“Do you have anything… funner?” You asked, big, blown out eyes pleading as you lifted the tequila bottle up again. Aha. It just so happened he did - a baggie of coke he’d brought along just in case sat in his pocket, along with two tabs of acid. It didn’t seem like that kind of night, though, at least not yet. He’d stick with the coke.

“I might have something,” he replied, a genuine smirk spreading across his face for the first time that evening. He sat up straight, smacking your ass and biting your jawline at the same time, the yelp it pulled from you quickly transforming into a wild giggle and sending a rush of blood to his cock as he peppered kisses and bites down your neck to your collarbone.

Quickly, he helped you to your feet and guided you through the crowded room, following you across the floor, his index finger linked with your pinky, prying eyes and pointing fingers meaningless to the both of you. You may have been stumbling, but you were confident. Or at least not at all concerned. A camera phone at the bar flashed and Dieter instinctively ducked his head, moving a hand to your hip to rush you forward and out of sight.

Tucking into a hallway at the back of the club, he kicked a door open and hurried you inside a small, dark room. It was clearly an employee restroom, high piles of backstocked paper towels and toilet paper toppling over when he pushed you up against the wall harshly, his hands cupping your face, the cool metal of his rings pressed against your cheek.

He pulled a pink baggie out of his shirt pocket, opened it and tapped a bump of white powder out onto the skin between his thumb and index finger. He held it up to your nose and, without any question about what it was, where he got it or if he’d already tried it, you’d inhaled, one hand holding his steady while the other held your nostril closed.

Fucking finally. Your head lit up immediately with euphoria and relief as the amphetamines rushed through your system and you melted against Dieter as he lifted you to perch you on a stack of cardboard boxes.

You let him move you like a rag doll, smiling as he propped you back and tapped out two more bumps onto your chest and snorted them, running your fingers through his messy curls as he dragged his tongue along your cleavage, licking up what was left.

His lips found yours again, and the pungent taste of the powder on his tongue mingling with his taste drew you in closer. Looping your arm around his neck, your free hand clutched his bicep. The acrid taste turned pleasantly tingly on your tongue, a numbness spreading as it explored his mouth.

“Here, baby,” he urged, breaking the kiss breathlessly, and you hummed in response as he tapped out another bump on the back of his hand. You inhaled it again, then he used his finger to gather the remnants of the powder. Cupping your cheek firmly, your jaw relaxed under his touch as he rubbed the excess powder into your gums. You reacted instantly, closing your eyes and drawing his finger deeper into your mouth, succumbing to the rush of sensation.

He groaned in approval, your lips already open when he kissed you again, drawing him in for more, thighs parting to wrap your legs around him. The flimsy strap of your dress fell off your shoulder, the fabric across your chest following shortly after.

Blissfully content with the relief of the chemicals rushing into your bloodstream for the first time today, you went numb, rolling your head back and watching patterns dance behind your eyelids. You allowed Dieter to touch and move you at his will, his hands skillfully brushing the other strap of your dress off your shoulder, exposing your chest completely. A throaty moan escaped him at the sight, the gentle sway of your breasts moving with the rhythm of the rough push of his hips into yours. He drew you closer, his lips finding purchase on your skin. Roughly latching onto you, he drew your breast into his mouth, his tongue drawing circles around the peak of your nipple before switching to the other side of your chest.

Sparks shot down your spine and your mind went blank for a second, lost in the feeling of him against you, the synapses in your brain firing and lighting up. You snapped back into the moment when you felt him grasp your hand with his own, his fingers intertwined with yours. He guided you down to press your hand into his crotch, grinding the firm length of himself into your hold again and again.

A soft moan escaped your lips, surrendering to the warmth and pressure of his body against yours. You tightened your grip around his neck, allowing yourself to fully yield to his control, your body pliant and responsive to his every move.

You’d fuck him, you figured, as you moved against him. He was good looking - now that you were feeling a little less edgy, you could appreciate it. Corinne would kill you if word got out, but he seemed like someone who knew a thing or two about discretion. He stiffened even more as he firmly thrusted into the cradle of your hand and you cupped your fingers around his length, the soft fabric of his pants allowing you to feel him completely. You walked your fingers up to his waistband, nails dipping under the fabric and pulling at it slightly. You’d go home with him. Whatever. You’d bring Natalie with you and you could leave by morning. He probably wouldn’t even notice a missing gram or two.

You followed the thought as he trailed kisses up your chest and neck, finally settling at your ear. His hand rose up your thigh, thick fingers dragging along the lace fabric at your center. The bundle of nerves there erupted at his touch and your thighs instinctively squeezed around him.

“Let me taste you, baby, please,” He growled just above a whisper into your ear. You arched your back into his arms, moaning and nodding in agreement, the cool porcelain of the sink underneath you causing your skin to goosebump as your dress rode up further. You opened your eyes, peeking at the chestnut brown curls, the color blending into the dark room surrounding you. Your eyelids felt heavy, and you fought to keep them open, wanting to stay present with him. But the warmth of his breath against your skin and the gentle touch of his fingers on your cheeks were lulling you somewhere else. You felt like you were floating, your vision blurred at the edges and you fluttered your eyes shut again, feeling his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties and stall there for a moment.

Your fading in and out like that threatened to spook him away. You couldn’t be too fucked up. He lightly tapped your cheeks a couple of times, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Stay with me, baby," he whispered urgently. "Gotta hear you say it."

“Mmmm,” Dazed, faraway eyes looked up at him, your blown-out pupils mirroring his own. You nodded again, dragging your teeth along your bottom lip. Your pulse raced between your legs, and you felt your hips moving towards him, trying to ride something that wasn’t there yet. “Do it, Dieter, please.”

There we go. He smirked, lifting you from the stack of boxes to push you up against the wall and sinking to his knees. He bunched up the fabric of your dress at your hips, roughly pulling your panties down your legs, the black fabric hanging loosely at one ankle as he lifted your leg to hang over his shoulder.

You shrieked when he slid his tongue through your folds, your knee buckling when he repeated the motion, his strong hands moving up to your hips to support you. His tongue pushed wide against you, him tasting and exploring you as his fingers dug into your hips with bruising force.

He felt fucking amazing. You typically hated when men touched you, especially when you were high, but he felt incredible. You’d give him anything. Despite your rapidly dulling senses, the feeling of his tongue working your clit back and forth was at the front of your mind. He pushed his tongue wide against you again and again, fucking two thick fingers up into you without warning.

You gasped, your mouth opening wide as you root your fingers into his hair to ground yourself. He wanted to wreck you completely, to smear the dark makeup around your eyes and watch that glossy mouth of yours stretch around his cock. His lips locked around your clit, and as the blood rushed to the bundle of nerves there you threw your head back, chest heaving, loud, wretched moans spilling from your throat.

With your senses dulled, he knew it’d take a little more to send you over the edge. A third finger pushed into you with a stretch, starting slow and working up to get in and out of your tight, soaked cunt. You moved your hips to match his rhythm, your pace hiccuping as he began working you faster and faster, working your clit between his teeth with a pinch.

Your moans were frantic, hitching higher and higher as he confidently worked you towards an orgasm, your surroundings blurring and swirling around you.

THUD, THUD, THUD. Just as you neared your release, a loud pounding at the door shattered the moment.

He groaned in frustration, pausing briefly before attempting to resume. You struggled to regain your focus, your chest heaving with heavy breaths, nerves coiled tightly at your core.

The knock was followed by a muffled argument and the clanking of keys from the other side of the door. Reluctantly, Dieter's head emerged from between your thighs.

“Fucking assholes,” Dieter grumbled in frustration as he stood up, moving the straps of your dress back up your shoulders and quickly adjusting himself. You steadied yourself with a hand on his shoulder as you pulled your panties back up, frustration pounding angrily between your legs.

“Find me, alright?” He breathed, smoothing out your dress, his hand lingering on your ass and eyes slowly moving up your body. “I’ll take you home.”

You nodded as the door was thrown open, the bright, white light of a flashlight shining into the small room. You stood up straight, quickly fixing your hair in the mirror and sneakily grabbing the small, plastic baggie Dieter left on the counter, hiding it in your fist behind your back.

“Let’s go. Knock this shit off,” a voice bellowed from behind the light, which darted back and forth between you and Dieter. “We’re not doing this in my fucking club, get the fuck out, let’s go!”

“What the fuck is this?” Dieter asks, moving to stand in front of you and block you from the bright light.

“I’m sorry, man, I tried to stop him,” Another voice followed from outside the room. You squinted and peeked over Dieter’s shoulder, annoyance showing on your face. A large bald man in a suit held the flashlight and to his right was the small, douchey-looking guy you recognized from Dieter’s booth. Natalie’s head popped up behind the both of them, looking relieved to have found you.

“You’re not doing drugs on my floor and fucking little girls in my bathroom. That’s it, Bravo. Get the fuck out of here, let’s go,” the angry man repeated. Dieter raised his hands and murmured an apology to you as he shuffled out, one hand poised defensively in front of his face. He pushed out of the room past Natalie, her brows furrowed at him in confusion as he passed. His counterpart flocked to his side, immediately rushing into what sounded like a flurry of explanations and reassurances. Natalie slid into the room smoothly, wrapping an arm around you to usher you out. You stumbled at her side, annoyed and disoriented.

“I’m TWENTY-TWO, ASSHOLE!” You screamed at the man with the flashlight, attempting to shove him with your balled-up fists. He raised his eyebrows, bald head wrinkling and frown deepening. Natalie pulled you away from him quickly and you could hear her apologize behind you. “Don’t tell’um sorry, Nat, ’m not fucking sorry, I was in the fucking bathroom!” you slurred, your voice disjointedly raising and lowering in pitch.

“C’mon, babe, let’s go,” Natalie urged you.

“Yeah, ’s get the fuck outta here,” you agreed, stumbling as she shepherded you out. She handed you your purse and you quickly shoved your hand inside, dropping the half-empty baggie into the side pocket. One or two flashing lights from the crowd gathered at the bar stole your attention for a moment, but it quickly returned to the big, bald, interrupting gorilla with the flashlight. “This place SUCKS!” you screamed as you began to turn back towards him, leashed by Natalie’s grip around your arm.

“Let’s go,” she repeated firmly. You followed her through the crowded bar, stomping across the floor and ignoring the unending stream of heads turning towards you. The two of you shoved out the heavy metal doors of the club, clicking and flashbulbs immediately erupting around you as the cool evening air breezed across your skin. Your name was shouted from your left and right as Natalie dug in her bag for the valet ticket.

“Having fun tonight?” A photographer asked. You rolled your eyes. “Alright, over here, honey,” the same voice continued. With a resigned sigh, you turned to offer a practiced pose, your mind ticking through your media training despite how fucking annoyed you were. Stumbling a couple of times as you attempted to maintain your balance, you moved through a lazy pose or two. You knew the routine - let them get their shot and maybe they'll back off.

“Partying tonight?” Another voice interjected. Moron.

Natalie finally located the ticket and the valet handed the keys over immediately, your car already parked and waiting curbside. Impulsively, you decided you’d drive, intercepting the keys before Natalie could take them and nearly smacking them out of the attendant’s hand before stumbling towards the vehicle.

“She’s not getting in the driver’s seat. No way,” reasons the voice of a man with a video camera to your left. “There’s no way!”

Another blinding eruption of flashing lights emerged around you. You stared down at your feet as you stumbled forward, trying to see where you were walking through the relentless assault of flashbulbs. Natalie called out your name from behind you. You struggled a couple of times with the handle before throwing the car door open heavily.

“Hey, you can’t drive, honey,” Another voice called out. You rolled your eyes.

You climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut, exhaling loudly as the noise of the chaos surrounding you finally muffled. Flashing lights continued, your windshield now completely blocked by cameras. The volume raised again for a moment, a cacophony of voices and camera clicks, as Natalie scrambled into the passenger seat beside you.

“Are these people serious,” you asked, angling your head in towards Natalie and shielding your eyes from the barrage of flashbulbs pointed at you, frustration mounting with each flash. “How’m I supposta drive when they’re fucking blocking me?”

“Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t.” Natalie said, concern in her voice. “Let me, okay?”

You shook your head adamantly. “’M not going back out there.”

“So climb over,” She suggested.

“Not in this!”

Natalie let out an exasperated sigh, her fingers tapping anxiously on her thighs.

“Hey, since when do you know Dieter Bravo?” She asks, momentarily changing the subject.

“Who? Oh,” you replied, the question registering with you once you answered. The reminder of him sent your attention between your legs and you shifted slightly in your seat. “I dunno. I know’hm from an awards thing.” You offered. It was an unconvincing lie, but Natalie didn’t fight you on it.

“He’s so random,” she laughed. “I can’t believe you hooked up with him. I think my older sister had a poster of him in high school. Right next to River Phoenix.”

“Whatever,” you huffed, everything about this evening now pissing you off. The incessant clicking of the paparazzi's cameras only added fuel to the fire, and you narrowed your eyes in irritation, slamming your hand down on the horn for a solid ten seconds in a futile attempt to disperse them.

“MOVE!” you yelled, only inciting more flashing lights.

“Let me drive, babe,” Natalie tried again.

“Oh, my god, fuck this,” you snapped, frustration finally boiling over. With your hand still shielding your eyes, you shifted the car into drive. “You're my eyes now.”

“What?! No!” She replied, her voice rising in panic.

“Be my eyes. I’m going.” You repeated. Very slowly, you eased your foot off the brake, the car beginning to inch forward. Voices clamored outside the vehicle.

“Oh my god, um, okay. Go slow. Turn left. Slow!” Natalie began to guide you. The crowd cautiously parted around the car, photographers scrambling to avoid being flattened while still unwilling to sacrifice this shot. “Oh my god, this is so stupid. Slow, slow, slow.”

“They’re fuckin’ stupid! What am I supposed to do?”

“No, yeah, okay, just slow, keep going left.” Natalie's voice trembled slightly as she continued to navigate. The relentless barrage of flashing lights illuminated the interior of the car, casting everything in stark, blinding brightness. “Okay, cut it! Cut it and keep going straight.”

You cut the wheel to the right and straighten it out, cautiously peeking through the gaps in your fingers to confirm you'd cleared the throng of photographers.

“Haha!” you exclaimed, your laughter echoing through the tense air as you slammed the gas pedal to the floor once the street ahead is clear. With a screech of tires, you peel off into the night, Natalie's nervous chuckles mingling with your own laughter. “Bye, assholes!”

You rocketed down Highland with reckless abandon. A couple of familiar vehicles creeped up behind you - regular photographers who paid their bills by stalking you. The driver to the left’s hand hung out the window, a digital camera pointed squarely at you. The light was yellow at the intersection in front of you and you smirked, not letting up on the gas and rolling your window down to flip off the camera as you raced through the intersection just as the light turned red.

“Slow down!” Natalie yelled, panicked, her hand clutching the door handle in a white-knuckled grip. “What is your problem?”

“My problem?! These guys are the ones with the problem,” you fired back, your tone frustrated. “I can’t do anything without getting fucking cornered!” Your car veered dangerously across the yellow lines and Natalie yelped. You overcorrected, the vehicle lurching back into its lane just in time to avoid a collision with an oncoming car, its horn blaring in warning. Natalie’s body stiffened further in her seat as you took a wide right turn onto Sunset. You turn on the radio, a Rihanna song picking up midway through.

“Did he give you something?” she shouted, her tone urgent. You furrowed your brow, shooting her a confused look. “Dieter,” she clarified.

“Oh, right!” you exclaimed, mood shifting as you suddenly remembered the baggie tucked in your purse. “Look what I got us!” You reached for your bag on the passenger floorboard, swerving again. Natalie lunged across the seat, her hands fumbling for the wheel to correct your course, while a chorus of horns blared from the vehicles behind you. Finally retrieving your purse, you fished out the baggie from the side pocket and held it up between your fingers for Natalie to inspect. She grabbed it from you quickly, examining it in her lap.

“What is it?” She asked. You shrugged.

“Coke, I think. Shit, hold on,” you floored the gas to race through another newly red light.

“Stop!” Natalie shrieked. “This is so fucking stupid, dude, let me drive!”

“Jesus, Nat, fine,” you groan, slamming on the brakes. You both jolted forward as the car came to a stop in the middle of the road. “You wanna drive so bad, fine.”

You unlocked the car doors, opening yours slightly and reaching down to unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Are you serious?” She scoffed, disbelief etched across her features as she surveyed the chaotic scene unfolding around you. You nodded in affirmation, a defiant smirk playing on your lips. “You’re such a bitch.”

With a surge of stubborn adrenaline, you stormed out onto Sunset Boulevard, Natalie following suit. The gray Honda belonging to one of the persistent photographers tailed you, coming to a halt beside you as the driver scrambled out, camera at the ready.

“LEAVE ME ALONE” you shouted. “I gave you your shot at the club, I’ve been nice to you guys, what more do you want?!”

You considered what it would take to get him to go away. Words weren’t working. Should you kick his car? Throw something? You began to stumble towards him, interrupted by Natalie yelling your name again. You turned around to see Natalie standing in the street, gaze fixed on the intersection ahead. Your car - which you apparently failed to put into park - was rolling into the intersection on its own.

With a frantic surge of panic, you and Natalie sprinted after the runaway vehicle, the strobe of camera flashes behind you incessant. Arms flailing, you both desperately signaled to other drivers to stop, your heels clattering against the pavement as you raced towards the car.

As the car veered left, you were powerless to stop it from crashing into a parked BMW at the corner. Rushing to catch up, you flung yourself into the open driver's door, slamming on the brakes and throwing the gear into reverse. You leaned across the cab to fling the passenger door wide open.

“Come on!” You shouted at Natalie as she climbed back into the car. With a tense exhale, you navigated the car backward, turning wide in the intersection before screeching forward.

Your mind was completely clear with pure adrenaline. You were only a few blocks away from the hotel now, the castle-shaped outline shrouded in trees just ahead on your right. You floored it, a tense silence hanging in the car, both you and Natalie’s eyes locked forward on the road in front of you.

Only slowing down to make a right turn into the hotel driveway, you didn’t bother waiting for the valet. Tossing your keys onto the driver’s seat, you left the door ajar as you stormed through the garage toward your room, ready to put this evening behind you.

#blind item #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x reader #putting this out into the world and definitely also shitting bricks

71 notes · View notes

honeybee-bard · 28 days

Text

Writing Interview Tag Game

My internet is finally back! Thank you to @nyx-knox for the tag. It's a long one, so buckle the fuck up y'all.

When did you start writing?

I'm the child of two English majors and I wrote little stories in my journals as a kid, probably as young as five or six. I started writing fanfiction specifically when I was about 15 and wrote Ed Sheeran smut and putting it on tumblr, which I absolutely should not have been doing for internet safety reasons but what's done is done and tbh it was some solid writing. I then stopped writing for an entire decade due to mental health issues. I started writing my Falling Star fic in...April, probably? So between that and my WIPs, I went a decade without writing and then suddenly pumped out a couple hundred thousand words in less than six months. Go big or go home I guess!

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

Honestly, not really. I'm a slut for spawn Astarion smut what can I say.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

There are none I can remember ever being compared to, but there are lots of other fic writers that I try to learn a little from each time I read their work.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I still live at home, so my writing space is at my gaming PC at the desk in my bedroom. The entire place is a huge mess and tbh it stresses me out a little but I have a lot going on right now so it is what it is. There's usually coffee and/or weed within arm's reach when I'm writing.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Something that's really surprised me in my return to creative writing is how easily inspiration has continued coming to me. Sometimes I worry that I'll lose it, but I keep having more ideas than I can get onto paper, and I've just barely begun exploring writing characters other than Astarion and Wynlana, so I think I'll have enough inspiration to continue writing for a very long time.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Smut! So much of it! And it doesn't surprise me in the slightest because I am a terrible, horny little goblin bastard.

What is your reason for writing?

I love my job (I work in early childhood education), but I realized it was at the point where it was taking over my entire life. I went on medical leave after having top surgery, and I decided to spend a lot of the time writing. Having a creative outlet has been very good for me, and the added motivation of people actually liking it has been a huge confidence boost.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

One of the first comments I got was complimenting my prose and how everything flowed and I think about it nearly every time I write. Those had been some of my biggest concerns that delayed me posting the first few chapters of the fic, so that comment really meant a lot.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I'd never really thought much about this tbh. I think a lot about how my writing will be perceived, but not so much about how I as a writer might be perceived. I care way too much about what people think of me irl so it's a nice break tbh

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I'm a stubborn bitch which means I'll keep rewriting and reworking a scene until I'm truly proud of it. There have been scenes I've had to change significantly or cut for various reasons, but not many I've scrapped entirely. I'm very persistant.

How do you feel about your own writing?

Honestly, pretty confident! I thoroughly enjoy re-reading what I've written, and all of the feedback I've gotten so far has been positive. It's been a boost to my irl mental health to have something I both enjoy and am good at outside of work, and it's nice for it to be something lower stakes than "keeping 5+ toddlers at a time from trying to kill themselves in the most creative ways possible". I love them, but it's a lot of pressure!

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

Everything I write is something I've decided I might enjoy writing, but sometimes I write something and get really excited knowing my readers are going to love it. The other day I was editing an emotional scene and couldn't wait to show my beta reader because I knew she was going to love it.

No-pressure tags (sorry if any of you have done it already and I just didn't see lol): @bardic-inspo @pinkberrytea @locallegume @marlowethebard @kimberbohwrites

#bee posts #bee writes #writing #tag game

9 notes · View notes

fizzing-imagines · 1 year

Text

Hellfire After Hours | Billy Hargrove x Plus Size! Alt! Reader

Notes: I've tried uploading this 20 times now until I realized that tumblr won't let me post until I delete the entire smut scene. So here y'all have the censored version (u can dm me for the smut scene lol). Please note that reader is female in this and don't be hard on me, this is my first time writing smut. Big thank you to @billyssillywilly for helping me out. Enjoy!

Bad End: Here

Good End: Here

Warnings: Bullying, Swearing and sexual innuendos

Word Count: 2.5k-ish

Billy wasn't supposed to look twice when you passed by him. You hung out with the freaks, blasted Black Sabbath when pulling into the parking lot, wore dark makeup and ripped clothes. In addition, you had a few extra pounds to you. There was nothing he should be attracted to, but yet he was. He couldn't stop imagining your blood red lips wrapped around his dick, and grabbing your plushy hips while slamming into you. He wanted nothing more than to rip your clothes even further while making you tell him what you do with your freak-friend Gareth Emerson every other day after school. And he hated you for it. He despised you more than anyone else in the school for something that was entirely his fault. And he has tried everything to get you down. Billy has called you a cow, fatso, lard-ass, you name it, he said it to you. But last time, when he called you a quarter pounder, all you said was "At least I get pounded." and it made his dick twitch. And he hated Gareth for getting what he wanted so desperately, but what he hated more was that Gareth not only didn't care what he had to say but also that you protected him. That freak wasn't even your boyfriend, for fuck sake.

Billy Hargrove hated you like nothing else in Hawkins High.

"He's starring again.", Gareth mumbled to you at lunch. The two of you were seated at your table, waiting for your other friends to join. "Who?", you asked with a half-full mouth of mac and cheese. "Hargrove.", your friend-with-benefits replied. All you did was shrug your shoulders and put another fork full of your food in your mouth. "Let him. What is he gonna do, tell me to eat less food?" The last three words were spoken in a mocking tone. Gareth chuckled at your words and looked back at his food, but not before sneaking a glance at your boobs that were practically squeezing out of your Coroded Coffin tube top. You didn't comment since you couldn't blame him. One thing you were confident in is your looks - and you knew that Billy has been thirsting after you. Did you hate him? Yes, absolutely, but knowing that he secretly wanted to bang you was hilarious and such a treat. Speaking of the devil:

"Hey fattie.", Billy called over before standing next to you. "You ain't gonna loose weight if you keep eating junk like a pig." All you did was giggle at his words before replying: "Are you sure you want me to loose weight? My tits would be so much smaller, and I know how much you love starring at them." Billy was flabbergasted for a good second before scoffing and turning heel to walk away, but not before calling you a cow. "You know, I think you'll eventually regret talking to him like that.", Gareth said before eating a fork full of salad. "Oh really? What is the big manbaby gonna do?" You laughed and continued eating.

Just like your friends, you were in the Hellfire Club. Eddie had another campaign, a really good one, but your sorcerer died in a kamikaze attack to save Gareth the Great just an hour into the game. It frustrated you that you had to sit there for two more hours without doing anything, even though you loved listening to how Eddie led his campaign. The party and the campaign were finished after three hours total, leaving you as the next dungeon master for the following two sessions. As always, you volunteered to clean up after everyone so you left last. What you didn't expect was the basketball team to finish at the same time today. They were always done long before Hellfire finished up, so you saw them loading their cars as you walked out of the school. You threw your D&D books in your trunk while hearing the remaining cars driving away. Just as you thought you were alone while slamming your trunk shut, someone stood next to you. "What do you want?", you asked in a condescending tone while putting your school bag into the passenger seat. "You got a real big mouth, you know that?" He fumbled a cigarette out while talking - and he looked pissed. "You know, for someone who will always be a single imbecile. You should be nice, at least if you have to be fat." You scoffed at his words while leaning against your car. Any other day than today you would've made a passing comment, get behind the wheel and drive away. But now, after having your character be killed at the beginning of the campaign, being yelled at by your gym teacher and now Billy saying this you've had it. "You know, you're gonna be one of those husbands who yells at his wife to make him a sandwich and get divorced three times." He glared at you, even though he provoked you. "And your kids won't talk to you. They'll let you rot away in a nursing home while you wonder why nobody loves you." He got closer and looked down on you, probably hoping to intimidate you. It didn't work. "You'll never get the pleasure of a wife who will make you lunch for work and homemade cookies for desert. There is nothing but sadness, Billy." He blew the smoke from his cigarette in your face and pit it out on the roof of your car. "What are you gonna do, huh? Punch me? Do it. Fucking do it, you pussy." You didn't care anymore, the words were spit from your mouth, right at his face. You were fed up with him and his bullshit. But Billy, who cares too much, grabbed you by your jaw and pushed your back against your own car. Admittedly, you were a bit scared now but in some sick way...it made you horny. He looked beyond pissed, a storm was brewing in his eyes, his jaw clenched and nostrils widened. And you couldn't think of anything more attractive. "I hate you, so much.", he hissed out. "How can you not be miserable, looking the way you do." It wasn't a question towards you. More so, he asked himself how you can be happy while he had to suffer by himself. Billy felt how a lump formed in his throat, but he knew he couldn't cry. Not in public, and especially not in front of you.

What you didn't know was that Neil shoved Billy into his bookshelf this morning. He shoved him so hard that the bookshelf almost fell on top of him and his back was bruised. But he couldn't cry - he had to get Max and him to school. All day, it kept building up. His team lost in gym class, he failed math and had to explain that to Neil now, he got detention and now you read him like a book. Everything build up, and it became too much. He needed a way to let it out. That way was you.

"Dude, it's okay to cry.", you told him with a raised eyebrow. "Just do that shit in your car. I'm not your therapist." Billy let you push him off of you easily, giving you the chance to get in your car and drive off.

After that incident, Billy left you alone for two weeks. Even when his friends wanted to tease you, he just told them that you're not worth it and walked away. Gareth, knowing you enough, noticed it at the beginning of week two. "What's with Hargrove?", he asked you while giving you his desert cookie. With a grin, you took it from him while saying: "What's supposed to be with him?" Gareth looked past your head to see Billy eating at the popular kids table without starting a conversation. Only a short glance at you sometimes. "Keeps looking at you, but hasn't said anything in, what, a week?" You smirked at Gareth, winked at him and asked: "Jealous?", which was followed by your other friends at the table, aka Corroded Coffin, making gagging noises. "No seriously, what is it with him?", Gareth kept pushing. You haven't told any of them what had happened with Billy, you didn't want to tell nor have them know. But now that Gareth noticed, they won't stop asking until you told them what had happened. So you told them, whispered everything you could remember to them just quietly enough for nobody to overhear, conveniently leaving out the part where his anger turned you on. Jeff sat open-mouthed without saying a word, Gareth and his best friend started talking about how much of an asshole he is while Eddie sat and watched the other react. "It's not a big deal, seriously.", you reassured them while unpacking your cookie. "His ego is bruised, so what? Big deal." The four guys shared a look while you took a bite of your cookie. What were they on about now? "What?", you asked with a mouth full of food. "Nothing, jeez.", Gareth said before starting to eat his own food again. Eddie changed the topic to D&D after a while, saying he was excited to finish your own campaign later today.

The rest of the day went by fast, but not only for you. Billy couldn't get you out of his mind ever since he pinned you against your car. He was angry at first, not wanting to admit his attraction to you and still asking himself, why you? Then his anger directed itself at your friend, fucking Gareth Emerson, who got anything he wanted from you. At the same time fear got the best of him, because what if Gareth got to you first? What if he took what he thought was his, even though you didn't even pay attention to him when he didn't try to provoke you. And he was convinced that he only wanted to fuck you, but when he thought of you being with Gareth, kissing him, holding his hand or going to some stupid prom with him it made him furious. He didn't want that to happen. So then he got sad, because any chance he might have had with you was out of the window. Who would date someone that called them fat on a regular basis? And since when did he want to date anybody? Nothing made sense to him anymore, so he decided to get to his senses after your D&D session. He patiently waited in front of the theatre room, where your club held it's sessions and listened to you leading the campaign through the door. Your voice was filled with nothing but happiness and excitement as you spoke, and your laugh sounded heavenly to him. His heart started beating faster as he heard the party celebrate their victory and pack up their things. Once again, you volunteered to clean up their leftover cans, snacks and put the figurines away. All four other party members let out a disapproving scoff as they saw Billy leaning against the wall next to the door but he just ignored them and glared at Gareth before going in.

Your back was turned as you sorted the little figurines to each member of Hellfire. You made all of them put their initials on the bottom of each figure that belonged to them after switching figurines up regularly. Eddie started calling you mom after that in a joking manner, even though you were a year younger than him. Not even the door shutting concerned you since you thought it were the boys leaving. Only when you heard a familiar voice say "Quite the view." you turned around to see Billy standing in the room. "What do you want?", you asked him in an annoyed tone. Hellfire Club was the only place where he left you alone, and you wanted to keep it that way. "Look, I'm not here to fight, okay? Just wanna talk." He came closer to you and placed a hand on each side of the table next to you, cornering you once more. "You can do that while respecting my personal space.", you said to him while pressing your back into the table. "You'd run off if I did.", he said. "Listen, (Y/N), I have something to tell you." You can't remember a scenario where he called you by your first name. "The times I was mean to you-" You interrupted him. "You bullied me. Or tried to." Billy just nodded once before continuing "Yeah, bullied you, I guess." What a good start, he thought. "I was...trying to get you to hate me-" You interrupted him once more. "I kind of do, actually." He sighted at your interruption. "Let me finish, please.", he said while trying to hold back his annoyed tone. You simply nodded and let him continue. "I was trying to get you to hate me, because I didn't want to admit to the fact that I like you." He waited for you reaction, but all you did was grin and giggle. "Oh, I know you like me Billy.", you said. "You made it very obvious." There was silence between you two before you spoke again. "I'll let you get in my pants if you promise to be a good boy afterwards." Billy grinned at you, lifted you up the table and started kissing you.

The next hour was a blur. All you could remember was how good you felt, that you moaned his name over and over again and begged him for more. "You okay?", Billy asked you while picking up his and your clothes. "Can't feel my legs..", you mumbled in a tired tone. He chuckled, helped you to sit up on the table and got you dressed. "Let me drive you home.", he said while pulling your shirt over your head. "Are your parents home or anyone I need to make an excuse for?" He lifted your legs up to get your thong back on you. "No, they're in Austin for some business conference. Big sister moved to Tampa years ago, just me and my pet frog." Billy helped you get up from the table, you stood on shaky legs as you looked around the room. "Need to sort the figurines again.", you mumbled as you walked over to the table like a baby deer. "Let me help you, sweetheart." Billy picked up the figurines and dice that were scattered on the ground. "There's the boys initials on the bottom, just put them in piles." You were too distracted with not collapsing due to your legs giving out that you didn't noticed how Billy snagged one of Gareths figurines.

After cleaning up, Billy drove you home. He got you into your room, helped you remove your makeup and get changed into your pyjamas. "Didn't you say that you liked me?", you asked as he tucked you in. "I did, yeah.", he replied with a smile. "Wanna stay the night?" Billy looked down on you. He saw you without your dark makeup for the first time, and you were still so beautiful to him. "If I can take you out after school.", he said while taking off his clothes. You thought about it for a bit before agreeing and he slipped into bed next to you. "Sleep well, sweetheart.", Billy whispered. He turned off your nightlight, gave you a kiss on your forehead and wrapped his arms around your body before both of you drifted off to sleep.

It's been a month since that incident. Billy held his promise and started taking you out every other day, didn't make comments in school anymore and told everyone who tried to to fuck off. First, you stopped having sex with Gareth after week one, then Eddie eventually caught you and Billy making out after school so you had to tell them that you have been seeing him behind their back. And it took them a while to cope with it, especially because this was Billy Hargrove dating a freak, but they accepted it when they saw that you were even happier than before. Billy officially asked you to be his girlfriend a few days ago, much to your friends dismay. "(Y/N), look at this.", Gareth said while looking at something in his locker next to you. His D&D figurine, the one of his character, was laying in his locker. "Told you it would turn up again.", you said to him with a grin. You never told any of the boys what happened that night on the table, and you assumed Billy stole the figure for whatever reason. "Maybe one of the theatre kids found it.", you added while going back to your locker. "Yeah, but it's been, what, three weeks? A month?", your friend continued. "Just be happy it's back." You picked out the books for your next class and put them in your bag, then fished out a plastic bag filled with cookies you and your father made last night. Billy has walked past your locker between every 4th and 5th period since he asked you to be his girlfriend, so you just waited for him to pass by. "See you later.", Gareth said to you while shutting his locker and walking off to his next class. "See ya.", you said while fixing your hair in the mirror you had in your locker. "Hey, sweetheart.", a familiar voice behind you said. The reflection of Billy was in your mirror, to what you turned around with a smile. "Hey there.", you said with a smile. The two of you shared a kiss before you handed him the bag. "I made this for you.", you proudly told him, still smiling. Billy took the ziplock bag from your hands, looked at the content inside it and smiled. "Thought I'd never have the pleasure of homemade cookies.", he said in a teasing tone.

"Well, you earned that pleasure."

#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove

116 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 11 months

Text

Donna’s Wednesday Radio Show Prompt List #26

It’s that time again! The Wednesday Radio prompt list!

Please check the updated character list on my pinned post to see who I am writing for before submitting a prompt!

Also read the rules and do not forget to put the entire prompt into your ask!

God knows what is real and what is fake

If this old heart could talk, it'd say you're the one

you think nobody sees what you're doing to me

I'm hanging outside your door I've been here before,

You can't take back what you said

Such a saint but such a whore

And baby, you're the one for me

Your love for me, somethin' I didn't see

All these years I've been chasing down the answers

lights out on every street

I should have shut my mouth, things headed south

And now it's clear to me That everything you see Ain't always what it seems

Crashing from the high

One forgotten phone call

Doesn't matter how long it's been I know you'll always jump in

I hate what you've done, what you've made me become

Built a home and watched it burn

Too hard to breathe, I'm on my knees

It was great at the very start

I should have drove all night Would have run all the lights,

I was falling hard With an open heart

Starless sky

Last couple years have been a mad trip

Oh, these little rejections How they add up quickly

Now we're picking fights and slamming doors

It's overrated, just get another drink

How did I read the stars so wrong?

Oh the bond is deeper than skin

When you walk in the room that very night A special feelin' just burst inside

If I could turn back time, you'd still be mine

And now you're back inside my house again

One forgotten birthday

Play like the top one percent Til nothing's left to be spent

There's nobody left but the two of us

I wish I knew then, what I know now, Wouldn't dive in, wouldn't bow down

You learn love from Charlie Sheen

No remorse, no regret

I can feel so unsexy for someone so beautiful

But how'd y'all look so perfect?

I'm holding onto heaven

You must have some portraits in the attic

I'm telling you guilt is in your eyes

Dark clouds, dark clouds in every sky

Yeah, I was in the dark

I picked up every piece And landed on my feet

'Til I woke up on, on the concrete

But I don't know where it is that you've been hiding

All those years we spent alone

sleeping on the couch that night

God knows that I tried Seeing the bright side

I stumbled like my words Did the best I could,

Sell your sin, just cash in

There must be life after tragedy

You found me passed out in the yard again

We'll stay offline so no one gets hurt

Hiding from the real world

Couldn't stand to be far apart

We fucked this house up like the planet

If I ever hurt you your revenge will be so sweet

Take away your things and go

I'm not spending any time, wasting tonight on you

I've heard it all before, at least a million times

So well-trained, so animal

Live streaming the final days of Rome

It was just something in your eyes

Crazy that some people still deny it

Everything that made you great only made you bad

One tab along, it's pornographic

Tell me all your original sins

It was only you, nobody else

Why we keep coming back for more

So many questionable choices

We're gonna close the curtains

Are we both losing our minds?

Here 'til the morning breaks us

We run away from real life, thoughts tonight

Don't want to love you if you don't love me

Is the only reason you're holding me tonight 'Cause we're scared to be lonely?

We're gonna stay naive tonight

Fall into the night with you

We're gonna choose the blue pill

4 notes · View notes

fanficsat12am · 2 years

Text

telling the brothers they would look pretty with a ring I Beelzebub & Belphegor

Request: Hi, may i ask for a request where mc tells the demon brothers that they would look pretty with a ring? AN: IM BACK!! UGHHHHH I'm so sorry for the long wait, school is an absolute mess. I missed writing here so much y'all. I swear I'll try to post as much headcanons and dialogues as much as I can BUT I PROMISE YOU, NO MATTER HOW QUIET I MAY BE, IM STILL ALIVE❤️❤️

NOTE: NONE OF THESE IMAGES ARE MINE, NOR AM I TRYING TO SELL THEM.

📜 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃!! 📜 Lucifer & Mammon Leviathan, Satan & Asmodeus

Beelzebub

Now hear him out. He’s willing to eat literally anything. You’ve seen him eat things you had never imagined being eaten by a person—not that it was edible in the first place, but he’s done it.

He had just gotten finished with his monthly nail painting schedule with Asmo, and his hands looked absolutely fresh and pampered. You never really took notice of how strong yet delicate his hands looked. They were usually slathered in sauce for you to notice.

“Honey, have you ever tried a ring on before? Your hands are gorgeous”

Beel felt his heart flutter—a dumb smile forming on his face. He loved the idea of keeping something that made him feel like he was connected to you. Despite that, you both knew a ring with a gem on top would just look like a bedazzled onion ring to him.

Because of this, he decided to practice with some ring pops. Not even a whole day had passed, he had already eaten 6 pieces. The poor guy was really trying though. He wanted to have a legitimate matching ring with you that could last long, so he did.

This baby had practiced for so long that once he got the hang of not eating something for once, he immediately went out to buy some for the both of you.

You were in the kitchen preparing some food for Beel when he suddenly burst through the entrance wearing a huge smile on his face. He excitedly plopped down on one of the stools and extended his hand. On it laid a small box with a little bow on top. You opened it to find a ring in the shape of a spatula, kinda like SpongeBob’s. You were obviously confused and he said he wanted something he can remember you by, lifting his hand to show you his.

“I know it’s hard for me not to eat something like this, but I’ll really try! I want you to know that no matter what I eat, you’ll always be my one and only little chef <3.”

He made sure never to try and eat his despite it being so tempting. When he’s had a rough day, he’ll look at his ring and start getting back to his happy ol self—knowing he’ll get to see and hold you at the end of the day.

Belphegor

The both of you decided to have a picnic date underneath the stars in the planetarium. Despite his usual sleepy demeanor, he was excitedly pointing at each constellation he could find. He spoke about how each constellation had a story to tell, not of those you and other humans know from mythology and instead about how they told the story of the three realms. This obviously sparked your interest and asked plenty of questions…for the first part.

It’s not that you got bored or anything, it’s just that his finger looked so soft and supple. He continued, failing to notice your silence and just rationalizing it as you appreciating the stories. He was about to tell you more until you wordlessly took his hand in yours and admired it? He couldn’t really tell.

“Ya know, we should try putting a ring on this. Your finger would look great with one, Baby”

A small tint of pink would dust his cheeks with his signature grin. He looked at you with fondness while his mind spun with the different rings that could express his undying love for you. After a few hours, you both decided to call it a night and get back to your rooms before you get caught by Lucifer.

On your next date though, you were surprised to see Belphie pulling a box out of his pocket. You felt as if your heart was about to beat out of your chest, thinking he was about to propose or something. He noticed your panicked face and reassured you it wasn’t the case. He opened it to reveal a beautiful Little Dipper ring with tiny gemstones connecting to form the constellation. He placed it on your finger and it slipped in perfectly.

“You might not know this, but the Big Dipper and Little Dipper are said to represent how vast and endless one’s love and connection are. We were separated by two worlds but I know that no matter what lifetime or form we take, you are the one for me, my Little Dipper.”

”Does this mean I can call you Big D.”

He makes sure to always wear his, even when he goes to sleep at night. Whenever he’s out and the stars are nowhere to be seen, he looks down at his finger and knows that there’s always one star that shines through the dark and empty sky.

947 notes · View notes

serafilms · 3 years

Text

enhypen with an idol s/o !

↳ pairing – enhypen x gn!idol!reader

↳ genre – fluff; crack; headcanons; gender neutral reader

↳ warnings – none

heeseung !

your biggest fan? yeah no that’s just him

will 100% buy multiple copies of your albums for no reason

“hyung why did you buy so many?”

“i nEED TO SUPPORT MY BABY”

actually lets out a squeal if he pulls your photocards

stars in his eyes when he watches you perform

and when he sees you speaking english

will copy your accent lmao

and pretty much when you do anything

will post dance covers of your comeback on tiktok

surprisingly fans have yet to find evidence that you're dating him

all they can confirm is that heeseung is a fan who has a fat crush on you

luckily that means he can have heart eyes for you whenever he sees you at award shows

he will always be the first to support you no matter what

jay !

mans has a cool guy façade to keep up

but you're really out here trying to bring it down

literally everything you do

sexy concept? he'll probably pass out

cute concept? would not be able to hold back his squeals

cool concept? would drool on the floor

you posted a dance cover of drunk-dazed on tiktok after it dropped and jay messaged you immediately after to praise you and fanboy over you

so so so soft for you and will give you all his uwus

would probably send reaction memes of both you and himself and you're just like "??????"

it's a thing now

you send memes of him from twitter and anywhere else and he sends memes of you

sometimes it's a while before either of you can reply but it's a good way to feel closer to one another

jake !

kinda memey vibes

aussie idols just........ yeah y'all get it

y'all were guest mc's together and there was this bit where you both had to speak english to one another

you messed up the line and you both just started giggling

everyone else was confused but y'all just couldn't stop

the producers had to separate you two after because you laughed every time you made eye contact

fans were a little sus after that but they just wrote it off as idol interactions

recite memes and vines together ("deez nUTS")

will always support you

his secret stan acc is mainly enhypen and your group

will always message you even when he's busy to make sure you're getting enough rest and eating properly

if he suspects something's wrong he'll contact your leader or manager to make sure they sort it out

is always ready to fight your company if they mistreat you

top tier idol bf material

sunghoon !

power couple vibes

think kai and jennie (rip jenkai) but make it 4th gen kpop

loves having a say in your comebacks

like he doesn't need an s/o that's super talented or perfect but we all know from i-land my dude laughs at people who aren't good

he'll give advice on how to do a dance move better or help you with lyrics or vocal techniques

also tells you what hair he thinks you should try and feels a swell of pride when you send him a photo of it after getting it done

begs your stylist to let him choose your outfits sometimes

they said yes just to shut him up but the fits ended up being surprisingly good

fashionista couple

you two are shipped together even without any interactions because of your similar personalities and great sense of style

you're both a little bit more quiet than other people but towards each other it's just constant teasing

he will clown you for every meme he finds of you on any form of sns

but don't let that fool you, he has your pc in his wallet

sunoo !

heart eyes #2

your biggest fan in the whole world

has predebut photos of you that your family sent him and sends them to you to squeal about how cute you were

will message you after every single thing you put out there

a new sns photo, a teaser photo, mv, performance?

sunoo's already on it

"y/n you look so pretty" "y/N YOU DIDN'T TELL ME YOU DYED YOUR HAIR"

would send you recordings and spoilers of enhypen’s new comebacks to try and bribe you into spoiling yours for him

you gave in very easily

it was fun at the time but now you're both struggling

it's hard enough to try and not spoil your own comebacks, let alone each other's

so now you're both just trying so hard not to let anything slip but it's too late to get out of the arrangement because you still want spoilers

jungwon !

so professional that nobody will ever suspect you two are dating

as far as netizens can tell you two are just acquaintances

like would bow at each other at awards shows but no further interaction

little do they know behind the scenes at award shows you and jungwon will meet up near the waiting rooms and eat snacks together

it's very important to him to make sure you're getting enough to eat so he always brings extra and hides them from his members

even if you two are on a variety show together you're so good at faking that you don't know each other

seriously you guys need to star in a drama

at this point you could literally be spotted outside the hybe building and they'd be like "no no she's probably just taking a walk in the area"

so subtle that if you announce you're dating the whole internet would blow wide open

niki !

puppy love

that's all i have to say

you're both so shy when it comes to pda

just like jungwon they'll never suspect you're dating

4th gen dance power duo

you did a performance stage together and the edits went on for months

the behind the scenes were so cute too

you two had to pretend you didn't know each other but couldn’t keep away from each other either

sharing glances across the room and playing around when the cameras were off

fans have noticed that you two were on your phones a lot but they never suspected that you were just texting each other across the room

but learning the dance together and practicing it was really fun even if you couldn't openly be a couple

after it was aired you two went out to get food together

it was dark so nobody saw you but you still got scolded at the dorms

but it was worth it

teen idols in love :')

523 notes · View notes

omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts · 3 years

Text

A Siren Song

Pairing: Robert Dubois/ Bloodsport x Reader

A/N: so I just finished watching the new Suicide Squad for the second time and I’m even more obsessed now than I was the first time I watched it. It’s a brilliant film with actually good humor, a non-sexualizing and actually empowering view on Harley Quinn (that leg scene?? y'all-), the rats?? Rat-catcher 2?? THE SHARK?? FLAG?? Who looked really good in this movie, he might be another contender for a story as well as Harley Quinn so lmk ;) but Bloodsport immediately piqued my interest because it’s Idris Elba and he’s gorgeous, I loved the complexities of his character and I want to write for him and no one else has done it yet?? so shoutout to @honey-im-emotional for the support and push to do it! also love The Bodyguard movie, helped with the inspo <3 and i’m so sorry all of my stories are similar but I HAVE A TYPE enjoy and feedback is always appreciated loves and there will be SPOILERS so be warned, also if you want a Harley one next lmk ;) (it’s so long I’m so sorry lol)

Summary: You’re a highly targeted member of the royal family, the last in your line. Bloodsport is hired to be your bodyguard to both watch and assassinate the men after you. He believes it’s below his pay-grade, but reluctantly agrees, doing so to the best of his abilities. But the closeness brings more intimacy than you two expected, and sparks fly.

Warnings: foul language, sexual content, smut, choking, light bdsm, fluffy fluff, dirty dancing, dirty talk, violence and bad guys getting murdered, mentions of Harley x Reader (y’all sexy dance and kiss), reader likes women, dom! Bloodsport, age gap, alcohol consumption, jealousy, heavy kissing, slight angst, just a good time honestly

Word Count: 3,825

You dangle from the ceiling with your aerial silk, fitting your leg in the loop you’ve created, and dangling upside down. The rope wraps around your waist as you hang gracefully from your marble walls, flying. Your friend Harley Quinn taught you how to do this years ago, it now being your favorite form of exercise and relaxation when you need a moment to clear your head.

As you lightly spin, twirling and dancing in the air with your chandelier reflecting light everywhere, a dazzling fairy floating in a sea of stars. You hear footsteps approach and move to hang upside down, facing towards the grand door. Robert Dubois, a.k.a Bloodsport, walks forward to stand directly in front of you.

You have known him a few weeks or so now, him having to watch your every move and tracking down your family’s killers. He stands and meets your eyes as you dangle, hair falling below you.

“Hi,” you giggle, face flushed with heat. “I probably look ridiculous right now.”

He composes himself so he doesn’t crack a smile, but you see his lips twitch when he speaks, “No, Mrs. y/l/n.”

“I have a first name, you know,” you grin widely. “I’m younger than you, which hardly warrants such a professional title.”

“My apologies, y/n,” he fixes himself.

“It’s alright,” you ease, filling him with a sense of softness he hasn’t felt in a long time. You flip and land on your feet, letting go of your silks.

You don’t notice as his eyes glaze over your body in your sports bra and shorts, something his cold, calculated stare should never succumb to, but he does anyway and he kicks himself for doing it. You’re his client and should therefore remain as such, no conflict of interest or thoughts other than to protect. He didn’t want this job, hell, he still doesn’t know why he said yes. Maybe it was the money. Or maybe it was upon seeing you that first time, in that star-studded gown the night of a charity gala you were attending, the way the diamond littered fabric hung over your figure, absolutely dazzled. The way you looked at him and smiled, like you were used to with all the other nobles and adoring fans. But he let himself believe it was different.

He can’t do that anymore, however, because he can’t allow for any complications. And falling for his boss is certainly a complication.

You look at him and your eyes widen with realization, “Oh, I’m sorry. Let me cover up.”

You grab a tee shirt and toss it over your exercise clothes. He looks down as you do so and clears his throat. This brings a small smile to your face.

“You called me in here,” he gestures to the necklace charm hanging around your neck that you can squeeze and send an instant distress signal whenever you need it. “What can I do for you, y/n?”

“Wanted you to spot me,” you tease, a smile overtaking your delicate features. You have a sort of stunning beauty about you that takes him by surprise every time he lays eyes on you. Which is often. You lay on your yoga mat and sit up straight with that same damned smile.

“I’m here to do a job, y/n,” he says, his deep, honeyed voice coating the way he says your name like heat to sugar. “Not aid you in your workout routine.”

“What? Your assassin training didn’t include sit ups?” you smile, tongue in cheek.

“No, but if you need a way to kill a man with a book,” he presses a foot over both of yours as you begin to do sit ups. “Then I’m your man.”

“Yeah, you and John Wick,” you breathe out with a laugh. “And shouldn’t you be in here watching me already? Not by the door?”

“This room has no windows and no other door or entrance besides the one I was standing by. I thought you would want privacy,” he averts your gaze. “I’m sure it’s a hard thing to come by these days for a woman like yourself.”

You stop what you’re doing and look up at him, blinking, “Well, you’d be right,” you tuck your hair back. “So thank you.”

He meets your eyes, bordering on a smile, “You’re welcome.”

“Is that a smile I see?” you chuckle.

The smile shines, “It was a diversion. And you failed.”

You laugh loudly, “Will the next diversion be an actual laugh?”

“Wouldn’t be a proper diversion if you knew what it was.”

You tap his feet so he’ll get the hint and let you up. You rise to your feet and dust yourself up, “I appreciate your spotting.” You press a hand to his chest and hum. Warmth radiates from your palm and he inhales sharply. “For someone who wasn’t trained, you sure are a fast learner.”

He looks at your hand and back to your eyes, heat sprouting from where your hand touches. His hand flexes at his side as he looks around the room, to the door, seeing if it’s closed.

“I-” he cocks an eyebrow then settles. “I think I should go.”

He watches you look at him with wounded eyes, brow lowered, you open your mouth then close it.

You nod, moving away from him, “Right.”

You move to walk away when he stops you, mouth by your ear, voice dropping an octave when he whispers, “Just so you know-” you tilt your head up almost instinctively to hear him better. “-my assassin training did include reminding people who they are when they’ve forgotten their place.”

You look up at him fully now, “You work for me, remember?”

“I work for money. And you didn’t hire me. I was employed by Mrs. Waller to keep you alive,” he cocks his head slightly.

“So it would be frowned upon by her when you’re unable to walk if you touch me like that again.”

You couldn’t believe he had just said that. Your eyes widen and your cheeks once again heat up, blushing. Your chest gets hot when he doesn’t break the stare like he’s calling your bluff, and fuck, did he do just that. You turn away from him.

You can hear the smile in his voice, “That’s what I thought.”

~~~

“Robert said that!?” Harley exclaims, eyes wide. Her jaw is dropped as she does her mascara aggressively in the mirror. “He’s usually so...”

You tug down your tiny halter top over your head, your bright, flattering makeup complementing the colorful swirling pattern, “An empty void with no emotion?”

She nods emphatically, agreeing, “Exactly! I had no idea he had it in him?” she raises her brow and smooths down her leather black and red dress, “Or that he wanted to put it in you-”

You slap her arm, chastising, “You don’t know that. It might have been a threat to actually paralyze me in a very not sexual way.”

“I say both are arousing,” she shrugs, platinum curls bouncing.

You roll your eyes with a small smile aimed at the floor, “Anyway-” you slip a belt through your tight jeans, hitting at your waist when you cinch it in. “We should get going if we want to get to the club on time.”

She pauses. “Y/n. Are you sure we should be doing this?”

You do a double take, “You’re telling me that we shouldn’t sneak out and have a good time?”

“I know the irony is apparent,” she looks at you with a knowing stare. “But not if it means you’re in danger. Which you are.”

“I know,” you frown. “But I’ve been locked in this house for months, I miss going out and having a life. I’m tired of being coddled.”

“I know, sweetheart,” she sighs, looking past herself in the mirror to flash me a sympathetic smile. She thinks for a beat and finally spins around, “Alright, screw it, doll, let’s go paint the town.”

You buzz with excitement, grinning, “Yay! Thank you, thank you! I wonder who will be djaying...” you trail off.

Harley’s face falls and her mouth goes in a solid, straight line, looking past your shoulder, “I don’t think anyone will be.”

You laugh, completely oblivious, “Of course there will be. There has to be music. Dancing in silence would be pretty fucking awkward.”

“This moment is pretty fucking awkward.”

“What do you mean?”

A deep, irritated voice sounds off behind you, “Because you’re not going.”

You jump out of your skin, “Shit, Robert! You scared the hell out of me!”

“You’re not going to that club,” he folds his arms over his chest. You look over him and his casual, night wear: a loose tee and low hanging joggers. You almost wipe your mouth from salivating. Your outfit elicits the same reaction.

You pinch your eyebrows together, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Yes, I can. I’m tasked with protecting you.”

“Yeah. And nowhere on your job description does it say ‘become my parent’. There’s not an opening now just because I don’t have one. I am a grown ass woman and I have been a prisoner in my own home. The same home where...” you pause, a lump in your throat at the reminder of your family’s passing. You shake it off, “I’m just tired. I want a piece of my life back. You can either stay here or come. Either way I’m going.”

He gives you a quick once over and contemplates his options before dropping his arms to his sides and letting out a long exhale.

“Fine.”

You somewhat relax at his defeated tone, “Fine, what?”

He relents, “You can go, but I’m coming with you. But if anything happens to you, I’m not to be blamed. I will leave your ass in that club.”

You grin and jump up to give him a tight hug around the neck. He stiffens before slowly rubbing your back. You sink into his embrace, feeling like you were floating in water, now above the surface as he brings you back to oxygen. Harley smiles at the exchange and she winks theatrically.

He glares.

It’s not long before you three arrive at the club, music blaring and colorful lights flashing over the crowded floors. From his stare and intimidating aura, the club staff thought he was a bouncer and let you all in immediately. But before he was roped into working, the three of you bee-lined to the bar.

“The prettiest and strongest drink ya got, sugar,” Harley smiles at the pretty bartender.

“And what if that’s me?” she responds, ebony hair falling onto one shoulder.

“Then I’ll have to drink you later,” Harley gives her a flirty once over and you roll your eyes.

The bartender grins and gestures towards me for my order, I answer quickly, “Scotch on the rocks.”

Robert looks at you, poorly covering his shocked expression. “Really?”

“Yeah, why?” you look up at him.

“Didn’t peg you for a straight liquor type, Ms. y/l/n,” he finally lets his hidden laugh show through, butterflies erupting in your chest. The diversion definitely worked, whatever you were thinking about before this has immediately left you.

“Then this is going to be the first surprise of many tonight, Mr. Dubois,” you return the smug look as he orders the same thing. You both share a look.

The bartender slides you all your drinks, each of you taking a long swig for liquid courage for the night. Harley’s favorite Doja Cat song comes on and she gasps, clapping excitedly when she grabs you by the wrist, pulling you on the dance floor, “Come dance with me.”

You mouth a small ‘sorry’ to Bloodsport who you left at the bar, he shakes his head with a smile over the rim of his glass, watching you guys’ drinks.

She dances wildly, jumping up and down, spinning to let her hair fall in many beautiful angles. She’s a powerful force and your greatest friend. She puts her arms around your neck and the two of you move in time with the music.

“So...” she motions to Bloodsport who’s being forced into a conversation with a woman at the bar. The woman puts her hand on his and he visibly shrinks back and whispers something to her that causes the most horrid look from the woman and for her to walk quickly away. You smile at the relief that interaction has brought you.

“So what?” you spin her around and pull her back.

“Quit with the good dancing, or I’m gonna fuck you myself,” she teases with a lightheaded giggle.

You smile, “We’ve tried that already, remember?”

“Too much history, I know, I know. Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice...” she whispers into your neck, kissing the soft spot under your chin. Your skin heats up under her touch as she drags her hands down your sides, pulling you close to her so that you’re flush against her chest.

You give into her and kiss her slowly, her soft lips melt into your own when her hands tug in your hair. Harley and you have always had a complicated friendship, with enough sexual attraction to fuel a nuclear bomb, but not enough romantic. You love each other but not in the way you both need. You were in love with Robert and she is continuing to explore her sexuality because she likes women and so do you. So as she trails her hot mouth down your neck in the middle of dozens of bustling bodies and you lock eyes with an angry Bloodsport, you knew exactly what she was doing.

You whisper, out of breath, “Are you trying the jealousy trick?”

“It worked in college, didn’t it?” she kisses your cheek, smiling gently against your skin. “And it’s working now.”

“I think you’re just obsessed with kissing me,” you kiss her back.

“It was a win-win situation, doll,” she grins devilishly and you can’t help but agree. “So when you’re done with him, come see me. But right now, I have a sexy bartender lady to drink up.” You grip her hand and let her make her way to her next conquest.

Robert had seen the tail-end of your kiss, his deft fingers clenched around his whiskey glass. He knows he shouldn’t let this sort of thing affect him, something as juvenile and simple as jealousy. But he couldn’t stop that feeling of being stuck, unable to think about anything except the fact that it wasn’t him with his hands on you like that, lips marking you as much as he pleases. Sadness washed over him in a tidal wave and he set his glass down, about to get up to leave when he spotted a man eyeing you from the door. He looked familiar and it wasn’t just attraction he sensed in his eyes but something far more sinister.

A few more men followed suit and began making their way to you in the middle of the dance floor. He had no time to consider the facts, just to get you out of there as soon as possible.

You feel a rough hand tug your arm and turn to face who you think to be Dubois, you smile, “Enjoy the show?”

“Very much,” an unknown voice answers, and you look up, eyes wide. “Now why don’t you come with me for a little talk, beautiful.”

“Get the fuck off of me,” you yank your arm back, slamming your heel down into the perpetrator’s foot. More men surround you on all sides, making it impossible for you to escape or use your subpar martial arts skills. Aerial yoga was a very different ballpark than kicking ass. And you were just a beginner.

You poorly punch a man in the face, only making them all angrier when you’re grabbed from all sides, being dragged towards the exit kicking and screaming. You didn’t want to be that helpless damsel in distress, but as all of these men, men you recognized from your family’s death, were surrounding you, you couldn’t breathe. Their hands felt familiar, grabbing your arms like they’d done that night before you hid in the secret door in the dining room. You had watched these faceless men through a hole in that door, stifling your cries when bullets sprayed the room your family was having dinner in. So while they were coming after you and pulling you outside, it’s all you felt. That same feeling when he wasn’t near.

Drowning.

There’s a hand that pulls you back and you watch, dazed, as Bloodsport puts every man who touched you on the ground. It’s filled with swift yet aggressive and barbaric movements, controlled, expert chaos and it happens within moments. His chest is heaving when he looks down at you and scoops you up in his arms. You’d object in any other circumstances, but this time, head against his chest and tucked in his arms, you were okay.

His voice rumbles against your side, “We’re going home.”

~~~

Harley’s tears hit your shoulder as you sympathetically pat her back.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I shouldn’t have left,” she sniffles loudly. “I should’ve been there.”

You laugh softly, fitting your head into her shoulder, “It’s okay, Harls. It’s not your fault, there was no harm done.”

“There could have been,” she sighs. “I’m not letting you convince me to go out next time, you’re staying here forever.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, “Alright.”

She gets up and sniffs, wiping at her nose that’s now flushed from crying, “Good because I’m serious.”

“I know,” you laugh again, hugging yourself in a hoodie much too large for you, (because you stole it from Rick Flagg) swallowing you whole.

Your eyes wander down the hall to where Robert is no doubt pacing around in your bedroom, the only room not laden with cameras (ironically for privacy). You kick at the floor in your fuzzy socks and think of an excuse to go check on him, even though you’re probably the last person he wants to see right now. You, frankly, don’t care.

“I’m gonna go-”

“Check on Robert?” she finishes. “I know, honey. I was a psychiatrist, I’m not stupid.”

You crack a smile and grip her arm affectionately as you walk past her towards the bedroom. You don’t even take the risk of knocking for fear he’ll lock it and try your luck with just simply opening it. You see him, shirtless with a towel over his shoulder, a low hanging towel wrapped around his waist, while nursing his knuckles. He looks you over once you enter the room, trained eyes on you and the intimidation is definitely working already when he takes the damp towel on his shoulder and dabs the cuts on his skin.

He remains silent and you move to sit down on your bed, the awkward squeak filling the already high-tension atmosphere, thick enough to make your ears pop like you’re in an airplane too far up in the sky.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, drawing his eye.

He hums and steps into your bathroom, washing off his hands.

You frown at his lack of response, “Are you really going to pout this whole time? Because honestly, it’s beneath you, Robert.” You lean forward, watching as he walks out of the bathroom, still half naked, still silent.

The silence is beginning to slowly kill you, especially when he looks this good, water droplets running down his chiseled torso from a hot shower. You didn’t let your mind wander because if the reaction your body is giving from the image before you was any indication, you want him. He walks in the room once again, mouth in an amused yet firm line.

In actuality, he was ashamed of himself. Not so much of you. He would’ve left as that despair overcame him back in that bar. He would’ve left you there and abandoned his mission, leaving you to be hurt. If it hadn't been for those men, you could’ve been killed and it would be his fault. He alerted Waller of the attack, making up a lie about the two of you going for a walk at night and getting ambushed there rather than at a club. There’s a hit on each of those men being taken out as we speak as well as a search for their boss. Even though that still got him chewed out. He couldn’t imagine what she��d do to him if she found out the truth.

Robert walks slowly towards you, leaning against the bed frame, gesturing for you to continue. You watch him, distracted, as he wraps a bandage around his knuckles.

“I shouldn’t have kissed her to get a rise out of you, that was hurtful,” you exhale your words, quiet enough he wouldn’t be able to hear you if you weren’t within a breath of one another. You hang your head, “And it was stupid to go out in the first place when I am in this much danger. I could’ve been killed, and you could have been hurt. I’m sorry.”

He represses a laugh at the idea of him getting hurt, when the two of you both know that would never happen. But as the silence from him grows thicker, the more you start to ramble.

“Okay, this silent treatment isn’t going to work for much longer. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you need to stop.”

He gives you a look that says ‘make me’. But you both know you couldn’t if you tried, and vice versa. He thinks of you as a siren, one of those alluring creatures in old sailor tales that lured unsuspecting men to their painful deaths. As if he has no control of the way he feels about you. Which in a way he does, but he knows better. He knows better than to fall under your enchanting song, but he can’t help but be pulled beneath the surface of the water.

Robert tenses when you move forward and the hoodie falls off one of your shoulders, revealing more of your chest, the smooth skin that lays there.

His chest tightens when you look up at him and sigh.

“But thank you for saving me,” you say, both because you think that’s what he wants to hear but also because you mean it, you wouldn’t be here at all if he didn’t come with you.

He licks his lips and nods his head in simple recognition. He appreciated the apology, truly he did, but a part of him enjoyed the way you continued to ramble on, so he remained silent. This was an old interrogation tactic he learned when he served, keeping quiet always got people talking. He looks down at you and leans to meet your face, hands on either side of you.

“I don’t know what else you wish for me to say,” you admit quietly, fiddling with your hands.

He didn’t know either but whatever you would say, he would listen.

“So I take it you’re not mad anymore?” you infer from his relaxed posture, heart beating out of your chest, fast enough that it catapults to your throat.

He tilts his head down so he’s an inch before your mouth, breath fanning over your face. when he tugs you up to your feet, hands gripping the sides of your waist when he pulls you close. Your heartbeats began to sync up, chest to chest.

“I’m fucking furious, sweetheart.”

You meet his eyes, looking up in that seductive stare of yours you never knew you were capable of until him, and close the distance, kissing him lightly. His arms falter by your side and it’s the first time you’ve seen him hesitate, losing his cool. It’s the most gentle thing he’s ever experienced, everything in his life being forced, hostile, and malicious, while your soft lips against his are anything but. You kiss him like he’s not the monster he thinks himself to be.

“Then let me make it up to you.”

“Fuck,” he grips your sides harder, palm moving to push you closer with his hand flat against the small of your back. “We shouldn’t.”

You search his face for uncertainty, but all you sense is a profound sense of clarity, in the both of you. “I know.”

“Will you regret this?”

You shake your head, hand against his cheek, “No.”

His dark eyes fall to your lips, pupils filling his dark brown irises, lust blown, “You’re so good, baby. You’re too good for me.”

Before you can tease him about the new nickname and object to that, his lips have crashed against your own. His hand slides up to cup the side of your face, drinking you in with his intoxicating kiss. You hum, content, against his feverish mouth and he opens it, vulnerable and on display. You feel his guard still up, tense and calculated, so you rest your hand against his chest. You press a kiss to his eyelid, his cheek, his nose, his chin, his jaw, his neck. He softens beneath you, groaning aloud as his hands tighten.

“You don’t need to be afraid with me,” you whisper to him, tender fingers trailing down his shirtless chest, hot skin against hot skin. It’s enough to make you sweat.

He exhales and captures your bottom lip with his own, holding your face in both of his hands. The kiss grows heated and rushed, like you’re running out of time, as if at any moment those men would come back and find you and take you away from him again. His tongue expertly works with your own, licking the pout of your bottom lip, and coaxing you open. He slides his hand down between your legs, dipping his finger to find the slick in the middle of your thighs. You moan into his mouth, his other hand at the back of your neck when he buries his face in your shoulder. He kisses you there, the crook where your neck meets your collarbone, that damned sensitive spot. You succumb to his touch. His beard tickles your skin and you gasp when he sucks hard, a bruise forming.

You breathe a laugh, “Everyone will see if you leave a mark,” you tug on his hair when you thread it through his coarse curls.

He falls under your spell and there’s something so ironically beautiful about this trained assassin with a heart of gold and the scars to show for it, being so open with you.

His hands, his entire life, have been forced to be instruments of death and violence. But as they slide down your figure, holding your face, and pulling you into him, they’re his greatest gift. He’s surprisingly tender with you.

But then he has enough and pushes you down on the bed, arms trapping you on both sides.

He responds bluntly, “I don’t care.”

You part your legs for him and he releases a shaky breath. He slowly unzips your sweatshirt and it falls off you just as you do the same and tug his towel down. Both of you are bare before the other as you take a moment to drink each other in. You were just as, if not more, beautiful than he imagined you to be.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly as his hand drapes down the line of your figure. He touches you how someone would handle a glass vase filled with flowers.

You take his face in both of your hands and kiss him, “So are you.”

“I don’t think you know what you do to me, baby.” His hand finds your breast and squeezes while he kisses your neck.

You moan when he uses his other hand to grip your neck, thumb against your pulse point, “If it’s anything like how I feel right now, then yes, I do.”

He lifts his head up to watch your face as he chokes you, softly so he doesn’t hurt you but hard enough to play with your breath. His thumb opens your mouth and your legs tremble.

“So I take it you’re into choking, my love?” You nod excitedly, unable to speak, and his grip tightens.

You let out a squeak and he releases, face etched with worry, kissing your neck where he touched you. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head and smile comfortingly, “No, baby, I’m okay. I’ll tap out if it’s too rough, I promise,” you tease.

His grumbling voice deepens, “Good... because, darling, right now all I want to do is bury my face in between those gorgeous thighs of yours.”

You inhale sharply when he opens your legs once again, looking up at you and you nod in consent.

“I need words, beautiful,” he smirks with his mouth just above your center.

“Yes, please,” you breathe out and he responds with a swift lick to your pussy. He looks up at you and when he catches your eye, it’s as if the sensation grows stronger and your head hits your pillow.

“I’ve barely even touched you,” he mumbles into you and you feel his smug smile in your thigh. His fingers dip into you as he flattens his tongue and crooks them towards himself, you grip your sheets.

“Don’t... flatter yourself,” you sigh out. “I-it’s just been awhile.”

He removes his mouth and fingers from you, “So anyone can make you feel like this?”

You enjoy the feeling you get when he looks at you like that, his eyes dark and dominant, so you play along and nod. “Yes, in fact, I’ve had better.”

He licks his lips and gets up from the bed. He opens his drawer and you sit up to look what he grabs: a belt. Your heart beats excitedly in your chest even though you know you shouldn’t be. He gets back on the bed and climbs over you.

Robert looks at you, “Hands.”

You extend them to him wordlessly, watching as he ties your wrists together and puts them over the bedpost so you’re trapped there, unable to move.

“Now,” he holds himself above you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You’re to stay tied up until I say so, anything like that again and they get tighter. Nod if you understand me.”

You nod emphatically. You had never seen this side of Robert before, so in control and not afraid to go too far, it was so unbelievably sexy.

The best part was he didn’t tie it tight enough, afraid of hurting you, so you could easily slip out your hands at any moment.

He kisses, painfully slow, down your chest and wraps his lips around your nipple. He swirls his tongue around the erect bud and you gasp, desperate to touch him. He looks up at you from you chest as he switches to the other, massaging the unattended one as he sucks, the pleasurable feeling overwhelming you. So much so you have to clench your thighs together, longing for some sort of relief for the tension building in your abdomen.

“Baby, please,” you whine, squirming beneath him.

He shuts you up with a bruising kiss while his hand slips down to enter you, two fingers in already. He pumps them in and out of you before sliding back down the expanses of your body and letting his mouth latch onto your clit. He sucks hard and you stifle a loud moan that would surely alert everyone in the home of your arousal. He holds you down against the bed with a palm flat against your stomach as you begin to lift your pelvis. His tongue enters you while his fingers take over, stimulating you with gentle rubs and flicks. But just before you feel that euphoric release, his actions cease and you’re left hot and flustered.

“Robert,” you look at him with a deep frown.

He grins, “Y/n...”

You blow hair out of your eyes, “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He puts his lips near your ear, “Are you ready?” You nod as he pushes himself inside you and you bite back a moan into his shoulder.

You finally have enough, slip your hands out, and he pinches his brow, unable to hide his shock before you bring him down to press your lips against his. He melts into you, arms wrapped around you while he holds you close, filling you out in all the right places. He quickens his pace and you whine into his mouth, nails digging into his skin. You wrap your legs around his torso and he hits you so nicely. He was right, it’s the best you’ve ever had. He rises and looks at you, lips swollen and red from kissing, eyes clear and pupils large, and face flushed with heat. Your hair is in messy tendrils at all angles and you’ve never been more attractive.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises in your ear, placing kisses across your jaw. “Taking my cock so well.”

You whimper and his movements stiffen as he approaches release and so do you, walls tightening around him. He reaches down and rubs your clit with his expert fingers. You finish together, mouths open and hands all over each other’s bodies. It overcomes you in a tingling, perfect sensation, it continues on, leaving you aching and wanting more.

He rubs his knuckles over your cheek, softly and adoringly he looks at you. You tuck yourself into his arms under the blankets. Everything you both have wanted for a long time, laying right in front of you.

“Still want to make me not walk?” you tease, looking up at him.

He kisses your eyelids and you giggle, “Fuck yes.”

Part 2?

#harley quinn #harley quinn x reader #rick flagg #bloodsport #bloodsport x reader #robert dubois x reader #robert dubois #idris elba #suicide squad #suicide squad 2 #dc #dc smut #dc fanfiction #fanfiction #smut

308 notes · View notes

tpwkay · 4 years

Text

Medicine (h.s.)

You’re finally given permission to cover the song you’ve wanted to perform for years and a special surprise during your performance sweeps you off of your feet.

Word count: 11.5k

Rating/warnings: NSFW - A lot of this is plot but there is smut as well. Contains explicit language and consensual sex acts between a man and woman. This is a story written in the 2nd person (“self insert"). This isn’t written to be exclusionary, it’s just my preferred style! Author’s note can be found at the end!

"Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot thank you enough for coming out tonight to listen to me and the band. We've got a couple more songs coming up for you but I just wanted to take a minute to tell y'all how much we appreciate you." You gesture to yourself and the band behind you as the lights on stage come up a bit. "We wouldn't be where we are without your support. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you!"

The crowd cheers and you can't help but experience an insurmountable feeling of joy. It never gets old. You'd been in the spotlight for a few years now, already at the end of touring your second album, though the size and scope of venues this time around was much, much larger. There was nothing that compared to being able to sing your own songs and have a crowd of thousands scream them right back at you.

Being an up-and-coming singer and songwriter in the genre of country music hadn't been easy. Girls your type had been a dime a dozen, hoards of Taylor Swift-wannabes covering "Teardrops on My Guitar" during open mic night. You held nothing against them; there was a path to success for everyone, but yours had been, well, different.

It was a karaoke cover of Brooks & Dunn's "Boot Scootin' Boogie", a song that you'd been singing since you were a toddler, that had gotten you noticed by a recording artist one night while out with your girlfriends, which led you to where you stand now, performing in front of thousands. You were liked for the range of your voice, with it's easy easy transitions from the sounds of pop to country and rock, in addition to the way you performed, and your take-no-shit attitude towards the entirety of the industry. People liked that you were forward and left nothing on the table, though you had to admit that it was mostly an act, a means of coping with the pressure of working your way to the top.

///

"It's refreshing!" Jax, your manager, had shouted one day, arms flailing as you had argued that maybe your attitude was going to get you into trouble one of these days.

"Aren't you, as, you know, my manager, supposed to be the one keeps me in line?"

"You aren't out doing coke, killing anyone, public indecency and all that," he had shrugged. "Far as I'm concerned, you are in line. People talk about you because of your attitude. They like it! They like you. Why is that so hard for you to accept sometimes?"

"Maybe I just haven't been caught doing those things," you grinned, effectively dodging his question. Fame hadn't helped break down the walls that you'd long ago built around yourself. If anything, you had done some reinforcing, built a moat even, in an effort to ensure that you protected yourself from getting too close to anyone that would only end up using you in the end. You had seen the way people in life had been used, and what it ultimately led them to, and you had promised yourself long ago that even if it meant being known as the Boot Scootin' Bitch, you would protect yourself and your heart at all costs.

"Your momma would tan your hide for much less than any of those, you know. Hell, you should be more afraid of her than you are of me or anyone else… 'cept maybe God."

///

You shake your head, working the memories free from your mind as you grab a bottle of water from the platform on which the drum set rests.

There's one more song of yours to sing before you performed a new cover, the one you had been looking forward to for months. Although you'd gotten permission to perform it not long into the start of your tour, the set list had been rehearsed already and every other detail ironed out around it. You'd convinced Jax and the crew to let you slot it into the last concert of the tour, Austin, Texas. These folks knew their music and for some reason, they liked you so you were thrilled to be able to share something new with the crowd that had welcomed you to their city with open arms.

You grab your guitar off its stand and slide the strap over your shoulders, adjusting it as you step forwards to the mic stand. A shimmering blue shirt catches your eye in the crowd and you do a double take because surely it can't be Harry because he's—

And it's not him, of course, though the fashion of the gentleman in the pit area would surely catch his eye as well as it's right up his alley. It's not him - it can't be him - because you know exactly where he is right now and it's not in the pit of your Austin performance.

A grin stretches over your face as you think of him. You strum the first chord of the first song you'd ever written about him, although there had been many more since. He probably knew this one was about him, having come just after your first meeting.

///

A friend of yours was good friends with Kacey, who had been the guest artist that night. Her name had been added to the VIP list and in the summer of 2018, just as you were hitting your own stride in your career, you tagged along with her to Harry Styles' live tour performance in your hometown of Nashville.

If you were being honest, prior to his concert, you hadn't heard much of his solo work, apart from the various huge hits like his Kiwi or Watermelon Sugar and a few other ballads. You liked his sound, seemingly influenced heavily by rock stars of days past, but you'd had other influences to worry about in your own side of the industry.

Sure, he had country music connections through the likes of Kacey Musgraves and Cam, and legends like Stevie Nicks, but his pop and soft rock style was pretty far removed from most country playlists that you yourself had graced. Your genres just didn't cross paths and the two of you seemingly operated in different realms of the music industry, topping your own charts and breaking your own peer's records.

Of course, you hadn't been completely oblivious to The Harry Styles. One Direction had been too big of a deal to ignore and you'd often found yourself bopping along to their old hits, singing along as they played amongst the other nostalgic pop hits to which you listened.

The concert had been in June, a hot sunny day followed by a perfect breezy evening. Downtown Nashville was always busy, but that night the city seemed to buzz, bright with music and life. After meeting for drinks at Acme on the River, you allowed yourself to luxuriate in getting lost in the crowd that milled about on Broadway. It was a surprising thing to not be recognized in your hometown, but you weren't one to complain about it. It was one reason that you value your time in Nashville over other music-centric cities like Los Angeles - it seemed that people here respected the private lives of musicians. There was an odd fan here and there, but you'd lived a majority of your "famous" life in Nashville in relative peace.

You were early to the venue, your friend having wanted to have a chance to see Kacey backstage. You were excited to finally meet the star - though you'd been around the block of fame a bit already, there would always be people that you never had an opportunity to meet in passing. You had been greeted at will call and had been led backstage.

The arena was alive with excitement. At that point, you yourself had never toured a venue that large, so the experience of being backstage and seeing the operations first hand were thrilling and a bit overwhelming. In her dressing room, Kacey pulled you straight into a hug, gushing about how excited she was to watch your career take off. She insisted on sharing her personal cell phone number with you, urging you to call her to get together on a collaboration. You were in shock leaving her room, blown away by her kindness and the way the music industry worked in the most bizarre of ways, when you turned a corner and ran smack into a tall, solid, smiling Harry Styles. His arms had come out quickly to steady you on your heels boots.

"Fuck," you swore, shaking your head at your clumsiness. "I am so sorry. What a great way to introduce myself."

He laughed and the sound flowed through you, warm and sweet like a cup of tea with honey. "Y'alright?" His eyes looked you over, and you couldn't help but notice the way they lingered.

Your cheeks blushed and a wave of embarrassment washed over you. "I'm the one that should be asking you that. I don't think your adoring fans would be very happy if I took you out with a textbook tackle right before you're due to go on stage." You took a moment to give him the same appreciative glance he had already given you, admiring the way his deep blue custom-beaded suit jacket fell open to reveal a black dress shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest.

"Ah, 'm fine. Lil' thing like you couldn't do too much damage to me, even in those heels. Don't think they'd be very happy though," he said, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the already-rowdy crowd while offering his hand. "I'm Harry."

You laughed as you introduced yourself, shaking his hand.

"I've heard that name before, but I'm sorry to say that I don't recognize you. You don't seem like one that's easy to forget."

"I sing, write music," you shrugged, not sure how to explain to a superstar that you were on the way up, yet still somewhere much farther down the fame totem pole than him. "Country, mostly. Not sure if that's on your radar."

"The new stuff's not, but I may have to change that." He was tapped by one of the event producers, needed for another pre-show procedure. "Where will you be tonight?"

"To your right, in the pit."

He smiled and you had almost immediately fallen in love with the crinkles that appeared under the corners of his eyes. "I'll look out for you. It was wonderful meeting you. Oh, shit, wait, just remembered— may I?" he gestured for the phone that was in your hand and you unlocked it before passing it to him.

You watched as he dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. He paused for a moment before he grinned. "Hi Harry, it's you from before the show. This is a message to remind you to text this number and ask the owner of it out on a date. She's the one with the beautiful smile and great tackling skills. You won"t have forgotten her. 'Kay, bye!"

You laughed at an almost embarrassing volume, blown away by his cheek.

"Why not ask 'her' out now?" you pondered to him as he handed the phone back.

"What, and risk getting shot down? Wouldn't want to be sad and disappointed through my whole show, now would I?"

"It would make the ballads a bit more emotional," you had reasoned with a grin.

"Ouch! They're already filled with emotion, love. You'll see, I'll sing 'em right to you if I have to. Gotta run, thank you for letting me use your phone, that was a very important message!"

You laughed again as he took off. "Harry!" you had shouted to get his attention in the busy hall. He turned quickly, a small smile on his face. "She definitely won't say no, but you can wait until later to ask if you want to."

His grin stretched wider and he'd pumped a fist in the air before turning and jogging down the hallway.

You liked to joke with anyone who knew the story that your life had changed that day all because you met Kacey. Which wasn't a complete lie - it had been her dressing room you'd come out of before slamming into Harry in the hallway.

///

Singing the last lines of one of your songs, your stomach began to flutter in a bit of nervousness and a lot of excitement. Performing the next cover was something you had been looking forward to for months, and the moment that you got to share it with your fans was finally here.

You retreat from the mic stand to pass your guitar off to a stagehand, taking another sip of water to settle yourself.

"Doing alright?" Wyatt, your drummer, shouts over the pounding bass drum and you give him a thumbs up before turning back to face the crowd.

"I've got one more cover to play for y'all tonight," you say, grasping the mic stand to keep your hands from shaking. "I've been working on getting permission to play this one for quite awhile now. I fell in love with it the first time I heard it played and now here I am, performing it for you all. It's an unreleased piece by a very, very good friend of mine, but his performances of it are all over the internet so some of you may know the words. This song is called Medicine."

The song starts out with a steady bass line and the rhythm centers you a bit, steadying any nerves that still linger. The intro gives you a minute to shake out your shoulders and get comfortable at the mic stand once more like Harry does at each performance. You catch yourself having fun mimicking him and feel thankful that you're able to perform one of your favorite songs of his. When the bass drops in pitch and the electric guitar riffs, you slide in close to the mic stand.

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine," you sang the opening lines, already settling into the sexy rock sound of the song you and the band had rehearsed relentlessly over the last few weeks. No, the genre wasn't one you normally dabbled in, but part of the fun of performing was taking chances, risks. You had to admit, you liked the sound a lot. It tempted you to branch out a bit more on your upcoming album.

The opening lines of the first verse throw you back into thoughts of meeting Harry that first night. You hadn't imagined what would follow the concert, let alone have the foresight to see it bringing you to this very moment in time.

///

You had been standing outside the arena after the concert, ears buzzing and heart thumping still from the incredible show Harry had put on. As soon as he disappeared from the backstage hall earlier, you had immediately saved his number to your phone, still in disbelief over the night's events.

Your heart had soared when your phone began to vibrate, not in a text message but in a voice call. Harry's name appeared on the screen and your friend had nudged you, clearly approving of the night's turn of events.

"Harry," you answered, ready to praise him halfway to Sunday on his performance.

"Let me take you out," he interrupted you. "Right now. Please? Anywhere you want to go."

You laughed and paused. "Yeah, okay. I might know of a place."

There was a lot of shuffling on his end before his voice came back on the line. "Might've had to do another fist pump."

"Told you she wouldn't say no."

"Where are you?" You heard the smile in his voice, already familiar with it.

"Demonbreun and John Lewis, headed towards the park."

"Give me 10, I'll pick you up." He paused. "Be careful, okay?"

"I'll stick with the hoards of your fans milling about, maybe ask some of them for the hot gossip on you while I wait."

"Don't believe anything they say," he said, and you could tell he was still smiling as he hung up.

He and his driver arrived shortly after, Harry's hair damp and covered with a baseball cap, dressed down in black pants and a simple loose white shirt, tattoos peeking out everywhere you looked. He exited the car and opened the back door for you, helping you balance as you stepped up into the large Suburban.

"We'll go to Pecker's," you said to his driver, laughing as Harry snorted next to you. "Shut up, it's just a bar. Take a right up here onto 24 and it'll take us all the way to Fairfield. It'll be on the right."

He looked at you and smiled before reaching out to hold your hand in the middle seat between you.

Taking Harry to Pecker's had just felt right. It was where you'd been discovered, where all of your adventures had started, and you weren't sure why but you wanted to share that small part of you with him after watching him up on stage that night.

"Won't people recognize you? I looked you up before the show, you're apparently a pretty big deal around here." He had asked, smirking, sipping on the locally-brewed beer that Clint, the regular bartender, was serving that night.

"Locals are pretty good about not interrupting our normal lives. Pecker's isn't as well known to tourists either, so it's a good hideout. This is where a lot of producers, executives and all the other professionals come to unwind." You ignored his comment on your fame and had taken a sip of your margarita instead. "Unless, of course, there's a drag show scheduled, then it's a bit of a madhouse."

Harry laughs into his drink and you grin. "So," he started after a pause, twiddling with the rings on his right hand. "What'd you think?"

"It was incredible," you said without hesitation. "Truly one of the best live shows I've seen in a long time, country acts included. You've got such a magnetism about you that people can't help but want to watch." You blushed a bit, alcohol and the quick comfort of him loosening your lips. "The whole water spraying trick was hot," you admit, making him blush. "And don't tell Stevie, but I think I might prefer your version of The Chain."

"Sacrilege! That's some incredibly high praise," he said, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.

"Earned and deserved," you said, tilting your glass to his. "Honestly, Harry, you're an incredible musician. There aren't many out there that have the whole package like that."

"What about you? You seem like the whole package."

"I don't know if I'd say that. If you looked me up, you've likely seen what they say about me. 'My attitude won't get me far' and all. But I don't think it's my attitude, so much as it is my willingness to take the risks that others won't. I'm not out here to make music that's just there to be sold. Hell, I couldn't care less about the money. All I want is to create music that makes me feel fulfilled, and I think that honesty scares them." You twirled your finger in the condensation of the glass in front of you. You glanced up to his face finding his eyes already on yours, holding your gaze steadily. "It doesn't scare you, does it?"

"It's the most refreshing thing I've heard in a while. Not many people in the industry are fearless in the face of failure like that."

"I'm definitely not fearless; I just refuse to change who I am to make a buck."

"Who are you then?" Harry had asked, and telling him your story was easy. You couldn't understand how it was so natural, opening up to a stranger, but as the conversation wore on, you realized how similar you and Harry were in terms of the way you conducted your professional lives and that was without apology.

And you also realized, as the evening continued and you and Harry crept your bar stools closer and closer to one another, feet and knees bumping, his fingers tracing the ridges of your knuckles as you shared life stories like long lost friends, that you didn't want it to end.

///

"He's acting like a gentleman," you continue, changing up the lyrics slightly as you finish the first verse. The line always made you smile and you let yourself briefly flash back into your reminiscing about the night you'd met Harry, and how, even though he had acted gentlemanly upon dropping you off for the evening, you wanted to be anything but a gentlewoman.

///

After enjoying drinks late into the evening at Pecker's, Harry had insisted on having his driver take you home rather than allowing you to call an Uber.

"Such a gentleman," you commented as he opened the car door for you once again.

"Maybe my gentlemanly actions have motives," he said, sliding his hand along your lower back as you step past him and into the car. Your grin matched his smirk as he shut the door and you decided that he'd been right - not calling an Uber was the right thing to do.

The car ride back to your apartment building was too quick and before you knew it, he was at your door again, offering a hand for you to hold for balance as you exited the car. Neither of you let go as you walked through the lobby towards the elevators.

"You're uh— You're welcome to come up, if you'd like," you said, suddenly shy but not wanting to chicken out on asking for what you wanted, asking for some continuation of this sweet but likely brief meeting between you two. "For a drink, I mean, or to keep chatting, you know."

Harry smiled and glanced around the empty lobby. His hand in yours smoothed up the length of your arm, over your shoulder, and came to rest at your jaw. "I'd love to, believe me. You have no idea how much I want to." He leaned towards you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead and your skin burned at the contact of his lips. "But I want to do this the right way. Don't want you to get the wrong idea of me."

"What if I want the wrong idea of you?"

He laughed, the sound open and honest and it had given you hope. "You called me a gentleman earlier and I have to admit that I liked it, coming from you. Would like to keep up the facade that I am, even if it's just for a bit." His face searched yours, each of you trying to read the thoughts that were flying through one another's minds. "You have beautiful lips," he whispered suddenly, his accent thicker than it had been all night.

Your mouth quirked into a smile, unable to do anything but preen at his compliment. "You do too," you replied, just as softly.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please, yes." Before the words had settled he was kissing you, slowly and with too much care, like you would break if he wasn't gentle enough. It was over much too quick but you knew you would remember every moment of it for the rest of your life.

"Christ, I'd wanted to do that all night." His thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, smiling when you leaned into the touch. He glanced up as the elevator doors swung open and gently nudged you towards them. "Thank you, truly, for a wonderful evening. I promise to give you a call soon."

"I'll send Kacey after you if you don't!" you laughed, stepping into the lift.

"Good night darling." He winked and the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the delicious ghost of his lips on yours.

///

"Give me that adrenaline, that adrenaline, think I'm gonna stick with you," you finish the first verse as Ryann rips through the chords on her guitar. You loved that the song built slowly, and even though that meant a quieter beginning, it promised an explosive end.

Though the crowd had been hesitant at first, you can see that the first few rows of them are nodding along, countless phones out recording the performance. You know that somewhere out there at your request is a member of your press team, professionally filming the cover. You may only be doing it once, but you were determined to make sure you would never forget it.

///

You had enough time at home to check some of your social media accounts, shower and get comfortable in bed before your phone rang again. For the second time that day, your heart soared seeing Harry's name light up your screen.

"If you're going to say that you're downstairs because you've reconsidered my offer for that nightcap, I'll need a few moments to prepare as I'm currently in my pajamas," you said as a greeting and you were met with his warm laughter once again.

"No, no, I had to go back to the arena for a bit anyways, pack up and all of that," he said, still chuckling. "I just— I wanted to make sure you weren't offended by me declining your offer. Because I wanted to— I didn't want the night to end there. There's something about you that's… Transfixing. And I don't want to ruin that and make you think you're just a fling."

"That's quite a compliment," you said, a bit awed by his words.

"What was it you said earlier, "earned and deserved", yeah?" He said, quoting your toast to him at the bar, making you grin. "I want you to be more than that. I'd like to get to know you, the gentlemanly way."

"Okay. Will we have a chaperone at our next date then?" He laughed but didn't correct your referral to that evening as a date. You had snuggled a bit deeper into the sheets, still disbelieving that all of this had been the result of being dragged along to a concert.

"No chaperones," he chuckled, "but yes, I do want to take you out again, if you'd let me."

"Hmm," you jokingly pondered aloud, as if answering with anything other than a resounding "yes" was on your mind. "I suppose I could fit something into my schedule."

"I hope that's a yes."

"Of course it's a yes! I didn't want the night to end either. And don't you dare say that you just did another fist pump," you had laughed, hearing the familiar shuffling of the phone on his end of the line.

"Me? Never!"

"You're adorable," you had said, a smile stuck on your face.

"And you're beautiful. Two can play this game."

There had been a comforting silence between you for a moment before you had spoken up again. "Harry?"

"Yeah, love?"

You had blushed at the pet name but loved the way it sounded being directed your way. "Thank you," you had whispered.

"Should be me thanking you. Sleep well sweetheart." You'd fallen asleep with your phone in hand, hopeful that you wouldn't wake up the next morning to realize it had all been a dream.

///

It hadn't been a dream, and here you were, nearly two years later, performing one of the songs that Harry himself had sung the night that you'd begun falling for him.

The second verse continued quickly and you let the lyrics wash over you as you sang, loving the way the rock energy of the song sounded with a bit of your band's country influence.

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine, rest it on your fingertips," you sang, holding your pointer finger in the air much like Harry did every time he performed the song before bringing it to your lips as you sang the next line. "Up to your mouth, feeling it out, feeling it out."

///

Beginning to date Harry - properly date him too, not just make FaceTime calls to one another from across the world and sending texts back and forth until the wee hours of the morning thanks to the differences in time zones, sharing everything and more with one another as best you could digitally - had been the most exhilarating experience of your life, and you had performed in front of sold out crowds and accepted awards on live television. His tour was due to stretch on for almost another month throughout North America and the next time you saw him was when you'd been invited as Harry's guest to his show in Chicago just a few weeks after you'd met.

While he had put on an incredible show for the United Center, there had been moments that felt like he was performing just for you, glancing over to where you stood in the Friends and Family area, meeting your eyes and grinning. By that point, you could sing along to every song of his and you knew he loved it, loved watching you dance along to the music that he had created and was performing.

In a moment where you were thankful for the differences between the genres in which you two performed, you hadn't been recognized at all by his fans. You'd both talked about wanting to keep things quiet as you got to know one another, and you hadn't wanted a relationship with him, an already incredibly famous artist, to somehow influence the trajectory of yours. While it had been easy when you were apart, being together without seemingly being together was difficult. Especially in that moment, when all you wanted to do was curl up into him and soak in the post-show bliss with him. Instead, you sat on the couch with him, a cushion apart from one another, holding his hand tightly while you chatted about the concert.

"Someone is gonna notice that you looked to my side of the pit constantly all night," you said and he grinned guiltily.

"I like knowing you're in the crowd," he shrugged. "Besides," he scooted closer and threw his arm around you before dragging you in close, "you look incredible, how could I not want to stare at you all night?"

"Anyone could walk in," you pointed out, watching as his eyes followed your lips.

"Just want a little taste," he said, moving in closer, "Haven't I earned a kiss from my girlfriend after all of that work up on stage?"

Your eyebrows raised in surprise as you looked at him and he seemingly realized his slip-up.

"I mean— What I meant was— Shit," he scrubbed a hand over his face but you could tell he was hiding a grin. "Wasn't exactly how I wanted to ask you, but… Will you officially be my girlfriend?"

"Yes, H. I'm all yours."

"Love it when you call me H." He pulled you in for a kiss that you both lost yourselves in, finally able to experience the feeling of one another after being denied it for so long. When a knock at the dressing room door came, Harry had to all but drag himself away from you, hair disheveled and lips swollen, scowling at the door.

You threw your head back and laughed as he stalked over and pulled it open with a flourish.

"What?"

"The hell's your issue?" you heard Mitch ask before Harry widened the door so he could see you laughing on the couch. You raised a hand in greeting and Harry's scowl deepened as Mitch chuckled, taking in both of your disheveled appearances. "Oh, shit, hey, sorry. Uh, car's ready when you are. See you tomorrow bud."

"Harry!" you chided once he'd closed the door in Mitch's face, giggles still bubbling out of your mouth. "He was just being polite."

"Interrupting arse is what he is," Harry said, sitting down and pulling you into his lap. "Where were we?"

You threw your arms around his neck and pressed your body as close to his as possible, hoping that he'd thought to lock the door before returning to your embrace. "Right about here, I think." With a hand on your hip, sliding under your shirt to reach warm skin and one at the back of your neck, Harry kissed you until you were breathless and not only wanting more but very seriously needing it.

"Come back to the hotel with me," he murmured against your lips as you ground your body down on him, reveling in the way the action made him throw his head against the back of the couch and exhale sharply.

"You sure?" Your hands smoothed over the chest of his skin, tracing the dark swallows with your fingertips as you rolled your hips.

He shuddered at the light touch and gripped your hips tightly, pressing his up as you pressed yours down and the action made you sigh, the pressure a delicious tease of what was hopefully to come. "Absolutely," he said, his grin telling you he was pleased with the noises he was causing you to make. "Want you so bad, like I won't be able to breathe right until I properly have you."

You leaned in to kiss at his neck, his shower-damp curls tickling your cheek. "The feeling is mutual. Adored watching you up on stage tonight. Have I told you yet how much I love seeing you perform?" You nuzzle at his neck, urging him to tilt his head back farther, exposing more of his skin to you.

"Yeah, you have, but tell me again," he sighed, his hands running up and down your back.

"It's like when you get on stage no one else before or after you matters," you said honestly, letting your lips against his skin hide how truthful you were really being, spilling all of your thoughts about seeing Harry up on stage. It was scary, feeling so deeply for him already. But you wanted him to know, at least in part, what it meant to be able to watch him perform. "Something about your live voice just makes my breath catch in my throat, I can't get enough of it."

Harry breathed deeply for a moment, working to center himself while you nosed at the curls around his ear and heaped praise upon him.

"It's like you connect with every person out in the crowd, like you're singing just for them. You can tell that you're having fun and people want to join you in that. They know you love the attention," you whispered and he hummed in appreciation (or agreement), the sound low in his throat. "They'd stay out there all night for if they could, screaming about how much they love you."

"And you feed into it, playing it up for them. You know exactly what you're doing when you get to act a little bit naughty up there, driving them all mad," you said with a smile.

He chuckled and you could hear and feel the sound rumble through him. "Played it up for you tonight. Did it work?"

"You mean did it make me want to jump your bones the second you came off stage? Yeah, it worked."

"Fucking hell," he said, holding you close with his hands on your butt as he stood up. "Our first time is not going to be in a dressing room so we need to go now."

He let you slide down his body and held you steady as you balanced on your legs. "Would be pretty fitting though, don't you think, given how we met and what we do?"

"Yeah, but then I'd think about it every time I was in one. You wanna torture me relentlessly?" He pulled you tight against him, kissing you once more before separating to grab his bags.

"Yeah, relentless torture sounds like something I might be into."

He glanced up at your words, eyes dark and hungry, a smirk on his lips. "Careful what you wish for, love."

///

The bass line increased behind the riff of Ryann's guitar and you leaned into the mic stand, eyes closing as you continued singing the first bridge. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm wasted, and when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

There were a few fans of yours and Harry's who apparently knew the words as they helped you out, screaming the unwritten word that finished the sentence: "tasted."

///

Harry was quick to say goodbye to everyone on the team before pulling you quickly through back hallways and down quiet staircases, sneaking quick kisses when he was sure there was no one around. You were both out of breath when you finally climbed into the car, grinning like kids getting away with sneaking around.

The hotel ride was quick, mercifully, but Harry had been anything but patient, his hand at your knee creeping up slowly, closer and closer to the hem of your dress, toying with the hem while he chatted with the driver.

"I'm gonna head in first with Martin and Eric will loop around and drop you off at the side entrance. I would wait in the lobby for you but this hotel hasn't been the best in the past with uh— containing sensitive information, we'll say, so Martin will meet you on your floor to get your stuff, then bring you up. Is that okay?"

"You sound like you've done this before, Styles," you said with a wink, using humor to cover the nerves that had settled in the pit of your stomach.

He blushed and you loved knowing you got under his skin so easily. "The band used to stay here when we toured… and I was young and dumb once, yes."

"Just giving you a hard time, H."

His grin stretched as he leaned over to peck your lips once more. "See you in a minute, love."

Harry climbed out and the driver took off once again, slowly circling the block. "He's quite taken with you, you know," he said, glancing up in the rear view mirror as he parked the car at the curb. He got out and opened the door for you in the empty street then used his keycard to unlock the heavy side door of the hotel.

"Thank you," you said, both for his actions and his omission about Harry. Sure, you had talked to him as often as possible over the last weeks and had yourself been on the receiving end of his attention, but it felt validating to hear that Harry's feelings for you may have gone a bit farther than just a small crush if people around him had also noticed his behavior.

Harry's bodyguard was waiting by the elevators and escorted you to your room to gather your luggage, then led you to Harry's door.

"Car'll be around about 9 tomorrow morning, H. Flight's at 10:30." He turned to you. "I understand you have business to continue here in Chicago?"

"Yes, meetings tomorrow and then I fly back to Nashville in the evening."

"There'll be a driver ready for you tomorrow as well. He's been instructed to take you wherever you need to go and he'll stay until you depart. Have a nice evening," he nodded at Harry, who was smiling in the doorway, before departing.

"You didn't have to do that for me, I could've managed by getting an Uber," you said, stepping into the room past Harry to set your bags down and kick your shoes off.

"I didn't, was Martin's idea; says he doesn't want anything to happen to the one thing that's made me so happy these last few weeks."

"Oh yeah? I'm the one thing, huh?"

"You're everything, honestly," he replied a bit sheepishly, taking your hands in his. "Think I might like you a bit more than I already should. Lettin' my heart get a bit ahead of my head, I suppose."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," you said softly and he beamed.

He moved his hands up to cup your face, pulling you close for a sweet kiss that quickly turned insistent, heat rising between the two of you. Harry slid his hands under the hem of your shirt to rest where your spin ended and yours wrapped around his neck, dragging him down to you as you stepped behind you towards the bed. His long legs tangled with yours and you tumbled backwards, laughing as you hit the plush bed and Harry collapsed on top of you.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at you with a smile, pushing the hair that had fallen into your face aside. "Hi baby," he said softly.

"Hi."

"Missed you," he said, leaning down for another sweet kiss.

"We were apart for like, eight minutes," you giggled between his kisses, your laughter giving way to a sigh as he moved to press a kiss to your nose, your cheek, your chin.

"Doesn't matter," he breathed into the crook of your neck, pressing small open mouth kisses to the soft skin there, "Any time apart is too long."

"The two weeks left of the tour will fly by. You should enjoy them while you can."

"Wish you could come with me, love performing for you." He kissed his way across the base of your neck, collarbone to collarbone as his fingers trailed to the small straps on your shoulders. "Would you like to take this off?"

"Please," you sighed, desperate and aching for the feeling of his skin against yours.

Your first time sleeping with Harry had been exactly what you'd wanted and expected - hot and fast, admittedly over a bit more quickly than either of you had wanted, but worth the weeks of wait.

Harry's skill set hadn't ended at singing and playing instruments. If anything, his vast experience using his hands and mouth only helped him excel in other pastimes that also utilized those parts of his body. To both of your delights, he had proven his adeptness in all areas multiple times that night, and once again in the morning before he had to rush into the shower, dragging you along with him simply to get more time together before you were forced apart once again.

///

You had spent the next two months away from one another, Harry having wrapped his tour and immediately beginning work on his next album. You'd spent your own time mixed between writing and recording an upcoming single. You had already written a handful of songs that were inspired by him and you'd wondered, albeit a bit nervously, if the sentiment was shared. When he stopped in Nashville on a long layover, pushing his flight back even longer to stay with you for another night, you'd tried to pry the information out of him. Unfortunately, no amount of sexual teasing or denial had convinced him — he, however, had you singing like a canary almost immediately, teasing you in the best way about how easily you opened up for him, telling him all about the music that he had already inspired.

You had been FaceTiming him late one night weeks later, both tired from long days spent in the studio. He had suddenly gotten shy, biting at the skin around his fingernails.

"Hey, stop that. What's the matter H?"

"Wanna ask you something," he mumbled, but a smile was peeking through where his fingers were still at his lips. "Jus' don't know how to."

"Baby," you sighed, "you can ask me anything. Y'know that."

"I know, I know." He paused and took a deep breath before a wide smile stretched across his face. "Would you maybe want to come home with me this Christmas? To London? Wouldn't be for long, maybe just a couple nights, I just wanna introduce you to my mum already, she's been pestering me nonstop lately 'bout meetin' you and Gem's joined in on it now too, so it's two against one when they call and I've told them that—"

"Harry," you said chucking, trying to interrupt his nervous rambling.

"—and she actually called me Harold last time she told me to bring you 'round and that got me a bit worried so I—"

"Harry! Of course I'll come with you. I'd absolutely love to."

You met him at the airport weeks later, desperate to pull him close and kiss him silly in the confines of his darkly tinted car, but you refrained, knowing how seriously Harry took the protection of your relationship from the press. You may not have been able to see anyone straining to capture pictures of you two, but you knew there was always the chance.

It was an entirely different story, however, when he'd finally pulled the car past the mechanical gate and into his private drive. You both reached for each other immediately, arms tangled and shifter knob pressed uncomfortably against your side, but perfectly content so long as his lips were against yours.

"Fuck— I missed you— so much," he muttered between kisses. He pulled away, forehead resting against yours, sly smirk pulling at his lips. "Mum won't expect us for a few hours at least."

"What is it that you're insinuating, Mr. Styles?"

"That there's plenty of time to give you a tour around the house, that's all," he said innocently. He gave you a sweet smile before hopping out of the car and coming to the passenger side where he helped you out and picked up your bags.

You were eager to be given a house tour, more than keen to learn all of the things you could about his London life. The house was decorated in a way that made you smile - eclectic but with a definitive air of cohesive taste. It suited Harry to an absolute tee. From the artwork that decorated the walls to the mismatched but homey furniture, you could tell immediately that this was Harry's sanctuary - every inch of the home screamed his name.

"It's incredible," you said as he led you into the largest room, the master. He walked over to the dresser that sat under the window and pulled open the top two drawers.

"I know we won't be here long, this time around, but I cleaned out a few drawers for you here, if you want to unpack some things. And there's space in the closet for you too," he nodded towards the door on the other side of the room, dragging a hand through his hair as he talked, "I had too much in there anyways and some of it needed to go and I wanted you to be able to leave some things, if you felt comfortable, of if Mum drags us out shopping and you don't want to take it all home now you can leave it here and-"

"You- you cleared out a drawer for me?"

"Well, yeah," he said, resting his hand on the back of his neck. "Made some space for you in the bathroom too, though I doubt it'll be enough, with all that you bring along to fix yourself up." He paused and thought for a moment. "I know how our lives are. I just wanted you to have some of your own space here; want you to feel as comfortable in my home as I do. Is that too much?"

"H," you said with a sigh, your lips curling into a smile, "it's perfect, and so thoughtful. I'm sorry I haven't done the same for you in Nashville yet."

"'s alright, love. I've already got a toothbrush there at least. I can take some time when we fly back to come and help if you'd like me to. As long as you don't end up wearing all the clothes that I leave there," he chuckled.

"You know me too well," you said, reaching for his hand. He lifted your entwined fingers to his lips to brush a kiss over your knuckles.

"You do look good in my clothes," he confessed, pulling you close to face him. "Look good in my house. But you always look good anyways."

"Said the pot to the kettle," you said with a smile. "I like being here already," you shrug, hands resting on his shoulders. "It feels like you, like home. Thank you for inviting me," you add, as though the measly voicing of your appreciation is enough to convey what you truly feel.

"You're welcome anytime, if I'm here or not."

"You trust me that much?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll get you a key and everything." He leaned down to kiss you slowly, relearning the map of your lips and mouth, before pulling away. He laughed when you made a noise of protest.

"The bathroom's over here if you'd like to freshen up." He had pulled at your hand, stepping towards the other open door in the room. "Figured a shower might sound nice after a long day in an airplane. Besides, I've gotta clean up before we go to Mum's anyways."

"Gonna join me?"

"Yeah, thought I might, if that's okay." His smirk had been wicked as he pushed you the rest of the way into the bathroom. He dropped your hand to reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head quickly. As he reached for the buckle of his pants, he had met your staring eyes. "See something you like, love?"

You definitely had, though you didn't think your attraction — physically or emotionally — for Harry had stopped at something that was as weak as "like." Getting to know him over the last six months had made you worry that there wasn't ever going to be anyone else like him, anyone that made you feel like he did. You had fallen for him, desperately hard, and the realization of it as you stood in front of his half-naked self almost embarrassed you.

"Babe? You alright?" he asked as he stripped down to his boxers.

"Yeah, you just got me all distracted," you had grinned, pulling your sweatshirt and remaining clothes off quickly before joining Harry under the warm spray of the water.

Meeting Harry's mom that evening went better than you could've ever dreamt it would. The two of you got on like old friends, and Harry had stared, almost in wonder, at how easily you seemed to bond with her. And then he had stared in horror as Anne offered to pull out the photo albums filled with pictures from Harry's childhood, particularly when Anne offered up the album filled with photos from Harry's and Gemma's emo phases.

As the evening wore on, you caught Harry on more than one occasion glancing your way, cheeks bright from the red wine he was sipping on and eyes warmly reflecting the bright Christmas lights. He always looked like he was a split second away from saying something, only to shake his head and look away with a small smile.

Later, in bed, Harry pulled you close to him. He was laying on his back, you on your side, and you threw a leg over his waist, soaking in all of the cuddles you could get on this short trip together. The room was only illuminated by the ambient light coming in through the blinds.

"Mum liked you a lot," he murmured, gently stroking the skin at the base of your spine, "said I should hang onto you".

You returned the gesture, running your fingertips along the lines of ink that make up his many tattoos. "I liked her too. She's wonderful, I see where you get it from now."

"Hey now, 'm wonderful all on my own!" He tickled your side and you couldn"t help but arch towards him, shrieking and laughing at the touch.

"Stop that! You are an absolute pest, you know that?" you said, grinning up at him.

"Ah, you love me," he whispered, and his joking tone made you smile but the way he pulled you tighter as he said it made you brave.

You let the weight what you were about to say wash over you, aware that things were going to change forever with just a few words. "I do love you, Harry," you whispered, moving up his body to press a kiss to his lips.

"Thank God," he had said, wrapping his arms back around you and pulling you on top of him. "Cause I love you too."

Leaving Harry after that had been even more difficult. All you wanted to do was be with him, but you had too much coming up with the future release of your album and Harry was still in the midst of doing his own writing and recording.

It was your professions, along with the desire to keep your relationship private, that kept you apart. You weren't sure how you did it, but your relationship had withstood the distance and odd-hours. The only step now would be deciding if, when, and how to confirm the suspicions to tabloids and fans alike that you were an item.

The wait was killing you. All you wanted was to show off to the world that Harry was yours.

///

The bridge of the song was followed quickly by the chorus and the heavy guitar and pounding drums had you rocking on your feet, body swaying into the mic stand as you let yourself get lost in the lyrics. "If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive."

The crowd was even more into the song now, many picking up on the words quickly and screaming them along with your singing. The rock and roll vibe of the song was coursing through you and the crowd, the arena electric with energy already.

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it."

You remove the mic from the stand and dance towards one end of the stage, singing as you move to the beat. "We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

///

You had been on the phone with Harry one day in July, nearly five months after the release of your album, having him help you decide what the setlist of your tour would be when it began in November.

"I wish I could cover one of your songs."

He had laughed and slurped his tea, the sounds comforting to you, even over the phone. "That'd be a bit obvious, wouldn't it love?"

"I don't mean cover Golden or Kiwi," you said, tapping your pen against the pad of paper in front of you. "What about one you wrote for 1D? What about Perfect? Or Stockholm Syndrome! That was always one of my favorites."

"Getting permission on those might be a bit more difficult, s'not just me that's gotta sign off on it. Besides, do you really wanna be the artist that covers a One Direction song on her own headlining tour?"

"Guess I'll stick with singing along to them in the shower then."

You were both quiet for a moment, lost in your own thoughts.

"What if I covered Medicine?" you asked suddenly, realizing it was the perfect compromise, not to mention your favorite song that Harry himself performed oh his own tour. The rock sound wasn't a far cry from the roots that country music had and you knew it would sound great. "Even if it was just for one stop!"

"Hmm," Harry mused. "It would sound great with the band, I'll give you that. But videos will go around, people will know it's my song you're singing and they'll connect the dots about us."

"H, I'm ready for that if you are. I love you, and I'm ready to be able to share that love that I have for you with the world. Sneaking around has been fun but I want people to know how proud of you I am and how much you're loved and appreciated. Half of our fans know already, it's just a matter of us confirming it. I think that we could really-"

Harry was laughing at your rambling on the other end of the line. "Alright, alright, you drive a hard bargain, love. I think you're right, maybe it is time we stopped sneaking around. I'll try, but Jax and everyone else still have to agree to it too. It might be easier to convince everyone if it's just a one time thing. Pick another cover, something you'd normally do, in case it takes some time to work things out."

"I'll ask him right now! Thank you Harry!"

"I just have one condition," he said, and you could hear the grin that was surely pulling at the corners of his lips.

"What's that?"

"I get to perform it with you," he had said, and the smile already on your face widened exponentially. "If we're finally gonna make "us" public, may as well do it with a bang."

///

In the moment after the chorus, an 8 count beat is carried by the drummer and guitarist. For this performance, and the only performance you'd put on of this song, you had rehearsed the 8 count repeating once between the chorus and the next verse, as you needed a bit of extra time to announce your guest performer.

"Ladies and gentlemen," you shout into the mic, grin wide and face beaming already at what was about to take place. "To help me finish this performance, please help me welcome my very good friend, Harry Styles!"

Harry emerges from behind the stage holding his own wireless mic as much of the crowd screams - he may not be a country artist, but he was absolutely known worldwide. You step back with a wave of your arm, smiling as he begins the next chorus. His performance is for the crowd but he's singing the words directly to you.

"Tingle running through my bones, fingers to my toes, tingle running through my bones," he sings, voice smooth like whiskey, and the crowd adores him, eating out of the palm of his hand. "The boys and the girls are in, I mess around with them, and I'm OK with it."

You can't help but dance as he sings, his voice and the energy of the crowd propelling you to move. He watches you, eyes no longer on the crowd, as he sings the next lines. Immediately, heat pools low in your belly at his glance and the words.

"I'm coming down, I figured out I kinda like it. And when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

You gyrate your hips at the unsung line of "ride it", listening with a sly grin as some in the crowd scream the two words that go unsung.

///

After giving him a key, Harry had moved some of his clothes to your apartment in Nashville some time while you were away on the first leg of your tour. He had found the city to be incredibly welcoming and inspirational for his upcoming album and had decided to stay there for a spell while you continued to tour around the country.

You had scheduled a short break between your concerts over New Years, wanting to be able to grab at least one or two nights at home with him to celebrate the holiday before you were back on the road again.

"So fucking glad you're home," Harry panted, pulling your shirt over your head before attaching his lips to yours once again. "Missed you like crazy."

"Missed you too," you moaned as his lips moved downwards, across your neck and over your collarbones, down the valley between your breasts. Before he could reach around to unhook your bra, you reached for his shirt, as desperate as he was to see and touch what you'd been missing.

As he pulled the half-unbuttoned blouse over his head, you pulled your leggings off and reached for him, pushing him back onto the bed behind him. He unbuttoned his pants as he scooted up towards the middle of the bed, shoving them and his boxers off in one swoop.

You climbed on top of him, hurriedly reaching to kiss him as you rubbed your clothed center along the length of his hard cock.

"Fuck," he hissed, throwing his head back to allow you room to kiss his neck. "Desperate aren't you, darling?"

"Want you so bad it hurts," you whispered, sucking a bright hickey right where it would absolutely be seen by anyone.

You moved to continue kissing down his chest but he stopped you with a hand under your arm. "Not gonna last long, love. Wanna be inside you."

His cheeks and chest were flushed bright red, lips puffy and pupils blown wide. This was when you loved him most, being able to have him like no one else did. The same feeling always hit you at certain moments, particularly ones of domesticity, like when you watched him back the car out of the driveway or when he stood in the kitchen in the morning in nothing but socks, boxers, and his ratty old robe, singing along to old big band jazz as he waited for the coffee to brew. There was Harry Styles the musician, Harry Styles the actor, and Harry Styles the performer, but then there was your Harry.

"Yeah, okay," you sighed, moving off of him quickly to remove your bra and panties. You climbed back onto the bed and threw your leg over his hips, straddling him. He immediately reached for you and pulled you flush against his chest, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss.

You rocked your hips against him as he held you, your slick arousal gliding along his length, drawing a moan from both of you.

"Baby, please," he panted, and you could only mod in agreement, lost already to the sweeping feeling of your close release.

His hands rested on your hips as you positioned him at the entrance between your legs. You groaned in harmony as you worked down him slowly, the only sound in the room was your shared heavy breathing and gasps.

"Fuck me," he sighed as you set a slow pace, rocking on top of him to reach each spot that you know will get you there.

"Workin' on it," you grin. A quick swivel of your hips hit at just the right angle and you tossed your head back, repeating the movement over and over again until you shuddered with a final snap of tension, your orgasm rolling over you as Harry helped you move, hands tight on your hips, to wring all you could from the release.

"You look so beautiful right now, like a fuckin' angel," Harry said, voice low and gravely, accent thick with need.

"How's that line go?" you said as you slowed down, smirking when a harsh rock of your hips caused Harry to moan. "'Turns out she's a devil in between the sheets'?"

"Fuck," he groaned again, eyes closed tightly. "Can't just go reciting my own lyrics to me while I"m buried in ya like this, love."

"And there's nothing you can do about it," you continued, singing the line of his song this time, and his hips buck up into yours harshly.

"You're gonna pay for that," he had said, quoting another of his songs, before he had flipped you over onto your back and set his own brutal pace.

///

Like he can read your thoughts, Harry beams and wags a finger in your direction and the crowd screams at your chemistry together. You grab your mic from its stand and take a step towards Harry to sing the chorus together.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive." Harry dances off to the side of the stage, performing once again for the crowd.

You dance at center stage with your wireless mic, too excited about performing with Harry that you can't stand in one spot. The music and Harry's energy make you want to move. "You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it."

"We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da!" Harry throws his head back, singing along in his own world and you can't look away from him. He really was a rockstar and getting to share the stage with him like this was an experience you'd never forget.

"You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

There's a great pause in the lyrics where the guitar, keyboard, and drums play together, increasing the tension of the song. You and Harry take off towards opposite ends of the stage, both reveling in the performance for the crowd as you dance and stomp to the beat. Eventually, with a slide down the keys of the keyboard, the instrumental quiets into just the steady beat of the bass line joined by the hi-hats.

You and Harry urge the crowd to clap along as you both return to the middle of the stage to sing together once again. He always said that this portion of the song was one of his favorites to perform, the repeated line from the bridge ending abruptly with the lights going out before flashing back on, the added theatrics of the performance elevating the climax of the song completely. Having rehearsed that Harry would sing the following chorus alone, you let yourself get lost in his gaze as it settles on you.

You stand facing one another behind the mic stand, once again singing more to one another rather than to the crowd. You step closer towards him as the lyrics progress, nearly chest to chest now with your voices sharing one another's mics. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm—"

Before you can sing the last word of the line and the lights can blink out as rehearsed, Harry leans forwards and captures your mouth in a hungry kiss. The crowd erupts with screams as the lights above the stage go dark.

You can feel rather than hear him say the words "I love you" against your lips and you have just enough time to repeat them back to him before the drums and guitar pick the beat up once again, the lights flashing back on brightly. He moves away and continues to sing the chorus that follows as if nothing had happened. You're a bit stunned, not having prepared for his relationship-revealing public display of affection to happen during your performance of his song but it was perfect and he knows it. Your smile is wide and you can't help but stand rooted where you are and laugh at what has just finally happened.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive," he sings, smirking at you while you blush across from him.

You join him in singing the last lines, your right hand joining his left hand where everyone can see your fingers entwine.

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it. We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh!"

You urge the crowd with a waving hand to join in and they do, singing along with you and Harry. "La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

The drums and guitar end the song on five quick beats and the crowd erupts once again in screams. You immediately jump towards Harry, throwing your arms around his neck in a close embrace. His hands wrap around your waist to hold you close, and you can feel him smile where his face is pressed close to your jaw.

"How was that?" he asks, chuckling against you.

"It was perfect, you're perfect. Thank you, H. For everything."

"Can take you on a proper date now, yeah? Wanna show my girl off to the world."

"Yes, please!" You can't wipe the smile from your face as he sets you down and Harry continues to beam at you as the crowd continues screaming, reeling from your shared performance.

Harry nudges you gently before turning back to them, lifting his and your arms high in the air and leading you in bending for a bow. He steps away from you and turns, opening his arms wide to you for the crowd to praise and you laugh, tearing up at his gesture and the overwhelming emotions of the performance while you take another bow just for yourself.

He pulls you into another hug and you can't help but angle your face up towards him, wordlessly asking for another very quick, very public kiss.

He glances down at you, smiling. "You're gonna love this now, aren't you?"

"Course I am. love showing them you're mine."

He leans down to peck your forehead, your nose, and finally, your lips, as the crowd goes wild. "Love showing them you're mine. You've got a show to finish, love. Go kill it."

///

Ahh! So much fun! This has been such a joy to write and I appreciate you taking the time to give it a chance! It’s my first (of hopefully many) Harry fics - reading all of the stories here has been immensely inspiring, and I’m so looking forward to writing more!

Tagging my love @morganlatte who is a wonderful hype woman and beta reader. Thanks buddy!

Anyways! Thank you for reading! My love language is words of affirmation (aka I have a praise kink) so leave me a comment here if you feel so inclined!

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles story #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #one direction fanfiction #harry styles x you #reader insert fic #my writing #wow!#that was so much fun #i'm so in love with it

532 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 3 years

Note

💬 blurb request for ff!tommy smut?? honestly Chloe your writing is so good, and ff!tommy is my favorite and it would be such a blessing!! ilysm and congrats on 9k!

if you requested ff!tommy smut, I have rolled them all into one. because there was a surprising number, lol. y'all really thirsty for ff!tommy and honestly me too so here we go! I did y'all a little mix of headcanons and blurb, because all the requests were mixed. I tried to include everything from them all!

no more requests, the sleepover is over! I am just filling out all the ones left in my inbox!

okay, so, it's not like y'all haven't done stuff

I mean, he's hot, you're hot, and you're both mad in love

you've just not done that yet

but, it's been busy, and you kinda want it to be perfect

you had a whole weekend away planned, but it got cancelled last minute after another team injury that meant your team took over

and now, there's just a lot of pining

I mean, there's not much left to the imagination

you're no stranger to one another, a few showers and a lot of wandering hands has left you with a pretty solid fill of your imagination

if you really think about it, you can still feel the way cold shower tiles felt against your back as he scissored his fingers

or hear the way he'd groan ringing in your ears still when you'd go down on him before work

just to smirk all morning as it takes him hours to actually clean his head after a mind-blowing orgasm

not to mention the way your throat had been fucking sore after he'd gone down on you, a pillow over your face just to stop complaints from your neighbours

but you wanted more

you wanted to feel connected to him in that way, because there was only so much foreplay could do

and you were fucking needy

he'd whispered a lot of dirty promises in your ear about what he was gonna' give you, and you were waiting for him to deliver

this time was no exception

stumbling through the front door of your place

a pretty dress on a hook and a suit next to it, both still in their protective covers, waiting to go

steam from the bathroom was pouring out from under the door, and you whimpering embarrassingly as his fingers rubbed slowly across your clit, sucking marks into the skin of your chest where he knew your hemlines would cover

"tommy, please.."

"please, what, angel? tell me what you want?"

it had been a chaotic shift, a lot of adrenaline, and he'd smelled of smoke and been a little sweaty and dirty and he was pretty much entirely what wet dreams were made of

you'd been dripping since you'd gotten back to the station, and uncomfortable ever since

with your back pressed up to the counter, hair still dripping wet much like his own from the shower you'd recently taken, you let out another cry of his name

tracing your fingers over his chest, he twitched a little as you dragged your fingers over his nipples, and down, several spaces marked with raised pink skin, scars of all his saves, dotted between dark hairs along his chest and to his defined abs

"more, tommy, please.."

he grinned, head raising back up to capture your lips, and his fingers slid along slick folds

two slender digits easily slipping between your walls, pumping at the best speed he could manage from the angle

despite the relief, he wouldn't be enough

"no, more, like, I need you to fuck me, tommy."

"we don't have time, we'll be late for newt's birthday pa-"

"so we're late, newt'll understand. if I have to spend the whole night staring at you in that tight fucking suit, looking so fucking good I could pop, I won't make it, thomas. you hear me? 'might just die."

"you're gonna' die if I don't fuck you?" he'd tease, but slip his fingers free, raising them to his lips to lick them clean, and that fucking filthy look he'd get would take over his face. "well, I can't let that happen. I'd better fuck you real good, just to keep you in top shape."

"I think that's a good idea." You whispered, hands hooking underneath your thighs, fingers of one hand still wet as he lifted you, and your legs sealed around his waist. Only a second later, your back was meeting the bedding, stray droplets soaking into the fabric, and his body was following quickly after you. Kneeling before you don't he bedding, he was stretched out in all his glory, hard and toned muscle, dark hair trailing down from his pecs, and his cock tall and leaking, red at the tip in a way that made your thighs clench when he bobbed in the air.

Large hands pushed your knees apart again, letting out a harsh breath as he stared at you, gaze trailing up from your slick core to find you, propped up on your elbows. "You got no idea what you do to me, angel. Fuckin' hell."

"Think I got a pretty good idea." You whispered, red flush growing from his neck to his cheeks, but he gave you a cheeky wink nonetheless. Leaning down again, his lips found yours, a delicate kiss, and you bit gently on his lower lip, that deep and raspy moan you loved shaking along your body when he emitted it.

"You sure you wanna' do this? Want it to be perfect for you. Wanna' take you apart, piece by piece, make you mine."

"We have all night for that once we get home, you can make love to me, but right now, I just need you, Tommy. Been waiting too long." He groaned, your nails scraping over his chest, before your fingers were wrapping around his cock, his hips bucking into your hands.

"Well, if that's how we're gonna' do it, then flip over, hands and knees for me." The request jolted something filthy though you, and you did as told, turning over, before two large hands were palming at your ass. "D'you even know how good your ass looks in, like, everything? Fucking hell, if you weren't wearing heels tonight, I'd fuck you 'til you couldn't even walk. Maybe next time."

Lining himself up and sinking within your walls, your eyes were rolling back in your head. Thomas was by no means small, a voice in the back of your mind that was quickly silenced taunting you about comments once made, and the warmth of his chest covered your back as he leaned over you. Pressing several kisses along your spine, he gave you a moment to adjust, and you wiggled your hips against him.

Calloused hands were on your hips, holding so tightly you thought he might bruise, and he pulled back. One sharp thrust of his hips and he was sinking back into you, stretching you out all over again with a delicious kind of friction that made your jaw drop.

He repeated his actions, again and again, and you were sure you'd be getting noise complaints now, because you couldn't control yourself. His hands were everywhere, pulling your hair and rubbing soothingly over your body, every inch of skin being touched, and you were seeing stars. His voice was echoing in your ears, praises and groans, mumbles about how good you felt, like he wasn't making you see heaven with every thrust.

You could barely breathe, the building fire, the coil getting tighter and tighter, and when you finally snapped, it was with a few brief brushes of his fingers over your swollen clit. Your heart was beating so fast you couldn't barely feel it, but it felt like time stopped, groans and begs and the kind of grunts that only prolonged your own orgasm as Thomas came, pumps of searing warmth, until you were collapsing back into the bed together.

He rolled over, freeing himself from you to stare at the ceiling, and you copied him, panting for breath, and feeling like you were on fire. "Holy shit, that was incredible."

"I can't believe we waited so long for that, I don't know how I lived without it." He mumbled, head turning to face you on the pillow, and his body soon followed. Two fingers on one side of your jaw and his thumb on the other, he pulled you closer, leaving a passionate kiss on your lips. "You sure we have to go to the party? We should just stay here all night, and do that. In fact, we should quit our jobs, Just stay right here, fucking."

"How would we make money to eat?" You teased, and a cheeky look passed over his face.

"I don't know about you, but I've got everything I need to eat right here."

"Oh, you're so bad." You mumbled, pushing his face away from you when he let out a loud laugh, and you tried to scoot towards the edge of the bed. "What happened to waiting 'til after the party before fucking me until I couldn't walk, huh?"

Your legs were wobbly as you stood, wandering back towards the bathroom, and he propped a hand under his head, smirking as he watched you go. "Oh, you ain't had nothin' yet, angel. Just you wait 'til we get back."

#9ksleepover

46 notes · View notes

tinyboxxtink · 3 years

Text

"Doppelganger" *Part 23*

WHOO, y'all. I don't know what it is about this story but I am just...rolling it all out with the tragic backstory. No angst, I promise-- It ends happy chill out. But damn. Maybe I'm working out my own issues in here...lulz.

This gif will make so much sense you have no idea.

PART 22

Part 24

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

------

“....And how did that make you feel?”

You tried not to laugh out loud as the question left Dr. Crestview’s mouth. Did she really just ask you that?

“...I mean it makes me ‘feel’ bad,” You rolled your eyes with a laugh while looking out the window. When you turned back to the doctor she was not laughing, and she was writing something down.

“...That was a joke,” You clarified.

“Oh yes, I get it,” She nodded as she continued writing.

“Do you?” You asked her frankly. The question caused her to stop writing and look at you.

“Mrs. Barba--”

“Ms. YLN,” You corrected. “I’m not married yet,”

“...Hmm, interesting,” She wrote something down. Seriously? She even had an insight on what-- technicalities?

“I’m sorry, was that some sort of test?” You asked sarcastically.

“Actually, it was,” She said to your surprise.

“Excuse me?” You looked at her, baffled.

“You know when most women get engaged, they start imagining their last names as their husbands. You know such as changing their signature, gathering documents, and the like,”

“...Are you serious?” You laughed again. “This is 2021 lady, half the women I know didn’t even take their husband’s last name at all,”

“And is that what you’re going to do?” She asked. “Keep your last name?”

“...If I say yes are you going to psychoanalyze that too?” You crossed your arms.

“In my experience Ms. Y/L/N, women who don’t want to change their last names tend to do so because they want to keep their independence, their…’identity’. They think taking a man’s last name is ‘giving up’ something. Giving up their identity,” She explained.

“...And?” You gestured with your hand as if waiting for her to continue.

“And in my educated opinion, it also signifies a woman going into a marriage with one foot out of the door already,” She simply stated.

“Wow,” You shook your head with a sarcastic laugh. “Did I come here to resolve my trauma, or for marriage advice?”

“I think they’re one and the same, Ms. Y/L/N,” She stayed completely calm and emotionless.

“Are they?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Given what you’ve told me in our last few sessions, you’ve given off a tone that you don’t think you deserve good things. Maybe you’re keeping on foot out of your relationship so that when it falls apart, you’ll be ready,”

“Wow....wow,” You started to stand up and storm out of the office, but she stopped you with a question.

“I’m sorry if I offended you with my observation Y/N, but be honest. Am I wrong?”

You thought about all the talks you had with Rafael about ‘not being good enough’ for him, or ‘stealing his love’. And on the one hand you felt that you were ‘connected’, you felt safe and secure. After everything you’d been through, it was almost impossible not to be, right? Right?

“....And what is your magic solution to this feeling, doctor?” You crossed your arms.

“You need to forgive yourself,”

“...Jesus Christ,” You rolled your eyes with another laugh as you paced the room. “Really? That’s your solution? Telling me something I already know?”

“No, my solution is this: You need to apologize to your parents,”

“EXCUSE ME?” You practically screamed.

“You blame yourself for their death, correct? You think that because of their desire to make you happy they risked their lives driving into the city and therefore got into their accident,” She looked over her notes from past sessions with you.

“...Right,” You looked down at the floor.

“And I don’t think that you have ever forgiven yourself for that. And in not doing so, you haven’t forgiven yourself for anything you’ve done since then. All these things you say you’ve ‘done’ to Mr. Barba that you should be ‘punished’ for-- he doesn’t see it that way. Other people don’t see it that way. Your parents' accident wasn’t your own doing, getting kidnapped wasn’t your fault. I think that you need to find closure with your parent’s death before you can even begin to ‘forgive’ yourself for whatever transpired between you and Nevada Ramirez,”

“....So you want me to apologize to my parents? How are they going to ‘forgive’ me?” You asked her.

“I think you’ll find Ms. Y/L/N that just the act of apologizing will bring about its own form of forgiveness,” She smiled.

“.....Right…” You tried not to sound condescending, but for a shrink she sure sounded crazy.

“Or don’t listen to me, I can’t force you to do anything. But that is my advice,” She shrugged.

“Noted. Thank you, doctor,” You nodded and walked out the door.

----

You walked out into the streets of the city from your doctor’s office and thinking about just how or when you’d have a chance to go to your hometown where your parents were, when you were stopped by a young girl on the street.

“Oh my god...you’re Y/N!” She gasped.

“...Yes?” You stared at her blankly.

“You’re that girl who killed Nevada Ramirez!” She squealed, causing a few people to stare and take pictures of you as they walked past.

“Oh good lord…” You muttered nervously. “Yeah well um--”

“Can I get a selfie with you?”

“Um--” You looked around, not sure of what to do. You wanted to run down the street screaming, but you thought better of it. You turned back to her with the fakest smile you could form.

“Sure!” You threw an arm around her and smiled as big as you could as she snapped a selfie with her phone.

“Thanks!” She beamed at you. “ And by the way, your fiancé is REALLY sexy,”

“Oh girl I know,” You faked a laugh and a toss of your hair as she walked away with a laugh.

It really creeped you out that girls were ‘fangirling’ over your fiancé. As if you weren’t worried about keeping a hold of him all on your own. Also how did she even know what he looked like?

The article.

You grabbed your phone and did something you told yourself you’d never do: You googled yourself.

The first thing that popped up was an article on the NYTimes.com front page:

“Fairy Tale Romance Or Horror Movie?”

...What the fuck?

The article contained your video as the main focus. Then under it the article basically dictated the video, with Tasha’s opinions thrown in here and there. Then most of the photos from the photoshoot of you and Rafael were at the bottom of the page. They were gorgeous, you had to admit. Granted you were both airbrushed to hell, but Rafael in a suit drove you nuts. Even if it was just on a screen. You dialed his number as you continued walking down the street.

“....Hola, mi amor. How is my pinguino feeling?”

“Well she’s currently feeling like she’s got the sexiest man in New York City,” You grinned.

“Oh really? And why’s that?” He asked you curiously.

“Check out the picture I’m texting you,” You grinned as you texted him one of the photos from the spread.

“Oh Christ…” You heard him mutter through the phone, causing you to giggle.

“Oh yes, you even have your own fangirls now,” You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“No I do NOT,” He argued in disbelief.

“Yeah I’d be careful leaving your office there counselor, a group of tweens might be waiting outside,”

“Oh my god...they’re breaching the doors!” He acted terrified, making you laugh harder.

“Oh I think I see one,” You whispered as if you were sneaking up on someone. “She’s holding a ‘Barba 4Eva’ poster board,”

“You better be kidding,” He warned.

“No, in fact I think she’s right outside your door,” You bit your tongue with a smile.

“Oh well I’d better call security then,” He chuckled as he sauntered over to his office door and swung it open.

“Oh my Gooodddddddd it’s Rafael Barba!!! The sexiest ADA in New York City!!” You giggled wildly, jumping into his arms like a crazed fan.

“I should definitely look into some armed guards at my door,” He laughed as he pulled you into his arms and kissed you.

“Oh most definitely, wouldn’t want to let the crazies in,” You nodded as you kissed him again.

“Well I think it’s too late for that…” He teased you while tousling your hair.

“Shut up,” You playfully hit his hands away.

“Speaking of crazy, how was therapy today mi amor?” He asked cheekily.

Wowwwww, sexy AND sensitive, how did I get so lucky?” You rolled your eyes. “Actually, she gave me homework,”

“Did she?” He inquired.

“Yes,” You suddenly got very serious. “She um, she told me I need to go see my parents,”

“...Your parents?” His eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, something about needing to ‘apologize’ to them or some weird shrink thing like that,”

“....Do you think it will help?”

“I mean...” You sighed and looked out the window. “I don’t know. But I’d like to try,”

“Bueno,” He nodded walking closer to you and kissing the top of your head. “So are you going to go now or--?”

“Well I was kind of hoping you’d come with me,” You bit your lip. You didn’t know if asking him to come along on your shrink homework assignment was allowed, but you knew you couldn’t do this alone. Maybe that was the point.

“Really?”

“I mean, I met your family,” You half laughed, trying to make light.

“Right,” He nodded his head with a chuckle. “Well then, let’s go,”

“...Now?”

“Why not?” He started to walk towards the door.

“Don’t you have a job?” You pointed to his desk.

“Oh they just like to pay me to sit in here so nobody robs the place,” He joked as he grabbed his coat. “I have nothing going on today baby, they won’t miss me.”

“Okay then,” You shrugged uneasily. “Guess we’re going to Jersey,”

----------------

After a train ride and a taxi later, you arrived in your small town of Shallow Meadow.

“Christ Almighty, I knew Jersey was in the dark ages, but not even having Uber??” Rafael grumbled. He hadn’t been in the back of a dirty cab in such a long time, and now he remembered why.

“Alright Daddy Warbucks, chill,” You laughed as you started walking with him through town.

It was a quaint little town; one stop light, one grocery store, two bars, something out of an old movie really You know the movies where the car breaks down in the tiny shitty town and all the townspeople are flesh eating zombies or something. The people of Shallow Meadow were pretty much like that. Well, to you anyway.

“So why didn’t we just have the Mayberry Express drop us at the cemetery?”

“...Because we don’t have roads you can drive on up there,” You answered with a nervous smile.

“...Right,” He shook his head as he noticed people coming out of shops to stare at the two of you. “...Do I have some kind of weird sign on my back that says NEW YORKER or what?”

“No, but that thousand dollar suit screams “moneybags” out here,” You smirked. “Besides, they’re not staring at you they’re staring at me,”

“...What? How do you know that?”

As if it was answering his question, a girl with bright red hair dressed in farm clothing and holding a baby on her hip came sauntering up to the two of you.

“Well lookie here,” She smirked. “Miss Prissy Pants brought back herself a Prissy Papa,”

“Excuse you?” Rafael was taken aback by such rudeness by such a poorly dressed person.

“Marla back off,” You scowled at her. “Just because you’re upset I found treasure and you’re stuck with trash--”

“OH, is that what we are now? Trash?” Marla spat. “You have a lot of nerve coming back here and saying that, murderer,”

“WHOA,” Rafael stepped in front of you. “I’m sorry, what-- what did you just call her?”

“Did she not tell you the story? Oh no wait I bet she did, her version. The version where she’s the victim and we’re all just the villains. Isn’t that right, Prissy?” She glared at you.

“...I never said you were--” You tried defending yourself.

“Really?” She scoffed. “Then why did you not even bother to show up to your folks’ funeral? Their ONLY daughter, the ones they DIED for. Couldn’t even be bothered to leave her high rise in the city to pay respects to the parents she KILLED,”

“It wasn’t like that and you KNOW it, Marla! And why was I going to come back? The only two people left in this town that tolerated me were gone--” You got up in her face.

“AND WHY IS THAT, Y/N?” She got back in yours, her baby almost falling out of her arms.

“Alright lady I don’t know who you are, but you’re going to back the hell off my fiancée--”

“Oh good God, your fiancé?” Marla laughed. “You would find yourself a sugar daddy, since you killed yours,”

“Alright you know what we’re leaving--” You grabbed Rafael’s hand and stomped away towards a huge hill that had a sign reading “CEMETERY” at the top.

“I hope you’re heading up there to beg their forgiveness Y/N, ‘cuz you sure as hell ain’t getting any down here!” Marla yelled angrily after you.

--------------

“...Well I think we just figured out where your forgiveness issues came from,” Rafael tried making light of the situation.

“Ya think?” You nodded.

“This whole time,” Rafael shook his head. “This whole time I thought you just had it in your mind that you were responsible for their death. But-- but you had an entire town telling you that,”

“...Yeah,” You shrugged.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything, baby?” Rafael took your hand as the hill got steeper.

“Because I thought they were right, Rafael!” You said in a ‘duh’ tone. “Why would I tell you that an entire town thought that I was a murderer? That’s not really a selling point on a partner,”

“...You thought they were right?”

“...Well, yeah,” You nodded softly with a small smile.

“And now…?”

Before you could answer, you reached the entrance of the cemetery. Luckily it wasn’t that big; you were ashamed to admit you didn’t even know where they were buried. But you found them in a small corner under a shade tree. You walked up to their mutual headstone:

“Y/M/N AND Y/D/N: Beloved Husband And Wife, Mayor and First Lady.”

“...Mayor?” Rafael looked at you in surprise.

“Yeah, well--” You shrugged. “You see why they were so beloved, and I was the hellish daughter that killed them?”

“Y/N…” Rafael put a hand on your shoulder.

“I was supposed to want to ‘take over the city’, like I would ever want to be in charge of anything in this stupid backwards hick ass town,” You scoffed angrily, tears stinging your eyes.

“...But didn’t you say that your parents wanted you to go to Juliard? Pursue your dreams?” Rafael asked in confusion.

“They did! My grandparents-- they had a different view,” You shook your head. “The...the hierarchy here it’s-- well it’s not really a democracy,”

“...How so…?” Rafael raised an eyebrow.

“Because everyone just loved and accepted my family as, I don’t know, the ‘royal’ family?” You felt so stupid comparing your family to the Royal Family, but you didn’t know how else to explain it.

“The Mayor and First Lady titles were just...passed down, in my family. And not because they were dictators or something,” You quickly added the last part, you didn’t want Rafael to think any less of your family than he probably already did.

“People here are just...simple,” You sighed. “They accept things the way they are, they hate change. So it was just assumed that my family would always be... "the family’,”

“But you didn’t want that,” Rafael said again.

“Of course I didn’t want that!” You scoffed. “I didn’t want to just get a high school degree and then marry some ‘Cletus’ redneck man from here and have ‘heirs’ just to keep the family going!”

“But your parents understood that,” Rafael reiterated.

“It didn’t matter what my parents did or didn’t understand. My grandfather had more clout with the townspeople here,” You rolled your eyes. “My dad was the ‘mayor’, but his dad controlled everything. His father had been the mayor for over thirty years before he passed it onto my dad, who didn’t really want it either” You walked up to the headstone and ran your fingers over your father’s name.

“....So when he tried to ‘save’ me from that life, my grandpa wouldn’t hear it. He blamed me for...for manipulating them into giving me anything I wanted, like I was a spoiled little child. He blamed me for them giving me their life savings to go to Julliard instead of putting it back into the town treasury. Then he blamed me when they got killed, and he just reinstated himself as mayor! Which, I haven’t checked but I’ll be damned if he isn’t still rattling around his old ass bones in our house! He’ll just haunt this place forever!” You threw your hands up and looked down angrily at the town down below.

“Carino…” Rafael came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. You took his hands in yours and kissed them before turning to face him. You looked into his sparkling green understanding eyes for a moment, before directing your attention back at the headstone.

“....This is Rafael Barba, mama and daddy,” You pulled him gently forward. “We’re getting married soon,”

“...Nice to meet you folks,” Rafael said awkwardly.

“...Raffi they’re dead,” You smiled jokingly.

“Right, right,” He shook his head with a small laugh.

“...He’s a very good man, daddy. I know you always wanted that. And he’s very handsome, so you’ll have beautiful grandchildren mama, just like you wanted,” You smiled while Rafael softly chuckled.

“...I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come,” You finally said with tears rolling down your cheeks. “I should have been here sooner,”

“But you’re here now,” Rafael softly rubbed your back.

“Yeah…” You nodded softly. This was the hard part.

“...I’m---I’m sorry, that I made you feel like horrible parents that night,” You tried not to cry, but the memories of that night flooded your memory the more you spoke.

“I’m sorry that you thought you needed to come see me, that you weren’t good parents if you didn’t,” Your lip trembled, you fell to your knees.

“...I’m sorry the last words you heard from me were ‘I hate you’,” You finally broke down sobbing.

“Y/N…” Rafael knelt down next to you and held you in his arms as you cried.

“Do you get now why...why I don’t think I deserve you? Why don't I think I deserve anything? Why I think I have to take everything? Fake everything? Because I am such a terrible person my own parents died thinking I hated them because I was that horrible to them!”

“They didn’t think you hated them, carino,” Rafael rocked you back and forth. “They knew you loved them, I know they did,”

“You know you’re probably right, Rafael. But it--I needed them to hear it,” You nodded at the gravestone.

“And?”

“...And I feel a lot better,” You smiled as Rafael wiped tears from your face.

“Really?”

“Yeah…Really,” You chuckled. “I guess that therapist really knows what she’s doing,”

“She should for the amount of money I pay her,” Rafael shook his head with a laugh as he helped you stand up.

“...Thank you for doing this with me, amor,” You sniffled, pressing your forehead against his.

“Of course, penguino,” He kissed you softly. “And, for what it’s worth--” He added as you two walked back down the hill towards town.

“I think that if your parents were alive, they would be proud of you,”

“Oh, I know my mother would take one look at you and be DAMN proud,” You both laughed at that.

“And I also think they would be appalled to see how their townspeople treat their daughter,” He glared at the town.

“Yeah well,” You shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Not anymore,”

“I’m glad to hear it,” He took your hands as the sun started to go down in your sleepy little town. “Now can we please get back to the city before I catch something out here?”

“Yes,” You giggled, staring at him lovingly.

“Let’s go home,”

#rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba #rafael barba fanfiction #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction smut #doppelganger

20 notes · View notes

moon-ruled-rising · 3 years

Text

hey y'all, as I'm dealing with a bit of... stuff... in all areas of my life and things are about to get very busy for me in the coming month, I thought I would offer a little something to tide everyone over until I can get this next update pounded out.

I found this little snippet while looking through some old notes for a class and doctored it up a little. It's from a very early version of as the rain hides the stars, one where Jon was King and Daenerys was more into playing coquette than just downright uninterested. This was one of the first 'scenes' that came to me, helped along by Lesley Gore's You Don't Own Me. It was later replaced by the greenhouse scene in Chapter 8.

Dany leaned against the railing of the balcony, a glass of something strong resting on the top, just within her reach, and a cigarette settled between her fingers. The red dress draped around her heated body caught on the summer breeze in flimsy streamers. The inner courtyard stretched below, its tall trees obscuring the lighted windows on the other side. Dany could just make out the passing figures of their esteemed guests as they floated by. Did anyone notice her departure? Or were they all so far into the champagne and social high to care about the aloof royal?

Someone knocked at the door before opening it. Dany grit her teeth, ready to chew out whoever dared to disturb her, then remembered who she expected.

“His Majesty, Jon of the House Stark, King in the North,” announced Ser Barristan, who had escorted the foreign monarch.

Dany didn’t speak until she heard the door close, turning her head only a fraction and taking a drag from her cigarette.

“Your Majesty,” she greeted, “Did you enjoy the party?”

By all standards of protocol she should’ve bowed but Dany, in all her Targaryen stubbornness, refused to let him think he had the upper hand.

In the dim room, the details of his face went unnoticed but his erect posture and even shoulders told her all she wanted to know. A king’s confidence and a prince’s charm.

“Isn’t this a breach in your southern decorum? Meeting with a suitor alone?”

A lithe smile spread over her face, “And what about your Northern honor, agreeing to meet me must break a few rules.”

Tapping the ash off, she came in from the balcony. The King’s face remained unmoved, though at a closer distance she saw the activity behind a pair of tumultuous eyes.

“If it makes you feel better, Ser Barristan is right outside the door.” She gestured lightly and moved to the seats around the extravagant mantle with an air of casual confidence.

“You’ve done this before, Your Highness?”

His question erred on the side of accusation but Dany let it roll like water off her back.

“Call me Daenerys, please. Your Highness sounds so… stuffy. And, to answer your question, yes. But never with a king.”

She gave him her infamous arched brow as she lowered to the upholstered armchair with all the grace she could manage in her well-fitted dress.

“You avoid me all evening, send your ladies to harass me and now you ask to meet me in a room, alone, to do what exactly?”

He came closer but still kept a wary distance. She couldn’t blame him- fire burned hot. His approach brought him further into the low light, highlighting his aristocratic cheekbones and distinct nose, the texture of his curls sculpted away from his face with precise care.

“I find it so hard to get to know someone with people around, watching me, formulating judgments in their little heads. Any idea why?”

“I’ve been told you have a bit of a reputation.”

“And I’ve spared you the worst of it. No need to have our new friends’ names sullied by association.”

“Thank the Gods for that,” he said but Dany picked up the sarcasm riddled throughout and had to keep from smiling.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t pay attention to gossip and rumors.”

“Hmm, perhaps you should, some of them are quite interesting.”

Dany knew of a few she personally planted, though it was a long time ago.

“Was marriage your idea?”

To switch topics so abruptly was a little desperate but the question had burned in her mind and she couldn’t shake it.

This brought a chuckle out of her curious guest, “No. Rhaegar thought it up.”

“You don’t seem too thrilled by the notion either.”

“For the same reason I’m meeting you in a secluded sitting room.”

This time he did sit, as Dany took a drag from her cigarette to hide her impression of his witty remark. She was keenly aware of the King’s eyes watching her nasty habit, so she picked up the fancy silver case that belonged to her grandmother, and her great-grandmother before that.

“Do you smoke, Your Majesty?”

“Not usually,” he said, but leaned forward to take one anyway and she offered the matching lighter as well.

“Why does your country need our help?”

“In the words of my House, winter is coming. I won’t get into the science but it looks like we don’t have the resources to survive this one without catastrophe. It’s my duty to ensure the safety of my people, even if this is the only way.”

Dany nodded, letting his brief but impactful words wash over her.

“What’s it like? In the North?”

“It’s beautiful-”

“I figured as much-”

“Especially in the winter. It almost makes you believe magic is real.”

Dany scoffed, red lips curling into a characteristic smirk, and the King shot her a look, obviously miffed at her laughter but he continued anyway.

“You’ll understand when you see it.”

“Who says I will? As far as the marriage contract is concerned I have the final say.”

A lie. A small bluff to keep herself above it all, hoping that this King was like her brother and left the heavy lifting to a committee.

The King scoffed that time, “Liar. The negotiations for this treaty are personal, happening between Rhaegar and me and no one else.”

He leaned back against the settee, taking a slow drag from his cigarette and considering her carefully. And Dany did a poor job at concealing her displeasure, stabbing the butt into the ashtray.

“Anything else you’d like to know, Your Highness?”

“How much longer are you staying in the palace?”

“A few more days, just until the treaty is finalized and we decide on a match for the marriage pact.”

That caught her attention, “I’m sorry. Decide?”

“Did Rhaegar not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“You’re not the only candidate. With my position and the weight behind your family, we thought it best to keep the options open.”

Dany’s chest burned with his revelation, the heat spreading through her neck and face. She broke a crystal glass and raged through the hall over a half-truth, Elia probably laughed her ass off when she left Dany’s room.

Her brash confidence refused to release his eye contact, “Of course he did. But I assumed I was the best one on the list.”

“I’d certainly like you to be.”

#jonerys #jonerys fanfic #daenerys targaryen #jon snow x daenerys targaryen #jon snow #jonerysfic

8 notes · View notes

makeste · 4 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 279: Here Comes the Airplane

Previously on BnHA: Gigantomachia gathered up the rest of the League and headed off to go help Tomura. Also he is now 80 feet tall. The heroes were all, “whoa this guy is really big, we should probably stop him and maybe even devote an entire chapter or two just to that,” and so they sent three whole people after him, which sadly is pretty much the exact sort of strategy I’ve come to expect from them by this point. Anyway so Mt. Lady tried to hold Machia off but kept getting flung aside, and Kamui Woods tried to catch him but was set on fire by Dabi who is just having way too good of a time setting all of the flammable heroes on fire today, and Midnight tried to put him to sleep but Compress threw a bunch of debris at her and so she fell like 80 feet. The chapter ended with Midnight being all “fuck this” and calling Momo, who ordered the rest of the child soldier squad into action as Machia approached. I’m not really sure what they’re gonna do, but I honestly don’t really care, because it’s Momo, and so, YES.

Today on BnHA: U.A.’s first-year hero students, who apparently had nine hours to prepare their battleground instead of the fifteen seconds we had all assumed, launch a complex multi-staged assault which is actually really fucking impressive because these kids are actually awesome. First they pin Machia down in one of Honenuki’s mud pits, and then they take turns making impassioned attempts to take out the other League members chilling out on Machia’s back. Unfortunately none of these attempts work because of Dabi, who’s working overtime while the rest of the League sits around shooting down each other’s escape plans. Basically a lot of stuff gets set on fire, and then the chapter ends with Mt. Lady pinning Machia to the ground while MINA, YES, MINA, charges at him covered in acid like some sort of video game boss that you need some kind of specific item to defeat. DID YOU KNOW YESTERDAY WAS MINA’S BIRTHDAY YOU GUYS. Anyway so this chapter is basically pandemonium from start to finish, and it’s great. It is a RUMPUS, y'all. A STRAIGHT UP HULLABALOO.

IS IT MOMO LOVIN’ HOURS I THINK IT IS, YOU GUYS. ARE YOU EXCITED. I AM EXCITED

but first, the color page we were promised, in celebration of Six Whole Years Of This Bullshit!!

oh god oh god so much to love so little time

some of the rowdier characters are making MULTIPLE APPEARANCES IN THIS SHITSHOW, including Kaminari who appears to be in a record-setting THREE of these! who exactly was taking all of these pictures, and why are they so obsessed with him. also how many of these are going to be used as evidence in the latest Kami Traitor Theory posts and is it too early for me to get mad about it

“WE INVITED ENDEAVOR AND HAWKS TO OUR ‘BEING FANCY ON THE COLOR PAGE’ PARTY, EVEN THOUGH THEY’RE NOT U.A. STUDENTS OR FACULTY. WE JUST FELT LIKE IT.” listen that is fine, y’all don’t have to explain yourselves to me

Mirko however is not here, I assume because if she was, Horikoshi would have forgotten to draw all the rest of the characters again. she’s too powerful

Midnight is so sexy I don’t even ksdfnkl

ALL MIGHT LOOKING HAPPY GIVES ME THE STRENGTH I NEED TO MAKE IT THROUGH THE REST OF THIS WEEK. YOUR SMILE IS THE MVP

Cementoss’s face is the runner-up MVP and one of the greatest things I’ve seen in my life

half the people here seem to be attempting to flirt with whoever is taking the pictures. I am starting to suspect that the culprit is Momo. change my mind

for some reason I am really shocked to see Endeavor getting his drink on. and he’s literally the only one, too

Bakugou’s half-assed I SAID NO PAPARAZZI skills are no match for Tamaki’s legendary “I WILL LITERALLY DIE IF YOU CAPTURE ME ON FILM” abilities

I literally didn’t notice Deku until like three quarters of the page in. he sure does blend right in there

Tokoyami is approximately 97.3% done and ticking EVER CLOSER to full 100% doneness, and when that happens even I can’t tell you what is going to go down

do I even need to mention how sexy Aizawa’s hair is. apparently I do

SERIOUSLY THOUGH CEMENTOSS’S FACE

anyway, so that was nice! NOW ON TO THE MOMOLOVIN’

and we begin with FIRST YEAR CLASS B HONENUKI “MUDMAN” JUZOU just LAYIN’ SOME TRAPS IN THE WOODS, as one does

oh my freaking god Tokage

somehow her quirk didn’t freak me out quite this much the last time we saw her. she is really something. has she always had shark teeth

also WHERE IS MONOMA’S GROUP. I immediately want to know!! is he with the Shouto group? or is there yet ANOTHER student group we don’t know about? what would they even be doing

or did Horikoshi actually get three quarters of the way through writing this arc and then suddenly slap his forehead as he realized that if Monoma just casually copied Machia’s powers he would either DIE IMMEDIATELY or else become SUPER STRONG and also grow 80 feet tall and this would suddenly be a very different battle with the scales tipping decidedly in the heroes’ favor. and so he had to quickly write him out of the battle in this very half-assed way

anyway, so while I ponder that, Tokage is peeking the top of her head out over the trees and staring at Machia who is, you guessed it, still heading right their way! just like he’s been doing pretty much this entire time

and now there’s a whole page of reaction panels you guys. this is why Horikoshi tries to avoid these massive Endgame-style battles with every single hero known to man participating. hopefully we won’t have too many of these. like I mean thank you for the roll call and all but I’d like to get to the action now

Mineta of all people is stealing this entire page with that expression though. he is not fucking around. this is twice in as many chapters that he’s been a page-stealing face-making champ. dare I hope this could be the start of a new niche for him? lord knows it would be so much better than the old niche

also this page is just sweatdrops galore. these kids are so nervous. MANGA GODS PLEASE KEEP THEM SAFE, although I’m honestly not too worried about them compared to the adults. I’m sure I should be, but I just am not

all right so now Momo is explaining what those little canisters are!

okay but someone please explain to me how it is that they had time to stop and lay all of these traps?? not just Honenuki’s, but Mineta’s and what looks like some of Shiozaki’s work as well?? did Machia just STOP MOVING for like five whole minutes all of a sudden for no reason at all? while they were all sitting out here saying things like “with that speed...”? ????? ????????

also lol wtf. “we’re gonna have to make him eat it.” I still have no idea what their plan is, but it’s getting more entertaining by the minute I’ll say that much

okay so Momo says that if they can get him to swallow just one of these, then that should be enough to put him to sleep. oh my god this chapter is going to be AMAZING isn’t it

meanwhile Mineta is worrying about Midnight. I swear to god if they turn this into something where he’s only worried because she’s hot, I will take one of these canisters and shove it right up his...

okay good, Mina’s reassuring him that it’s gonna be okay, and then we’re just cutting to Machia stampeding in with Mt. Lady and Kamui still clinging to him

WHAT THE HELL ARE THESE GUYS EVEN DOING

“we’ll just stand here adjacent to him and just kind of watch as he rushes straight at the children.” someone help me, I’m having difficulty finding a synonym for “useless” that carries the full amount of emphasis I want to place on it right now. this requires a degree of language the human race is not yet capable of

OH SNAP

THEY GOT HIM YEAHHHHH

OH DANG, FOR REAL THOUGH!!

ngl, for a brief spiteful moment I was disappointed he hadn’t actually fallen on them :/

and they’re still JUST STANDING THERE, I CAN'T EVEN?? we’re getting to the point where I honestly think actual civilians might have been of more use in this situation

YESSSSS

TIME TO FIND OUT HOW MANY TENTH GRADERS GIGANTOMACHIA CAN TAKE IN A FIGHT

also, sorry to keep harping on this, but the juxtaposition of that earlier panel with all of the fully grown and experienced pros just standing in dumb awe, immediately followed by this panel of BRAVE BUT DETERMINED CHILDREN CHARGING IN AND YELLING “GO GO GO”, is just... it really is something. shit. if I was the HPSC and this was what I had to work with, I too might have seriously considered fudging a few age requirements in hopes of finding someone who could actually get the fucking job done

also what the hell is going on down there with Shishida and Satou and that third person? what are those Blackwhip-looking things?? I’m confused

ohhhhh no

Shiozaki is about to be sent flying through the air courtesy of her own hair vines omg

OH NO WAIT THE THREE TOUGH GUYS ARE STOPPING HIM. AHHH THE LAST ONE WAS KENDOU AHHHH

I still can’t figure out what the hell those are though lol. did Momo make some steel cables?? I feel like Machia would be able to break just about any kind of rope or chain they could concoct just by sheer brute strength alone

ah fuck

DON’T YOU GUYS GO RUINING THIS FOR ME!! THEY’VE GOT A GOOD THING GOING HERE, LET THEM HAVE THEIR FUN!!

although I do appreciate how they’re all “U.A.!!” in kind of this “oh shit, these guys we actually have to worry about” sort of tone lol

this look on Toga’s face is a bit concerning! well but Deku and Ochako aren’t here though, so I wonder who she’s gonna fight if it comes to that. huh

(ETA: seriously, does anyone have any idea what Toga is planning cuz I sure don’t.)

Shouji and Ojiro, who I might remind you are normal people with no enhanced physical abilities aside from extra appendages, appear to have somehow circled all the way around to Machia’s back and are now climbing up oh shit

oh and Aoyama’s there too! -- is Shouji carrying him omg

he’s using him as a human ray gun omggg. this is the most delightful thing I’ve ever witnessed

NOW SOMETHING IS BEING SHOT AT THE LEAGUE AND DABI’S STARING AT IT ALL “>:(” AND I’M PRETTY SURE THIS THING, WHATEVER IT IS, IS ABOUT TO BE SET ON FIRE, LET’S SEE

lds;afksjdl;fkj WERE THOSE JIROU’S EARJACKS??!!

okay you know what fuck you Dabi. you think it’s funny to set a little girl’s ears on fire?! don’t expect any sympathy from me when Aoyama lasers you in the face

WELL I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING BUT THEY’RE SHOOTING WHAT LOOK LIKE A BUNCH OF LITTLE TAMBOURINES AT HIM NOW

I ASSUME THEY ARE NOT ACTUALLY TAMBOURINES, BUT I REALLY DON’T KNOW, IT’S NOT LIKE THEY HANDED OUT THE RULE BOOK TO THIS THING AHEAD OF TIME

[HUGE EXAGGERATED GASPING SOUNDS]

oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my

OH MY GOD AND YANAGI THREW THEM WITH HER POLTERGEIST QUIRK!??

I DON’T KNOW WHAT THIS “ACK?!!” IS AND IT’S REALLY BUMMING ME OUT, BECAUSE THIS CAME WITHIN INCHES OF BEING THE COOLEST FUCKING COMBINATION I’VE EVER SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!?!?

(ETA: it would have laid them all flat in seconds. Kaminari is to be feared you guys.)

NO!!!!!

it is sincerely frustrating to me watching the League carelessly toss aside all of their painstakingly accumulated goodwill from the MVA arc in the span of just a few short pages. hey Compress, you think it’s cool to hurl a bunch of rocks at my six-and-a-half-year-old son?? I hope someone rips that cool robot arm off and uses it to punch you in the dick

here comes Sero!! and how are you going to die, Sero

what in the

did he just... sneeze them all into space

okay but hear me out, what if Shouda absorbed that impact. SHOUDA YOUR TIME HAS FINALLY COME. CLASS 1-B’S ASCENT TO GLORY

(ETA: watch this space!! Shouda is here for a reason mark my words.)

meanwhile on Machia’s back, Dabi is soliloquying about Machia’s quirk while his arm is doing... something

please forgive me for not being able to drum up any sympathy for poor Dabi’s arms right about now. quit trying to set all my kids on fire

wait whaaaaat lol

so I scrolled back up to the previous page, and... that was fire?? lord help me why am I still so terrible at being able to tell when Horikoshi is drawing fire as opposed to just air randomly whooshing through trees. I have really got to memorize that foossh sound effect

so can Gigantomachia just BREATHE FIRE now?? or was ALL OF THAT Dabi??? if it was the latter then at least he had the decency to wait until all of the kids got blown out of range before setting the whole forest aflame to keep them back. I’ll admit it, that was thoughtful of him as far as villain power moves go

OHO BUT YOU CAN’T COUNT MOMO OUT JUST LIKE THAT!!

AND NOW EVERYTHING AROUND THEM IS EXPLODING AHHHHHH DID YOU GUYS SET LANDMINES, BAKUGOU WOULD BE SO PROUD

once again I have to ask myself exactly how much prep time they had here. Horikoshi would have you think it was mere seconds, but that clearly cannot be the case?? maybe they set some of these up beforehand to catch any stray villains trying to flee the area?

lmao Spinner’s all “wait why doesn’t he just dig his way out”, because apparently Machia can tunnel himself under the ground. but Compress is all “um because we would die” and Spinner is all “oh right”

though I gotta say, it’s not like they’re that much better off as things are now, either. pinned down in the woods surrounded by fire and explosives. definitely a conundrum

oh snap Compress has realized that their presence is holding Machia back. don’t tell me Machia is gonna head off on his own and leave the rest of the League to square off with the kids

YOOOOOO HOLY SHIT THE HEROES ACTUALLY DID SOMETHING

there you go, League! free cannon fodder to get you all pumped and confident again!

DKFJLSDKJ

PLEASE LET THIS BE THE ACTUAL TRANSLATION OH MY GOD. THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE LINE IN ANYTHING AHHHH

“I’m leaving it to you, U.A.’s youngsters!” yeah, you and everyone else. ah well, can’t deny they get the job done

OH MMKJKYYYY GODDDDDDJJK

MINA COATED HERSELF IN ACID AND IS RUNNING AT GIGANTOMACHIA AND IS SHE ALSO ON FIRE??!?! SHE’S JUST RUNNING AT HIM LIKE A BIG OL’ FIERY BLOB???! QUEEN MINA???!! FIRE IS NOT HER WEAKNESS???! MINA??!! IS AIRPLANE?!??!!?!? MINAAAAAAA

holy fucking shit this whole arc is just one big Arc Of Ladies Getting To Do Stuff and I am 1000% living for it. THIS ARC IS MY FAMILY. I WOULD DIE FOR IT AND LEAVE EVERYTHING TO IT IN MY WILL. ahhhhhhhhhh

263 notes · View notes

itmeansofthesea · 3 years

Text

Moving Day

Well this one got me all in my feelings. This was supposed to be lighter and funnier and somehow it got away from me. Instead it's this beautiful thing?? Maybe I'll try to write a funnier version later, but thanks to @dobega for reminding me of the domesticity conversation that led to the end. Any longer and I would have to make this a series, but if that's something you're interested in I think I could swing it. Enjoy, y'all.

Warnings: like one curse word? I think that's it... It's also overwhelmingly sweet imo so just be ready for that.

Had Charles Vane known that becoming ally/friends with James Flint would involve helping him, his boyfriend, and his boyfriend’s wife (his girlfriend?) move into their new house, he might have just gone ahead, taken the warship and let Peter Ashe hang Flint and be done with. Not really, but… maybe?

He honestly isn’t even really sure how he got roped into this. It was a couple of weeks ago when he, Jack, Anne, Max, Flint, Thomas, and Miranda were all sitting at a table upstairs in the brothel having dinner. Billy was out showing Abigail around Nassau and Mr.s Gates and De Groot were just trying to get a moment’s peace at some smaller tavern at the other end of town. Silver and Madi were out having some sort of alone dinner thing (Jack had called it a “date” and then called Charles a “heathen with no sense of romance”), and this all left the motley crew to sit around with whatever the brothel’s cook had dreamed up and a metric ton of ale to wash it down.

Charles didn’t fully understand the situation Flint had with the Hamiltons, but whatever it was clearly made Flint happier than Charles had ever seen him. He was all smiles and laughter and joy. It warmed Charles’s heart (just a bit) to see his friend so happy, because they certainly had become friends. He mentally joked about leaving Flint to hang, but to be honest it would be difficult to imagine his life without the people sitting around the table with him now. At least, it would be difficult to imagine something resembling a happy life.

They’d stopped to refuel in Savannah after Charlestown and somehow or another word got to Flint about a plantation full of the disgraced sons of London’s elite that were now more or less enslaved in the prison colony. If there was one thing Charles was always down to do (and there were many things he was always down to do), it was hunt down a slave master and free people from bondage. They’d split when they got to the plantation- Charles after the master of the house and James off to find Thomas. Finding Mr. Smith hadn’t been difficult and dispatching him was even easier. Once that was finished, Charles made his way outside to find Flint in the arms of another, taller man and both of them appeared to be weeping. He felt like an intruder watching them, so he busied himself with checking the plantation for anyone else who may need to be released. When they made it back to the ship, Miranda leapt on the man who Charles realized must be Thomas, and after a minute of holding on to him she grabbed Flint into their embrace.

In time all of the introductions were made, and suddenly the Charles/Anne/Jack crew expanded to the Charles/Anne/Max/Jack crew and the Charles/James friendship expanded to include Charles/James/Thomas/Miranda. They also intercepted Abigail Ashe on the way, and James and the Hamiltons promptly adopted her on the spot. She and Charles had some reacquainting to do outside of Eleanor Guthrie’s influence, but he at least thought they were making progress. She didn’t seem nearly as terrified as she’d been of him when she followed Eleanor through the gate, so that was something.

Fast forward a few weeks and here they all were finishing their chicken and ale when Jack began asking about where the Flint/Hamilton/Ashe family intended to live. Miranda’s house was too small now that they had Abigail, and Billy had attached himself to Abigail as an older brother figure so usually where one of them was, the both of them were. Of course with Billy came Mr. Gates as his surrogate father, and while they’d made it work for the last couple of months, everyone was feeling a bit cramped.

Jack and Max volunteered to host them at the brothel, but they politely declined. Charles half considered offering to let them stay at the fort, but figured that may not be the best idea considering they also had Abigail to consider. Not that he couldn’t keep his men under control, but he also knew that she had memories of that fort that she may not want to be surrounded by all the time. He certainly knew that was the case for him, and yet he stayed… for some reason. Maybe he should take Jack up on the offer to move into the brothel…

Thomas mentioned that they’d been asking around and found a house a bit more inland from Miranda’s that had been abandoned for the last several years. It would take a bit of fixing up, but they planned to go ahead and move in and then work on it as they lived there. Before Charles fully knew what was happening, Jack had volunteered Charles, Anne, himself, and Max to all help them move with the added bonus that he and Max would help with the decorating if Miranda so desired their assistance. Max enthusiastically agreed and elbowed Anne in the side prompting her to shrug a shoulder in agreement. Jack looked at Charles with those wide puppy-dog eyes and before Charles even knew what he was saying he’d agreed to help. The look on the Flint/Hamilton’s faces almost made it worth it.

At the time.

That was then.

Now it’s moving day. What on earth had they gotten themselves into?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Charles and company arrived at Miranda’s house early the next day, one cart was packed and Thomas, Billy, and James were in the process of loading another one. It was decided that they would stay behind and the Ranger crew plus Max would go with Miranda and Abigail and get things unloaded. Mr. Gates was out helping Mr. De Groot careen the ship again since the last time was a bit of a disaster.

The moving crew pulled up to a slightly rundown looking two story house with columns on the porch and an overgrown garden to the side. Miranda smiled and squeezed Abigail around the shoulders before jumping off the cart to start unloading. Abigail took the key to the front door and unlocked it, but had a little trouble pushing it open since the summer heat made the wood swell in the jamb. Jack went to help her push it open while Charles and the others started getting things off the cart.

“Just put everything in the front for now, we’ll get it sorted later,” Miranda instructed as she pulled a crate of books from the back. She passed it to Charles who noticed the copy of Reflections by Marcus Aurelius on the top. He recognized it from a conversation he’d had with Flint on the way to the plantation. That was his and Thomas’s book, the one object that kept them tethered together to all this time. Flint’s book with Miranda was Don Quixote, which he also noticed on top of the stack. It’s not that Charles couldn’t read (Teach made sure he could), it had just never been particularly useful to him. You don’t have to know how to read to split logs, haul rope, navigate the stars, or fight the English Navy. Besides, he’d never really had the time to sit down and rest long enough to read. Maybe he should change that. He set the books down to the left of the open door and went back out for more stuff.

Max and Anne pulled down a trunk of clothes and carried it into the house together. Charles volunteered to switch with them, but he was told in no uncertain terms that they could handle it themselves thank you very much, so he left them to it. He passed Miranda and Abigail carrying small crates of what appeared to be dishes. Porcelain. Hadn’t he and Flint had that conversation just a few days ago? About how fragile porcelain and books were, and how fragile a civilized life was, and how it all came down to capitulation and letting society numb you into obedience? Now he was willingly helping Flint settle into that obedience. Is that something a real friend should do? Charles wasn’t sure, so he jumped into the back of the cart, pushed a trunk to the edge, and hauled it out of the back of the cart to take inside.

Miranda stood in the foyer with her hands on her hips trying to put together what each room should be when the furniture arrived. Charles motioned to the trunks on the floor and at Jack who was just standing there in slack jawed awe.

“Would you like us to move these upstairs?”

Miranda turned and smiled up at him. “Sure, thank you, Charles.”

“Jack, let’s go.” Charles barked and jerked his head toward the trunks.

“You can’t honestly expect me to be able to help you carry that upstairs.” Jack raised an eyebrow and looked at Charles like he’d lost his mind. Charles scowled and opened his mouth to reply when suddenly-

“Good thing we got here in time then,” Flint’s voice sounded amused coming from behind him, and he turned just in time to see Billy and Thomas carrying in a table. Miranda’s smile widened as she directed them to the right and Flint walked over to Charles to help with the trunk.

“My hero,” Jack cooed jokingly at Flint before catching Charles’s eye and backing away. “Yes, yes, I know. Fuck you, Jack. I’ll let you save your breath.” Jack raised his hands and walked away to follow Miranda and see if he could start setting the table or something.

Charles just rolled his eyes and grabbed his end of the trunk.

“On 3?” James asked. Charles nodded. “1, 2, 3,” James counted off and they both lifted at the same time. It was heavy, even for the two of them.

“The fuck’s in this thing?” Charles grunted as he started backwards up the stairs.

“I think these are Abigail’s… From what I understand, women’s clothes are far more complex than ours,” James laughed.

“Not here, they aren’t…” Charles thought back to Eleanor’s outfits, but also realized that Abigail and Miranda were nothing like Eleanor, therefore they would likely be dressed more like Max, in which case it made sense. Thank God they weren’t like Eleanor. Nassau couldn’t handle another one.

“So, if you can’t understand why a man would want domesticity, why are you helping four of them move into a house?” James looked amused, and Charles honestly wasn’t even sure he had an answer.

“I still don’t understand it. To the left,” Charles moved to get his back to the doorway and James moved with him. “However,” they set the trunk down inside the room and straightened. “I think I am starting to understand wanting peace.” He sighed. “And I don’t know, maybe I do understand it. I tried to tell Eleanor that we could take part of the gold and settle down, have a life, a couple of kids… but she would never have that. I told myself that wasn’t me wanting domesticity, that was wanting someone else to depend on me, but…” he took a deep breath and walked out onto the landing where he could see Jack and Anne below him. James wordlessly followed. “Maybe I’ve had other people depending on me for a long time. Actually, I know I have. It’s why Jack wouldn’t come with me when I left with Teach- he didn’t want to have to depend on me when he’d built something of his own here. I didn’t expect that to hurt as much as it did.”

“But it did,” James whispered beside him.

“It did. I guess because I was hoping that our friendship would be enough for him to come with me, but in the end his need for independence won out. I can’t blame him, especially after all the shit I put him through with Eleanor-”

“Excuse you, you both put us all through that,” James smirked and bumped Charles’s shoulder. He earned a grunt in response. James just chuckled and noted the small grin gracing Charles’s face out of the corner of his eye. James knew at one point that comment would likely have resulted at him having a knife in his face. He was thankful they’d progressed past that.

“Anyway,” Charles emphasized the word, “seeing you with Miranda and Thomas, and even adopting Abigail. It seems peaceful. Maybe that’s part of domesticity, maybe it isn’t, but either way, it looks nice. It’s not something I can have in that fort probably, but…” he trailed off.

James waited a beat before asking, “what?”

“I am happy that it’s working out this way for you,” Charles whispered. “If anyone deserves all of this, you do. You all do,” he ignored the water welling up in his eyes as he put a hand over Flint’s over the railing.

Flint didn’t even bother ignoring his tears. He just let them go as he watched his family make their home together for the first time in a way that included all of them from the very beginning. He whispered, “thank you. So do you, you know?”

Charles chuckled humorlessly and swiped a hand across his face.

“I’m serious,” James looked at Charles who turned his head in response. “They are my family, but you are now, too. You don’t show up to save my life from the man who ruined my life, help me blow a port city to hell, kill its governor, and then stop me from murdering Jack Rackham for taking the Urca gold I’d been after for years without earning the title of brother. Even if you did steal my ship first.” James smirked and bumped Charles’s shoulder again.

“Yeah… I’m not sorry about that.” Charles shook his head and laughed.

“Wouldn’t expect you to be,” James chuckled, “brother.”

Charles looked at his family and back at James. “Brother.”

#black sails #charles vane #ranger crew #anne bonny #jack rackham #bs max #james flint #flinthamilton #thomas hamilton #miranda hamilton

14 notes · View notes