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moonchildstyles · 1 year

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retrouvailles

élan part six: y/n goes on a date, harry finds out a secret, and something shifts.

wordcount: 15.5k+

—————

"Y'think I did alright?"

(Y/N) swore her cheeks were going to ache for the rest of the day with the way her wide smile stretched over her lips.

"I think you did really well," she told him, her voice laced with warm amusement though she was far from teasing.

She was being honest, really. Hearing Harry speak in the small amount of conversational French he knew to her new nail tech as well as the receptionist of the salon she'd found today, was one of the sweetest things she'd ever seen. While his accent was improving, she cherished the flourish he still gave to his e's and the care he gave to his consonants.

"'M getting better, huh," he pressed, sounding a little too proud.

"Your accent definitely is," she mused, spotting the entrance to their building not too far ahead from where they were strolling down the pedestrian walk.

"Good," Harry responded simply, the edge of a dimple pressed into his cheek, "I've been practicing."

Somehow it was possible, but (Y/N)'s smile widened. "I've heard."

He wasn't exactly the most quiet as he recited simple words she'd taught to him after he thought she fell asleep. He preferred to sneak out onto the balcony, and practice with the light of the Tower shimmering in the distance. She liked hearing his voice like that, just a hair muffled through the door and his improper French.

It didn't take long before Harry was holding open the door for her to head inside their apartment building. No one other than the doorman was occupying the small space. (Y/N) offered a fleeting smile in his direction, her attention captured by the grandiose display on the desk counter.

In a crystalline vase, cut expertly to allow waves of rainbow light to glimmer over the warm eggshell walls, was an oversized bouquet of roses. The petals were deep spirals of velveteen red, deep dark in the center before going crimson on the edges. They had unfurled perfectly, not a single speck of discoloration or wilting. The stems were a healthy forest green, strong with clipped thorns as they held the large blooms in place. Interspersed between the roses were glossy leaves of emerald greenery and stark white puffs of baby's breath. It was full and large, stuffed and heavy with more immaculate roses than (Y/N) thought could exist in the world. How the vase wasn't toppling over from the sheer size, she wasn't sure.

They were gorgeous—pristine. (Y/N) even slowed her steps some to caress her eyes over the blooms for a moment longer.

Nonetheless, their synced steps eventually landed her at the doors of the lift. Harry, at her side with his own attention pressing forward, entered the code for the lift to take them upwards.

Just as she took her eyes away from the bouquet, the doorman suddenly shouted through the lobby in accented English, "Wait!"

(Y/N)'s steps faltered, the elevator doors having parted open. She glanced over her shoulder, feeling his shout being directed to her though she couldn't imagine why.

The doorman looked at her with wide eyes, his brows raised. "Mademoiselle?"

"Oui? Comment puis-je t'aider?" she trilled, watching as he stepped closer with her to catch up.

From the corner of her eye, Harry's security instincts kicked in, stepping closer to her as a form of barricade.

Eyeing Harry, the doorman slowed feet away, keeping that space between as (Y/N) peered around the broad of Harry's shoulder.

"Les roses," he started, gesturing towards the towering bouquet, "Elles sont pour vous, mademoiselle."

"Pour moi?" she pressed, her brows pinching.

"Pour toi. Ils vous ont été déposés il y a une heure."

"Oh," she sounded, allowing her gaze to wander back to the glamorous roses behind him, "Merci."

Taking it upon himself, Harry took the flowers from the counter, keeping himself between (Y/N) and the doorman as he moved. Offering nothing more than a quiet thank you, (Y/N) helped him into the waiting elevator, Harry having held the doors open in case he had to usher her through.

Once alone in the lift, (Y/N) couldn't help but to run a finger over the blooms. Harry watched intently, observing and cataloguing as if he had something to be suspicious over. Truthfully, she couldn't completely blame him. She couldn't think of anyone who would send flowers to this address for her, especially something this grandiose.

In the back of her mind, a niggling panic arose. This wouldn't be that admirer of hers, right?

Silence followed them into their apartment, (Y/N) speaking up as she held the door open for him to slip through with the tottering vase. "Is there a card or anything you can see?"

"Yes." Harry's voice was clipped as he answered. Nothing more was offered.

She waited for him to set the bouquet down before she searched through the stems, finding the small card amongst the greenery. The slip was heavy, made from embossed cardstock—definitely more than what a regular florist would offer.

Flicking it open, the writing inside was a shimmering black, inky and definite. The writing was elegant, scrolling and scripting, handwritten with a lilting hand.

Even before meeting you in person, I know these roses pale in comparison to your beauty. See you soon. x

Elliot

Every beautiful thing about the note was cancelled out when she read that name.

That was the man who was tasked to take her out for dinner in a few days, her father's friend.

"Oh," she sounded.

Harry was silent at her side. He must have been able to spot the details when she couldn't.

"They're so pretty," she said, folding the card away, almost pouting at the roses, "I'm sad he had to be the one to send them."

A beat passed before Harry spoke again, "I don't trust them."

Canting her head, she tried to see what he saw in the flowers. "What do you mean? They're gorgeous."

His arms coming cross around his chest, Harry stayed firm in his stance. "I don't like it. He shouldn't know your address before he's even met you. Taking the time to find a florist in Paris, finding something this extravagant, I don't know. I don't trust them."

"I mean," she started, tipping her head in the other direction, "I'm sure they're fine though, right?"

"I don't know," he answered shortly, "I'm going to have to think about it. We might have to get rid of them."

Peeking from the corner of her eye, she saw the pinched expression marring his features. He almost seemed offended to be looking at the roses.

Her features dropped some at the idea of throwing out the bouquet. "Oh. I like roses, though."

Harry's face pinched further at her words.

—————

Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, (Y/N) forced herself out of her room, letting a shiver run up her spine at the cold floor under her feet. Through her bleary gaze, the first thing she saw was the streak of red that was the bouquet of roses sitting on the kitchen counter.

It took a couple of blinks before she realized that the flowers on the counter were very much not the same as the bouquet she received yesterday.

This bundle was significantly smaller, only a dozen compared to the fifty or so blooms from the day before, only small clusters of baby's breath added in. The same vase was being utilized for this bouquet, the white ribbon that tied the stems together still included and now dipped in the water filling the vase. The red was brighter, a couple of the flowers not quite as open as the ones she'd seen before, the greens on the lighter side.

Propped against the vase was a slip of pink paper taken from a notepad (Y/N) usually wrote their grocery list on.

She didn't lift her eyes from the bouquet as she approached, the morning light seemingly making the blooms glow. Reaching for the note, her features softened, rounding and curving into a quiet smile.

Good morning. I know these roses aren't as nice as the others, but I hope you think they're just as pretty.

Harry

His letters were blocky and absolute, none of the flourish the other man had left on the note. She definitely liked these much more than the flowers she received before.

Brushing her fingers over the soft petals, she attempted to bite back the wide grin that threatened to take over her face. With the note in hand, she spun on her toes, searching for Harry as if she missed him in the space.

Spotting him through the windows of the balcony doors, she didn't waste any time before she was crossing the living room to join him in the morning air.

Knocking on the glass, she stepped onto the balcony as Harry looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup.

"Morning," he murmured, eyes glancing towards the note clutched in her hand.

"Good morning," she chirped, shifting her weight on her feet with that fluttering feeling lingering in her tummy.

"Y'alright?" he asked, noticing the way she couldn't seem to stay still.

Looking at Harry now, all she saw was the man that picked out those flowers waiting for her inside. He picked her a bouquet that was worlds better than the grandiose arrangement she saw the day before, if only because it came from him. She liked his note much better, too.

"I am," she said through her beaming smile, "Thank you for the flowers."

Harry minutely perked up though his features stayed straight-laced. The grip on his mug tightened, his eyes brightening that much. "Yeah? Y'like them?"

"I love them."

For the first time since she'd met him, (Y/N) watched as a small smile landed on Harry's lips. The glances of dimples she gained and the ghostly smiles that disappeared before she had a chance to truly take them in were all blown away with the way he allowed that small grin to mold his features. He gazed up at her with that smile on his lips for a moment before he cast his eyes out towards the Parisian cityscape. He brought his free hand up to knuckle at the tip of his nose, his smile partially hidden behind his hand.

"Good."

—————

(Y/N) read, and reread, and reread her father's coaching text at least five times before the message began to sink in.

The first couple of messages were the usual host of guidelines, imploring her to not drink, to stay on her best behavior, to act lady-like (code for: don't try to sleep with him, because she was a whore, of course), ect. She rolled her eyes at first, reading those rules like they were supposed to be pasted to the fridge for a kindergartener to follow. It wasn't until the final message came through that her attention shifted to something serious.

Dad

And, Harry is to stay back tonight. He's already a distraction to the media, and shouldn't be there when you're meant to be on a date with someone who is able to handle you just fine.

The plan all week had been for Harry to accompany her, be right at her side through the whole night no matter what. Not only because he didn't particularly trust her father's circle of friends after the 132 Gala, but also at (Y/N)'s request. That plan had been the only reason she hadn't fought tooth and nail to get out of this stupid date—the whole reason she hadn't done something equally as idiotic to get her father to cancel the plans in favor of punishing her.

Just thirty minutes ago, sitting in front of her vanity to get ready to go out with another man, Harry had been on her mind. She wondered if he would like the red lipstick she slicked over her mouth, or if he would think it was too much. She wondered if he would like the bounce of her hair or if he would think it was too big. She wondered if he would think of those roses he bought for her when he saw the red of her dress.

Now, none of that even mattered—if it had mattered at all in the first place, anyway.

Harry was going to drop her off, and leave her to her date.

The idea had (Y/N) deflating where she sat on her bed, her shoulders holding a defeated slope.

She didn't want to get up, she didn't want to face this night. Tempted, she half-typed out a text feigning food poisoning to her father, a quick fix to get out of this whole thing.

But, she knew better. Delaying this would only cause her more grief. Her father might even follow through and fly out to Paris himself to keep an eye on her.

Falling back against her mattress, bouncing against the springs without a care for her hair, she heaved a sigh. She was going to have to leave her room and paint her face with a famous smile, but afterwards, she could forget it all happened. It would be over and she could return to her Parisian bubble that consisted of pilates, nail appointments, the farmer's market, and Harry.

She just needed to get through tonight.

Steeling her resolve, (Y/N) reacted to her father's text with a thumbs up and shook him out of her head. With her heels strapped to her feet and phone thrown into the bag hanging off of her wrist, she pushed the double doors to her room open and stepped out into the living room.

Sitting on the couch, waiting with phone in hand, was Harry. He glanced at her over the top of his screen only for his scrolling to pause, eyes widening through the frame of his lashes. (Y/N) saw the trail his gaze made over her form, skipping through the curves she fit into her rose-red dress, the minute slit on the side that allowed the fabric to flare around her thighs. Her accessories came in complementing hues, pearls in her ears with glimmering gold shining against the red.

A beat passed before he seemed to become aware of himself once more, clearing his throat as he made a move to put his phone away.

"Y'look... really good," he started, his voice strained as he stood to the full of his height, his gaze dropping down to his feet, "Are y'ready to go?"

"Thank you," she answered, decidedly less chipper than she would have expected after hearing his compliment. Her father's text was taking up too much space in her head for anything sweet to slip inside. "My father texted me while I was getting ready."

"Yeah?" he asked, beginning to inch towards the door though (Y/N) lagged behind. "What'd he say?"

Following him in minute steps, (Y/N) swallowed. "Has he talked to you today?"

"No," he answered shortly, pressing open the door for her to meet him at the threshold, his gaze heavy on her as she obviously stalled. "Why?"

"He—Harry—" she struggled to find the words, hoping it didn't come out as pathetically defeated as she felt, "He said you're not allowed to come with me tonight."

Harry stopped. His steps halted, his expression going blank as he looked at her.

"What do you mean?"

"He thinks you're a distraction for the media. If you were in any more pictures with me, especially when I'm supposed to be on a date with someone else, that would only cause more drama."

Slowly, Harry closed the door to her apartment, sealing them inside for a moment longer. His hand flexed around the doorknob.

"He thinks that?" Harry pressed after a beat, his tone sharp.

(Y/N) silently nodded her head for confirmation.

It only took a moment longer of that silence before Harry was undoing the work of shutting the door. Determined as ever, he pulled it open, beckoning her to follow after him as he stepped into the hall.

"I don't care. 'M going with you." His words were absolute like cement, unwavering and unmoving. "'M not leaving you with some man who you've never met before, and couldn't even bother to call y'before tonight—yet, he got your address to send 'flowers'."

"Harry," she called, following him out into the hall, "I—We can't."

He didn't budge, standing beside the elevator, the down arrow lit up showing the lift had already been requested. "I don't care, (Y/N). 'M not leaving you alone—your dad can get fucked."

Her steps stuttered as she moved to catch up with him. Never had she heard him be so explicitly mad at her father—or explicit, at all really. No one ever really became angry at her father the way she did, let alone express it so bluntly. No one had ever seen the things that she had when it came to him.

Nonetheless, (Y/N) still couldn't let him sabotage himself.

It was just like he said earlier in the week. Her father's wrath wasn't worth wriggling out of a few hours of discomfort—for she or Harry.

"Harry, no," she tried again, staying where she was when he tried to herd her into the requested lift. The sparkling panelling in the back of the elevator acted as a mirror, showcasing her and Harry in its reflection. "I can't let you do that. You'd lose your job, then you really would have to l-leave me here."

She hadn't expected the way her tongue tripped over the word leave. She hoped Harry hadn't noticed.

Harry's jaw squeezed, a hand coming up to knuckle at the tip of his nose as his gaze fell to the floor. "'S not fair," he murmured, "I can't leave y'there."

"I can't let you do anything else, though," she reasoned with him, dropping her voice to match the volume of his own, "My father would be so angry with us. He wouldn't let you stay here with me."

While that explanation was the truth, she had a feeling Harry would never be the one that was in proper trouble with her father. It would somehow make its way around to be her fault; that she had poisoned Harry's mind. That could be the only reasoning as to why he would comply with (Y/N)'s wishes over her father's. But, he didn't need to know all of that. He just needed to stay put, that was all she asked.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze flicking up in a glance at her. "(Y/N)," he murmured, the syllables of her name cradled in his voice.

"I know, but I promise I'll be fine. And, if I'm not, I'll call you right away. After this is all over, you can take me home, and we can try to watch a Julia Child episode again." A careful smile touched at the corners of her mouth then, hoping that lighthearted act would rub off on him. "I'll try not to fall asleep this time, either."

While his mood didn't seem to be particularly lifted at her plan, it was enough to get the hinges in his jaw moving again and the stark set of his shoulders loosening. Only after a lingering pause did she hear the grumble of his voice once more.

"Okay." Picking up his chin, he matched her eye contact head-on. "You promise me you'll tell me if you're uncomfortable?"

She knew what he was asking her, the night of the Gala flashing through her head, too.

"I promise."

With a single nod of his head, he flattened his hand between her shoulder blades and herded her into the lift.

—————

Harry maneuvered the car through the now familiar streets of Paris, taking her to the expensive location her date had requested.

Elliot, she thought with an internal cringe. She was going to have to actually call him by his name, instead of referring to him as some guy.

With the Eiffel Tower glimmering only a few miles away, (Y/N) wasn't surprised to see the restaurant that had been chosen for the night. (It was a terrible tourist trap, nothing particularly special that could justify the price other than the view of the Tower from the patio). It was just the kind of expensive nonsense her father loved to partake in when he visited, the same seemed to go for his friend.

The car was still running as Harry did nothing more than step on the breaks as a means for parking. All he needed was to hear her word and they could be out of there in a split second.

"I'll be back at nine to get you. No later," he cemented, his lips a thin line as he laid his sharp gaze on the eatery.

"Yes, no later," she parroted, pitching her voice into something lighter in hopes of tricking him into a better mood the same way she'd done for herself. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay."

With her hand on the door, (Y/N) hesitated. She didn't want to leave him now, especially not when he was so obviously on edge. She didn't know how to ease him other than promising again and again that she would get into contact if she needed him.

She just wanted him to know that she was far away from this date, too. That if it were up to her, this wouldn't be going at all, that she was miles away in their apartment.

Without overthinking it, she pushed the door open with the most prominent thought in her head slipping through her lips: "I wish I was doing this with you, tonight."

(Y/N) could feel Harry's eyes on her as she climbed out of the car, leaving before he had much of a chance to offer any response.

—————

This man—Elliot—is her father.

He is almost an exact replica of her father inside and out, this man just has a better hairline and faker teeth.

The similarities started the second it appeared he didn't know how to stop talking, going on and on about himself. He didn't know how to pair wine, despite boasting about the vineyard he supposedly owned here in the French countryside. ((Y/N) had to keep herself from wincing when he suggested starting the night off with foie gras and a deep red wine). He loved France, and wine, and charity, he'd said.

So, he was a liar, too. Just like her father.

No wonder he thought this would work out—that she would like him. Her father loved himself so much he couldn't imagine this date not being perfect with the similarities he shared with Elliot.

(Y/N) hid her frown behind her wine glass, listening as he made a fool of himself and the foundations he ran. (Supposedly, of course. With the way he spoke of them, they sounded more like cash grabs than anything real, a set of others running the operation while he was nothing more than the figurehead and beneficiary). He didn't even notice just how disconnected she was from this conversation, though she couldn't be surprised. To notice anything at all would require him to stop thinking about himself for longer than a breath.

"See! I knew you'd like that wine," Elliot boasted, looking pleased with himself as he ran a hand through his graying hair, "Your father said you were a drinker, so I had a feeling you'd enjoy this."

A part of her bubbled close to overflowing, wanting to spit at him that she actually hated the wine—it was too prickly and bitter, and overall just shit—but she tamped it down. It was enough to get her father red in the face if he found she was drinking against his rules, she didn't need to add on the fact that she blew up in this man's face over it. Nothing quite like a drunken rage to get her on the front page of a tabloid tomorrow.

Instead, she offered a sickly sweet smile after taking in a large gulp of the horrendous wine. "Yep," she falsely beamed, "That's me!"

He didn't even blink at the bitter tone to her voice, the scathing sticky sweetness that laid underneath her words.

Her savior came in the form of a scattered waiter approaching the table, his footsteps echoing a bit too loud in the otherwise empty restaurant. (Another small flex on Elliot's part—he'd bought out the entire eatery for the night, leaving them alone with nothing but the limited waitstaff and kitchen workers in the back).

Their waiter—whose name she wished she caught before Elliot had rudely cut him off in favor of ordering terrible wine—offered a painted smile, a bit too perfect to be authentic as he all but tripped over himself for a flawless service. In accented English, as her date didn't know any kind of real French, he asked, "Are you ready to order your mains this evening?"

Before (Y/N) could do anything but smile, Elliot was chomping at the bit, speaking in broken French as if to impress her.

He boasted that he would be ordering for the both of him, that he knew what she wanted. The waiter looked on with wide eyes, taking down the order in his little notepad. (Y/N) looked on unimpressed, listening as Elliot ordered himself a steak, commanding it to be cooked way too much, with a sauce that was much too rich for the white wine he was supposedly planning on pairing it with. She dreaded to hear what he thought she would like, especially with the way he flitted his dark eyes to her with bouncing brows, as if she could be anything other than enticed through this interaction.

In another move that was so terribly like her father, Elliot ordered her a chopped salad. Dressing on the side, as well.

(Y/N) had to rein herself in, keeping a bubbling peal of laughter from leaking out. If not for the fact this was really happening to her in this moment, she would have loved to hear a story like this in a comedy routine.

"That will be right up, sir. Thank you," the waiter praised, giving a small bow of his head before he turned to scurry away once more. (Y/N) envied him for his ability to eke out of the room.

Though, before he could make it too far away, (Y/N) stopped him with a gentle hand on his forearm. She extended backwards in her seat, catching his attention.

"Miss?" he murmured, "Did I miss something?"

"Oui désolé. Il n'a pas commandé correctement pour moi," she answered, noting the way his eyes widened at hearing the fluent French slip from her mouth.

Pulling out his leather notepad, he nodded his head, "Oh, mes excuses. Que puis-je mettre à la place?"

"Pas de soucis, merci," (Y/N) smiled, hoping to ease some of his nerves and make it abundantly clear that she knew she was too good for the man sitting across from her, "J'aurai le penne au salmon à la crème Parmesan, s'il te plaît."

The waiter nodded, looking a touch more comfortable as he spoke to only her, writing down the new order after putting a definitive strike through the previous. With a promise to return to check on them shortly, he disappeared into the reprieve that was the kitchen, leaving (Y/N) to suffer on her own.

"I didn't know you knew French," Elliot said from across the table, forcing her attention back to him. There was a pinch to his brow, tightening his already Botoxed features. "What did you say to him?"

"Hm? Oh," (Y/N) sounded, feigning confusion as if she had no idea what she'd just done, "I ordered for myself. I think he thought the side salad you got was for me."

Clueless to the fact that she was amusing herself at his expense, his furrow deepened. "It was for you."

"No, thank you," she said, sticky sweet and unbearably kind, "I actually really love the pasta from here. A salad isn't enough for me."

Elliot tripped his eyes down her form, glazing over the red dress she picked with Harry in mind. "You couldn't listen to me for tonight?"

"Oh," she canted her head, blinking her eyes owlishly, "I didn't know the salad meant something to you. Just a misunderstanding then, I guess."

It was eerie the way he looked exactly like her father as he took in a deep sigh, as if he had reason to be disappointed in her. Freud would be too happy seeing as how her father set her up with a man just like himself.

"It's alright, sweetie. Keep that in mind for next time, though. I've got you now—you don't need to worry about reading the menu and ordering for yourself anymore."

In an attempt to keep herself rooted to her spot and not stomping outside the door, (Y/N) tightened her grip on her wine glass. She wouldn't have been surprised if the stem broke under her palm.

"I definitely will," she laughed, feeling a hair away from delirious at this point.

Pleased with himself, Elliot sat back. "I feel like I've been talking about myself all night," he laughed, shaking his head as if his arrogance was a silly oversight, "I've been meaning to ask about something I read."

(Y/N) had to keep her eye from twitching. "Really? What was it?"

"That boy you've been pictured with," he started, his voice much too loud for the quiet space. (Y/N) had to consciously make an effort to keep her jaw from clenching as he referred to Harry as a boy. "Your dad said he was your security, but I wanted to ask about him myself."

Buying herself some time with a calculated sip of her wine, she swallowed down the acrid taste before asking, "What do you want to know?"

"Is he your boyfriend? Or whatever you kids call it now," Elliot bluntly pressed, "I read you cheated on Mr. Moore's son with him. Is there any truth to that?"

"No," was her immediate answer, "He's just my security guard."

In the back of her mind she knew those words didn't fit correctly in her mouth.

Elliot raised a challenging brow. "That's the truth?"

Forcing herself to do nothing more than grow stoic at his idiotic pressing, (Y/N) met his eyes directly without wavering. "I know the stories can be convincing, but this is what I'm telling you. It's the truth."

This was her version of biting back, dropping that tabloid bunny facade with placating smiles and the willingness to accommodate to be whatever person the one in front of her wanted. She couldn't outright slap him, so she'd have to settle for not being the naive butterfly he wanted.

Giving a slow nod, (Y/N) watched as her date ran through what she'd told him. He didn't seem to even understand that she was pushing back on him, his ego too large to see much else. "Okay," he settled, "Well, if this continues between us, I want to make it clear that I would prefer him to leave Paris."

(Y/N) sat dumbfounded for a beat.

Elliot continued on, "He's not needed if I'm here with you. I also believe he's taking advantage of his position in getting to touch and 'protect' you. You don't need him around."

Through gritted teeth, (Y/N) asked, "You think so?"

"Mhm," Elliot hummed, a bit too proud, "He's taking advantage of you as far as I can see. He takes from you since you can't overpower him—it's a hard thing to notice when you're the woman being taken, but it's obvious to others."

Swallowing, (Y/N) forced her jaw to unclench and a deep breath down her lungs.

She was livid. Truthfully, she couldn't care less what this man thought of her in any way—another way he was similar to his father—or if he chose to demean her for the rest of the night. But, when it came to Harry, the only innocent person in this whole stupid mess who'd done nothing but protect her to the best of his ability, that was where she was going to draw the line.

This night was over.

"Right," she answered stiffly, forcing her features into something kind and unwitting, "Do you mind if I run to the ladies room really quickly?"

Already pushing out her chair before he had a chance to say a word, (Y/N) only half listened when he told her to hurry back, he didn't mind waiting for her.

With her bag on her wrist and phone in hand, she typed out a message in quick strokes.

please come get me

Firing it off to Harry took all but a second, long enough for her to reach the kitchen,

While it felt impossibly rude to step inside, she had to put her plan into place before Elliot realized she hadn't headed towards the bathroom at all.

A member of the kitchen staff stopped in their tracks when they saw her, a bright streak of red in the middle of the otherwise stainless steel and clean white of the kitchen.

"Mademoiselle? Vous cherchez les toilettes?"

"Non, j'avais en fait une demande, s'il vous plaît." she started, keeping herself on the fringes of the space as to not touch something she wasn't meant to.

The staff member cast his gaze around for a moment, the rest of the kitchen slowing to a standstill when they noticed her. Only the sizzling of a pair of pans remained, the space hot from the running ovens and foaming butter.

"Comment puis-je t'aider?" he asked after a moment, no one objecting to the idea of her newly timed request.

"Y a-t-il un moyen pour que tu emmènes mes pâtes avec moi ? En plus d'ajouter pavé de saumon à la plancha pour que je le prenne également ? Je sais que c'est la dernière minute, mais j'ai changé de plan."

"To-go?" he answered in accented English.

"Oui," she cemented, time ticking the longer she had to explain herself, "Je dois aller aux toilettes, mais je peux les récupérer en sortant par l'arrière, si ça te va."

It was then that—what she assumed was—the kitchen manager spoke up, her hair tied up under a pristine white hat. "Oui. Nous pouvons préparer cela pour vous en dix minutes, mademoiselle."

"Merci," (Y/N) chirped, backing out of the kitchen before she could become any more of a distraction.

Next order of business came in the form of tracking down her waiter, who was tucked in an alcove around the bar, the single ticket for their table hanging from the processing computer. After the shock of spotting her in the backroom wore off, (Y/N) settled the tab—including the fish entree she just added—with a swipe of her father's credit card. A hefty tip was left for the staff, in hopes of making up for the absolute waste of time everyone involved had gone through for the night.

Checking the time on her phone as she scurried to the staff restroom (with permission from the waiter), (Y/N) didn't doubt that Elliot was either too absorbed in himself to notice she was still missing or he was beginning to realize she was taking too long for this to be an innocent trip to the ladies room. Nonetheless, she only had a handful of minutes left before her order would be ready, and Harry had to be on his way by now.

As if he was living inside her head, the second she closed the door behind her, a call came through her phone with Harry's contact written boldly up top.

"Hello?"

"Are you okay?" he fired off, ignoring her greeting, "Did something happen?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she eased, leaning against the bathroom door, "I'm a little annoyed and was almost bored to death, but I'm okay. I knew this was going to be a bad night, H, but it's been terrible, honestly."

"I'm outside, okay? I parked out back, but you'll see me," he rushed off, his voice a low rumble through the speaker.

(Y/N) reared back. "You're already here?"

"Yes."

A beat passed in the quiet of the bathroom. "Did you come from the apartment?"

"No." She could hear a sigh come from the other line. "I didn't go back—I stayed here."

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, having no right to feel a small smile bloom on her features at his admission. "I'll be out in a second. I need to grab something really quick."

"Okay. I'll see you in a minute."

Hanging up first, (Y/N) doubted he would unwind until she was sitting in that car with him, away from the annoying bug that was Elliot.

Scurrying through the restaurant in hopes of staying unnoticed by her date, she thanked the kitchen staff once more for the impromptu request she made before grabbing her orders and pushing through the back entrance.

The night was dark, only bits of warm light coming from the Eiffel Tower in the distance, tourists roaming the streets with roses in the wind. Searching for Harry's car, it only took (Y/N) a couple of steps around the building to spot the black sedan with its lights on bright.

Her steps quickened, heels clacking over the concrete as she eagerly met him. The doors were unlocked and ready for her to climb in.

"Look what I got for us!" she bubbled, fitting herself in the passenger seat with the boxed meals in her lap.

With his features only lit up by the dash lights and whatever was able to seep through the tinted windows, a furrow darkened Harry's brow. His gaze lingered on her face before dropping to her lap as she buckled up.

"Is... Is that your dinner?"

"It's our dinner!" she chirped, "I got you something while I was there." Finally cataloguing what exactly she had run out with, her grin only widened. "I think they gave me his too, actually."

At that, a huff of laughter left Harry's lips, the tension in the car melting as he shifted into drive. (Y/N) watched as his features softened in the low light, dimples present and eyes softening.

"He doesn't know you left, does he?"

"Nope," she trilled, "He'll figure it out soon though, I'm sure."

Harry only laughed again, eyes trained on the road though she didn't miss the way he glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"That bad?"

"Oh, yeah," (Y/N) heaved, shaking her head. "My father is going to be so mad, but I don't even care anymore."

(Y/N) could feel her muscles unwinding the farther they made it from the restaurant, dropping her head back to lean on the stiff rest. She genuinely didn't care if her father woke her up with degrading messages or a promise to visit her penthouse. She wasn’t going to sit by while Elliot degraded Harry for the sake of looking like an alpha.

The familiar route back to the apartment whizzed outside the windows until a bright idea blinked in (Y/N)'s head.

"Wait," she chattered, sitting up straight in her spot, "Turn around. I have an idea."

—————

The Eiffel Tower shimmered in front of them, warm dinner in their laps with a sturdy bench under.

The lights of the attraction were reflected back on Harry's wondrous eyes, his food left to cool in his lap as he was too distracted with the sight in front of him. (Y/N) was the same though her gaze was on him.

"Worth it, right?"

Harry didn't hesitate to pull his eyes from the Tower, casting his gaze to her with a lingering trace over her features. He paused on her lips for a heartbeat before he matched her eyes once more, the familiar beginnings of a lopsided smile touching the corner of his mouth.

"Definitely."

—————

(Y/N) barely bat an eyelash when she saw the heavy envelope as the only piece of mail in her box. She politely thanked the doorman before taking it back up to her apartment, already dismissing its contents despite the curiosity bubbling in her fingertips. She wondered what kind of photos would be inside.

The media apparently hadn't caught a hold of any kind of story about her date. It'd been three days and there was nothing being posted online other than a random blog post claiming to have seen her dressed in red climbing into a black car. Nothing mentioned a romantic candlelit night, or a scorned billionaire cursing her name for embarrassing him. The only reason she knew her father was aware any of what transpired that night was because of a text he'd shuttled off to Harry, cementing that (Y/N) wasn't to go anywhere without him. (Quite the punishment, she'd joked).

Otherwise, there was nothing out there about the incident, nowhere for this person to collect photos and scratch out a narrative. She also would have remembered seeing someone with a heavy camera in the empty restaurant, but she couldn’t recall a single moment a lens had been pointed in her direction, including the meal she and Harry indulged in by the Tower.

Safely inside her apartment, the water running as Harry took his morning shower, (Y/N) took a risk and opened the flap to quell her curiosity. Inside glossy photos awaited.

While she never particularly enjoyed seeing photos of herself in this context, usually fluctuating between fear and indifference, she'd never been so unnerved as this moment. Given, she didn't typically open the letters sent to her, so she didn't have much to compare it to, but she had a feeling this was the worst that had even been sent her way.

Shining in the morning light, were photos of her from the moment she stepped out of her apartment to the time Harry took her home. She was a gleaming scarlet streak in every photo, some shots having been zoomed in on her body, on her legs, on her lips. This person caught her entering the restaurant, Harry conveniently cut out before the view shifted. Through the window, she had been caught with her glass of wine, blankly looking ahead at Elliot as he spoke of himself. This person had even caught her devising and executing her plan, the camera having craned and peered around every corner and every fixture to get even a small sliver of her form. This person followed her to the spot Harry picked her up, to where they sat at the Eiffel Tower with their dinner. Those shots were decidedly blurrier, taken from a larger distance, but it was still clearly the pair of them gazing at each other before gazing towards the Tower.

Harry's face had been scribbled on in one shot, the same way Marc's had been in the package previous.

She didn't dare to look at the words written on the back, already collecting what kind of narrative this person would force this time around. They seemingly were turning on Harry now, instead of just ignoring him.

Leaving that single photo where it laid, with both she and Harry gazing skyward towards the point of the Tower, (Y/N) didn't have it in her to leaf through the rest of the stack.

Suddenly, having missed the sound of the water cutting and the silence that followed, she heard Harry's bedroom door open, the swoosh of the air as he entered the common space. She scrambled to pack the photos back into the envelope, trying her best to not sprint towards her bedroom. Her hands shook as she gathered everything to her chest, the photos a messy pile she hid with her back facing the hallway Harry was emerging from.

"Morning," he greeted her, his voice that low grumble it always was in the morning.

"Good morning," she chirped out, her steps hastening that much more as she slipped inside her bedroom, the door open just a crack.

"Did y'still want to go to the farmer's market today?" Harry called, his voice carrying as she lingered in the living room.

"Sure!" she trilled, wrenching open her vanity drawer, "Or—um—I was thinking we could finally visit the Lourve today, or whatever. I'm fine with anything!"

Harry didn't respond then, (Y/N) only hearing her bubbling heartbeat pounding against her chest. Why did she think it would be easy to hide the letters under a pile of palettes?

It took a handful more seconds before she had everything safely tucked away, the drawer being pushed shut before she sat back on her heels and breathed. That was a little too close, she decided.

No more opening the letters if she could help it—especially while Harry lived with her.

Peeking out of her bedroom decidedly more relaxed than when she went in, she swept a hand through her hair. "Did you have anywhere you wanted to go, though?"

Harry stood with his back to her, his shoulders tensed and head bowed as he looked towards his feet. He didn't lift his head as she spoke, keeping her behind him.

A beat passed, still no acknowledgement.

"Harry?" she called, stepping out from her bedroom entirely.

Harry turned slowly then, revealing he was looking at a slip of paper in his hand, his brows in a furrow and lips set thin.

Sunlight coming through the windows glinted off of the glossy coating of the page in his hand. Her heart dropped.

"What is this?"

Swallowing around her tongue, she tried her best to slip into a role she hoped would fool him. "What do you mean?" she asked, voice light despite the heavy pit in her stomach.

Chancing a look at her for the first time since she left her room, Harry's eyes were sharp, a warning expression she hadn't seen since he pulled her from the pilates studio in New York.

He held the photo up for her to see, showcasing a shot of her escaping through the back of the restaurant with a giddy smile and stolen dinner.

"Who took this?"

Her facade crumbled that much, sinking and sinking like her heart in her chest.

"Um—I—I don't..."

"(Y/N)," he warned, his voice low and lethal. He wasn't Harry at the moment, this was the man tasked with her safety who'd just found a secret that changed everything.

"I don't know," she rushed out, deflating as she kept her eyes low so as to not match his own, "I don't know who took it."

"Then, why do you have it?"

"Someone sent it to me."

A tick hugged the hinge of Harry's jaw, his grip on the page tightening. "What do you mean?"

(Y/N) floundered then. Her mouth gaped with words she knew she wasn't going to say, the air sucked out of her lungs. Nothing wanted to roll off of her tongue—nothing would.

"(Y/N)," Harry sternly interrupted her swimming thoughts. His sharp tone matched his eyes.

A shallow breath prickled in her lungs.

She'd never had to speak on this before. There was only one other time she had gained the courage to confront the fact that someone was stalking her, sending photos and letters and expressing devout affection and depraved ideals about her. There was only once she had voiced these fears before, and it had been shot down immediately by her father. She was told to let it go and be grateful; she was meant to be happy that she had a fan, someone to admire her.

She didn't want to be called crazy again.

Because she wasn't, right? This was something anyone would be scared over, right?

Taking her shaky hands into a bundle at her middle, (Y/N) tried to find the words.

"I don't know who sent it to me, but it came with a letter and other pictures."

Harry stowed over her words for a lingering moment, (Y/N)'s shuttered gaze keeping her from gauging his reaction. For the first time ever, she didn't want to know what he was thinking.

"Someone sent you pictures of you we don't remember being taken, and a letter," he reiterated, his voice a deadpan rumble as the story came together.

She'd never heard these events spaced in someone else's voice.

"Yes." When he didn't immediately say anything (Y/N) felt her blood pressure spike. "Harry," she tried, his name heavy on her tongue, "I-I wanted to tell you, I promise. I was going to, but my father—he... I thought you wouldn't..."

Harry paced the room silently. He took his time before settling heavily on the middle cushion of the couch, the discreet photo of her being clutched in his grip.

"Tell me now, then," he commanded, gaze fixed on the photograph, "I don't care what your dad said or what you thought before, this is something I need to know about."

Her fingers were a fiddling mess as she stood still in the middle of the room. "I don't know where to start," she whispered.

Fracturing his line of sight from the picture, Harry cast his gaze out the windows, taking in the skyline they'd called home for the better part of two months. His free hand landed heavily in his hair, nails grazing his scalp.

"Start wherever—anywhere. I don't care, I jus' need to know."

(Y/N) sucked in a shaky breath. She'd never felt so lost before.

How was she supposed to wrap up years worth of ominous letters and unwanted photographs? How was she supposed to put it all in a story that didn't require them sitting here for hours and for (Y/N) to dissolve into tears more than a handful of times?

"Is this the first one you've gotten?" Harry pressed, taking her silence for the need of guidance.

"No."

A heavy sigh lifted his shoulders. He finally craned his neck back to the living room with her, though he picked only a spot in the room to focus on. He didn't dare catch her eye, yet.

"When did they start?"

Prattling around the timeline, (Y/N) tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. "A couple of years ago, I think?"

Though his features stayed completely stoic, she knew there was something in her answer that had his shoulders tensing and nose flaring.

"This person has been taking photos of you and sending them for two years?"

"Kind of," (Y/N) reasoned, deigning herself to sink into one of the arm chairs beside the couch, her back stiff despite the inviting cushions, "I think sometimes they take pictures they find online since a lot of them match up, but sometimes it's like this one. I used to think they were selling stories and pictures to publications and posting them, but some of the stuff they sent started getting really weird a year ago." She took in a breath, thinking about the one piece of information that she hadn't the courage to read since the first time. "They send letters, too. About me."

"Do you have them? The letters."

"Only the couple that have been sent here."

Harry's voice was low, seething, as he spoke, "Let me see them."

Hesitating where she sat, (Y/N) stayed stiff in her position. She didn't want to grab the letters, honestly. She didn't want anyone to see them if she didn't even have the courage to fold them open.

A niggling thought in the back of her head had her staying put: What if she was overreacting? What if Harry read these letters and saw what her father saw? That she was nothing but a paranoid, ungrateful girl. She wasn't sure if she could survive something like that.

"(Y/N)," Harry started, his voice bringing her back to the surface of her swimming thoughts, "I'm asking as someone who's supposed to keep you safe. Please let me see these things."

Her voice was quiet as she agreed with an okay. Her footsteps were the only thing that could be heard as she padded over the floor, going to her bedroom with the burning drawer being her destination. Rifling through the pile of palettes and trio envelopes hiding underneath. She collected them as if they were burning, her fingers gingerly grasping them.

She blindly handed over the envelopes, sinking back into her seat as she felt her heart in her throat. As much as she didn't want to watch, she couldn't tear her eyes off of Harry as he paged through the photos. She barely registered the slideshow of photos as he leafed through them, already having seen the blurry shots and odd angles, the lengths this person went to just to capture a sliver of her body.

"Have you read the letters before?" Harry asked, his voice low and calculating.

"I did once," she explained, "But, after that, I never did again."

Harry didn't waste a moment before he pulled out the letters, the blurry photographs now nothing more than a kaleidoscope of her face across the coffee table. She made a point to shift her eyes to him then, unwilling to really see the breadth of this person's admiration for her.

(Y/N) looked on as he reached for the most recent letter first, his gaze quickly scanning over the page before he forced himself to grab for this next. The whole time, she watched as Harry reacted to whatever was typed on the page, the way his muscles bunched and his features flattened into something severe and angular. The way he pinched the paper became more aggressive, something tight flexing into his fingers.

She chewed on her bottom lip, her curiosity peaking. "Wh-What do they say?"

It took a moment before he tore his glazed eyes from the page, flicking to meet hers through the fan of his lashes. "Do you really want to know?"

Weighing her options, (Y/N) wasn't sure, really. "Maybe?"

Harry shook his head, folding up the page before dropping it atop the others. "They... pay attention to you a lot. There's a version of you they like, and really care about. It's all they talk about."

"What do you mean?" She worried her fingers in her lap, the edges of her acrylics being worn dull.

Swallowing, Harry tried to keep a straight face as he looked over the evidence sitting in front of him.

"They really like you, and have decided they know who you are because of that," he tipped his head, taking in a sigh with his hands clenching and unclenching. "They're... This person isn’t right, (Y/N)."

Her heart sunk at his words. The rising sun outside lighting the city while she felt the darkest she had in a long time.

"It's that bad?"

He didn't offer an answer, the pages in front of him now feeling like poison permeating through the room.

The silence that sat between them felt like a third roommate, heavy and unforgiving.

"Harry?" (Y/N) murmured, quiet compared to the silence, "What do we do?"

A heavy hand was passed through Harry's curls, nails catching his scalp with his fingers messing the swirls. "I don't—," he breathed, shaking his head, "Fuck—I don't know."

(Y/N) finally saw something cracking in him—that stoic facade that veiled whatever was bubbling on the inside beginning to slip. The uncomfortable feeling of having no definite way to get out of this situation rained down on him. She saw the way he peered out the windows of the apartment as if he would catch someone right then. She wouldn't put it past him to scour the whole place, hoping to ferret out anyone who could have slipped under their noses for so long.

"Fuck," Harry murmured under his breath, the curse heavy on his tongue. His knee began to bounce where he sat.

Swallowing around her dry throat, she didn't know what to say, what to tell him. While there was a part of her that felt vindicated knowing that he wouldn't react like this over nothing. This threat was real and not just something she made up in her head and used as a reason to be dramatic.

The other part of her felt guilt over keeping this secret from him. He wouldn't have been blindsided if she had just followed her gut and told him from day one everything that was going on behind closed doors. Maybe he wouldn't have taken the job then (the idea stabbed at the soft parts of (Y/N)'s heart), but he wouldn't have been struggling as he was now.

"Harry, I—I didn't mean to, I'm sorry," she tried, unsure of what she was saying or feeling but wanting to give him something.

He waved her off, shaking his head with his unfocused gaze on the floor. "Why didn’t your dad want me to know?"

"He said it was a waste of your time to worry about it," she explained, feeling embarrassed despite the fact she had nothing to do with her father's decisions, "W-When I told him about it, he said I needed to be grateful, that I needed to be happy that someone admired me enough to follow me and everything. He told me I needed fans like that since I wasn't very popular anyway."

(Y/N) couldn't look away as Harry curled in on himself the longer she spoke. The knuckles of his clenched hands were a burning white, his shoulders heavy and broad.

"I fucking hate your dad," he mumbled after a beat, his voice a seething breath, "So much."

She looked at him with wide eyes for a moment. Then, she couldn't help the huff of laughter that pushed between her lips.

She'd never heard anyone say that before—at least anyone that wasn't herself. It was relieving in a delirious kind of way.

Because she fucking hated him, too.

Harry looked up at her, something quizzical in his gaze.

"Sorry, sorry," she got out in-between giggles, "I've just never heard anyone say that before about him—usually I'm the only one that sees him this way. It's—I don't know why I'm laughing, but."

There was no room to continue with the way laughter began to pour out of her, eyes tearing at the feeling in her chest. The feeling that there was more than just herself on her side.

A lopsided smile worked its way onto his lips as he watched her. "I've seen enough to know I hate him, don't worry." He shook his head, dimples thumbed into his cheeks. "I only keep this job for you."

Despite the delirium fueled amusement coating the room, (Y/N) almost melted at the genuine way he spoke to her—spoke about her. He meant what he was telling her, without a doubt.

"I really didn't mean to keep this from you," she told him once she settled down, a deep breathing inflating her lungs, "Before everything, I thought you were on his side, so I didn't want to waste our time. I don't think my father even wanted you to really be my security guard at first, so."

"That's why y'said what y'said the first time I went to your place," Harry pieced together, gaze warm on her skin. When she only nodded her head, his gaze dropped down the column of her throat. "At first, I can't lie, I believed the things he told me and what I'd read about you," he acted ashamed to admit as much, "But, that was because I didn't know you. It didn't take very long to realize that you are very different from what everyone said.

"I hope you know that. If more people took the time to know you and used more than a fraction of their brain" he continued, conviction running under his words, "no one would believe those stories. The people who do know you, know that you're worth more than any of it."

Maybe now wasn't the time, with a coffee table full of deranged letters and creepy photos of herself, but (Y/N) couldn't help the flutter of her heart in her chest. Harry, even if he was giving her a hard truth, was never anything less than genuine. He believed every word he was saying to her, and that made her want to believe it, too.

"Thank you," she smiled at him, the curl of her lips small and shy.

Harry allowed his gaze to linger on her for a few moments more before he must have remembered the gravity of the situation as she did. He forced his eyes to land back on the matter at hand: the letters and photos dedicated to her.

"'M going to take care of this, okay?" he murmured, all amusement draining from his tone, "'M going to do everything I can to figure this out and make this person stop, (Y/N). 'M going to keep y'safe."

"I know you will," she answered in a heartbeat. There was no question in her mind about his ambition.

(Y/N) allowed her gaze to wash over him as he focused on the photographs. She doubted Harry knew, but he was becoming her safe place. She trusted him more than she trusted almost anyone—more than Francesca even. A pressure in her chest developed the longer she sat with the realization.

"Harry?"

"Hm?"

Suddenly her posture was stiff once more, bottom lip chewed swollen between her teeth. "Could—Or, I guess, would you mind—Can I hug you?"

The mossy green of Harry's eyes, flecks of sunflower yellow, blinked up at her. She saw every minute expression on his features before they softened and curved into a gentle smile.

"C'mere," he told her, leaning back against the cushion with his arms open.

It was on instinct the way she moved, bundling herself into his arms with her legs curled up underneath herself. She was a ball against Harry's chest, his arms a forgiving loop around her body. His palms spanned the planes of her back, one between her shoulder blade and the other lower as he warmed her skin through the sleep shirt she was still wearing. With her head tucked into his neck, she felt him relax around her with his nose grazing the top of her head.

She felt safe in his arms—forgiven, and trusted. He believed her more than anyone she'd ever known before.

"I've got you, okay?"

(Y/N) squeezed herself tighter to him.

—————

Taking her hand out of the UV lamp, (Y/N) settled a gentle palm on Harry's arm.

"It's okay, H," she murmured, "You can relax."

He was startled at her touch, his mechanical scanning of the nail parlour ceasing for a moment.

"Sorry?" he muttered in response.

He'd been like this every time they stepped out of the house since he was clued in on the letters and photos. At the farmer's market, he was suddenly suspicious of anyone who dared to bump into her, any vendor who haggled with her for a moment too long, anyone who so much as looked at her with interest in their gaze. He had mistaken small black bags for high quality cameras, his eye constantly peering out for a lens pointed in her direction. Her pilates class was just a level below that intensity given that she wouldn't allow him to follow her into the studio, forcing him to wait outside with bated breath for her return.

(When she had joked that she would keep an eye out for someone with a movie camera and a shirt with a photo on her face, he hadn't exactly laughed, but she thought it was funny).

It seemed the nail parlour was no different. The familiar techs and other staff who had begun greeting her after her second regular visit were now suspects in Harry's mind. No one was to grow too close to her, only her given tech when it was time for her appointment. Everyone else had to pass the wall that was her bodyguard before they had any hopes of even breathing in her direction.

"I was just saying that I'm okay, you can relax," she reiterated, squeezing his arm with her fresh set of nails glimmering in the light.

"I know," he deadpanned, going back to surveilling the scene, "'M jus' doing my job."

She tried to be gentle as she spoke to him, remembering the way she felt the first time she saw those envelopes of her photos. She had grown paranoid as well, double checking every street, every blurry face, every lingering interaction. She was nowhere near as comfortable with the information as she was now, and that paranoia was where Harry was currently living.

"If you hadn't noticed them before," she reasoned, voice forgiving as her nail tech made the final touches on the set of cherries painted on her fingertip, "I don't think that's going to change now, and that's okay."

Harry shook his head, a stray curl grazing his forehead. "I wasn't looking before. I am now." His words were definitive, the same way he spoke to her at her apartment with the photos strewn across the coffee table. "'M not going to let this keep happening, (Y/N)."

(Y/N) didn't know what to say.

It was still an odd feeling to have someone worry over her—someone who cared to the degree Harry was declaring. She didn't know what to do, how to act, under these conditions. It had always been her and her alone that carried these kinds of burdens.

Reaching under the table, Harry settled his hand on her knee, the warm skin of his palm felt through the rips in her jeans. He gave a squeeze. "Let me take care of this. I've got it."

Her nail tech tapped her hand too soon to inspect the paint before going under the light, forcing her gaze to stray from Harry's and the way his eyes glimmered over her features. Just before she looked away, she swore she saw his pupils dilate, honing in on the shape of her lips.

—————

It took close to two weeks for the photos of her on her date with Elliot to surface, the angles and shots already familiar to her eyes. They were exact matches to that of the ones that were now carefully stowed in Harry's room.

(Y/N) didn't exactly care about this specific leak, having expected it two weeks prior, anyway. Her father had to have known about all of the details of the ditch anyway, and if he hadn't said something already, he wasn't going to. She had nothing to worry about when it came to this story making its way to the press.

Except for the string of international paparazzi that now seemed to make it their mission to follow her everywhere she went.

She couldn't blame them, really. There was nothing that made ad revenue or sold magazines more than a tumultuous love life, so the hope of catching her on a date—a high profile one at that—was too enticing for many photographers to let go of. Whatever paid the bills, she guessed.

That was why she wasn't particularly surprised to look over her shoulder and see a string of loitering paparazzi waiting outside the restaurant she had Harry had escaped to for dinner. She even recognized one from back home.

She didn't try to cover her tracks too often while in Paris, just for the fact she was more unknown here than in New York, but that didn't always mean she went unnoticed. The idea of working through the small string brought her back to her drunken stumbling from the club. She hoped it wouldn't be anything like that.

(Y/N) hadn't realized how long she'd been distracted by the peering cameras until she felt Harry's hand land on her own. Whipping her head around she found he had abandoned his crostini topped with melty brie to focus his attention on her. His eye contact was unwavering.

"'S gonna okay, alright?" he soothed her, "'S only a few. Nothing we can't handle."

"I know," she answered, curling her hand under his, "I just... Now that I've actually looked at some of the pictures being sent to me, I don't like seeing so many cameras on me like this. I don't like that they're taking pictures of you, either."

Harry sat patiently listening to her, only pulling his hand away from hers to prop his chin up on a white-knuckled fist. Something always ignited in him when she mentioned the gifts from her admirer. His gaze skittered outside the eatery, silently taking in the faces of those smoking and loitering on the sidewalk.

"You think it could be any of them?"

The thought hadn't really crossed her mind. She figured it would be a good disguise, to blend in with people who would of course be carrying around cameras and would be looking for her on nights like these, but that didn't explain why she'd never seen a paparazzo-esque person trailing her when no one else was.

"I don't know," she answered honestly, a small shrug lifting her shoulders, "The picture quality is always pretty good, so I guess it could be someone like that, but I guess I always kind of figured it's easier to follow me unnoticed if they were using their phone camera."

Humming his acknowledgment, Harry didn't pull his eyes from her awaiting fans. While she didn't know everything about what his expressions meant or what was going on in his head, she recognized this moment. The gears were turning the longer he stayed quiet, a plan being laced together.

"Do y'want to see if we can go out the back?"

Considering the option for a moment, she ultimately turned it down with a shake of her head. "We'd still have to pop through the front to get to the car, anyway."

"I can go alone and bring the car around for you?" Harry offered, trying to meander a way around the inevitable.

"They know your face now, you know," she looked at him sullenly across the table. That was something she felt the most guilty over, taking away his privacy and splashing his face across the internet and whatever magazines chose to print him. While he wasn't always the target of the shots, he was a person of interest now.

A beat passed, Harry returning his eyes to her with something softening behind the moss. "You really want to go through them?"

"I don't think we have much of a choice," she laughed, the sound lacking humor.

Harry looked at her with his features melting and curving into something soft—understanding. "We'll make it out jus' fine, alright?"

The smile that tugged the corners of her lips was genuine. She didn't doubt him for a heartbeat. "I know."

—————

After settling the tab with discarded plates full of the crumbs of brie-heavy crostinis, their dinner of appetizers being left behind, (Y/N) braced herself for the trek outside.

"Ready?" Harry asked, looking to her intently as she cinched her jacket around her waist.

"I think so," she nodded. It was now or never, no point in hiding out and sipping wine until they became bored around midnight.

"I'll be with you," he murmured, just as he attached himself to her side, the waitstaff eyeing them.

(Y/N) offered a quiet smile of thanks, feeling a bit exposed knowing they were watching so intently. She couldn't blame them—they had garnered quite a bit of attention tonight, it was practically a given.

Approaching the door together, she didn't think twice before she fisted her hand in Harry's coat, ensuring he stayed close to her as she dropped her chin to face the ground. Harry took that as his cue to wrap an arm around her waist, protectively leashing her to him.

Pushing open the door with a stiff hand, Harry led them to the handful of waiting photographers. It was when she saw the pulsing lights bleaching the corners of her vision did she begin to regret her choice of putting her head down. This position could easily be spun into one of annoyance, and rudeness. That she thought she was too good to even look at these people.

"(Y/N), (Y/N)!" a pair of the photographers began to shout as they followed she and Harry toward their car.

(Y/N) kept her head down, ignoring the calls to her attention. She didn't need to give them anything, all she needed to do was follow Harry's guiding steps to get her out as safely as possible.

"Okay?" Harry murmured, bending down to press his lips to her ear, drowning out the noise of her name and shuttering of cameras. The flashes went on faster at his intimate touch though he didn't let it stop him from soothing.

Nodding her head, she could feel a small smile touch Harry's lips against her skin.

"Almost there," he informed in a gentle tone, "Jus' gotta go slow so they don't try to chase us or get too close."

"Thank you," she mumbled, fist in his coat unfurling until she pressed her palm against the line of his waist.

"I've got you," was his simple answer back.

She didn't have a moment to find comfort in Harry's words before an accented voice was shouting once more, unsatisfied with her ignorance.

"(Y/N), are you a cheater?! Does your boyfriend know you went on a date with that old man?!" the photographer provoked, spewing out any word he could think of that might draw a reaction from her.

(Truly, the one reaction he may garner is one of (Y/N) bursting into laughter after the declaration of Elliot being that old man. She couldn't have said it better herself).

While she detested the running rumor of the summer that she was a cheating, wicked woman, she wasn't going to let it get under her skin. She'd proven time and time again that Harry was her security official and nothing more, and there was no way this person would accept another dismissal of the theory. It was better to keep quiet and allow them to print about her deafening silence over the accusations.

"(Y/N), we want to know the truth! Did you have another affair?!" The photographer pushed after only silence was offered, his camera now being shoved into her space as he gravitated a little too close.

The rest of the string—including the familiar New York paparazzo—had seemingly taken a step back, photographing the new show that was emerging with their aggressive colleague.

Harry pressed forward, quickening their pace in hopes of breaking away from them faster. He was stopped only when the man jostled (Y/N) at his side, his camera being shoved under her face as if he could catch a shot despite her evasiveness. That had her stumbling backwards, Harry steadying her as best he could before he was stepping up.

"Give her some space, man. Back up," he sternly commanded, his arm a tightrope around her waist. Flashbulbs were going crazy over the interaction, catching (Y/N)'s blunder and the standoff that was appearing between the two men.

Seemingly disregarding Harry's warning, the paparazzo tried again, sidestepping the wall that was Harry's blocking form. Maybe, he didn't understand, (Y/N) reasoned. English wasn't always the easiest language to understand even if you could speak it, especially given Harry's accent.

"S'il vous plaît, laissez-moi un peu d'espace," she piped up, hoping the translation would blot out the grey area. Sometimes these people needed to be told before they remembered basic personal space standards and manners.

This time, when he pushed through, once again asking (Y/N) if it was true that she's slept with all of her father's friends, that it was clear there was no language barrier pushing him to be disrespectful.

They were this close to the car, just steps away from allowing (Y/N) into safety and speeding away. Of course it could never be that easy.

Harry let go of her only for him to step in front of her completely, blocking the photographer from achieving any kind of shot.

"Step back," he ordered, his voice a deep grumble as he enunciated every syllable, "Give her some space."

The way the paparazzo reacted seemed less about getting pictures of (Y/N) and more about standing up to Harry. He scrambled around, reaching his camera over the breadth of Harry's shoulders as if to prove he could get what he wanted despite any kind of intervention.

Inching slowly towards their car, Harry did his best to pave the way for (Y/N) to follow and slip away. Nothing seemed to deter the other man, however.

"Step back," Harry ordered again, placing the palm of his hand flat against the other man's chest.

While it wasn't necessarily a push, the force Harry gave behind his palm was enough to get the other man stumbling back. French profanities left the paparazzo's mouth as he tripped over his own feet.

This was Harry's opportunity as he reached around and grabbed (Y/N). She was quickly steered towards the unlocked car, Harry pushing her inside the second the door was opened wide enough to head in.

Everything moved quickly then, the other paparazzi seemingly focusing on Harry and the way he conducted himself against the other man. He rounded the front of the vehicle and threw himself inside, the flash of cameras and a distant angry voice following his moves.

Harry didn't waste a second before he peeled away from the curb, setting them away from the chaos. (Y/N) barely had the capacity to buckle herself in with shaky hands.

That was worse than she expected, honestly. Never had the Parisian photographers been so blatantly disrespectful, shoving cameras in her face and asking ridiculous questions.

This was the most physical Harry's ever been forced to be in front of her, most people heeding his size and station in favor of actually challenging him.

"Are you okay?" she asked, the world whizzing past them with Harry's foot pressed deeply against the gas pedal.

His knuckles were white around the steering wheel.

"He wasn't listening."

(Y/N) swallowed, spying the cutting angle of his jaw and the blaze in his dark eyes. Maybe she should have taken him up on his offer of bringing the car around for her. She could have avoided this whole thing if she wasn't so stubborn.

"I wasn't sure if he could understand you at first," she shakily recounted, "but I told him to back off in French, too. I don't know why he didn't listen. He didn't hurt you or anything, right?"

"'M alright," he answered, shaking his head with his lips rolling between his teeth, "I jus'... I don't like how people talk to you, (Y/N)."

He flexed his hands around the wheel, the leather squeezing under his grip. She didn't know how to soothe him, what advice she could give. "You just can't listen," she told him, sharing the only thing she'd learned on her own through the years.

A beat passed, nothing more than the feel of the tires grazing over the asphalt sounding through the cab. Harry twisted and turned, moving like an expert through the streets.

"I don't know how you do it," he told her, voice quiet and losing that edge he'd had gained outside the restaurant, "'S like there's a new lie every day—it makes me so angry. These people don't even know you and all they do is call y'names and think the worst of y'every chance they have. Why don't y'say anything?"

It wasn't accusatory the way he asked her, even if he was frustrated. He was just one of those people who couldn't imagine what it was like to allow abuse from others without biting back. She wished she could be like that.

"I guess I'm used to it," (Y/N) shrugged, feeling the backs of her eyes beginning to burn, "People have been taking pictures of me and saying things since I was in high school, so I don't think it bothers me like it's supposed to. I've learned it's a lot easier to let people think what they want because no matter what kind of apology or correction I make, it's never going to be seen or believed as much as whatever was said about me in the first place. I just have to be okay with it, and let what people say go."

By the time she finished, she felt those tears well up in her eyes, stinging and hot. Every blink she gave trying to hold them back only jostled the pool, blurring her vision.

"I don't like that you're used to this, (Y/N)," Harry answered, his voice feeling a level of mourning she understood.

A joyless smile molded her lips into something uneven. She shrugged. "Me neither, but what can you do, right?"

Tonight would spur something new in the media, photos no doubt being caught of Harry's altercation with the paparazzo and (Y/N) fully expected someone to have been able to secure a photo of her with these tears in her eyes. She could already imagine the kinds of narratives that would be built around these moments, the kind of things people would believe about them both now.

But, what could she do, right?

Silently, Harry unhooked a hand from around the steering wheel and gently laid his palm on her knee. The split in her long skirt allowed his skin to press against her own, fingers curling around the cuff of her knee in a comforting squeeze. He didn't have to say anything to let her know that he was there, he was here for her and he trusted and believed her more than anyone she'd ever met before.

He didn't have to say it for (Y/N) to know that he really did care for her, even outside of what his job called for.

Wiggling her fingers under his palm, (Y/N) hugged her hand to his. Her fingers filled in the gaps between his own, painted fingernails glinting in the city lights.

Harry held her hand the whole drive home.

—————

As expected, two days after the altercation in front of the restaurant, a fat envelope full of photos and a letter she wouldn't read, arrived at the Paris penthouse.

The media had already spread their own photos about, including shots of her tearing up on the car ride home, leaving her curious as to what the admirer was going to show her that she hadn't already seen.

It was an odd feeling to not immediately go and ferret away the letter, to hide any evidence of the fact that his life wasn't completely normal.

But, Harry needed to see this. If he was so willing to give her such trust and believe her without question, she was going to have to give him something back.

"Is that another letter?" Harry asked from where he had emerged from his bedroom, the entrance to the hallway now full of his broad shoulders and scowling face.

"Yeah," (Y/N) sighed, chest heavy.

Moving towards her, Harry asked her carefully, "Can I see it?"

She wordlessly handed it over. She didn't want to see the content anyway, especially seeing as the other was beginning to turn on Harry. She didn't want to see what kind of marking they left on the photos of him.

It was a quiet ordeal, watching Harry pluck apart the envelope and peer inside. He scanned the photographs, seemingly the most upset when he reached shots of her crying in the car beside him. It was when he reached the letter that something shifted in his demeanor.

He was always calm and collected, calculating each step and each reaction. But, she saw cracks then as he read the contents of the folded page. His cheeks were red, bottom lip cuffed between his teeth with nose flaring. He looked moments away from shredding the page apart himself.

She was sure he would have if he hadn't instead indelicately folded it before slamming it on the kitchen counter.

"We're not doing this anymore," he cemented, voice sharp and unforgiving, "You are not doing this anymore—putting up with this shit anymore."

Leaning over the pile in front of him, he dropped his head into his hands, his fingers creating angry trails in his hair.

"Harry," she started, her voice cushioning the sharp blow of his own tone, "I know it's hard, but I don't know if there's anything we can do about this. We don't know anything about who's doing this."

"I don't know what to do," he grumbled, his hands tightening against his scalp, "But, I'm not letting this person take advantage of you and say these awful things about you any more. 'S not okay."

She didn't know how to tell him that there wasn't anything that could be done to help her, honestly. That there was no way she could conceivably stop this person until they messed up and gave her some kind of information to get a restraining order filed. Until then, there wasn't anything that could stop them.

"I know it's a lot," she tried, downplaying the same thing that used to give her nightmares when it first began, "But nothing really serious has happened, yet, at least. It's just another person taking photos of me, really."

"I don't like it!" Harry suddenly burst, whipping his head up to match her eyes with his own fiery gaze, "You shouldn't have to go through this! I don't understand why everyone thinks it's okay to degrade you, and mock you, and invade your privacy all because your shitty dad lets them! I don't fucking like it, (Y/N)!"

In a final standoff with the rage bubbling inside, Harry swept his hand heavily over the counter, collecting every piece of evidence and splaying it across the floor. She was sure he wanted to do more, do anything to let off the steam billowing inside him, but there wasn't anything he could do without leaving damage on their home.

Everything stilled then, the mess on the floor and Harry's breathing heavy in his chest. (Y/N) stood in the stark calm of the kitchen, watching with wide eyes and her hands a fumbling nest. She watched as he looked down at the mess of photographs and the despicable letter that set him off.

"I don't know how to fix it." His voice was gentle like a whisper, matching the breeze that filtered through the city outside the window.

Carefully creeping over the floor, bare feet padding over the tiled kitchen, she met Harry around the cooked counter. He didn't look up at her, even when she collected him into her arms and nestled him into a hug.

"You don't have to fix it, H," she told him, mumbling against his skin as he slowly unfroze around her, "I don't know if this is something that can be fixed. It's just a part of my life at this point, and I don't want you to be upset over it."

"I want you to be safe," he told her, voice thin when he succumbed to her hold and buried his nose into her hair and wrapped his arms around her just as fiercely.

She could feel the hard planes of his chest pressed against her own soft curves, Harry fitting himself around her. Every breath he took was matched by her, his nose skimming the top of her head in a soothing pattern as if the motion were for himself only. He was furled like a tight rose, keeping a bumblebee safe from whatever was lurking outside the petals.

"With you, I am."

That had Harry pulling away from her then, his eyes matching hers with dilated pulls and a slack jaw.

"You feel safe with me?" he asked, keeping his hold on her tight so as to not let her stray too far away.

"Of course, I do," she smiled at him, her hands pressing into his back, "You're the only person that's ever actually been there for me. Like, you actually care."

While her tone was lighthearted, encouraging, Harry was erring on the serious side. He didn't match her smile, his features left in softened curves and slacked muscles.

Every detail, every expression, every fine point of her was catalogued with his eyes. (Y/N) wasn't even sure if he was really breathing as he did this, the world having stood still the longer he gazed at her.

When he finally met her eyes once more, the slightly pinch marred his brow, his eyes down turning into something gentle.

"I do care about you." He swallowed, raspberry lips wet by his tongue. "I don't know when, but I don't think anything I've been doing has been because of my job for a while now."

Heart hammering in her chest, she felt breathless looking up at him. She still saw that same beauty she spotted in her father's office all that time ago; the mole by his mouth, the sandy stubble on his cheeks, the spotting of freckles on his nose, the cut set of his jaw, the whirlwind of green in his eyes. There was something softer lingering now, something she never could have imagined landing on the face of her security guard.

She found similarities in this moment to the way he had gazed so wondrously at the Eiffel Tower glimmering at night. He looked at her like she was one of the greatest creations in the world, deserving of romance and praise and commemoration.

"Really?" she breathed.

The way he nodded at her started out small, his gaze dipping to her lips before something frantic kicked in. "Really," he asserted, his hand on her back traveling up her spine and over the base of her neck, "Can I—Can I kiss you?"

(Y/N)'s answer came in the form of her nose bumping his, mouth placed just off center, hands clutching at the soft fabric of his top. Harry seemed taken aback for a moment, stunned into stillness before he came to life under her kiss.

The hand that had been traced up her back to the base of her neck turned into a steadying hold, allowing him to support her as he towered above. She tipped her head back as he slotted his lips between her own, kissing her top lip delicately despite the ravenous way he held her. The soft sound of sighs, lips parting and meeting again, filled the room. The very tip of Harry's nose grazed the apple of her cheek as he tipped his head, deepening their kiss with a taste of his tongue over hers. If not for the fact her eyes were already closed, she could imagine the kind of blissed expression she would show off for him.

Pressing her back towards the kitchen counter, (Y/N) followed Harry's guidance, never pulling her lips away from his own. It wasn't rough the way he grabbed her, placing her on the ledge, only eager excitement flooding his movement. (Y/N) understood completely, immediately reaching for him once more after she was steadied and safe on the counter.

Her thighs parted to let him stand between, his hands pressing against the round of her hips as he took advantage of his spot. It was (Y/N)'s turn then to clasp her hands around the back of his neck, feeling the baby hairs and heat of his skin. She sighed into his kiss.

She hadn't kissed anyone sober in so long, let alone someone she deeply cared about and who she knew cared about her as well. This put everything she'd experienced to shame.

Harry put everyone else to shame.

Happiness flooded her system.

(Y/N) smiled against his lips, her hands going rogue in his hair as she slipped her fingers between the curls. Harry matched her with a clinging hold on her hips, a grin blooming on his features. He pulled away only when their mouths couldn't actually press together through the breadth of their smiles.

"Happy?" he asked her, grinning lips just a breath away from her own with his nose nudging delicate against hers.

"Uh-huh," she sighed, chancing her eyes open just a sliver, just enough to see what he looked like when he'd just been kissed by her. Her hands in his hair roamed until they settled a warm hug around his neck. "You make me so happy."

Harry drew away from her before she was enveloped in his hug once more. His face was in her neck, his arms a cushioned cage around her middle. She swore she could feel his heart beating in time with her own, both racing.

The kind of silence that only fit when you'd just been kissed in the middle of Paris descended over the flat. This silence full of mushy feelings, lip prints, and synced breathing.

"Even if I can't fix everything, 'm going to take care of you." His words melted across the column of her neck, the brush of his lips feeling more intimate than when he had helped her undress after the Gala. "I want to make you happy, sweet girl."

Her eyes fluttered closed as he tucked her chin against her shoulder, cheeks stretched wide from her grin. "I know you will."

Harry hugged her tighter.

—————

retrouvailles is an untranslatable French word that describes the feeling of re-meeting someone, the joy of seeing someone you missed even if you didn't know you missed them before

eeeeek!!!!! thank you all so much for reading this part was def fun! sorry for any mistakes and please let me know if you have anything fun to share about the story!

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justmediocrewriting · 7 months

Note

Hi! Oh gods can I say that I adore your writing, you're one of the best xReader writers I've ever come across and I can't wait to read more <3

If you're taking requests I'd love to see one of Sanji or Shanks handling a reader who's feeling insecure about whether their man REALLY likes them, it could even be paired with the 23rd prompt of the NSFW list you dropped earlier if your of a mind to make it a bit tasty!

If not thats totally cool, thank you!!

A/n: omggggg nonnie you made my day!! Like I am so speechless that you would think me one of the best it means so much to me! Thank you thank you thank you! I actually don’t have a lot of experience writing for Shanks just yet, and I have to say I am quite the indulgent Sanji whore so I decided to do Sanji this time around (though I will do a shanks version of this prompt too because I think it’s adorable!) and making it spicy?? Oh hell yeah I’m on board! I hope you enjoy babes 💋

Warnings/tags: explicit sexual content, insecurities, soft/kindamean!sanji, porn with feelings, fingering, afab!reader, Sanji (that’s for sure a warning because oh gods), orgasm delay/denial, tiny praise kink, request

Genre: fluff, smut

Pairing: Sanji x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Sanji’s fingers were like tiny spears of pure heaven as they drilled into your wet cunt, massaging and caressing and completely messing you up inside. He couldn’t have started more than a minute ago, but you were already on that tender edge, legs and tummy quaking with the build of a promisingly explosive orgasm — and with the way Sanji’s fingers expertly toyed with your cervix, you knew it wouldn’t be long at all.

“Sanji, I-I’m gonna come,” you breathed out, cunt clenching around his deft fingers and thighs tensing in preparation for your impending orgasm. You were so close, Sanji’s fast movements and memorization of every sensitive spot within your walls dragging it forward at the speed of light.

But those fingers suddenly stilled inside you, and that lovely friction was stolen away, causing the waves of your orgasm to recede back to the depths of your gut. You let out a whimper and popped open your eyes to look at Sanji quizzically; the man only smiled gently in response, as if he hadn’t just taken away something sensational from you.

“Say it, love.” Sanji coaxed, returning some of the friction to your cunt by sliding his fingers slowly across your walls. It felt amazing, but he was narrowly (and purposefully) missing your cervix with the tips of his fingers, and the pace was far too slow to build up your orgasm again — it was nothing more than torture to your body.

“Wh-what?” You stammered out, brain far too foggy to decipher the meaning behind his command or just what the handsome chef wanted out of you — all you could think about was your ruined orgasm and how to get it back; it was with that goal in mind that you bucked your hips into his hand, trying desperately to find his fingertips with your cervix so that you could feel that euphoria bloom across your abdomen again. Sanji had clearly anticipated the move, as he dragged his fingers back just enough to avoid your sweet spot without removing them from your slick heat with every buck of your hips. Irritation was beginning to build in your brain stem, and you shot him a huffy glare.

“Sanji, what—”

“Say it, love, and I’ll give you what you want.”

Your brain halted once more, and in sheer desperation you whimpered out, “say what?”

“Say you’re beautiful.”

You gaped at Sanji. Was that really why he was doing this? Because you had made that singular off-hand comment to him? Outrageous.

“Sanji, that’s—”

“Say it, or I’ll stop.” Sanji pressed, pulling his fingers out until only the tips remained within you, and with a panicked yelp you shot your hand out and grabbed his wrist to halt its retreat. You stared at him with eyes wide with desperation and plea, but Sanji simply stared back with a small smile on his face and determined eyes. Sensing that Sanji wasn’t about to budge, you wet your lips and whispered, with a bit of discomfort,

“I’m beautiful.”

Sanji pushed his fingers back in once more, enveloping them in your wet heat and driving them straight towards your cervix, pulling a loud moan from you when the tips grazed it just so. Your walls fluttered around his digits in appreciation, and you released his wrist from your hold, placated that you’d finally get that release your body craved. But when Sanji pulled his fingers back and thrust them in, it was at that same agonizingly slow pace as before, and he ignored your sweetest spot in favor of simply pushing in beside it.

“Louder.” Sanji ordered gently, fingers curling up and hitting that spot, speckling stars across your vision as he did so. Your entire body shook as the coil in your tummy started to wind, more intense than before, and you thrust your hips forward in search of more friction.

“I’m b-beautiful.” You stammered out a bit louder, your words trailing off into a litany of moans as Sanji’s fingers began to pick up speed, continuously curling upward with each outward drag and spiraling pleasure up your spine. Heat enveloped your upper body as Sanji leaned in closer and electricity skirted across your lips when they were ghosted by his.

“And who’s giving you all this pleasure right now?” Sanji asked huskily, his fingers beginning to jackrabbit at an intense speed, producing a lewd amount of wet squelches from your cunt. Your hand shot up to grip Sanji’s bicep, arm vibrating from the momentum of his movements.

“Y-you are! You are, Sanji!” You whimpered out desperately, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit jacket as that coil threatened to snap — you were so close, right there, just a few more rough thrusts to your sweet spot and you’d be exploding—

“And do you know why?” Sanji pressed, fingers shoving deep into your cunt and pressing against your cervix, stilling within your fluttering walls and rubbing mercilessly. Your legs slammed closed against his arm, the sudden sensation bordering on too much, pleasure so intense that it was becoming painful.

“I-I don’t know, Sanji, please—” your voice was breathy, desperate – desperate for release and desperate for Sanji’s fingers to just move differently, to remove their hold on your cervix and take away that intensity. Your brain was completely frazzled, coherency becoming a thing of the past as your every nerve ending was overrun by pleasure.

Sanji’s other hand gripped the flesh of your thigh and forced your legs apart, bracketing them open by sidling his torso between them. His fingers never halted in their assault, and that coil was winding so tight, you were about to come —

“I do it because I love every sound you make. I love the way you say my name. I love the way your legs shake and your pussy flutters. I love how deep you take me, and I love feeling you come undone beneath me. And I want all of it, all the time. Because there is no one more beautiful, or addicting, or entrancing to me than you.”

Sanji’s husky words breathed against your lips and his relentless abuse of your cunt sent you spiraling over the edge, skin flushed and back arching, legs shaking and mouth falling open as your hips bucked desperately against his fingers, your moans dropping out unfiltered as you rode your high.

“Just like that baby, gods. I can feel you fluttering, doll. You’re making a complete mess on my fingers.” Sanji’s voice sounded so wrecked, breath hot against your lips before they were crushed with his, his kiss wet and hot and hungry.

You responded back with as much reciprocity as you could muster, but it was hard to keep up with him when his fingers were still fucking into you, fucking your cum right back into your fluttering walls and pushing you to the brink of overstimulation. Your moans and whimpers were swallowed into the depths of his mouth, rivaled in volume by Sanji’s own, and when he pulled away a shiny string of spit connected the two of you still.

“Fuck, so beautiful.” Sanji whispered, accent thick and heavy, fingers slowing to a complete stop within your cunt. Heavy breaths were shared in the bubble of heat between you two, and your legs were twitching and shaking against him as fatigue nipped your muscles in the aftermath of intensity. Sanji gently pulled his fingers out of your twitching cunt, and you watched with lidded eyes as the chef brought his glistening fingers to mouth and sucked, lapping them clean of your spend.

“A fucking delicacy.” Sanji husked, causing your cheeks to heat with embarrassment. You knocked your heel against his back and closed your eyes so you wouldn’t have to see him, the weight of your activity flooding you with a sense of bashfulness.

Sanji pinched your thigh gently and clicked his tongue, prompting you to open your eyes and glare tiredly at him. When your hazy eyes retained a semblance of focus on the chef’s face, he smirked wickedly.

“Ever doubt yourself again, love, and I won’t let you cum until you’re crying and begging me for it.”

Interested in requesting your own prompt? Have a looksie at the list here!

#opla #opla sanji #opla x reader #one piece live action #opla sanji x reader

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fleet-of-fiction · 9 months

Text

Jake Kiszka // Female reader

Summary: You finally give in to a night of passion with Jake. The sexual tension building through a succession of late night texts and chance encounters. When finally you find yourselves at the same event, a game of sexual cat and mouse ensues until you find yourselves behind a door you can finally lock.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Public sex. Use of sex toys. Voyeurism. Masturbation. Dirty talk. Oral. Fingering. Rough sex. Butt stuff.

Jake had that unrelenting darkness, just simmering below the surface quality about him. That was why you'd chosen him. His inherent sweetness was why you'd trusted him. But there was nothing that ever tasted so sweet that wasn't bad for you. You knew he was bad for you the moment you had crossed paths with him.

Just that burning intensity which had drawn you in had immediately disarmed you. Even though he'd smiled and been cordial and shaken your hand when it was offered to him, you'd felt the thorns of a blooming rose in his touch. And you liked it. The prickle of his gaze, hidden beneath a politeness that was confident and at first glance; intimidating. He made you question his intentions from the first instance.

Time had served you both well. Presenting you with moments where you continued to encounter each other both socially and professionally. These happenstances creating a mounting friction with each hand shake evolving into cheek kisses and brief embraces. Conversations which had started with innocence slowly sank into depravity. Finding opportunities to speak alone simply to melt into debauchery and mirth in the shared merriment of erotic confessions.

You couldn't. You wouldn't. Would you? It was all just an egotistical game, wasn't it? To see which of you would blush first. Until phone numbers were exchanged and the rules were irrevocably changed. Turning it from inadvertent flirtations into entirely intentional desires.

He used his words with such careful candour. Like poetry. His physical presence distracted you so often that the reprieve from it was welcomed whenever you laid in bed at night; the recipient of sexually deviant messages that drove your morals into untenable question.

The truth was that Jake was charismatic in a way that forced you to pay attention. His wit and kindness; forebears to a wicked shamelessness that toyed with your own. He derived from you that which could not speak it's own name. The type of arousal that made you feel perverted from the mere mention of wanting it.

But you did want it. You wanted him to be unable to look you in the eye the morning after. To actualise all that midnight prose of desecrating your body until you were sexually ruined. You wanted him to put his vulgarity to good use. To know that he had meant every single sinful word.

"If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"

You were standing in the middle of an over zealous banquet hall. The type of place that often held these black tie events that required the sort of attire that was not remiss on a red carpet. You clutched a champagne flute in your hand, the delicate glass stem sitting snugly against your cleavage as you cast an eye across the room.

He had approached from behind. Predatory in the way he had been watching you carefully for several minutes before bringing his mouth so close to your ear that the heat of his breath had drawn your lips apart before the sound of his voice.

Playful in his advance, you couldn't help but respond indifferently with a facetious smile and refusal to turn around and face him.

"I don't know what kind of girl you think I am."

Your response was indicative of the roles you had taken. Him, with his possessive need to compel you into bed with him. And yours, to uphold the pretence that it was all an illusion. That you were untouchable. That you would never allow him to truly have his way.

"The sort of girl that draws my attention away from every other woman in the room." He continued, bringing his lips even closer.

You were satisfied. Content that you had played the narrative well enough that if you turned around he still would think you intended to go home that night without knowing what his cum tasted like. Without the knowledge of his body and the way it moved against yours.

Enough talk. Enough coltish brushes of your hand against his forearm and tentative fingers at the small of your back. Enough willingness to participate in this endless foreplay that had yet to jump off the page.

"Is that so?" You replied, twirling on the balls of your feet in a pair of stiletto heels.

He was wearing a roguish grin. The sort of expression that you had come to know as one that served as an aperitif to the way you knew he would dance you into a corner in order to have you all to himself.

You were wearing a backless gown. Pitch black. He had already studied the flow of it, that much you were certain of. His eyes settled on the deep cowl of the front. The curve of your breasts tempted him to lower his gaze, but he was staunchly refusing to give you that gratification.

You were unintentionally matched. His waistcoat and jacket of the same pitch and ilk of your dress. The chains around his neck that sat against his open chest were ancient silver. Not too dissimilar to the tone of the clutch bag in your other hand.

"Am I to believe that you intend to behave like a gentleman tonight, Jacob?" You asked, keeping his eye contact as he reached for a passing tray of drinks and took one without so much as a cursory glance.

"Absolutely not." He retorted, taking a cautionary sip of what could only be described as sparkling wine. "How I'm expected to endure these types of evenings without your company to keep me captivated is beyond me."

You were bored. Or perhaps it was a boredom borne of knowing that he wasn't going to arrive until a little later in the evening. When you had completed a rotation of the room with small talk and mind numbingly monotonous chatter that by the time he had made his presence known, you were practically ready to make a hasty exit.

"Is that all I am?" You queried salaciously, taking note of the subtle way he had styled his dark, shoulder length hair that night. "A distraction from all the tedium?"

He would have you play this game a thousand times until he won it. The small tremble of his upper lip as he regarded you belied his need to remain formal and polite. He was already faltering. Without even knowing you were going to give in to him that night.

"As far as I am concerned, there is no one else here."

He was smug in that self confident sort of way. He knew that you were attracted to him but there was just enough doubt there that allowed you to hold a fractious tension between the two of you.

"Hmmmm, to be alone in a room with you."

You left him with that sentiment. Turning back around, not wanting to witness the inflection in his response as you edged a little closer to letting him know you were done playing games.

You felt the chill of his Atocha coins on the curve of your spine. Quite literally he pressed himself into your back, with the intention of speaking so quietly only his close proximity would bring enough volume for you to hear.

"We don't need to be alone in a room for me to wish that my tongue was buried deep into your pussy instead of this poor imitation champagne."

You kept your eyes trained on the ornate chandelier hanging from the centre of the room above. Conscious of the fact you were without underwear. The dress you had chosen simply did not allow for it.

"Imagine the looks on their faces." You purred devilishly, "If you were to sink to your knees where you stand."

He exhaled a plume of laboured breath against your shoulder, bringing a solitary hand to the slim spaghetti strap which sat there. Venturing into territory he had yet to step into, holding his breath to see if you would allow him to remain there.

"You've caused me nothing but a persistent need to masturbate of late." He confessed, taking the strap down with a fluid stroke of his palm. "I hope you understand that I wont be able to tolerate our musings for much longer. There will come a time where I truly need to have my face buried between those tremendous thighs."

You turned your head just enough for him to catch your jawline against his lips. The tendrils of hair which tumbled down from your intricate up-do brushed against his cheek.

"How about tonight?"

The intimation that you weren't stringing him along was not lost upon him. You felt the immediate stiffening of his body against yours. Your breathing synced up with his, shallow and deep. He took a moment to process what you had said. As if truly you were the only two people in the room. Stilled against each other like the silence after a storm.

"Don't you trifle with me, woman." He whispered brutishly, signalling the true pain of his torment.

"I wouldn't dare." You replied assuredly, allowing the hand in which you held your flute to lower just enough to catch the burgeoning swell of his manhood.

The banquet hall was situated in the grounds of a prestigious country club. The sprawling buildings were late 19th century with curated gardens and an interior of neoclassic art prints framed on high vaulted walls with lavish sculptures lining the narrow corridors.

It reminded you of the drafty old mansions in romance novels that were always home to a dastardly lord who would ravish his handmaidens in all manner of raunchy ways. And if you were going to be ravished yourself, you couldn't think of a more appropriate backdrop.

Jake took your flute out of your hand and dashed it on the nearest surface. Wrapping his hand around yours as he snaked you through the hustle and bustle. You would follow him wherever he intended to take you. Smiling as you passed by familiar faces, who watched on with subtle intrigue as to why you were being whisked away from the melee.

He cared very little for the enormity of the sound of his fist slamming into the ornately carved french doors at the back of the hall, allowing it to swing open as he led you into an empty stone pillared corridor. The thud of the door swinging back still echoed into the void as he checked to ensure you were completely alone.

"Wanted your arriving at Helm's Deep moment, did you?"

You eased yourself back against the nearest pillar, clutching your bag to your waist. Your bottom lip tucked beneath your teeth. He did not waste any time in furthering the torment. Staring at you like you had no right to look at him like that.

"You know I love it when you talk Tolkien to me." He jested a little, easing you into a light hearted subterfuge that would allow him to continue luring you into his debauched manifest.

"How else would you like me to speak?." You asked, tilting your chin to invite him closer. "Like your little handmaiden, my lord? Or would you prefer me as your harlot?"

There was a slit in your dress that extended almost entirely up to the curve of your hip. A daring choice, given the lack of underwear. As he approached, he lifted the fabric with the tip of his finger and moved it aside. Revealing your cunt to him for the first time.

He licked his lips and lowered his gaze. He studied the form of it, the soft strip of pubic hair that ran the centre of your mound and the way your labia sat like two pink ribbons beneath.

"I'm going to ruin this..." He ghosted the most feather light touch across your pussy lips. "Until you can't speak at all."

You dropped all the pretence. All the running commentary had brought you to a moment that required a certain level of honesty. If Jake had wanted to perform the most incredulous amount of proliferation in this foreplay, he had succeeded. You were throbbing incessantly. Your chest heaving against shallow breath at the sight of him looking at your cunt like that.

You reached forward and took his chains in your fist. Wrapping fingers around the silvery links that tinkled against each other as you lifted them into the narrowing space between you. Pulling him in, demanding that he put an end to this provocation.

You dropped your bag as he violently shoved you against the rough stone. His mouth crushed against yours, lips parted and softer than you'd anticipated given his urgency. His tongue was a delightful curiosity, enveloping yours as you finally gave in to him. You teased a pitiful moan from him as you tilted your head, hands rushing to his cheeks to deepen what was certainly the most tantalising kiss you'd ever had.

The rush of blood to your genitals was welcomed. What had been an errant throb of anticipation for most of the evening flooded to your swollen clitoris and engorged lips. Jake was irrepressibly hard, the fabric keeping you apart strained against the strict outline of his cock. You felt it pressed into your mound, coupled with the sensation of his tongue in your mouth and felt the bitter sting of overstimulation begin to rise.

"Turn around."

Although the words had been spoken softly, with a mouth that was still open against yours, the way he handled you was in direct conflict. You were savagely pulled around, made to hug the pillar as you were pressed into it. The rough surface of the round edge felt like sand against your exposed flesh. The juxtapostion of his body at your back had you feeling brutally and beautifully confined against the rough and the smooth.

A swift tug of the slit in your gown and your cunt was riding against the phallic stanchion, Jake moving behind you to keep his erection rubbed against the curve of your ass. Entirely at whim, you were certain he'd put very little thought into the action. He just needed the friction.

"You'll be my whore tonight." He decided, teasing a hand around your breast, your nipple growing hard against the pressure he applied. "And permit me to do as I please."

He already had you precisely where he could please himself. Your responding moan signalled consent as he rolled your nipple between his thumb and index finger. Sending thousands of your nerve endings into disarray. The river of arousal that ran down the centre of your body was flowing in opposing directions as your pussy continued to grate against the old stone. And the constant reminder of his raging blood at your back only served to assist you further in your journey to destruction.

"Be merciful, Jake." You pleaded, arching your back a little as it became too much for your clit to endure. "What do you intend to do with me?"

The way he tapered back, standing a little apart from you to catch his breath had you feeling cold. His lips were glistening with the moisture of your kiss, wiping them with the back of his hand as he stepped back. You moved to alleviate the pressure, noticing a darkened wet patch on the lighter coloured stone of the pillar as you let your gown fall back around your front.

"Hmm, look what you made me do." You professed, straightening out your hair and retrieving your bag from the ground as Jake continued to step further apart.

He looked at the obvious wet patch and smirked devilishly. Raking a hand down his stubbled upper lip and chin.

"Such a good girl for me, you don't need to worry about what I intend to do. I'll treat you right, you know that."

Right did not immediately mean that he would treat you within the confines of universally accepted rules. He'd read enough of your late night confessions to know that you didn't want to be placated with vanilla flavours. And neither did he.

"I'm not worried." You responded seductively, ensuring your eye lids were hooded just enough to make him do a double take.

You took great pleasure in seeing him charmed. The way he pulled on the tailored cuffs of his jacket and rounded his shoulders was a clear indication that you'd unsettled him. He cleared his throat and adjusted his crotch, attempting to hide his erection to no avail.

You handed him your clutch bag to hold and slipped your arm into the curve of his as he sank his hand into his trouser pocket.

"You look like you need to get fucked." He pointed out, escorting down the corridor as if he hadn't just moistened your pussy against one of the historical features of the house.

"First, I'd like a proper drink." You proposed, gesturing towards the dimly lit gentleman's lounge at the furthest end of the passage. "None of that cheap champagne muck."

He turned the corners of his beautiful mouth down and nodded. Raising eyebrows that silently agreed to your request. He took the lead once again, opening the door for you to step into the more intimate setting.

The lounge was peppered with high backed leather chairs and small round tables. A roaring fireplace with a tanned couch facing it and a mahogany backgammon board set out against an art deco lamp was where he placed you.

There was a low din of masculine voices, intimate conversations and the scent of expensive whisky being poured. You sat diligently by the fire, opening your compact mirror to check the state of your face as Jake went to get you something a little more refined.

There was a rosy hue to your cheeks and your lipstick had all but faded. Ordinarily you would have reapplied it, but it seemed futile knowing that he would only ruin it again. Instead, you fished around for your chap stick. Eager to put some cherry on your next kiss.

Your hand settled on the small, bullet shaped object that certainly wasn't your chap stick. And you certainly couldn't remember putting it in your bag. You looked over to where Jake was standing at the bar, one leg raised on the brass foot rail as he tapped his credit card against the surface.

Your breathing elevated as you pulled it out, the sleek chrome elliptical whirring to life as you pressed the dome shaped head. Whatever memory you had of a night where you'd decided to sneak it into your clutch evaded you, but you were secretly pleased with yourself as you watched him approach.

"I've got a surprise for you."

He placed a glass of crisp white wine in front of you, a glass of something resembling nectar in his own. Taking his seat at your side, his arm extended out on the back of the couch, he slipped his wallet back into his breast pocket.

"A surprise? For me?!" He replied, with excited inflection.

You quite liked it when the veneer slipped a little. When that playful sweetness dripped out from behind the brooding exterior. All of which evaporated as you slipped the shiny little bullet into his hand and waited for his reaction.

He studied it, turning it around in his fingers like a guitar pick.

"You came prepared."

You picked up your glass and savoured the taste. "A former version of myself must have predicted the outcome of this evening."

Jake scanned the room. There were a few men standing at the bar, an apparent card game was unfolding at one of the tables on the opposite side of the room. But with the high backed chairs shrouding most of the lounge guests, it felt perhaps as if you were greeting a destiny neither of you could fight. The stars had aligned.

"Why don't you come here?" He said, inviting you into the space between his lap and the back of the couch. "Give my hands something to do."

You exchanged a daring look. He was deadly serious. Your tongue was in your cheek, your legs crossed as you took another sip of wine for dutch courage.

"You don't intend to use that on me here, surely?" You arraigned his intention, skirting around it playfully.

"Come over here and find out." He insisted, reaching to draw you into the little nook he'd created for you. "Seems a shame not to make you cum in that stunning little dress."

You felt the heat of his body as you nestled in. Your arm extended out on top of his, both of you facing the fireplace with your backs to the rest of the lounge. With your legs still crossed, he pushed the fabric away from your knee, allowing the slit to open and completely reveal your leg.

You felt a rush of adrenaline course through your veins as he planed a clammy palm up from your knee into the flesh of your inner thigh with his opposite hand. Breathing heavily into your ear, not dissimilarly to the way he had initially greeted you. The force of your legs being parted made you gasp. His hand roughly moving your knee away, allowing you to be fully exposed for him.

"Jake..." You whispered, eyes closed as he brought his lips to your lobe and sucked it between his gentle teeth.

"Be still." He instructed, "Don't draw attention."

You could hear the quiet whimpers in his breath as he brought his hand between your thighs. Kneading the flesh there, revelling in the wetness which had spread between them. You tried to keep yourself as composed as possible. Consciously aware that any betrayal of sound or movement would give your position away.

"Let me do all the work." He uttered in the lowest register of his voice, a sultry sound that made you tremble beneath the folds of your gown.

You were awakened there, on that leather couch, holding your tongue against feral screams. Jake ran fingertips down your pussy lips, the ghost of a touch that made you hold your breath until he savagely plunged them inside you. Two fingers tucked away within your walls.

He held you firm. Kept you rigid within the circle of his arms as you fought against him.

"Oh, no you don't..." He warned, wrapping solid arms around your waist. "You be a good girl for me now and don't move."

He pulled his fingers out slowly, gauging your facial expressions before thrusting them back inside. The bullet was poised in his opposite hand, vibrating in his palm as he ran it across your mound.

"You have no idea how fucking hard this is..." You moaned, leaning your head back into his shoulder.

"I do..." He replied comfortingly, letting the bullet roll across the hood of your clit, keeping it there with his thumb as he continued to pull his fingers in and out of you. "I know how badly you want to scream. Roll your hips against my hand. I know you want to fight me, but you're doing so well."

His praise sent you into orbit. Breathlessly panting, it wasn't so much a fight as it was an entire battle within to keep your body from physically responding. You could hear footsteps behind you, voices as they passed. All it would take would be one step too close to see your predicament.

"That's it, let me have this pretty little pussy..." He urged, hooking deep within you, laying soft pressure on the sweetest spot he could find.

"Oh, fuck..."

You knew the moment the words slipped out of your mouth that somewhere in the room a conversation fell silent. Jake tutted, stilling his ministrations until he could be certain you would do precisely as you were told.

"Can't have you many declarations like that, little vocalist." He remonstrated, "Seeing as my hands are a little busy I'll have to give your mouth something to do."

He pulled his fingers out of you. Dripping with your juice, he made you watch him catch a taste as he brought them to his lips. Leaving you weak and powerless as the bullet slipped down into your entrance. You flinched and it made him smile.

"You taste sweet." He mentioned casually, as if he'd just swallowed a spoonful of sugar. "Why don't I give you something sweet to taste?"

You would have submitted to anything, you were melted into his touch. All you could do was sit there whilst he reached for his whiskey and took a languid sip. Before you could process his mindset, your lips were burning as he brought the whiskey to your mouth and spat it straight from his into yours.

You weren't averse to the taste, but it felt like tiny little needles were popping in your tongue. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and eyed you tentatively.

"Don't you dare swallow it." He cautioned, bringing a hand to cup your chin as you held the dark liquid in your mouth. "I want you to keep that there until I'm finished with you."

A tiny droplet escaped the corner of your mouth. Jake's tongue was there to lap it up as he pressed the bullet inside you a little further. You could feel yourself want to swallow, pining to feel it slip down the back of your throat. You could only beg with your eyes. Your mouth was completely immobilised. And you'd never seen such a look of sweet satisfaction on his face. The natural curve of his lips turned upward, his eyes were soft and half closed as he teased the bullet in and out of you.

Your own hands were sat idle at either side of you. Your body bouncing a little with his careful thrusting. You could feel how unbearably hard he was. You were consciously aware of keeping your mouth clamped shut, too. Despite every fibre of your being telling you just to swallow it. Entirely overstimulated. On the verge of spitting it back into his mouth just so you could have your voice back.

"Such a naughty lil' thing, aren't you? Letting me do this to you right here where I'm supposed to be a gentleman."

The fingers were inching back inside, clutching the bullet along for the ride. Easing in slowly, you could hear Jake groan under his breath as you held steady.

"I didn't make that promise, though. Did I? Quite the opposite, in fact. You make me want to be anything but gentlemanly."

You were becoming desperate and he could see it there in the way your brow knitted into deep furrows. Your lips began to tremble, allowing more droplets to spill down your chin and onto the back of his hand. You hummed from behind your closed mouth.

"Alright, sweet girl." He allowed, "You can have your voice back. Swallow for me..."

He strummed your lower lip with his thumb, pulling it until he was certain every drop had gone down. You were dizzy, on the fringes of a climax you were certain he would deny of you given your setting. Feeling your heart sink into your stomach as he pulled out the bullet and silenced it. He brought your knees together and pulled your dress back into place. Leaving you with a brief kiss to the corner of your mouth. And a sense of bereavement that you'd been left like that.

Jake leaned back into the couch with the rest of his drink in his hand and allowed you a moment of space. Scarcely able to blink into reality what he had just done, you picked up the rest of your wine and downed it in one venomous gulp.

"You are a cruel master." You said weakly, your dress peppered in patches of your mess. "And now you dare to sit there with a cock so hard I can see the shape of your tip through the fabric."

He was unrepentant. But still, he ran the bullet across his lip and took a deep breath before slipping it into his inside pocket. Drawing from you the most debauched giggle.

"My cruelty is only to serve you better." He explained, swilling the last drops of his whiskey with a cool hand. "Imagine if I had just allowed you to cum? The mess you'd have made. You'd have brought the room to shame."

He was playing with you. Searching for a hint of remorse for what you had just done and finding you wanting.

"Who's shame?" You fired back, "Certainly not mine. I'm at my best when I have a beautiful man's hands inside me."

He polished off his drink. "Consider me your puppeteer, then."

You were at an impasse. Drinks finished and an inescapable rising tension as you held each others gaze.

"You know, I never actually told you just how attractive I consider you to be. Have I?" He stepped into a realm that had yet to be explored. "But you should know that I thought you were the most beautiful woman in every single room I have found you in since we first met."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "He won't let me cum but he will tell me I'm pretty. I suppose I should be grateful."

He held out his hand for you to take. "Come on, I need a cigarette."

The air was crisp and cool as you stepped outside. The guests who were leaving awaited the valet by the gravel driveway. Spot lights on the lawn illuminated the grandiose entrance, and you felt the chill of the twilight breeze through your hair.

"Are you cold?" He asked, running the outer side of a curved finger up the gooseflesh of your naked arms.

You shuddered against the unexpected touch and the tenderness laced within his question. The weather was tolerable, but before you could respond he had slipped off his jacket and placed it around your shoulders, guiding you towards the heavily sign posted smoking courtyard.

"What happened to your pledge to be ungentlemanly tonight?" You reminded him, the scent of his cologne drifting heavily into your senses as you pulled his jacket around you a little tighter.

"Cigarette break." He shrugged, pulling out a pack of smokes from the inside pocket, the back of his hand smoothly coming to rest against your hard nipple.

He tapped the pack against his knuckles and offered you one. You pulled out the marlboro light and placed it at your lips as he struck a match for you. Cupping his hands around the tip as you sucked it to life.

"Do you think anyone knew what we were doing back there?" You dared to venture, exhaling a plume of smoke into the ether.

Jake was blowing smoke rings absently, leaning against the wall as he watched people coming and going. He was entirely at ease, letting his gaze fall to you every now and then. Looking away when he noticed you looking back.

"You care?" He replied nonchalantly, "I bet some of those cocks haven't been hard in years judging by the clientele."

You almost choked on laughter, your throat only used to the smoke on the odd occasion you chose to accept one when offered. You weren't a smoker, per se. But Jake was adept, letting it rise from his mouth back into his nostril without any difficulty.

"I hope they enjoyed the show."

He was looking at you peculiarly. Leaning against the side of the building with one leg bent, as if he was seeing you for the very first time. There was a curious smile on his lips, with an edge of mischief and wonder.

"What?" You asked pertinently, wondering if it was obvious that you weren't a regular smoker, becoming a little insecure about the way you were holding the cigarette between your fingers.

Jake took a heavy drag and flicked his cigarette into the gravel. Careful to blow above and not in front of you, he back you into a corner. The cigarette fell from your fingers as you stared up at him, not caring where it landed. His hand was at your throat as you were pressed against the courtyard gate.

"You like to be watched?" He asked, rolling his thumb against the underside of your chin. "You want every dick in the room to be hard over you?"

The untenable ache that had begun in earnest back in that banquet hall began to throb incessantly. The way he turned your head from side to side a little, studying your features for an answer that would satisfy him was making your heart beat significantly faster.

"No..." You mumbled, swallowing hard as he drew his lips closer. "Just yours."

He kissed you with more purpose now. The taste of smoke and whiskey slaked your tongue, deep and soft. His hands ventured into the folds of his jacket, coming to rest at your sides. The sound of his whimpers and yours rising as his mouth travelled into the curve of your neck.

You couldn't stop yourself from it. The interminable need to know how his cock felt in your hands. He'd been lilting from hard to soft ever since he'd snook up from behind you, the need for relief must have been unbearable.

You could feel it pressed against your stomach as he deepened the kiss even further. Lacing his tongue across your collar bone, shoving his jacket a little off your shoulder to sink his teeth into you. Leaving his mark right there in your flesh.

Your fingers ran across the edge of his belt. Deftly pulling the buckle apart as you continued to kiss him. The shy tinkle of it as you yanked on it made him smile against your mouth. The button snapped open at your command, the zipper slid down with ease. And the moan which escaped his lips as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft was like a symphony.

He rested his forehead against yours, his gaze pointed down as he watched you pull his cock out. In the soft glow of the courtyard lights, you could make out the tones of it. The raging veins that danced up his shaft beat hard against your palm. The sweet pinkness of his tip coupled with white droplets of pre-cum that pooled against your coiled fingers was like art. And when you sank your hand down, the sounds he made were melodic.

"Yeah, just like that..." He whispered, keeping a watchful eye on your slow and deliberate strokes.

You wanted to tug on him harder, make him spill into your hand. You wanted to hear him pant and moan and beg for it. Just the sweet little breaths he was making now was enough to make you feel like you could throw caution to the wind and fuck him right there under the lights, under the direct view of the cctv camera that was pointed right at you.

But you could hear footsteps on the gravel. Jake growled fiercely as he pulled away, leaving your hand coiled around air. He tucked himself back into his pants fastidiously, cursing under his breath as you watched with slight amusement.

"I can't keep doing this." He affirmed, bringing a tensed hand to the gate behind you as he pulled it open. "I've imagined it a thousand times. What it'd be like to fuck you. And this is not what I had in mind."

You stepped aside as a group of guests from the banquet hall event trickled in. Drunk and loud, they were people you both knew from the Nashville music scene. They tried to engage you both, not picking up on the residual sexual tension that was still hanging in the air. Jake was cordial. You were delightful. Trying to hold drunken small talk, standing there while Jake was funny and charming.

And it did nothing to quell your hunger. Only serving to make you more ravenous. He was confident and jovial, keeping his hand at your back protectively. The type of foreplay you hadn't anticipated. There was just something about standing at his side that made you irrevocably turned on.

"Well, if you'd excuse me I really should be getting my lady here a cab home." He said eventually, taking his opportunity once there was a lull in the conversation.

You were ushered out of the courtyard. Beyond the line of shrubs on the patio extended an expanse of freshly cut lawn, the bottom of which was shrouded in darkness. But you could see the trees swaying in the night breeze, their shadows against the starlit sky.

"You're getting me a cab, huh?" You teased, tucking his hair behind his ears as if you were more familiar with him than you truly were.

He didn't seem to mind.

"If I thought I could get away with everything I want to do to you here, then I would take you back inside." He reasoned, inspecting the teeth marks on your shoulder. "But as it stands I need this sensational dress off of your body before I do something I'll fucking regret."

You took a piece of his hair between your fingers. Twirling it around, letting him wrap his arms around your waist. You could still feel the flushes of his closeness, how it felt to be in his arms after imagining it night after night. He was truly an enigma. The sexual way he'd pursued you leaving no other aspect of him laid bare. You felt as if you'd just been given a glimpse. And he deserved to know what sort of woman he'd been chasing after, too.

"Come with me." You said, leading him back inside.

You slid off his jacket and handed it back to him as you confidently strode into the lobby. Letting your hips do all the work, like you were strutting down a catwalk.

The reception was always manned while ever there were guests present, especially on event nights. You'd had occasion to attend these several times before, and knew something of the managerial structure of the place. You'd even had tennis lessons over on the courts a few summers ago, taking advantage of an ex-lover's membership.

As luck would have it, a young man was standing behind the desk. His attention somewhat drifting between the computer screen in front of him and the noir dream walking towards him.

You clocked his name tag as you leaned onto the desk, palms flat and your breasts hunched together as you fawned over him.

"Hey there." You said casually, as if he was your friend. "...Benjamin."

He couldn't have been a day over twenty, you presumed one of the college students who made up a bulk of the hospitality staff. The way he shyly smiled, trying to keep a grip of his composure as you flirted with him was a clear indication of his naivety.

"Oh, I can't wait to see this..." Jake said underneath his breath, his jacket over his folded arms as he stood back to watch.

You shot him a fiery look before turning back to your young acquisition.

"Can I help you tonight, Ma'am?" He asked, like he was reading off a script.

"Oh, sure you can Benjamin." You replied, "Do you mind if I call you Ben?"

He blinked rapidly. Like a deer in the headlights. "Of course, what can I do for you this evening?"

You leaned even further onto the reception desk. "Well, you see Ben... I'm having a terrible time locating the manager's office. You know, Beverly Seagrave, her and I are old friends and she promised me the keys to the Platinum Suite tonight. God bless her soul, her husband Jerry is just sick as a dog right now and I told her...Beverly, Sweetie...it's fine. But she insisted that I have those keys tonight. Something of a belated birthday gift and since I had to be here tonight anyway for a work thing... well, she was kind enough to leave the keys in her office for me."

The little kink in his brow indicated that he wasn't entirely on board. You dared to reach a timid hand over the counter, resting it against his forearm.

"The Platinum Suite is booked tonight, Ma'am. Are you sure that she didn't mean one of our Gold standard suites?"

You clutched his arm tightly. "Yes! Oh, I'm such a ditz. Thankyou, Ben. If you could just point me toward her office, I'll go grab them."

He hesitated. "I'm not supposed to let guests back there..."

"You won't even know we were there, you have my word." You crooned, tracing the line of his cuff. "I'm just going to scooch on back there, grab my birthday gift, and I'll be out of your hair."

You could see the uncertainty. The way his chin wobbled under your intense scrutiny. He hadn't covered this in his country club training manual. You'd gone completely off script and you could feel his body tense as a wet rope beneath your subtle touch.

It was your intention to sequester somewhere in a room with an inner lock. Somewhere that nobody would think to disturb. A cloak room or an office, all you had to do was get past the receptionist.

"Uh, there's nothing here in the notes about a guest collecting anything..." He continued, tapping away on his computer with one hand, too afraid to move the one you'd commandeered.

"No, well there wouldn't be." You replied, dropping your tone into something a little more authoritative, pulling your hand away to inspect your nails. "This is a private arrangement between myself and my dear friend, Beverly."

Jake snickered. Clearly amused by your attempt.

"Ben, please don't make my companion here have to make any unnecessary phone calls. I'm sure Beverly wouldn't appreciate being disturbed at home whilst poor Jerry is feeling so unwell. And I know she would be entirely displeased so discover one of her oldest friends was denied such a thoughtful gift."

You noted the bead of sweat collecting at his temple. He seemed to be shaking, licking his lips nervously as he looked over at Jake.

"I, uh...I think her office is locked for the weekend, but..I...uhh...I guess I could let you have a set of key cards that I have here...I'd just need a name for checking you in..."

Without missing a beat, you reverted back to your previous flirtations. Under no illusion that you had most definitely flown too close to the sun.

"That was...interesting." Jake said, following you up the stair case that meandered towards the back of the club. "If you wanted to get a suite, all you had to do was ask."

Emboldened by what you had achieved, you were running on sheer adrenaline. Confounded that you'd managed to pull it off, the audacity of it. The way he'd stood there and watched you wrap that guy around your little finger. Confident in your ability to do so. You turned to him on the stairs, towering above him in your heels on the step above, and sank your teeth into his bottom lip.

The rush of arousal was overwhelming. The shift in the power dynamic was unmistakable. Jake hissed in pain as you sucked his lip into your mouth. But he didn't flinch against the way you pulled him in. Taking a fist of his hair and pulling his head back, biting across his jawline until you were sucking in the flesh at his throat.

"When we get into this room, I don't want a fucking safe word. Do you understand me?" You growled, lips pressed against his cheek.

He'd never seen you like this. The animal within rising, it was a revelation to him to see you consumed by passion. Your chest heaving against ragged breaths. He stepped up until you were beneath him.

"Understood." He whispered, "But after tonight, you're mine. Do you understand?"

His claim to you was enough to knock you off your perch. You went from savage creature to doe eyed in a single breath.

"Understood." You echoed.

You walked the rest of the way to the suite in mounting silence. Embroiled in a sense of rekindling desire, it had felt as if you'd been chasing that elusive climax all night. Jake had been all manner of things. Subservient. Dominant. Far too bold and far too charismatic for you to withstand.

He was, within himself, your orgasm.

You stepped into a modest room with a four poster bed as the centre piece. Throwing your bag onto the mahogany dresser, in keeping with the decor that was spread throughout the rest of the club. You ran a fingertip over the edge, pretending to inspect for dust, and then nodded your approval of the place.

No sooner had the door closed, Jake was removing his waistcoat. Watching you float around the room, pretending to be interested in the pieces of art on the walls and the white linen drapes hanging off the four bed corners.

You watched him pull his belt out of the loops in one smooth movement. Pulling the leather through his hands as he threw it onto the bed before shedding the rest of his clothes.

You picked up the belt. Continuing in your audience of his body. Your eyes darkened at the sight of him naked. His cock so rigid it stood away from his stomach and made you flood with moisture for what felt like the thousandth time that night.

"Are you mine, too?" You asked, raking the belt through your closed fist.

His answer was simple. "Yes..."

You ran the belt buckle down the underside of his shaft. "Then prove it."

He slid his hands into the straps of your dress. Rounding them off the curve of your shoulders and let the entire gown fall to the ground. His breath hitched in his chest at the sight of you. You saw him genuinely fall to nerves for the first time.

"Go and stand by the bed column." You instructed, giving him a moment to drink you in. "Arms up."

The way he did as he was told, keeping his eyes trained on you as he walked away felt like he was channelling all his power to you. The way he submitted so perfectly but could easily wear the dominance you needed for balance was astounding. Your soul cried out to know how he felt inside you. But you also needed to ride this wave of being at the helm of the ship.

He was smirking at you as you wrapped the belt around his wrists.

"I'll wipe that smile off your face." You hummed, pulling tightly on the leather strap, making him wince. "Not so hot now, are you?"

He took it so well. He didn't put up a fight. His beautiful face returning to that shit eating grin as you wrapped your hand around his cock.

"Oh, Jacob... you really have no idea, do you?"

You left him standing there like a work of art. You picked up his jacket from the floor and went inside the pocket where he had previously stashed your bullet.

You hadn't bothered to remove your heels. Slowly snaking your way towards him in nothing but your black stiletto's. Pressing the bullet into the head of his penis as you drove your hand down his shaft. Watching him fall to absolute pieces in the palm of your hand.

"Such a good fucking boy." You purred, "So so fucking good for me..."

Your tongue found its way back into his open mouth. The whirring of the vibration and his feral moaning damn near pushed you to the edge. He was leaking incessantly, sticky mess covered your fingers as he silently pleaded with you through unrestrained groans to give him a moments reprieve.

"Too much?" You presumed, "I'm just getting started..."

You knew that you would reap what you had sown. That he was gathering all the ways in which you touched him and was plotting your downfall. And you wanted it all. Ached for it all. Would savour every last drop of this night.

He'd earned his cock in your mouth. Every last inch. You didn't fall to your knees, you squatted down. Letting your pussy open, letting him see the lips spread wide apart. With one hand you slid the bullet against your clit, the other curled around his base. And without breaking a moment of eye contact, you looked up at his face as you ate his cock down.

His eyes rolled back. His jaw slack. His breathing shallow. You took the initiative to let him sink to the back of your throat, to let him completely consume your mouth. His grateful moans kept you spurred on, licking heavy stripes up and down, sinking his head into your mouth before sucking down on it until he hissed. You slaked your tongue over his balls, sucking the flesh there into your mouth and making him gag for breath.

"Dirty fucking bitch..."

You hummed your approval of his name calling as you continued to suck his dick, letting the vibrations between your pussy lips carry you into a further realm of arousal.

"Is that so?" You reckoned, shoving the head of his cock into the pocket of your cheek. "What am I?"

"A dirty fucking whore." He spat, rolling his hips into your mouth. "A filthy little cock sucking whore who needs to untie me right fucking now so I can punish her."

He wanted his power back.

"On one condition." You sighed, sliding yourself up the length of his body. "Make it hurt..."

The leather broke free. His wrists fell. He paused for the briefest moment to gaze into your eyes. A rare moment of romance in this pursuit of completion. And then it was gone, like two trains speeding past one another, you were gathered up in his arms and being slammed onto the mattress.

He parted your thighs with his knee, keeping one hand on your head. And then you felt the formidable snap of his palm across your ass. You squealed in equal pleasure and pain, the delight in your smile shrouded from him as he pulled back your hair so that he could get a better look of you.

"You like that?" He asked, rubbing his hand over the reddening cheeks.

You nodded profusely. Again he sent his palm raging across the curve of your ass, kneading the flesh there after each slap. Every spank making you cry out desperately.

"Oh, you like that don't you? My little whore." He almost sang to you, "Fuck, you're so damn pretty when you let me talk to you like that..."

You didn't know where it came from. The way Jake made you feel. So safe, so cherished. So completely aroused by his man handling of you. The way he reduced his words down to such degradation, and it did nothing except serve in your arousal.

"Ass up, pretty girl..." He grabbed you by the waist, positioned you the way he desired.

You held your weight on forearms, your up-do positively ruined. You blew wayward hairs out of your face and arched your back. Sinfully moaning as Jake opened your ass cheeks wide and sank his mouth into you without any prior warning.

"Oh, fuck...Jake...oh my god..." You cried out, rattling against the sensation of his tongue riding between your ass and down into the folds of your dripping cunt.

You could feel his mouth exploring your entrance whilst his nose languished above. Pressed deeply into parts of your body you'd neglected to explore yourself, let alone allow another into. He'd taken the liberty of it, and you were far too gone to be shy now. Even when he dared to slide the tip of his thumb inside, you snapped your head back and wailed for him.

Your hair spilled down your back as he pulled out the pin holding it together. Curls cascaded down your spine. When he wrapped the tendrils around his fist, you could scarcely breathe.

"You liked my tongue in your ass, didn't you?"

You were flushed pink and covered in a sheen of sweat, as was he.

"Give it to me, Jake. I can't take it anymore." You begged, lifted on to all fours by your hair.

He would have. He'd have given it all to you. Pressed against your back, his cock resting in the crook of your ass cheeks, he was planting a seed. Massaging his thumb down there, on the cusp of taking whatever he wanted from you.

But you were rudely interrupted by surreptitious banging on the suite door. A succession of loud thrums sounded over your heavy breathing.

"Open the door please!"

A voice boomed from the other side.

"We have reason to believe you have not paid for this suite! Open the door immediately!"

Jake buried his face into your shoulder blades, his body shaking against hysterical laughter.

"I guess someone called Beverly!" You giggled, turning around to meet his beautiful laughter.

You held each other for a moment. Falling into each other, the laughter unbearable as the bangs came more aggressively.

"If you don't open the door immediately, I will be forced to call security!"

"I don't feel like getting caught tonight, do you?" Jake asked, scrambling to gather his clothes.

You were already stepping back into your dress as he jumped into his pants, peering out of the window for an alternative exit. He slid up the pane, a rush of cold air fanned his hair away from his rosy cheeks.

"Do you trust me?"

You blinked at him, slipping your heels back on as you tried in vain to pile your hair back up. You hesitated on the way he peered downwards, throwing his jacket and waistcoat along with his shoes out of the damn window.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?!"

The door handle started to rattle. "I've called security. You have sixty seconds to vacate the suite!"

What choice did you have? You took Jakes hand and let him assist you down onto the roof below. He was like a cat in stealth mode as he climbed out, closing the pane down behind him as he took your hand and ran you across the top of the adjoining building.

You flew over puddles in your slim heels, his hand felt solid in yours as he pulled you along on bare feet. It was exhilarating. You'd never felt more alive. More like you could do anything. Your shadows moving where none could see, high above the lights of the merriment below.

"How the fuck do we get down?!" You cried, pulling him back as he neared the edge.

You didn't see the ladder until you were upon it.

"Don't worry, I'll go first." He assured you, slipping his shoes and jacket back on. "If I fall, well you'll just have to fall with me."

He flashed you a devilish grin. Raising your hand to his lips and placing a solitary kiss there as he descended.

"Jake, be careful!" You admonished, leaning over to watch him climb down with the same ease he'd breezed you over the roof with.

"Tuck your bag under your arm and slowly climb down..." He instructed, waiting on the rails until you were safely where he could grab your feet.

Your shoes and attire were not for climbing. Your dress catching on each rung. Almost slipping to your death a few times until Jake reached the ground and took the liberty of letting you fall into his waiting arms.

When he placed you safely on the ground, only then did it hit you. What you had done. What you had almost done. The ache that had yet to quit. Immeasurable pain in your core from being withheld from your ending. A need that went entirely unspoken. You were numb from it, the desire and the desperation.

"Lets get out of here." You breathed, kissing him softly in the flashing lights of the dancefloor beyond the window. "I don't want to play this game anymore."

His hand grazed your cheek, pushing back your hair that was now down and free.

"Neither do I." He replied, "Cheated death, I guess we should celebrate."

You huffed out a little breathy giggle and let him softly kiss you. Igniting something entirely different in your belly. Something warmer, heating you up from the inside out. Churning your stomach, radiating out from the space between your chest.

You'd never felt anything quite like it.

"We'd better be quick, I don't think they were bluffing about security."

You noted the bodies rushing out from the side of the building, flash lights in their hands. It seemed a little excessive, but still you were hot on your heels as Jake dragged you away and down the lawn into the darkness. You spotted the illuminated tennis courts as you rushed past, down into the curated garden behind and into a folly of trees.

"If they catch us down here, I swear to damn god..."

You didn't let him finish. Cutting him off with your mouth, pressing him into the trunk of the nearest tree.

"It has to be now, Jake..."

The first drop of rain hit as he spun you around. The rough bark of the tree against your back, the faded lights from the tennis courts illuminating just enough of his eyes for you to see him giving into the hunger there.

He lifted your leg into the crook of his arm, holding it as he swept your gown aside. As he freed himself, you spread a little wider for him. The rain coming down a little harder, the sound of it hitting the canopy above shrouding your unrelenting screams.

Finally, he entered you. Thrusting heedlessly, rutting like a man starved of affection. The heat of his breath against your mouth and the echo of his moans chimed with yours. His rhythm was delicious, his size just enough to burn your walls until it slipped in and out like a knife through melted butter.

"Fuck, you're so tight..."

Pleased with yourself, you clenched around him. He buried his face into the curve of your neck, driven to insanity.

Thunder rolled ahead. The scent of wet pine devouring your senses as Jake fucked you against the tree. His hair saturated in rain, you pulled it away from his face and stared at his desperate expressions as he held you up.

"It's you, you're so big..." You replied playfully, "And you fuck me so good with it..."

He hit you so deep, violently and with such force you knew you'd end up with scars. You could feel the flesh of your back torn open against the bark, not caring. Any blood spilled was worth the tangible connection forming under those stars. You'd earned this. You deserved this. And nothing would keep you from it, even if they found you. You knew you wouldn't let him pull out until both of you were spent.

"Damn it Jake, cum inside me..."

The urgency was heeded. Lightening streaked across the sky. Grunting ferociously into your mouth, tongues meshed and breath shared, he succumbed to your cunt in an explosion of light and painful climax. Your body felt tethered to the earth somehow as you felt every single nerve in your body shot with electricity. Not from the sky, but from Jake.

"Look at you..." He dragged a thumb down your cheek, taking your mascara with it. "Look what a mess I've made of you."

You were certain that you looked bedraggled and soaked. And he, no better. You stayed in the trees until the storm raged on. Emerging from the shadows, covered in cum and fallen leaves.

"Too beautiful a night not to sin with you." You said, "Maybe we should have just gotten a cab in the first place?"

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon @vikingisthenewsexy @char289

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #fanfic #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf #fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka x reader

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talkfastromance4 · 1 year

Text

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face--Jake Seresin (An Arrangement Series)

author's note: thank you for your patience! As promised, this one is longer! and again, the dress in the photo is just so you can see what it looks like.

An Arrangement Masterlist

Follow here for all updates as I do not have a taglist

word count: 8.6k

warnings: a brief interaction with police, break-in

Feedback, asks, comments/reblogs mean the world to me!

Enjoy!

It’s a few weeks before the Navy ball and you’re at the flower shop putting together an arrangement for Betty. She’s at a rehab center after her surgery and so far she’s doing really well so you’re hoping she’ll be out soon enough. Jake has also been gone for a quick mission, he told you about it just before the fundraiser he helps sponsor at the pier.

You weren’t sure what to expect at the pier so you put on a pretty sundress that Jake couldn’t take his eyes off of. You definitely didn’t expect him to show up in his service khakis but when you saw the fundraiser was for foster children and their home you understood why because the kids hung onto him and asked him so many questions about flying the ‘big airplanes’.

The raised funds were to help add onto the house they live in and to hopefully build a new jungle gym. Some of the children were selling tickets and ran the booths with other adult volunteers. Jake stayed by your side the whole time introducing you to everyone while also speaking very highly of your flower shop which made your cheeks warm.

You snip some of the stems of the gladiolas you are working on smiling at the memory of that day and one little girl who kept running up to Jake–she had to be at least eight years old–showing him all the prizes she won.

As the sun was setting, the kids were leaving and that little girl came up one last time. You found out her name was Zara when Jake greeted her by squatting on the ground. She whispered something in his ear, he nodded then turned to you.

“Zara wants to give you something,” he smiled.

“Me?” you brightened and knelt down to her height. She hands you a plush flower with a smiley face in the center.

“Mister Jake says you make flowers.”

“He’s right, I do. Thank you so much, I love it,” you smiled at her. “And I know the perfect place to put it, right in my display case.”

Zara giggled then ran off towards the other kids at the bus and the director of the house they live in, a big smile on her face and you could have sworn she perked her chest up just the slightest.

“Thank you so much for today, Lieutenant. Your donation will definitely help us in building a new jungle gym.”

“It’s my pleasure, Ms. Dawes. Let me know if you need help with anything else. You’re doing an amazing job.”

She was clearly flustered then headed back to the kids. Jake faced you with his hand held out but you shook your head.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t charm people so easily like that.”

“Do I charm you?” he cocked his head to the side, his hand still extended. He wiggled his fingers clearly wanting you to hold his hand.

“I plead the fifth,” you sniffed but took his hand anyway.

“So,” Serena hops on the counter next to you, pulling you from your recollection of memory. “Where’s your boy toy? Haven’t seen him since he brought us breakfast a week ago.”

“He’s not my boytoy, but he should be home tonight. He had a mission to do.”

“Okay, boyfriend then.”

“He’s not that either,” you sigh tweaking the flowers a bit.

“Then what is he?”

You’re not sure what to say so you shrug.

“He takes you out, right?”

“Yeah.”

“He helps you with Betty,” she starts to tick off fingers, “he buys you and your employees breakfast, drives you around…if it looks like a boyfriend and quacks like a boyfriend–”

“That’s not how the saying goes,” you giggle then turn serious. “It’s not like that. It’s…complicated.”

“What’s complicated about it? You like him, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, figure it out ‘cause he’s down bad for you.”

You turn away with your arrangement to box it up and to also hide your smile at her comment. The door opens with the bell jingling above it and Reynolds comes in with a basket of your favorite snacks and sweet treats, a sign that Jake is on his way home.

“Lieutenant Seresin is on his way back from base but wanted you to have these to keep at the shop. I have to pick him up…will you be all right getting home?” Reynolds asks.

“I can take her Reynolds,” Serena says peering into the basket.

“Thank you,” you tell him sincerely.

“If you need anything, give me or him a call. I’ll see you Monday Miss y/n. Miss Serena,” he smiles then leaves the shop.

“Jake’s a duck and Reynolds is a duckling,” Serena states taking a pear from the basket and taking a big bite.

Jake sent you a text that he’d be leaving base the same time you’d be leaving the flower shop and asked if you’d like to go to brunch the following morning. After locking up with Serena, she drove you home and the whole way there you have this weird feeling in your stomach.

When you get out of her car you hear a loud crash from inside your house and you freeze. There’s more scuffling and you scurry back inside already calling Jake.

“y/n? What’s going on?” Serena asks in alarm.

“Hey Sugar, I wasn’t expecting a–”

“Jake, someone’s in my house,” you whisper frantically. Serena gasps then pulls out her phone to call the police.

“Where are you? Are you inside?” Jake asks.

“No, I’m still in Serena’s car. She’s calling the police.” You’re surprised at how calm your voice sounds when inside your heart is about to burst out of your chest.

“Drive away from your house, I’m on my way. Stay in the car, y/n I’ll be there soon.”

You gulp when the line goes dead, he rarely calls you by your first name. Serena drives a block away but still in view of your home and you’re freaking out because what if whose inside comes out and runs towards her car? What if they have a weapon?

“It’s fine, the police are on their way,” Serena soothes, “I’m on with dispatch. Someone is five blocks away on another call and they’re coming here now.”

Two squad cars show up without their lights and get out of the car. You watch them walk right inside, your multiple locks were clearly busted. It’s like a lifetime goes by and then you see Jake’s truck turn the corner. Without thinking, you escape Serena’s car ignoring her hissing your name and run towards him.

He slams on his brakes, puts it in park then jumps out as soon as he opens the door catching you just as you leap into his arms.

“y/n, I told you to stay in Serena’s car,” he reprimands but hugs you tightly against him. One hand holds the back of your neck. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m scared,” you whisper shaking your head.

“It’s all right, I’m here and it looks like the cops are too. Have they come out and talked to you yet?”

“No, they’re still inside,” Serena says behind you.

“You can go home if you’d like, Serena,” Jake says, he continues rubbing the back of your neck.

“You sure?” She asks.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay with Jake here,” you turn your head to look at her over his bicep. “Thanks for driving me.”

“You call me as soon as you’re done talking with them, okay?” she holds out her arms and you give her a tight hug.

“I will. Drive home safe, text me when you’re there.”

“Bye Jake, thanks for coming,” she says.

“Bye Serena,” he waves.

She gets back in her car then pulls away slowly. You fold your arms over your chest, feeling a breakdown coming but you can’t do that yet. Jake takes you in his arms again and you close your eyes focusing on his arms around you, his breath blowing on your hair and his heartbeat. It centers you and calms down your breathing, but sadly, your heart is still racing in fear.

The police finally came out to say the perp got out the back door and the coast was clear to head inside. They followed you around jotting down things that were missing; your small flat screen was taken, some clothes and the record player you saved up for was also gone. Your records were still there but some were smashed on the ground and your kitchen was a mess.

“They were probably looking for diamonds or other expensive jewelry,” one of the officers said. “People tend to hide them in their flour.”

“I don’t have any kind of jewelry expensive enough to be stolen,” you shake your head then gasp and run to your bedroom.

“y/n! Wait for us!” Jake calls after you and you look through your clothes again. The dress from Madam Floquet is gone.

“Oh no!” you groan and start to toss hangers with clothes on them behind you. It has to be here, it just has to be.

“Sugar, what’re you–hey, slow down!” Jake’s arms wrap around you, fingers latching around your wrists like a vice until you stop your frantic pillaging. “What are you looking for?”

“My dress! The one you got me, it’s gone! They took that too!”

The clothes in your hand fall to the floor and you bury your face in your hands, Jake’s arms circling around you even tighter.

“No, they didn’t,” he says softly in your ear, “I had Reynolds bring it to my house just for safekeeping.”

“It is?”

“Yes, it wasn’t stolen. Was there anything else missing from your room?”

“I don’t think so,” you whisper.

“Miss, could you write down your statement?”

Jake sat with you at the kitchen table while you wrote down the incident with a shaky hand. When the officers left, you stared around your small house now in a disarray and your door hanging from its hinges. Thinking of other possibilities that could have happened if you were here sent a shiver down your spine but makes you come to a decision.

You look at Jake, his green eyes alert even with the dark circles under his eyes again. Why does it seem like he never sleeps? Before you could catch it, a tear rolled down your cheek.

“What?” he asks, swiping it away with his thumb.

“Okay… I’ll move in with you.”

“Are you sure?” His eyebrows raise.

“I’m sure. This…was an eye opener. What if it happens again while I’m sleeping? You’re right, it’s not safe here but I can’t afford anywhere else. And you are closer to where Betty is.”

“Thank you,” he sighs taking both of your hands in his. “I’m so sorry this happened, Sugar. I’ll get you a new record player–the same one. And don’t worry about packing or anything like that, I’ll take care of everything.”

He brings your hands up, kissing the knuckles, and for the first time since meeting him, you fully trust that he will take care of everything.

And he did. Within twenty minutes after the break-in, he had movers at your place and they began packing up all your belongings. You watched and listened while he instructed where certain things would go in his house. Reynolds was also there to help but he mainly stayed by you to keep you company while Jake orchestrated the moving process.

When all was said and done, he leaned against your broken door frame watching you as you walked through your now empty house. This was your first big purchase as an adult, as a way of freedom of living on your own. You chose the color of the walls, the decorations in the bathroom and now it’s empty, barren.

Jake held out his hand as you circled back. Seeing his hand outstretched felt like a new beginning, a second chance and you were finally ready to accept his help so you took his hand and followed him out into the night. Although, it was nearing five o’clock in the morning.

Although you’ve been here before, he gave you another tour and you saw more Texas decor throughout the house. There were pictures of his family everywhere, he had two sisters who were married and a niece and nephew.

“I’d tell you about them but you look like you’re about to pass out on me, Sugar. Let’s get you to bed.”

You followed him up the stairs and into your room. The fake tree you remembered from last time had twinkly lights that were lit up and you saw your belongings from your old room in here.

“I made sure your clothes were placed in the closet and the dressers, you can rearrange them however you’d like. If you need anything at all, my room is at the very end of the hall.”

“Okay. Thank you, Jake, for everything,” you tell him.

“You’re welcome. Now, get some sleep.”

The first official night after the break-in was hard. You tossed and turned because you felt like a stranger in his house and bed even though you’d slept in it before. Eventually, you did fall asleep and that was the first time you dreamt of Jake.

It was like a dream within a dream, it felt so familiar like it had happened before. Can you have deja vu in a dream?

In the dream, you were at a wedding with Serena sitting next to you and a song came on. Jake appeared in front of you wearing a dark gray suit.

“Did you request this?” dream you smiled at him as he held out his hand.

“Maybe,” he grinned then pulled you against him. You danced to the song feeling complete and whole and just right in his arms.

Then you woke up wondering what song you could have been dancing to that was deemed special for you and him? He left sweet notes for you in the morning before work with a fresh pot of coffee and a muffin that Rhea would make for you who you found out was his housekeeper. She’s a lovely woman in her mid-fifties and talked about Jake like he was her own son.

He still hasn’t talked about his family yet but maybe he’s waiting for you to ask on your own.

Since you moved in with him, he made sure he was done with work so he could pick you up from the flower shop and you could both see Betty together. With Jake being out of state again for a few days, Reynolds has taken up his position of driving you around again.

This is the first time you’re seeing Betty without Jake and you decide to open up to her about Jake and what your situation with him really is about. So you told her about him paying for her medical bills, moving in with him, the break-in. You didn’t tell her these things in the first place because you didn’t want to upset her in her condition but she took it in stride, she’s a very resilient woman.

“Well, Dolly, it seems like he really has feelings for you.”

“But why have me sign paperwork and pay for everything? I have such a hard time understanding.”

“Maybe he grew up seeing love like that. Does he come from a rich family?”

“I don’t know, I just found out he has two sisters and a niece and nephew. We’ve never really talked about his family yet.”

“All you can do is ask. It also might be a way to protect his own heart, and I know you keep yours locked and guarded in a high tower.”

“You really think he has feelings for me?”

“Honey, I haven’t seen anyone look at you the way he does since your grandpa looked at me.”

“Really?” You’re blown away because your grandpa looked at your grandma like she created the universe. “Tell me how you two met again.”

She explains how she first saw John at an ice cream shoppe with her mother. He was the handsomest man she ever saw in her life and she went back to that ice cream shoppe day after day until he finally bought her a cherry cola. They then went to the drive-in a lot, other diners and was told his family had lots of money.

That part wasn’t true but Betty didn’t care, they loved each other like crazy and were married within eight months of first meeting.

“Give Jake a chance, Dolly.”

“But what about–”

“Stop thinking and go with what you feel. Don’t think, do what your heart tells you. Promise me?”

“I promise.”

“When does he come home?”

“Tonight I think,” you sigh looking at your Apple watch. It was a ‘Welcome Home’ gift from him that was placed on your nightstand a few days after you moved in. You appreciated the discreet way he gave it and it did come in handy while you were at the shop working.

“And when is the Navy ball?”

“This Saturday. I’m so nervous, grandma. What if I make a fool of myself in front of his squad?”

“I’m sure you won’t, and I’m sure Jake will be by your side the whole time.”

She dozes off after that. You kiss her cheek and then go home. You hear splashing as you get out of the car in the driveway and you notice Jake’s truck is parked in the middle garage. Your heart leaps knowing he’s home.

“Have a good night, Reynolds,” you smile to him with the window rolled down. He winks then pulls out of the driveway and you head inside.

It’s dark in the house except for the underlights of the cabinets in the kitchen. The back door is slid open and you hear more splashing. You find Jake doing laps in the pool, his body aglow in the aquamarine lights. You watch him glide under the water fluidly for two laps, coming up halfway each time to catch a breath then descending into the water again.

You kick off your shoes, stepping carefully to one end of the pool while he’s at the other and wait until he comes to the halfway mark for air.

“Welcome home,” you call as soon as his head pops up. His eyes open and he smiles widely at you.

He swims to you quickly then stops in front of your legs that you’re lightly kicking in the water. He grabs hold of your moving ankles rubbing the inside of them with his thumbs.

“You’ve no idea how much I like hearing you say that, Sugar,” he pants, catching his breath from the swim.

“Feels like home when you’re here. When did you get back?”

“A couple hours ago,” his fingers tickle up and down your calves now. It gives you goosebumps. “Were you with Betty?”

“Mhm.”

The tickling of his fingers feels nice and it’s taking all your concentration to focus on your breathing.

“How is she?”

“Good. Still in pain and tired. She says hello.”

“I’ll come with you when you go see her again.”

“She’ll like that. How come you’re swimming?”

“It helps clear my head,” he lowers his head into the water and blows bubbles. “You can join me if you want. Birthday suits are highly recommended.” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully.

“Yeah?” you laugh then scratch your nose. “I don’t think so.”

“Can’t blame a man for trying. Do you want a pedicure?”

“Are you offering?”

“To pay, yes,” he nods, then tickles your toes.

“Jake! That tickles!” you shriek, jerking your legs but he keeps tickling. The quick movements of your legs makes water splash on your shorts and shirt then you’re both laughing.

“Okay, okay, I’m done,” he chortles. He stops tickling but keeps his grip on your ankles, his thumbs returning to the soft circles between your feet and along the arch.

He cocks his head to the side gazing up at you. Whenever he cocks his head that means trouble.

“Do you make those sounds just when you’re being tickled or from…other activities?”

“Other activities?” it’s your turn to cock your head.

“Nevermind, Sugar,” he shakes his head, lips quivering into a smirk. Then he rests his chin on your knee. “You’re just tempting me, that’s all.”

“Tempting you? How? I’m not doing anything.”

“That’s the worst part. You don’t even realize…I can only imagine what it’d be like if you were actively trying to tempt me. I’m already a goner.”

He’s staring at you with those hypnotic green eyes, he rolls his head so his cheek is pressed to your kneecap. His breath is warm on your skin and his hands continue to dance up and down your legs, going higher and slower each time.

“I know what you mean.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could even think to stop. You clap your hand over your lips hoping he didn’t hear it but of course he did because now he’s smirking.

“Yeah? Are you saying I tempt you, Sugar?”

“I’m saying…I…” you suck in a gasp when he presses his lips to the inside of your knee. His eyes still laser focused on you as he did so. “I-I understand what you mean.”

“That’s all?” he moves to your left knee, kissing you there as well. “Is this okay?”

His hands are on your calves and he pulls your legs apart a bit. You nod at his question. So with his lips still pressed to your knee, he gives small kisses around the circumference. They feel like little fish kisses, small pulses of his lips on your skin. He does the same thing to your right knee then he’s pulling himself out from the water to his full height.

Water droplets cascade down his body, your eyes follow one that rolls down his cheek and jawline onto his neck then over his chest and toned stomach before disappearing into the waistband of his swim trunks. You gulp, this is the first time you’ve seen him shirtless and what a sight it is. He’s standing between your opened legs and you feel his hip bones, your toes grazing against his calves under the water. This is the closest skin on skin contact you’ve had with him ever.

“Give me the word, Sugar,” his voice pulls your gaze back up to his eyes. He steps closer, crowding your space with his arms. His fingers slide up your thighs then rests his palms on the concrete beside you. “And I’m all yours.”

His pelvis is pressed against yours now, you can feel the coolness of the pool water but also the warmth radiating from his body and your head is spinning. Being this close to him is making your clothes wet and you clench your thighs.

“I…”

“Remember what I said at our first dinner together? How I said I could have pleasured you in your pretty flower shop?”

All you can do is nod because of course you remember it.

“Good. I gotta get out now, though. I’m all pruny, see?” he holds his hand up between you, his fingertips grazing the side of your breast as he does so.

You don’t even have time to look down and see because he’s backing away. A braver version of you would yank him back between your legs and kiss him, asking–no–begging him to show you exactly what he meant about pleasuring you. But you’re not at that brave version yet so you watch him walk through the water and use the steps to get out.

You have a nice few of his back muscles flexing as he runs his fingers through his wet hair. Your stomach flutters and you’re wondering how he could be so damn attractive. Jake pads across the concrete until he’s in front of you, his hand held out. You take it, feeling the water run down your arm as he helps you stand up.

“Want to watch a movie and order takeout?”

Will you be home for dinner tonight?” Jake asks Friday morning while you’re gathering your coffee and muffin. He’s sitting at the island with his tablet reading the news.

“Probably not. I’ve still got a bunch to do for this wedding tomorrow,” you sigh. Rhea hands you our lunch bag. “Thanks Rhea.”

“I added another muffin for dessert,” she smiles then picks up her cleaning supplies and heads into the dining room.

“You’ve been coming home late every night, last night I didn’t hear you until almost one a.m….” he frowns and crosses his arms.

“Yeah, it’s a big order. Me and Serena are working around the clock with Dom and Brynne helping out when they can. They’ve been working on a funeral arrangement.”

“Do you have to set it up for the wedding tomorrow?”

“Nope, they’ll take care of it. They know I’ve got the Navy ball with you tomorrow,” you smile then try to stifle a yawn but it escapes. You feel even more tired when the yawn finishes.

He stands up from his side of the island moving in front of you, bending a little to peer at your face more closely. His palms cup your cheeks as his thumbs brush under your eyes.

“How much sleep have you gotten?”

“I dunno,” you shrug and try to suppress another yawn. “Maybe five hours?”

“Five hours all week?”

“No, five hours last night. My mind kept me up on what I all needed to finish today.”

“You need your sleep, Sugar,” his fingers thread in your hair massaging the base of your neck. You let out a contented sigh.

“I’ll get it when the wedding’s done and Betty’s out of rehab. I told her we’d see her tomorrow before the ball, she wants to see my dress.”

“I’ll make sure we head there first before we go to the party,” he smiles and continues massaging your neck. “I set up a mani pedi for you tomorrow at eleven. Would you like me to call someone to do hair and makeup for you or would you like to do that yourself?”

“You have a hair and makeup person?” you tease but you’re feeling so relaxed with his neck massage.

“Yes, I do,” he smiles.

“Sure, that could be fun. Then I know I won’t look like a clown.”

“You never look like a clown. Promise me you’ll take an hour lunch today?”

“I’ll try.”

“You drive me crazy,” he sighs and removes his fingers from your neck.

“You do give good massages,” you turn your neck from side to side.

“That wasn’t even the full experience, darlin’. Have a good day at work.”

At midnight, you heard rumbling outside and then seconds later rain was downpouring on the windows. You sigh as you mark down on your clipboard a final count of the centerpieces in the fridge. You sent Reynolds home hours ago telling him you’d catch the bus promising you wouldn’t be too late. You broke that promise but you wanted to make sure the wedding arrangements were perfect because it was a shotgun wedding and the couple was desperate.

They insisted on paying double for the short notice and thankfully their request wasn’t anything too crazy. Lots of roses and lilies with pearls added throughout. Serena called it at eleven and you let Brynne and Dom go home early since they’ll be up early to set up for the wedding.

Being alone in the shop was your favorite because then you could crank your music up to as loud as you wanted without disturbing anyone.

Your watch started to vibrate and when you looked to see who was calling, an instant smile appeared because it was Jake.

“You’re up late,” you answer when you pick up your phone.

“Because you’re not home. Are you almost done?”

“Almost, just have to finish cleaning things up and I’ll be home. But it started raining and I don’t want to walk in the rain to the bus stop…”

“No need for the bus stop.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you open the door? I’m getting soaked.”

Your mouth opens in confusion and you look to the front door where sure enough, Jake is standing there getting drenched by the onslaught of rain. You run to the front of the shop and unlock the door, Jake rushes in.

“What are you doing here?”

“Reynolds told me you sent him home and when I saw the forecast I didn’t want you walking in the rain at midnight. Especially after what happened at your house. And,” he holds up a wet to-go bag. “I brought you dinner.”

“Wow, you didn’t have to–I mean, thank you,” you smile taking the wet bag from him. “I have some towels in the back, I’ll go get them so you can dry off. Alexa, turn the volume down to three.”

You set the bag on your desk then open the door to the bathroom where you have fluffy towels. You wash your hands so much throughout the day you want to have a soft way to dry them off.

When you walk back out, Jake has lifted his hoodie off and because of the rain, it caused his t-shirt to cling to it. You got another great peek at his tanned and toned stomach, a happy trail disappearing into his jeans.

Pull yourself together, you scolded yourself.

“Here you go,” you hold out the towels to him. He uses it for his hair immediately, scrubbing at it fiercely. His hair is sticking up in all directions when he’s finished and you giggle.

“You finish cleaning up and I’ll put the spread out,” he says.

“Okay, the bag is on my desk in the back. There’s a mini fridge with soda and water.”

“I actually brought some wine. Thought you might like it after your busy week.”

“Wine sounds wonderful,” you smile.

He sidles past you behind the counter, your chests bumping and he pauses.

“Hi, by the way,” he says, green eyes glittering. He has a boyish grin and it makes him even cuter.

“Hi,” you giggle. “I have a comb in the bathroom if you’d like to fix your hair.”

“You don’t like my crazy hairstyle? I was thinking of wearing it like this tomorrow.”

“You’d turn heads for sure, but I like it like this.” You reach up to comb your fingers in his hair, pulling it down over his forehead. With his hair being wet it makes it more manageable to move it how you want it to. “There.”

“Thank you.”

His voice is sweet and his eyes are soft staring down at you. You’re caught in his green eyes, anticipating some kind of moment happening but then a loud crack of thunder jolts the moment away. He clears his throat then moves back into your office.

You’re humming along to Dean Martin as he sings From the Bottom of My Heart while you finish cleaning up. You sweep away fallen petals and thorns then start to dance a little with the broom when Frank Sinatra’s That’s Life starts to play. This is Betty’s playlist you play for her whenever she’s in the shop and when you spin around you slam into Jake’s body.

“Oh!”

“I’m a better partner than a broom.”

He takes the broom out of your hand bringing you into his arms in one quick sweep. His hand is warm on your lower back and then you’re dancing, following his footwork easily.

“What about the food?”

“The food can wait, let’s dance for a moment. Practice for tomorrow,” he smiles.

You dance around the small front of your shop, Dean Martin transitioning into Roberta Flack’s The First Time Ever I saw Your Face plays and you can’t help thinking what a magical moment this is.

Moments like this don’t happen to you; dancing with a handsome man while it’s raining outside to old music? You must be dreaming.

“I like this playlist,” he comments, spinning the two of you.

“It’s for Betty. This was my grandpa and her song. They would dance all the time and I always loved to watch them.”

“Did they ever dance in the shop like this?”

“All the time,” you smile, “there’s a picture of them dancing on my desk.”

“Sounds like they had a great love.”

“They did.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Have you had any great loves?”

“I thought I did but…it didn’t work out.”

“How come?”

“He found someone else, someone better.”

“I highly doubt that, there’s no one better than you.”

“You’re just saying that,” you shake your head.

“I’m not. You’re the kindest, sweetest person I’ve ever known. You work your ass off with no recognition even though you deserve it and you always exude this…lightness. Like you have a shine of happiness radiating from you.”

You duck your head and stare at his dog tags hanging over his shirt.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Look down or away whenever I compliment you. One day I’m going to have you see yourself the way I see you.”

You don’t know what to say to that so you continue to stare at his dog tags, your eyes tracing the letters of his name.

“y/n.”

“Hmm?” you force yourself to shift your eyes up to look at him and he’s so close.

So close that you can see little freckles on his nose and speckles of yellow in his green eyes.

“Do you…” he swallows hard. “Do you want to–”

“Do I want to…what?” you ask slowly. His eyes are hypnotic and this is the moment where a kiss is supposed to happen.

Will it?

“Do you want to–” thunder cracks and you both jump –”um, do you want to go eat now?”

“Oh, uhh, yeah. I could eat.”

You stop dancing, grab the broom and move back to your office. You eat the takeout and ask him questions about what to expect at the ball. Even though a kiss didn’t happen, it was still a very good night.

It wasn’t until you were laying in your bed that you realized why he didn’t kiss you. He said the ball was in your court, you were in charge, and he was waiting for you to say the words.

Or, a little voice in your head whispers, is he waiting for you to sign the papers?

You woke up at eleven Saturday morning and found a note from Jake stating that Reynolds is waiting for you when you’re ready to get coffee and take you to your nail appointment. Next to the note was a peach begonia in a small vase with a couple inches of water. Another small note lays under the vase and read ‘found this on the floor in your shop. It made me think of you.--Jake’

You quickly got dressed in comfy clothes and found Reynolds waiting for you in the kitchen. You’re completely relaxed while your nails are getting done, the hand and foot massage really felt wonderful especially after being so busy on your feet at work.

When you get back to the house, a woman with red and orange hair plaited in a French braid is waiting in the kitchen. Tattoos are scattered on her arms in a random way but they look good in their placements and she has a septum piercing.

“You must be y/n. I’m Inez and I’ll be doing your hair and makeup!” she smiles.

When you get closer you see she has purple contacts in and she’s easily the coolest person you’ve ever met.

She gushes about your nails then has you sit down in her chair.

“Don’t worry about Jake taking a peek, I banned him for a few hours until it’s time to go. This is so exciting, I’ve never met any of his girlfriends before. And I like you, you have a good vibe about you.”

Your cheeks warm at the mention of being called his girlfriend but you don’t correct her. You don’t think she needs to know this is all part of an arrangement. You listen with intrigue as she fixes your hair in an elegant style about the many celebrities she’s met in her job. Who her favorites were and who she’d rather not work with again.

She wouldn’t let you look at yourself in the mirror until you had your dress on so she helped you put it on. As Inez did the buttons you suddenly got very nervous about going to the ball.

“How’re you feeling, toots?” she asks doing some adjustments to your hair.

“Nervous. What if I don’t fit in?”

“You look like a bombshell, and who needs to fit in? He’s bringing you for a reason which is big for him, he usually goes stag to work events.”

“Really? Why’s that?”

“Never had the right person to bring,” she smiles. “Okay, I’m ready to have you look at yourself.”

She takes you into your closet and you don’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. Inez made your eyes look somehow fierce and delicate at the same time and your hair! You’ve never felt this good about how you look before.

“Wow,” you breathe and turn around to see the back of the dress, the diamonds cascading like frozen water.

There’s a knock at your door and Inez goes to answer it. Reynolds appears behind you in the mirror, a big smile on his face.

“You look incredible, Miss y/n,” he says.

“Thank you,” you smooth out the front of your dress. “Is it time to go?”

“Almost. Jake is downstairs waiting for you whenever you’re ready.”

“I think she’s ready,” Inez gives you an encouraging smile.

You follow her out of your room, Reynolds’ trailing behind, and the butterflies are back in your stomach because Jake is going to see you now. You chew on the inside of your cheek as you descend the stairs, eyes on your feet so you don’t miss a step and take a tumble. When you’re finally on a flat surface, you look up and your breath is taken away.

He’s wearing his Navy dress blues and this is the first time you’ve seen him in something other than his khakis. His wings glimmer in the light and he’s clean shaven with his hair styled perfectly. He’s so very handsome.

“Sugar…as I live and breathe,” he drawls, his voice like honey. “You’re breathtaking.”

“Thank you,” you reply shyly.

“I have something for you,” he says then reaches into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a Tiffany blue box.

You’ve never seen one in real life and now he’s placing one in your palm. With shaking fingers, you undo the white satin bow and lift off the lid. There’s another small blue box and when you pop it open you see earrings in the shape of leaves with small diamonds embedded.

“I thought earrings would be best since a necklace would be hard to wear with the neckline,” he says.

“Jake, these are…wow. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” you shake your head.

“I have,” he smiles at you. “Would you like to try them on?”

You nod and he holds the box in his palm so you can remove the earrings from the cushion. They’re cold on your lobes and feel a bit heavier than what you’d normally wear but they fit nicely.

“How do they look?” you ask him.

“Stunning,” he smiles. “Come look.”

He moves you in front of the mirror in the hall and they really complete the look of your dress.

“I love them, thank you so much,” you tell him.

“Are we ready to go?” Reynolds asks.

“Here’s your clutch, it has your phone and ID,” Inez hands it to you. “Have a great time! I want to hear all about it over lunch next week, okay?”

Jake guides you outside to Reynolds’ car with his fingers brushing the small of your back. He helps you in the seat being careful not to sit or place his foot on the slit of your dress. Which, now that you’re sitting, has fallen away from your thigh and you’re a little more exposed. Not too much but just enough to be promiscuous.

True to his word, you visit Betty before going to the ball and when she sees you she starts to cry. Tears prick in your own but you don’t want to ruin your makeup so you blink them away as best you can. She wishes you both to have a wonderful time and can’t wait to hear all about it when you visit again.

Nerves settled in your stomach on the drive to the venue but Jake took your hand, easily guiding you to the entrance. You saw all sorts of good looking people waiting outside, both in uniform and not and you wondered if it was a prerequisite to have good looks in order to join the Navy.

Some greeted Jake as he walked by, using his callsign or just his last name. Some of them were lingering their stares on you and you touched your face in case you had something on it.

It wasn’t until you were waiting to get inside to the main hall that you asked Jake why people were staring.

“They’re staring at you,” he murmurs. “You’re the most beautiful person here.”

“Jake, there’s tons of beautiful people here, including you.”

“But you’re a new type of beautiful, everyone knows everyone here already. They’re jealous you’re here with me, that’s all.”

He pinched your cheek affectionately.

The ball is literally being held in a ballroom and it’s a beautiful space with a grand marble staircase. Circular tables are set up at the bottom of the stairs where waiters and waitresses are walking around with trays of champagne and appetizers. This is a very fancy party.

You chat and mingle with people along the way to your table, Jake making you feel included every time. He pulls out your chair before you sit down and you read over the menu in its looped script. There’s seven courses, each one sounding better than the last.

“Hey Bagman!”

There’s a commotion to your left and two people are standing behind Jake. One is a woman in a beautiful red gown and the other is a man with glasses. He’s in Navy dress blues too.

“Is this Bradshaw’s date?” the woman asks, indicating to you.

“Bradshaw can dream. No, she’s my date. This is y/n,” Jake smiles when he says your name. ‘y/n, this here is Phoenix and Bob.”

“Nice to meet you,” you reply politely.

“You can call me Natasha. Sorry, another one of our friends has been bragging about how hot his date is so I just assumed. We’ve heard a lot about you, sorry you got stuck with Bagman as your date.”

“I thought you were called Hangman,” you look at him quizzically.

“I am. Phoenix has her own nickname for me,” he side eyes her and she just smiles.

“I bet Rooster’s date doesn’t even exist,” Bob says. You note his southern accent and wonder if he’s from Texas like Jake.

“You’re probably right, Bobby. He can’t land any woman with that atrocity on his top lip. Is Coyote here yet?”

“Almost. I bet he and the missus got stuck in traffic,” Natasha/Phoenix laughs.

“We’re gonna grab some drinks,” Bob says, “you two want anything?”

“Moscato for her and whisky for me,” Jake says.

“Be right back,” Bob smiles.

“Are they together?” you ask Jake when they’re out of earshot.

“Nat and Bob? No, Sugar, they’re just co-pilots.”

“Oh.”

“How’re you feeling?” he asks, placing his hand over yours on the table. His eyes show slight concern.

“I’m okay, still nervous to meet all your friends.”

“They’re harmless. They talk a big talk but don’t mean anything by it. They’re going to love you.”

He lifts your hand in his so he can kiss the back of it, his lashes fluttering.

As the night goes on you meet more of his friends, Coyote, Payback, Fanboy and Rooster. You met some of his commanding officers, Hondo and Maverick included, who gave you warm hugs, amongst others that you tried to remember. It was a lot of people but they were very friendly and had plenty of jabs towards Jake. He took them in stride but it made you wonder if their jabs did sting him a little bit.

Dinner was full of conversation, questions mainly pointed at you and about your flower shop. Then Rooster remembered you were the florist for Maverick and Penny’s wedding. Drinks were flowing so you assumed his next question was due to the alcohol being consumed.

“How much did Hangman pay you to be his date? He’s never brought a girl to one of these before,” Rooster jokes.

“Rooster,” Jake’s jaw ticks. He rests his hand on yours under the table, threading your fingers together. “Don’t.”

“What? I know there’s dating services if you need a date. Like if you don’t want to show up to your exes wedding alone, or a family reunion. No way she’d come here willingly with you.”

“Clearly you didn’t pay yours enough because she’s not here with you, is she now?” Jake arched an eyebrow, his tone steely.

You’ve never seen him like this before but the table laughs quietly. This must be routine for Jake and Rooster.

“She’s sick,” Rooster insists, then shifts his eyes to you. “How much did he pay you to be—“”

“Bradshaw! That’s enough,” Jake’s voice is severe and the table goes quiet.

“All right, all right,” Rooster rolls his eyes and leans back against his chair. “I’m only teasing.”

You remained quiet during the whole exchange. Did his friends know this wasn’t really real? What has he told his friends about you? Do they know this is fake, that you’re fake?

“Let’s go dance, Sugar.”

Jake stands up and you follow him with your hands joined together. You follow him to the dancefloor and he takes you in his arms. You can feel him shaking slightly in anger.

“I’m sorry about Rooster. We’ve always had a tense relationship and sometimes it goes too far. None of them know. I promise,” his eyes are serious but you see sadness there too.

“Why do you let them talk to you like that?”

“I’ve said way worse to them, trust me. It’s how we are, always has been,” he shrugs.

“Do they think you’re not good enough to date or something?”

“They’ve known me for a long time and have seen me when I was at my worst.”

“We’ll, I don’t like it,” you squeeze his shoulder. “They make you sound like a bad guy and you’re not.”

“I used to be. They’ve seen I changed but old habits die hard.”

“Hm,” you grunt.

He smiles at your distaste then spins you away from him. He catches you in his arms then dips you which makes you smile and laugh. You see his friends staring at you upside down before Jake pulls you back up.

“They’re seeing how you bring out a different side of me.”

“Are you showing off?”

“Maybe,” he shrugs then winks.

He dips you again and you fall into him laughing, this time people around you clapped at the move. The song changed to The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face and you stare at him in shock. You had an odd sense of deja vu then remembered your dream and you gasped.

“What is it?” he asks, gliding along the floor.

“Um,” you move your hand up behind his neck, fingers clinging to the short strands of his hair. “Nothing, just…did you ask them to play this song?”

“I might’ve suggested the DJ play this after I dipped you twice,” he nods. He tightens his hold on your lower back, his hand is warm on your bare skin. Then you feel the gentle circle of his fingertip on your skin and it only prompts you closer to him.

“Why?” you’re whispering now, your faces are close.

“Because the lyrics fit well with how I feel about you. I see the sun rise in your eyes everytime I look at you.”

You want to hide your face at his sweet words but you remember what he said at the pool and fight your inhibitions. So instead, you bite your lip. Jake brings his hand that’s holding yours in between you so he can tug your lip from your teeth.

“What are you thinking?” he asks softly, thumb still rubbing over your lower lip.

“I…I’m thinking I want…” you search his eyes as if the words you’re trying to say are there. Then you heard the lyrics of Robert Flack and it gives you the courage to ask, “Kiss me, Jake?”

He smiles softly, and when he moves his head down you close your eyes. You feel his soft breath first then his lips touch yours so delicately it instantly has you craving more but he kisses you slowly. You’re not sure how your feet are still moving with him but your lips are doing a new dance and when his tongue slips inside you sigh. You bring both hands into his hair while he grabs your waist.

You press yourself against him, loving how his lips feel. You feel it all the way down to your toes, nevermind you’re in a crowded room of people watching you. Kissing Jake is thrilling and new but also feels like home. You feel like you could fly.

You faintly hear a throat clearing but you keep kissing him, smiling a little as he nibbles on your lip. Then the throat clearing is a bit louder.

“Beat it, Phoenix,” Jake murmurs and continues kissing you.

“y/n’s phone is blowing up and I think it’s an emergency,” Phoenix says.

That causes you both to tear away, his eyes mirror the worry in yours and you’re running to the table. It’s missed calls from the rehab center Betty is at. It starts to ring again but you’re frozen.

“Let me,” Jake takes the phone from you easily. “Hello? She’s here with me, she was scared to answer the phone, what’s going on?”

You watch his face for any sign of your worst fear coming true but as he listens to whoever is on the phone, his face relaxes. He gathers your clutch and his phone from the table.

“Do we need to take her? Okay, we’ll be there shortly,” he hangs up then cups your cheeks in his hands.

“What–what–” your voice is shaking.

“An ambulance is taking Betty to the emergency room,” he says very slowly, his eyes steady on yours but you pull away in a panic. His hands are strong on your cheeks and you remain in between them. “Listen to me, Sugar. They found blood in her stool and that’s why they’re transporting her. The hospital will be able to help her faster. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper. You cling onto his wrists.

“Do you want to go home and change or go right there?”

“Right there,” you continue to whisper.

“I’ve got you, all right?” He kisses your forehead then grabs your hand. “Let’s go.”

You rush out of the ballroom with him, leaving the precious life-altering kiss on the dancefloor and head toward another life-altering moment.

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