#she'd look good in emerald but
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bigmeandragonlady · 5 months ago
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actual refs are hard and i dont wanna do them
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heyitslapis · 2 years ago
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Here's a potentially fun, hypothetical way to describe your OC's personality/moral alignment; Does your OC wear a mask when they're in public? When/where? Why/why not? What do they feel/think about it?
#it isnt actually related but my last post made me think about my oc realizing shes been unknowingly masking for over 7000 years#which through word association made me think of masking for illness/disease prevention which made me think of this#emma (5vr) would mask in public bc its the right thing to do & she thinks humans are pretty fragile as it is#apatite masks bc having lived with humans over time she respects them enough to care abt their health & she thinks its a Cool Guy Look#touri would cause she cares about living creatures/its the right thing to do & humans are fun so she doesnt want to risk hurting them#jay only does bc the others do/tell her to. she doesnt think gems can pass germs bc their bodys are made of light. she doesnt mask if solo#amber thinks gems masking is silly & maybe a bit pointless but she does if asked to/in busy areas#also bc she knows apatite will make fun of her if she doesnt#citrine does bc its the right thing to do. being a quartz he's naturally protective & humans are delicate & he doesnt want to get them sick#emerald q refuses to mask. being a gem she sees no point in it & she'd get defensive/offended if someone asked her to#axinite wouldnt bc shes too good for it & is above the rules. thinks humans should just let nature take its course. only the strong survive#obsidian & goshenite think its dumb & believe that if humans get sick/die its cause theyre weak#the only time goshenite would is if it was more a fashion statement than functional. takes a few cute pics & then discards it#moonstone does bc she makes it look cute & she doesnt want to breath in the humans' germs. she likes the mystery behind it#heliodor will if its required/asked of them but is indignant the whole time. only positive is that they dont have to breath in human filth#oc prompts#tag your oc#my oc tag#my gemsona tag#heyitslapis ocs#steven universe ocs#imagine your oc#controversial topics / masking
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undreaming-fanfiction · 3 months ago
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Steve and Eddie work together in an aquarium, and Eddie is losing his mind. He's in love, he's got the most embarrassing crush, but Steve doesn't even notice him.
They barely interact, and Eddie only knows Steve's first name. He doubts Steve knows he exists, he's just one of many tour guides (but he's amazing with kids and especially teenagers, so he's actually a great tour guide, thank you very much!)
Back to Steve. Steve, with his lean muscles, easy smile, thick hair and beautiful, but somehow sad eyes. That Steve.
The Steve who works in the aquarium as a merman.
Eddie could watch him for hours, floating in the tank with grace Eddie didn't know existed, with his sparkly yellow mermaid tail, flowing hair and chest hair, and that man can hold his breath for so long? Think of the options, the possibilities!
The mermaid show is insanely popular among all the kids and teens, even adults. His best friend Chrissy was the one who recommended Eddie to the aquarium, she's the main mermaid, and god, if Eddie wasn't gay, she'd have him at her feet. She always looks so effortless, twirling underwater in her emerald green mermaid tail, spinning around Steve. They make such a beautiful pair, it makes Eddie want to weep.
Fortunately, she's already in a happy relationship, so Steve is reportedly still single. Chrissy makes Eddie massage her feet in the evenings - he offered, they're cramping from a bad fit of the tail - and graciously answers all Eddie's reasonable questions, such as "how do his hands feel?" ("Wet. We're swimming, remember?").
She keeps telling Eddie to ask Steve out, but Eddie isn't stupid. That man is the god Poseidon himself, and Eddie is but a humble crab in his kingdom. So he admires him from afar, longing, pining and making Chrissy's head hurt.
But Steve's just so good with kids, Eddie can't keep his mouth shut. He always mutters something to Steve as he's ushering the kids away. "Great show, sweetheart," or "I love that smile, Stevie," or "need help getting that tail off?" He's only a man, and no one can hear him.
Except for a nosy tour coordinator listening in through his earpiece, Robin Buckley. She also happens to be Steve's best friend, Chrissy's girlfriend, and a menace to society.
And maybe one day she tells Steve to just smooch the tour guide, maybe she spills a few of the longing whispers and wishful stares, but she's only human too. A human who's had to listen to Steve's ramblings about the cute guy who always pulls the kids' attention like a magnet, who even through the blurry glass tank seems to be having an amazing time. Steve sometimes asks Robin for an extra earpiece and listens to the rest of Eddie's tour after the show. He loves his enthusiasm. Once Eddie even drew a heart on Steve's tank, can you imagine that, Rob?!
Maybe Robin and Chrissy have to work together to give the two idiots what they need, because Eddie considers himself too nerdy and plain for Steve, ans Steve thinks he's too dumb and shallow for Eddie.
Maybe Chrissy fakes slipping into the mermaid tank and drags Eddie with her. Maybe Robin is there and quickly gets Steve to jump after him. Maybe she makes the innocent mistake of insuating that Eddie can't swim.
And maybe, when Steve and Eddie are back on firm ground, confused and wet, Chrissy splashes them with water and asks if pretending that it's mouth to mouth resuscitation would help, or if they can finally kiss and stop pining for each other.
And one more maybe...maybe in a few weeks, when Eddie ushers the children away after the show, he kisses his palm and presses it against the tank, and watches Steve do the same, before he can give him a proper kiss after their shift.
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nsharks · 1 year ago
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bleeding blue | apocalypse au
part fifteen —other parts
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pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.7k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.
Pearly sunlight weaves through the trees, casting freckles across the calm current of the creak. Somewhere, a raven bleats loudly, but your ears block out the sound. The skin between your brows wrinkles with concentration as you tightly grip the wooden makeshift spear, its carved point hovering just above the water.
Numerous fish writhe below you, and your eyes dart between them studiously before finally settling on the meatiest one. With a quick stab, your spear pierces the water's surface, but all it hits is the mucky bottom of the creak. The fish startles with a splash and swims off downstream. 
"Fuck me," you huff, standing up from your squatting position on the rock to soothe the growing ache in your thighs.
Fishing shouldn't be much different than hunting, yet, it's been hours and all you have to show for it is a small chub the size of your palm. With a sigh, you decide your craving for fish isn't worth all this effort and leap off the rock, carrying your measly catch in one hand and spear in the other. Maybe the still waters of the pond could be an easier spot to try someday.
You chose the creak over the pond because it's a greater distance from camp. The longer walk allows you to fixate on the emerald green leaves fluttering in the breeze and the soft chatter of swallows that are returning after their winter migration. Everything is starting to turn into Blue's favorite color. For the first time, you departed the cabin without a jacket, opting for only the long-sleeve tee from Ghost. You had the sleeves rolled to your elbows while fishing, but as you trek back through the wild grasses, you push them down and allow the fabric to brush your knuckles. 
There are hardly any flowers left on the Pink Sorrel after all your foraging. It's a shame they taste so good because the petals are a beautiful fuschia. Arriving at camp, you amble over the plucked stems, bound across the trench with ease, and spot Blue on the other side of the gate offering Grim a wad of grass.
The moment you returned yesterday, she had asked how training with Ghost went. That was quick, she'd observed. Weasling past the rules of your friendship, you gave her a half-lie: He went easy on me this first time. She didn't seem fully convinced that Ghost and 'going easy' belonged in the same sentence together.
"Hey," you greet. "Open the gate for me?"
Grim is given a pet across his back before she leaps up to undo the locks. 
“Hey. How’d it go?” She looks at your near-empty hand. "Fucking noodles. That's it? I thought there were lots of fish there."
"There are. I just suck at catching them."
She gives you an apologetic smile. "Oh— Ghost was looking for you, by the way."
It takes you a moment to respond. "He was?"
"Not sure what for." Her brows furrow. "I'm also not sure where he went. He was here, and then—" Her blue eyes glimmer like water in the sunlight as they shift to something in the distance. "Oh, there he is."
The very person you'd spent hours of alone time trying not to think about arrives as a shadow, lugging what appears to be—you squint—a fucking corpse behind him. Upon closer inspection, it is certainly a body, and with how wonky the limbs look as they drag against the ground, it must be a Grey. That's a little more reassuring, and a lot less bothersome, than if it were a human corpse. 
He drops the corpse in front of the trench, rubs his gloved hands together, and then passes through the parted gate. 
"Is that what you wanted Twix for?" Blue asks, nodding to the Grey.
Ghost explains himself in an even more gruff baritone than usual. "Knew I smelled something." He speaks at you. "I wanted you to check south while I checked north."
"Oh. Sorry," you say lamely and hold up the small chub. "I was, uh, fishing. Looks like you found the source, though. Just one?"
He nods. "Only found one. Could be others so we'll keep an eye out."
"Why did you bring it here?" you ask curiously. 
Blue is the one to answer. "To burn it. Sometimes it seems like they attract each other, haven't you noticed?"
"Right," you grimace. "Blood and rot. Their favorites."
Setting down the catch and spear, you help Ghost gather some wood from the modest pyramid stacked beside the cabin. He nudges the Grey with a booted foot, making it tumble limply into the trench. Starting the fire in there should keep the flames contained.
As you silently place the wood and some kindling over the carcass, your mind is in two places at once. With Ghost right next to you, it's impossible to not think about yesterday; how it felt to be grabbed by him, how he questioned you again about the ammo trip, and how you can't help but detest the thought of him looking at you in pity like he once he did. 
You also think about how much you fucking hate Greys. Christ, they are disgusting. Your fingers accidentally brush against the paper-thin skin that hangs off the bones and a shudder travels up your spine.
Ghost starts the fire with a match and the two of you watch the flames catch, quietly at first— then, they roar through the corpse, quickly turning it black. Bitter smoke intermingles with the crisp spring air and the smell has you coughing into your arm.
Blue has taken it upon herself to avoid the fire, making an audible gagging sound before scooping up Grim. In her absence, you shift from foot to foot, stealing a glance at Ghost. He watches the ash build up and the flames tamper down in mild interest. 
Your fingers curl up into balls, fisting the excess fabric. "Are you worried about more?" you ask him.
It's the first thing you've said to him - actually said to him - since cutting your training short. He loosens a breath and slightly shrugs his broad shoulders. "No. I told you. We never see more than a few at a time." You weren't worried, but if you were, his dismissal of the subject would reassure you. "You should be careful until I finish your bow, though. Unless you're good at throwing knives."
"I'm not," you almost snort, voice no louder than it needs to be. "But Blue is quite good at it. She's been killing squirrels for me."
He hums his response, a low sound that gets lost in the crackle of embers, and you wonder if that's him showing a lack of interest in this kind of conversation with you. With a deep inhale, you change the subject to one you can't ignore.
"Ghost— I want to apologize," you turn to face him, straightening your shoulders. "I wasted your time yesterday. It won't happen again. If we could... give it another try, I would like that."
The smoke is starting to fade. Ghost breaks his gaze from it to study you. You try not to shrink away, wondering what he's thinking. If he feels pity, it's impossible to detect in the dark irises set behind his mask, though, you've never been able to find much of anything in them. 
"You didn't waste my time, Twix. I have an interest in your capabilities." 
"What?" 
"If you're going to be staying here," he elaborates, "—then your strength is of value to me. I'd like to know that if I ask you to do something, you can do it. That if shit happens again, I can rely on you."
"You can," you breathe out. "I am... capable."
"You are," he agrees, looking away. "You're good with a bow. You think quick. But you're still weak, and you doubt yourself." The blunt comments make your brows lower, but you can't help but feel satisfied with the glimpses of approval. "Yesterday was my fault. You weren't ready for it and I should've known that."
"I am ready," you protest, lips parting as you shake your head. "Let me try again. I don't want to be coddled."
"I'm not going to coddle you," he replies in a firm drawl. "I want you stronger first. Let's start there."
“Okay.”
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A hand.
There's a hand on your shoulder, heavy and firm, offering a slight shake. With a gasp, your eyes fly open to darkness, only the white of a skull visible above you, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight. 
"What the hell?" are the first words you sputter, voice harsh and raw from sleep. You grip your throat to clear it. 
He scans your face. "Get up. Come on."
"What? What... what fucking time is it?"
"Almost dawn. Let's go."
It takes a few deep breaths to calm the rush of adrenaline ignited by his abrupt wake-up call. Go where? you think to ask, but instead, you slick a hand through your hair, warily rubbing your eyes to adjust to the lack of light.
Somehow you end up outside, wading through the sprawled-out fog as you follow behind his silhouette, the morning so early and quiet that it would've felt like a dream if not for your crunching footsteps. You braid your into a single, tight braid along the way. With such shitty sleep, you're too out of it to even scowl at his backside, wondering how getting up at this hour will in any way make you stronger. 
The answer is in the two axes he carries and the towering oak tree he stops in front of, your eyes climbing up the height of it before landing back down on Ghost. Your hands are forced out of your coat pockets when an axe is offered to you, fingers curling around the handle and abs tightening from the surprising weight of it.
Confusion rolls around in your gut. Slowly, you ask, "Um. You... want me to cut this thing down?"
"We need more wood after yesterday." He inclines his head and gives a tap of his own axe to the thick trunk. "Good size for you to start with."
"It's huge," you mutter under your breath. "Why do we have to do this so early?"
If there's any reasoning to it at all, he doesn't bother sharing. Rather, he stalks over to another tree about ten meters away. The calm air is soon shattered by the rough sound of metal biting wood as he starts effortlessly cutting the trunk. A large part of you considers dropping the axe and leaving without a word, but you ignore it.
"Alright then," you whisper to yourself. 
It's not the first time you've chopped down a tree. You used to help Paul with it, and truthfully, you're surprised Ghost has never asked you to do chores like this sooner. It's certainly bigger than the skinny, young trees you used to go for, evident in how little of a dent you make with the first swing.
Either you're as weak as Ghost claims, or this axe of his is heavier than the one Paul had because your biceps feel strained by the third hit.
"Have you never done this before?"
The voice at your back nearly makes you drop the axe. Whirling around, you face the colossal presence of him and wonder how you didn't notice it sooner.
"I have." You rest the thick blade on the ground, grumbling. "Do you have a thing for sneaking up on people?"
"Be more aware of your surroundings." His tone teeters towards admonishing, and he looks you over before ticking up a brow. "And fix your stance before you throw your bloody back out."
He nudges the toe of his boot against yours, forcing you to spread your feet further apart. Your lips roll together as he grunts in approval. "Try again now."
When he takes a step back, you face the tree again, bending your elbows before extending them sharply. The blade cuts deeper this time, if only by a little.
"You're focusing too much on your arms," he remarks behind your shoulder. 
Your eyebrow twitches. "I'm... I'm holding the axe with my arms. Why would I not focus on them?"
"When you're shooting arrows, what muscles do you use the most?"
Thinking back to those lessons from Paul, you answer almost immediately. "My back." It's always the part that gets most sore. "And my... my shoulders, I guess."
"Focus more on those."
His advice helps. The next swing deals considerable damage to the bark. You turn to see his response, but he's already gone back to his tree.
The next few days involve so much chopping and sawing that you think you might be starting to hate wood and all of its forms. After the trees are down, you have to cut them into sizeable logs. The back-and-forth motion leaves your arm numb. You quickly realize why Ghost is making you get up early for this work— once the sun is out, it becomes miserable, cold sweat cascading down your back and temples. 
Blue decides this is not the kind of training she's interested in watching. You don't see much of her except during dinner where she offers to cook the squirrels she's caught for you. You don't object. You pick the meat apart down to the needly bones, wiggle your sore toes of their confinements, and knock out earlier than either of them. Fatigue goes back to claiming you swift and heavy, like a current that pulls you down, down, down. The dreams sit behind a dark wall, blocked for now. 
It goes on like this for a whole week, and somewhere along the way, you stop hating it. The grunts that leave your mouth are laced with exertion and focus. Your arms don't hurt as much. You split the logs apart as your mind fills with thoughts of everything you hate. Greys. Death. Pity. You imagine breaking all those things into a hundred, rotten pieces. It feels... good.
One morning, you awaken to sunlight already bleeding through the plywood, and confusion sits you up. You look around, wondering why Ghost didn't get you up sooner, only to find Blue lying belly-down on the raggedy rug, flipping through one of her new magazines.
"Where's Ghost?" 
"Good morning to you, too," she sings. Her chin inclines from where it rests in her palm. "I decided you need a different kind of training today. He's setting it up."
"You... you decided that, huh?"
She hums. "I made you breakfast. Go eat." She waves her hand. "I'm sure he'll be done soon."
You have no idea what she's talking about, but your stomach guides you to the cooked meat calling your name. She points out things in the magazine, like old celebrities and ridiculous perfume ads, cute boys and yummy sweets she wishes she could try; you nod along as you eat.
When he returns, she perks up. Practically tugs on your arm. You have to remind her that you're still barefoot. She impatiently groans the entire time you are lacing up your boots, taking your sweet time on purpose. 
The pond is where she leads you. That place where you first saw her.
Except today, there is a thin log stretched across one end to the other. A bridge.
"We have got to work on your balance, my student," Blue announces, hands on her hips. A gentle, warm breeze tousles her hair and she swipes it from her face. "We can't have a repeat of you-know-what."
Your brows shoot up and a chuff of breath leaves your nose. "Are you trying to say I have no sense of balance?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying. Come on, now."
You almost forgot Ghost followed the two of you out here until he sits on a tree stump with his carving knife and the bow he's making. He's been working on it for a few hours every day. Today, when you steal a glance as Blue clasps your hand and leads you to the homemade bridge, it almost looks like a bow, finally taking on a curved shape. You can't see much of it, though, because soon you are being instructed to cross the log.
"Without falling," Blue adds. 
"Easy," you tease, shrugging. 
"Prove it."
The log is about the width of the metal beam, but much shorter. You cross over it, arms outstretched at your sides and boots hovering a few feet above glistening water that is teeming with fish. When you step down on the other side, you shoot Blue a grin.
She rubs her chin. "Not bad, not bad. Again."
You do it again with ease, even though your muscles are still stiff from your morning workouts. 
"Okay, this time, we're going to make it more realistic." 
By realistic, she means baring her teeth in a growl and sticking her arms out like a Grey. All of a sudden, you are being chased across the log, Blue running behind you. Explicatives leave your lips until your boot misses a step and you fall into the water. This time, the shallow pond offers a comfortable temperature that doesn't send your body into panic mode. You break the surface, able to stand up on the rocky bottom, and throw your wet hair out of your face as laughter bubbles up your throat on its own accord.
You look up at Blue, playfully glaring. She smirks.
"Come here, Grey," you say.
You grab her by the ankle and pull her down into the water with you. She gasps and giggles, thrashing around in her soaked clothes as you splash water in her face. 
"Or," you taunt, "Should I say Amelia?"
Her eyes widen. "How did you—" 
Then, she's leaping at you, pushing your head under the water. "Don't ever call me that."
"Or what?" You tease and swim away, scaly fish brushing against your ankles as the wide legs of your jeans ride up. "You'll kill me?"
"Might have to!"
You're not sure how long the two of you swim in there. Minutes. Maybe an hour. Until your fingertips are pruney like how they used to get when you used to swim in the pool with your sister.
You hoist yourself out of the pond and sit by the water's edge, drenched shirt clinging to your breasts uncomfortably, but you don't care. You've felt far more uncomfortable things. The buttery sunlight kisses your exposed cheeks as you wring out your hair, Blue sitting beside you to do the same thing.
She peels off her wet jeans, probably uncomfortable in them. You would do the same if you were eleven and didn't care. On her thigh, the thick scar from her bullet wound blemishes the soft, pale skin.
"I'm a better teacher than Ghost, huh?" she says.
"So far," you nod, glancing at him. When you do, his eyes meet yours across the short distance. Only for a second. Before they flicker back down to the bow.
"He hates swimming, you know."
You look at her. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. He never really goes in with me." She shrugs and buries her fingers in the grass. "Hey. Look. There are those violets I told you about."
You follow the direction of her eyes and sure enough, a patch of wild violets decorate the ground, gently bent in the breeze. As your clothes dry, the two of you pluck them. They are beautiful. Dark purple petals. You braid them into her hair. She tries to do the same for you, but her braiding skills need some work. It's a nice break from the past week you've had, your sore limbs sprawled against the grass to dry.
It's when the sun starts to lower that Blue puts her jeans back on. Your clothes are still wet, and the wind is starting to pick up, spreading gooseflesh across your skin. 
"Here."
The familiar low voice announces his presence. Tucking your wet hair behind your ears, you look up at Ghost. The two of you haven't exchanged many words except for his occasional correction of your form while cutting wood. 
He stands against the sun. You take the finished bow from him in quiet awe. It's even nicer up close, the smoothed oak caressing your palms as you glide them up and down the length of this new weapon. The first one he gave you was made for a child, but this one is larger, the perfect size for you. Your index finger gives a pluck to the string, feeling the hum of vibrations. He must have just added that. 
"Thank you," you tell him honestly. Whatever uncertainty or irritation you might feel about him doesn't change the swell of gratitude you feel in this moment. It’s a tangible thing that sits in your chest. “It's... great, really."
"Might take some getting used to,” he says gruffly.
You shrug. "That's alright."
You glance to your left where Blue is still changing. With a swallow, you hold the bow tight to your chest. "Do you think I'm ready to try more tomorrow? Not just the wood. I feel like... I feel like I've been getting stronger from it already."
He gives a short nod. "Tomorrow, then."
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tremendum · 7 months ago
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Me and the Devil; i
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(not my gif) .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·: Paul Atreides x fem!reader prelude next
word count: 5.3k
summary:  Destruction: the only thing you and Feyd-Rautha may have ever had in common. Unfortunately, you endured. You learned how to live with the Harkonnens, to be one of them- and with a clip of fear, you worry you may never be able to unlearn. 
warnings: blood/violence, family deaath, v brief allusions to smut/dubcon, reader is traumatized. pls lmk if i missed anything. not edited.
notes: thanks for all the love so far!!! here's the first chapter of the story - if you want to stay updated, i post on AO3 first :) just a quick first chapter to lay the scene before we jump into the engaging parts of the story. feedback is very motivating and highly valued, thank u all <33
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Penitent Crimes of Retaliation
In accordance with the legal doctrine of the 'Reprisal Accord', as sanctioned by the High Court of the Landsraad, houses are granted the right to retaliate against proven offenses committed upon them. This action shall such be labelled as "Penitent Crimes of Retaliation". Under this mandate, should sufficient evidence be presented, the aggrieved house may initiate a retaliatory strike and engage in warfare against the offending party. While reparations for damages incurred during the conflict are mandated, perpetrators shall be exempt from criminal sentences, ensuring a balanced recourse within the framework of inter-house disputes."
- From the Reprisal Accord, Office of the Padishah Emperor. Imperium, 10041. 
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There was once a time when green was your favorite color. 
You'd enjoyed a childhood of it; Peridot, Jades, the velvet green of winter dresses, the tall, mighty green the sacred Pine. The woven banner of your house, waving in the snow-whipped wind; A snarling green wolf upon the grey armor your parents wore to train you. 
When the men of one other Houses Major arrived to retrieve your older sister, she'd been shroud in that very same pine-colored satin, an elegant dress, as she waved good-bye to you for the last time. When the ice would melt off the lower glaciers for those three months every year, the lakes would thaw to a deep emerald green, and your brother, sisters and you would play in it; servants and soldiers alike yelling and pulling you out, shivering to your bones. 
Even at your sister's funeral. The green of the casket, laid to rest in the ground of a foreign planet by a man who'd never truly loved her. The women of your House, wearing a veil of mourning in that sacred pine satin as you said good-bye to her. Killed by the birth of her first; a son. Your parents had been proud - You became the oldest of your siblings that day.
You can barely stand to look at green anymore. No, instead, you mostly see black.
Black, white, and red. 
They'd sent you away to make for your house a Fortune; a son, they'd wished, for your sake - and, by whispers of your Lady Mother, a daughter - but this place... it crawls with shadows and monsters and deadly smiles; most in the form of your betrothed.
Your na-Baron. 
If Feyd-Rautha ever had a semblance of hesitancy, it was when you first met four years ago. You were at the end of your seventeenth year; he, freshly eighteen. He had been as cordial as you'd ever seen him, escorting you with an arm held out, eyes malicious but mouth less than offensive. He'd even called you Lady Bourbon those first few months on Giedi Prime. And, in fact, you can consider yourself lucky; perhaps for your bloodline, or for you yourself, Feyd-Rautha took special care of you. Maybe he did care for you -in the ways that he could. 
After that, he taught you all you needed to know about the rest of the world. In these final days together, he has admitted furiously that he waited too long to claim you as his wife - four years was much too long for you to wait, even if your purity was claimed by him long before then. 
The accusations had come from his uncle, the Baron; House Bourbon was stealing their precious refinery codes, committing treason against the trading accords along their exportation route. Perhaps, he thought, you were the one to plot it against your beloved future family.
But Feyd-Rautha knew better - knew that you'd never dare betray him. He was the one to demand a public execution of your family - but also the one to redirect your sentencing to a mere prisoner. As if you weren't one already. 
Don't look away. See what we do to scum, my pet? 
After all the sparring, each time you drew that precious blood from him, and you still haven't been able to kill him. If you'd had a blade, you would have, right there in the stands. 
You were, in some ways, relieved when their bodies had hit the sand fast; You'd never seen your brother's skin so reflective as you did this morning. The black sun couldn't hide the blood that had seeped from him, nor from your mother's throat. You'd swallowed thickly, wishing you could look away, gasp - cry; but you had to hide your pain. Your na-Baron would've loved it too much.
Why don't you leave me with them, then? You'd hissed through your teeth.
Though he was wild and psychotic, growling with hunger at the bloodsport in front of him, he heard you for what you'd said. Feyd's fingers pulled your hair hard; forcing your chin to stare up at him. A sickly glint in the black sun, his teeth shone with hunger. 
You'd have me throw you to your Wolves, and lose my prize? He'd tutted, kissing your forehead with a sickening sweetness; enough so that the servants had turned away their spider-black gazes. They didn't care much for the acts of affection you'd occasionally show one another - in a world marred by ugliness, any glimpse of beauty becomes a hauntingly grotesque show of power.
He'd snarled, slapping your cheek hard enough for you to groan. His breath hit your face, you're mine to keep - there's plenty of life left for you to serve.  
He'd held your eyes open as they'd slit your father's throat; then both of your sisters, and your brother's. Your mother had fought as much as she could in her drugged state - the Harkonnens are rutheless, and Feyd-Rautha had sat calmly behind you, your head in his hands, caressing your shaking cheek - but the neckline of her gown was too high, and too thickly inlaid with encrusted heirlooms. 
Bless their voided souls.
The emeralds that tore from her gown as she'd spilled her blood to the sand sent a ripple of pain out of your throat. Feyd had buried his face in your neck, teeth sharp as he sucked a mark just behind your ear, watching as you clenched your palms so hard, your own ruby blood beaded out, blackened in the sun's light.
If anybody would have bothered to look before burning the bodies, you know they'd find all the family diamonds sewn into the fabric of their clothing - centuries of your House, melted away.
Feyd-Rautha had drank up your agony with his lips, smiling as his hand wrapped around your throat. 
Now, alone and away from the thick industrial air, your chambers are cold and suffocating.
There are screams coming from the hall - not the kind that you've grown to associate with your na-Baron testing his new blades, but the kind that comes with danger. With change. 
As it turns out, you are not Feyd-Rautha's to keep any longer.
A loud noise outside of your quarters jolts you from your bed, whispering to yourself. They're coming for you. Pulling the sheets closer to your body, your hand finds the blade gifted to you on your nameday three years ago by your husband-to-be, still tainted with the ghost of your own blood.
Your whispers reverberate in the empty room. "I must not fear. fear is the mind-killer. fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me."
Your voice shakes. Few things remain from your early days of training, before you were sent off to become a Harkonnen; This is one is a relic.
There is a loud noise just outside; blades. 
For a moment, you imagine there is a hand on your arm. It is strong, ghost-white, and possessive. His voice rumbles in your head. Don't look so sad, my pet. I will never let them keep what is mine. I will find you again. 
You almost wish he will. 
When you look down to the weight on your arm, you do not find the hand of your once-betrothed, but the remainder of his ownership, a handprint of a bruise that will not fade even as the soldiers in Atreides armor deliver you to the next planet.
You rise from your bed, preparing your sore body for a fight that will surely end before it even starts. You don't stop your old prayer, in fact, you hardly notice that you're saying it at all. Even as the doors give in. 
"-and when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing - only I will remain-" There are soldiers that burst through.
The way one of them fights strikes a faint memory from a lost childhood, and it fills you with rage. 
Why did you wait so long to rescue me?
You lunge, snarling like the wild beast you've become in your captivity. You will fight, because that is the only thing you know how to do. It is the only thing you have left. 
Your blade falls within minutes.
You're taken by the man from your past not a minute after. 
You're on a ship, watching the black Opiuchi B disappear, in an hour. 
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"My Lady."
You don't realize the worker addresses you until you snap out of it, flushing behind your veil as you step out of the aircraft.
The dress you wear, salvaged from your family's old castle, is dusty. 
It clings to your skin, drowns you, as the rain falls. A staff of House Atreides holds an umbrella above you, shielding your elaborate dress from the water as you walk up towards where the members of the House await you. You stare down at the dress - green velvet. A texture you have not felt in years; your skin looks different not wrapped completely in black.
Your eyes strain to take in the grand entrance to the castle from the hangar which Duncan Idaho had escorted you, ignoring him as he turns to glance back at you momentarily. You can't bear the look of unfamiliarity that flickers over him when he looks at you, now.  
He looks the same - maybe less tall, but that has more to do with it having been six years since you last saw the man. You, however, are not the same girl you were when he knew you on Sabberon. Fear, panic, and wrath rage within you while your gaze smolders daggers at the back of his head. 
He walks just slightly in front of you and despite yourself, you slide just a bit closer - the only semblance of comfort you can allow yourself to feel as you take in the largess of the castle. The air is thicker here than you've ever felt; salty, windy, like you can taste the sea in the rain... it clings to your skin, but it feels clean. You'd been changing into your robes when you entered atmo - you've heard many things about the ocean, about Caladan. 
Something within you yearns to witness it yourself. Subtly, you crane your neck outwards to catch a glimpse; nothing in the near distance but the walls of the castle and high cliffs. 
You nearly trip as Duncan Idaho stops just a few paces from where the members stand at attention to greet you and your retinue.
Duke Leto Atreides, regal and composed, stands at the center of the room, his presence commanding your attention. Beside him, a woman wearing a deep cerulean gown - Lady Jessica. Easily, from behind your own veil, her gaze penetrates you; A cool sensation down your spine as you seem to feel her words in the back of your head as she watches the Reverend Mother who'd travelled with you per High Court orders.
 Hello, sister.
You purse your lips, looking on - there, next to his mother; Standing tall with an aura of quiet intensity, his eyes on you, is Paul Atreides.
The son to whom you're now destined.
Even from your obstructed vision, you can see that he's handsome - lithe, hair curled and combed back to show his eyes. They are wide, penetrating like his mother's, but Maker, they are so green. 
There is no hunger in his eyes, nor hatred, nor anything but a mild curiosity; it strikes a chord of fear in your gut, wishing briefly to return to the na-Baron's sight. It was easy to go unseen with the Harkonnens; They always made their intentions clear, and the na-Baron never wanted many to see you besides himself. You always knew what he wanted, and you could give it to him enough to control him. 
But Paul. His stare betrays no emotion but duty. If not for the boyish pout of his pink lips and his freshly-shaven jaw, you could have mistaken him for his father. A Duke. 
Your name, boomed from the voice of Leto Atreides, pulls you back to the surface of Caladan. "Welcome." Duke Leto's voice resonates through the hall with authority as he addresses you, his tone measured yet warm. Your stomach twists and turns as the man nods courteously to you. Coaxing your body to move, you bow to him.
"We are honored by your presence." His voice is surprisingly humane, exceedingly polite towards you; someone who was just come from the protection (a laughable phrase) of their sworn enemy. 
Your throat tightens at this. There is no honor to your presence, not anymore. 
Though you feel the prickling behind your eyes, you force your head to tilt in acknowledgment, schooling your expression to respectful - perhaps they can't quite make out your face, but Lady Jessica watches closely. She sees.
You take a sharp breath, swallowing away the lump of emotion in your throat. 
"Thank you, Duke Leto, my lord." Your voice carries steel beneath its polite, quiet veneer, though you try to calm your heart. You turn to Lady Jessica to greet her.
"My Lady, it is a pleasure." You say, equally even. Lady Jessica offers a tight smile, something akin to understanding swimming among her irises. It's been quite some time since you were permitted to talk to a woman; Your servants on Giedi Prime were, of course, tongue-less, as na-Baron wished. "Thank you for welcoming me to your home." 
"We understand that these are trying times for you." She says softly, her words a gesture of solidarity as your legs stagger. You feel dizzy and tired, but you force yourself to nod, bowing again. Your chained headdress overlaying your veil chimes slightly with the movement, swaying with the rain.
For such an acclaimed House, you're surprised by the gentleness of their welcome. Perhaps, they'd thought that the groaning and echoing hallways of Giedi Prime might break you, that they'd be taking in some injured little dove, wings clipped by the ferocious boy who'd gifted her with a knife plunged between her ribs on her nameday. 
The scar that lies just below your breast on your right side serves not as a reminder, but as fuel. It did not quell your spark. It ignited it, with a bloodthirsty rage for revenge.
Months of being thrown into a pit under the glaring black sun; Not the arena that assassinated your family, no - this pit was smaller, with one large seat for the na-Baron himself, and drugged concubines and servants with blades to service his na-Baroness. A place to watch his pets play. 
Destruction: the only thing you and Feyd-Rautha may have ever had in common. 
Unfortunately, you endured. You learned how to live with the Harkonnens, to be one of them- and with a clip of fear, you worry you may never be able to unlearn. 
Lady Jessica is correct, these are trying times for you. You swallow as you straighten your back. Despite everything, there's a minor comfort in the Atreides' insistence of providing you with the necessities for you to perform your traditional customary mourning traditions. Your family may be gone, but you can still have this part of them; as a way of saying good-bye. It's what they would have wanted. 
You turn to the young man who stands next to Lady Jessica.
The Harkonnens had tried to show you the dangers of house Atreides; The poison of appearance, of trust. You are not foolish enough to have believed the Baron Vladimir and his webs of deception, but you are sharp enough to know that in times like these, nobody can be trusted. 
Your betrothed watches you, as if trying to see through your mourning veil. The green of his eyes sends a warmth through your stomach as you avert your eyes. "My Lord," you bow to him, your heart thumping in your chest, remembering how you might be rewarded for looking your formerly betrothed in the eyes during ceremony. Trying not to flinch, you wait to see what Paul's hands may do. But they do not strike you, nor grasp your jaw sharply. He barely moves. 
"My Lady." His voice is softer than you expected, and it strikes your heart with a cool unease. Distrust slithers around you like a daunting snake. He bows back to you. 
It's silent for a thick moment before Duncan Idaho - the man from a distant past - speaks from beside you. "We have much to discuss." 
Cutting to the chase, as always. Your eyes fall to the Duke, who nods. "Do you need to see treatment?" He asks the Swordsman, eyes assessing the soldier. 
Duncan laughs at this, gesturing to his arm, where beads of blood still slowly peeks through his the tunic he'd slipped on after changing out of his armor.
"Harkonnen blades are sharp. So are Lady Bourbon's nails."
The prickling of four pairs of eyes strike you as he continues, turning this time to address you full-on. "Your fighting is much different than I remember, Little Bourbon." 
What he doesn't say is clear to you: Much more savage than he remembers. Something between shame and pride licks at your cheeks and you avert your eyes; It had been a force of habit - rabid hounds don't tuck tail when cornered, do they?
You clench your hand, your nails digging into your palms; you learned early on that sharper claws could keep Feyd tame for longer. 
The force of Duncan's old nickname for you, when you'd been young - it nearly knocks the air out of your chest. It's been over half a decade since you'd seen the man; too much has happened since then. Nonetheless, you smile toothless behind the veil, trying not to think of the life you'd just left behind. Of what cold life lies ahead. 
When you respond, your voice is frigid. 
"Sometimes adaptation is survival, Duncan Idaho. Threats demand evolution." 
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The rain is gone by the next day.
In the morning room, forks scrape over blue-plated China. There must be a clock somewhere near, as the seconds pass in quiet, insistent ticks. A cleared throat, a swallow of water. 
Your eyes burn from exhaustion.
Your arrival last night held no such time for small talk - you were whisked away by the service staff to make sure your quarters were comfortable; Your old clothing and that of your sisters and mother - the few things the Atreides soldiers had salvaged from the ransacked Castle at Sabberon - had been washed thrice of rubble and smoke and were hanging, waiting for you, in the wardrobes. 
Barely awake, late in the evening, you'd attended a meeting in a small conference hall. There, sat across from Lord Paul, Masters of War and Swords and Strategy, a Mentat, and the Lady Jessica, the Duke had asked you questions, ensuring you were not harmed - more importantly, trying to ensure there was no malicious intent to your presence. Your eyes could not ignore the Lady Jessica, who stood behind the Duke, her fingers twitching to the others when you responded to a question asked of you. They had some kind of language, you'd realized, as they responded in their own subtle hand gestures. 
You'd only been there for ten minutes before you were escorted by a handmaid back to your chambers, where you sat without rest through the night. 
Truthfully, you're breaking fast with Lady Jessica and Lord Paul out of courtesy; You were up far before the sun had found the horizon this morning, staring emotionless at the ghost who stood in the corner of your new chambers.
You'd sat watching, cradling your chest with wide eyes, as the ghost slid onto his knees. How he'd crawled, smirking at the foot of your mattress, whispering to you with sharp teeth and beckoning fingers. The sweet promise in his eyes laid with blood and pain, coaxing you forward despite yourself - until something in the corner of your vision moved, and you'd screamed. 
That had woken one of the servants.
She came in with her head tilted down, holding a pitcher of water, and you'd asked her to stay.
Her name is Hestia; she must barely be twenty. You insisted on sharing a pot of tea with her, sitting in the silence but sipping shortly on your teacups. You didn't talk much, but instead breathed and felt the safety and of a woman's company, even if she is a few years younger than you. 
It wasn't until she'd brought you breakfast a few minutes later that you realized the staff must have been informed of your courting customs before your arrival - she said nothing as you ate silently, staring out towards the coast of rocky cliffs and rolling moors you could just barely make out from your chamber windows. 
And now you sit similarly - in the morning dining room, your hands perched in your lap, unsure what to do with yourself.
Your future husband, no older than yourself, sits across the table from you now, pushing his omelet around on his fork. The table shakes just slightly, jilting your glass full of water - he must have a restless knee. He chews at his lip, avoiding your stare, sharing slight conversation with his Lady mother. Her attempts to bring you into the conversation are met with polite answers and more silence, your voice shaky and cold. 
After a while, a woman enters, whispers something to the Lady at the end of the table. Nodding, Lady Jessica takes her leave with a pointed look at Paul, suggesting he might escort you around the castle to settle you in.
Though your stomach coils, you nod, "-if you have time, my Lord, I'd appreciate it."
His eyes find yours from behind the veil and you clear your throat. He's quiet but chivalrous; A nod, a glance sent back to his mother as she leaves. A short gust of air through the room and suddenly you can smell him. His hair, clean and glossy - healthy - glints as he faces a window, exposing the early morning sun to his bright eyes.
It's silent for a few moments as only the two of you remain; Your food untouched and his half-eaten. 
"Are you one of them?" 
Them?
You stare at him from behind the thin pine veil that covers you. It occurs to you that Paul may assume you are just as bald and sick as each Harkonnen; years of adapting, surviving off of instinct and placation, are over. With a jolt, you realize you are not a Harkonnen. And you will not be wed to one.
You shake your head, thankful for the lack of chains upon the crown of your head today, ignoring the melancholy feeling in your gut. 
"I have hair." You state simply, looking down at the skin of your arm; The skin that boasts arm hair, none of the sickly pale skin that knew of no clean air nor healthy sunlight - your skin, glowing with real melanin like the House of Bourbon.
You'd never spoken this freely on Giedi Prime besides in the sole company of Feyd-Rautha - stars, you'd never have spoken this freely at home on Sabberon, either - but there is no home anymore. And if you've learned one thing in your years since coming of age, its that the Great and Noble Houses of the Landsraad are crawling with perjurers, fabricators. 
Paul is likely the same. 
If the Atreides boy must be wed to you, you cannot help that, just as you couldn't help with Feyd-Rautha. They can dress you, insist in your traditional customs - but you will not go down easy. No matter how cold the home, you can be colder. You are more than the bones which hold you up; Meaner than the demons that kept you in their ghostly-grip for four years. 
His cheeks flush a peculiar pink, bottom lip captured between pearly teeth. "No," he starts again, eyes searching - trying to find you, beneath the layers of green that wrap around you. "Not Harkonnen-" he quiets after he says the name, as if worried to offend you. "I meant-" his eyes swim, "Bene Gesserit." 
Your stomach chills as you meet his eyes. 
After some hesitation, you shake your head. "No, my Lord."
When he blinks at your words, you feel compelled to continue. "I suppose I was..." you move your hand to pull on the sleeve of your robes.
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"or, I was supposed to be." your unemotional tone rings through the room. Paul doesn't say anything to that, biting back the suspicion that climbs up his throat.
He stands when you rise from your seat; Your mourning dress, unlike anything he'd ever seen before, flows like the leaves of a weeping willow as you push your chair in behind you. When he offers a stiff arm to escort you out of the room, you hesitate before looping yourself loosely to him. 
She is telling the truth. 
His mother had indicated, with flicks of her hand, during the meeting the evening before; you, sat before the Atreides' council, unaware that his mother was reading your honesty. 
But that could be a trick; you've admitted to being partially trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit, perhaps you found a way to deceive his mother. As much as he trusts Duncan and his father, he can't shake the suspicion that you're a mere pawn in the Harkonnens' game.
But his father's words burn sharply into his mind. 
Duty often requires us to navigate paths we may not have chosen for ourselves, Paul. You may not always like her, but you will treat her with the respect and care befitting of a future spouse. Love may come in other ways - but you will marry her, and together you will sire an heir when the time comes.
By decree, it was ordered you be wed to Paul, but he can't find it within himself to lose the feeling of distrust. He has spent hours learning about the Harkonnens - how they think, their strategy; and yet, from Duncan's account, the Baron and his nephew just let you go. It makes no sense to him. 
"I was supposed to be a lot of things." 
Your voice is undeniably beautiful; strong, much more resolute than he'd expected. But you are extremely cold, and evidently unwilling. Polite, yes - it seems you've been trained just as he and every other young noble of the Great Houses have - but you are calculating, aggressive.
He saw the claw marks you'd left upon Duncan; a man you've known since you were a young girl.
You walk with your chest out, back straight like a soldier; your words are cordial yet laced with steel and indifference - it only serves to deepen his unease. He guides you through the castle, murmuring quietly as he shows you along, introducing you to various members of staff who stop and bow in recognition. 
You don't say much until he escorts you to a path that winds down out of your sights; Below the castle, between jagged rocks, Paul finds himself concerned to no longer be surrounded by castle walls. Beside him, you take a deep breath, your footsteps faltering as you slow to stare at moss that sprawls across the cobblestone. 
Curiously, Paul slows to a stop beside you.
For a moment, you stare down at the dirt and fallen tree limbs, the grassy fields and rocks. Soon, as though an invisible string pulls you upwards, you snap your head, voice sheepish behind your veil. "Apologies, my Lord." You start to turn away. "I've read of plants like this, but never seen them before in person." 
Paul is suddenly struck by the realization that you may not have seen much of any flora nor fauna on Caladan. He knows what Giedi Prime is like; and your homeworld, from what he'd read last night before bed, was mostly full of Glaciers, forests, and high altitudes. Perhaps you are interested in such things; the idea surprises him. 
So instead of moving along, he finds himself bending to pull off a bit of the moss from a fallen trunk. The earthy dirt spreads between his nimble fingers, the green bright against his skin. You watch him silently.
"It absorbs up to twenty times its dry weight in water." He says it quietly, repeating what he'd learned in an ecological lesson, pushing on the spongy material with his thumb. "Banks of it grow just around the brackish tidepools outside the castle." 
Your interest, piqued, causes your head to crane slightly from your short height - he can tell, even without seeing any part of your face, that you are fascinated. "Am I allowed to see?" You ask stiffly, your arms by your sides.
An initial wave of protectiveness over his home washes over him; remembering his father's words, he forces his shoulders to relax. He lets the moss fall back to the stump, brows furrowing. 
"You are to be Lady Atreides, one day." He tries to school his voice evenly, avoiding any hint of resistance to this fact. "You do not have to ask permission to see your own land." 
The wind from the sea whips around you; his stray curls fly in his vision. There are no words from you for several very long breaths, in which you clear your throat. 
"I do not feel well, my Lord." You say moments later, voice cordial but thick with the desire to be alone, "I believe I am sick from travel. Please, if you would excuse me." 
He is unsure if he had made you uncomfortable or if you are truly feeling sick; nonetheless, Paul escorts you to your chambers silently, calling one of the handmaids - Hestia, her name is - to check on you. He insists she bring you some bread and cheese, to draw you a bath if you please. 
His jaw clenches; he's to train with his mother soon, but he needs release. His muscles clench in repressed frustration and so Paul lets his feet carry him swiftly to the training quarters.
His fingers itch for a blade; his mind itches to forget about the last day, about the cold life that lies ahead of him. 
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follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.
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406 notes · View notes
chrrychills · 2 months ago
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the look of love .
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main six « homecoming with their s/o!
ashlyn banner:
•honestly, she didn't plan on going until less than a week before the dance. homecoming is too hot, crowded and noisy for her and it just didn't seem like something she'd enjoy, but all of her friends (but more importantly you) were going, so she bought a last minute ticket.
•her dress is emerald green, because you and taylor wouldn't shut up about how good redheads look in green. she almost got a different color because she was convinced she looked like princess merida.
•wears heels for a good five minutes before taking them off because her feet hurt.
•tries to steer clear of the crowded areas, and you'll take breaks from dancing/socializing to sit at the snack table with her.
•glancing at you every three seconds because she'd die if you caught her staring, but you looked so good it hurt.
•let's you do her hair and makeup after twenty minutes of convincing. she ends up loving it and telling you how good you did.
aiden clark:
•he goes all in– a cheesy hoco proposal, complete with your favorite flowers and a jellycat. also lets you choose the color you two wear.
•he convinces you to run for homecoming court with him and does everything in his power to make sure you two win. you end up winning prince and princess.
•absolutely the life of the party. he's obliterating the middle of the dance circle and he ends up on at least 15 people's private snap stories.
•constantly complimenting you the entire night and reminding you how good you look.
•the dance ended at 10, but you guys don't end up getting home until midnight because aiden wanted to go eat and you lost track of time.
•the entirety of his insta story is you two for the next few days.
•surprisingly, he's really good at slow dancing. he's lowkey making fun of all the other couples that keep tripping over each other's feet.
•he cracked is phone because it fell out of his pocket while he was trying to do a backflip. tyler has a video.
ben clark:
•also wasn't too sure on going at first, because he isn't a huge fan of crowds. that doubt is gone as soon as you express even a sliver of excitement, though.
•while you were looking for a dress, he went shopping with you and sat through probably 100 different dresses with a smile on his face.
•he also does a homecoming proposal, but it's a lot more lowkey than aiden's. he shows up at your door with a bouquet of flowers and your favorite food, and the most heartwarming message anyone's ever written.
•he takes all of your pictures, holds your bag and heels, and takes you out to dinner after because he's the best.
•your insta post the day after is nothing short of perfect. thank ben and his amazing camera skills.
•not a big dancer, but he'll walk around with you and stay with you while you socialize. he's either doing that or making sure aiden isn't breaking something.
•let's you fall asleep on him during the car ride home because he could tell how exhausted you were.
tyler hernandez:
•he didn't show it, but the hoco proposal had him stressing. he recruited taylor and they spent hours making a poster and looking for flowers.
•his teammates made fun of him for being "whipped" after they saw you had posted his proposal on your social media.
•let's you pick the color, and you two end up wearing red.
•like aiden, you guys also run for homecoming court and win prince and princess. (tyler's teammates went around the school and bribed people to vote for you two.)
•staring problem. you caught him shamelessly staring at you with the most lovestruck expression so many times, you've lost count of how much it happens. that doesn't even stop him, either.
•taylor takes the cutest pictures ever. tyler says he doesn't like any of them because he looks dorky, but he secretly loves them. ends up posting at least five the next day.
•after homecoming ends, he's actively brainstorming dates that give you a reason to wear your dress again.
taylor hernandez:
•she loves hoco. she's been counting down the days since the theme and date was released.
•you both decided on wearing pink, except taylor's dress is the sparkliest one she could find. you two end up cleaning glitter out of random places for a good two weeks after.
•you guys get ready together and blast trashy pop music the entire time.
•the two of you ended up accidentally making homecoming proposals for each other, and asking on the same day. she keeps the poster you made next to her vanity.
•since taylor's fairly popular, you end up socializing with most of the school the entire night. you spend the entire ride home gossiping about things people told you that you probably aren't supposed to know.
•another top tier photographer. the pictures of you two come out so cute neither of you shut up about them for a week.
•you guys have a sleepover after and spend the entirety of the day after bed rotting.
lacey's notes:
in honor of my homecoming being yesterday, here's this. the post-hoco depression set in this morning and i have nothing to look forward to now.
i love hoco.
171 notes · View notes
sweetlittlefawntears · 5 months ago
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my princess ♡
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au : divider by v6que !! okay so basically this was a rly cute req , ellie williams takes u out on a first date n gives u kinda princess treatment !! no smut but you do get a kith ,, i hope u guys enjoy i will write smut soon enough i just have writers block for it auhhgggh ♡
cw : fem reader x kinda masc ellie , (idk) ellie is ur best friends other friend , intentional lowercase , age of both characters not specified , both u and ellie are in college , i proofread this time hehe
wc : 1.1k ♡
♡ ellie had seen you around campus multiple times in the past few months . she knew that you liked to hang around a lot of people , which was charming , but also excruciating , because she could never seem to get you on your own .
♡ one day , after class , your best friend dina was walking with ellie , and they were chatting animatedly . "hey dina!" you said enthusiastically . "who's your new friend ?"
♡ ellie eyed you up and down , a little bit nervous but definitely intrigued . she wanted to get to know you better . dina must've known ellie had a thing for you , because suddenly you and ellie found yourselves … very much alone …
♡ "so … i've seen you around campus a lot ..." ellie said as she rubbed the back of her neck . "i know you don't know me .. but would you like to get coffee sometime ?"
♡ now , you weren't a lonely person by any means , or even someone desperate for a partner , but there was just something about ellie ... the way her auburn hair fell around her ears ... the way her emerald eyes shone in the sun ... you just couldn't say no to her offer , simply because you too , were intrigued .
♡ ellie gave you her phone number and you two worked out all the fine details , deciding that saturday afternoon worked best for both of you . you decided that you'd waste no time at all in looking cute and put together for the date .
♡ you got out of bed and put on some denim shorts, a black tube top , black hair clips , white frilly socks , and some black shoes . you took care on putting all your jewelry on , putting on gold bracelets and earrings , with a heart locket necklace you had been gifted a while back .
♡ dina had offered to drive you to meet ellie , to which you happily accepted , and before you knew it you and dina were stopping outside the coffee shop . "thanks dina !" you shout before stepping out of the car and walking inside the cozy atmosphere of the place .
♡ ellie is there and she immediately waves at you and gestures for you to sit down . "hey there ... you look good" she said , while pulling out your chair so you could sit down . even though this was a casual date, nothing fancy, you still wanted to put your best face forward . ellie took care in noticing how you held yourself as a person , your likes and dislikes , your woes about school , and friendship troubles . she wanted to remember everything about you .
♡ after you two finish your coffee and chat for an hour or two , ellie suggests you two take a walk downtown . it's getting dark now , so ellie gives you her jacket to keep warm while walking .
♡ as you walk around downtown , you spot a cool shop that has antiques in it . "oooh, i totally wanna get dina something here , she'd love it" you say as ellie opens the door for you and lets you inside .
♡ the inside of the shop is super cozy n filled with all sorts of trinkets . you pick out a small ceramic figure of a girl holding a guitar , which you thought looked exactly like dina .
♡ ellie picks up a small necklace , that has a locket on it , almost like the one you were wearing , but the heart was smaller and was engraved with fine details .
♡ "i know you already have one ... but maybe you could wear this too ? just something special to remember this date by ." ellie says as she smiles . you almost pass out from blushing and nod your head . "yes, id love that" you say , flustered .
♡ you two walk out of the store a little bit later , ellie holding the door open for you, and you decide to walk down to the pier to look out on the ocean .
♡ ellie comes up behind you and moves your beautiful hair out of the way , and tenderly puts the locket around your neck . you grab it gently and smile. “thank you , ellie " you say while looking at it .
♡ ellie smiles at you and then puts her hands on your waist . "i'm glad you like it ... would you maybe … like to do this again sometime ? i had a lot of fun just chatting with you today .." her voice trails off . you immediately respond with a yes .
♡ "would it be alright if i kissed you ?" she asks, hands still wrapped around you in a loving embrace . "yes, i'd like that .” you say as your own hands cup her face . you and ellie kiss, smelling the ocean and feeling the breeze as both of your arms wrap around the other , pulling each other closer . ellie was warm , and felt like home to you .
♡ you pull away from the kiss to look into ellie's emerald green eyes . "thank you ... for everything today .” you say , while looking up at her "really, it was a gift for me .” ellie says. "let me take you home."
♡ ellie's hand comes down to hold your own , and she rubs the side of it before interlocking your fingers together and planting a kiss on your cheek . the two of you walk back down the long dock from the pier , hand in hand . something told you that you'd be seeing a lot more of her in the future .
♡ aughhhh thanks for reading if u care about me babbling hahahahas so during writing this fic it just threw itself in the garbage ,,, ummm so i wrote this fic around three times help me . i will write smut in my next fic i swear i promise i just am having such a block 4 it tbh ….. like i cannot bring myself to write it . help me anyways i proofread this like three times but there’s probably still stuff wrong LOL ty for reading i love you sm !! ♡
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works-of-fanfiction · 1 year ago
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Kiss and Make Up || Daniel Ricciardo x Reader
Summary: With the couple on a break, it’s hard for Daniel to see Y/N, especially when she’s looking so good in his favourite dress.
Song: Kiss and Make Up - Dua Lipa & BLACKPINK
Warnings: 18+ oral (f receiving), unprotected sex. A little bit of swearing.
Word Count: 3.6k
a/n: I think (???) I’m getting a little better at writing smut. one day I swear I will write one without giggling after every sentence. enjoy!
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Daniel's blood boils as he watches her, watches his girl at the centre of attention of his fellow drivers. He wants to be angry at her for entertaining them in the first place, but he's angrier at his so-called friends for gawking at her and passing off their obvious flirting as 'just being nice'. It's annoying because she knows she looks good - incredible, in fact - an emerald green satin dress hanging perfectly on her body, displaying just enough leg to be considered dangerous. It bothered him even more that he chose that particular dress, and now she was parading around in it for everyone to see; for everyone to stare and drool over her. He didn't like it one bit, but he didn't have a choice. 
It was his fault that they were on a break. He'd lashed out, said horrible things. Tension had been brewing between them for a couple of weeks and she could sense he was about to burst. She hadn't done anything wrong; he could see that now. He'd had more than enough time to sit with his thoughts and come to regret everything he'd said, but she hadn't been interested in hearing his apology. At first, in his anger, he'd blamed her friends. He was convinced their influence had led her to her decision, that they'd been whispering in her ear and plotting against him for some time. However, deep down he knew it was nobody's fault but his own. 
The 'will he, won't he' situation at Alpha Tauri had gotten the best of him. His overwhelming desire to race took up all of his attention, leaving Y/N completely on the sidelines. She'd understood, of course she had. Racing was Daniel's dream and she knew how important it was for him to find a seat and get back out on the track, but when things seemed to get difficult and look uncertain, Daniel directed his frustrations towards her. 
"You're a fucking coward, d'you know that? Who are you to stand here and speak to me like that?" 
"Oh, drop the bigger person act, Y/N. It wasn't too long ago that you were going through a rough time and - " 
"Don't you fucking dare. You know that doesn't compare to the way you've been behaving. It is completely different." 
"You know how important this is to me. Sorry, but I think I'm allowed to be a little stressed." He held his hands up in mock surrender which only irritated her further.
"A little stressed, yes. A total asshole? No." 
"Where are you going?" He asked, watching her scoop up her phone and keys from the counter and stuff them into her pocket.
"Anywhere you are not. I can't be around you when you're like this, Daniel." Her voice cracked as she turned away, but she didn't allow him to see her cry. He may not have approved of her being the bigger person, but it's what she had to do. A text a couple of hours later confirmed her need for space, and after spending thirty straight minutes trying to type a response, Daniel realised he had to respect her wishes.
“Here.” Max interrupts, sliding a drink into Daniel’s hand.
“What’s this?”
“I couldn’t stand and watch you stare at her any longer. At least with a drink in your hand you actually look like you’re at this party and not just a creepy stalker.” He chuckles into his glass, the joke going over Daniel’s head, not even bringing the slightest smirk to his lips.
Max gulps, wincing a little at the strength of his drink. “Just go talk to her.” He says, eyes flicking between his friend and Y/N.
“I can’t. She wants space and I have to respect that.”
“Yeah, but anyone can see you’re not okay with that…”
Daniel knew Max had a point. As much as he wanted to give Y/N the space she needed and do everything he could to fix their relationship, he hated being away from her. He hated sitting across the room whilst she pretended he wasn’t there. She hadn’t looked at him once throughout the entire evening and it was starting to aggravate him. He needed to talk to her, even if it was just to find out how she was doing. He didn’t even know if that was a question he had the right to ask, but he wanted to anyway.
Plus, the way she was strutting around in those heels and playfully fixing her hair every few minutes was driving him insane. His eyes couldn’t resist following the trail from her feet, up her legs and to her hips. If she so much as leaned over the bar or stretched to grab something, he’d see beneath the thin green satin and hopefully find out she was wearing tiny, or perhaps no underwear.
He fidgets uncomfortably in his seat, setting his glass down on the table before his knuckles turn white from gripping it so tightly. As Y/N takes Carlos’ hand and twirls beneath his arm, Daniel jumps up from the stool, holding onto the table to steady his feet. “Hey, come on. You know they’re good friends.” Max warns, holding an arm out to try and stop him.
“Make your mind up, Max. You told me to go and talk to her.” He doesn’t even look at Max as he speaks, as his gaze remains fixed on Y/N whilst she dances with the Ferrari driver. There’s nothing suggestive between their dance, and it’s not the first time Daniel has seen them together like this, but he’s suddenly not as comfortable with it as he usually is.
“I think you should calm down a bit first.” Max tries to be stern with the older driver, but he knows his words are going through one ear and straight out the other side. Daniel glances at the Dutchman and gives only a second of thought to his words, then chooses to ignore them entirely.
Stepping past Max’s arm, he makes his way into the crowd and closer to Y/N. Mid-conversation, Charles and Pierre’s heads turn to the Australian as he weaves around clumsy partygoers, almost parting the room in two to get through. The two of them shuffle closer to the bar to get a better view as he reaches Carlos and places a hand on his shoulder.
“Can I cut in?” He asks, once again not bothering to look at who he’s speaking to. Instead he looks down at Y/N, who glares up at him with cold, unblinking eyes.
“Sure.” Carlos mutters, stepping aside, failing to notice Y/N tightening her grip on his hand to try and stop him. Daniel takes his place, his hands awkwardly hovering near her waist.
“Are you going to wrap your arms around me, or just stand there?” She asks abruptly, her tone coming out a lot more aggressively than she’d intended.
Daniel’s hands find her waist and pull her closer, making sure no one else can hear their conversation. Her hands are pressed against his chest awkwardly, all attention concentrating on her feet so she doesn’t fall.
“What do you want, Daniel?” She sighs, exasperation and downright exhaustion evident in her voice. This makes Daniel’s stomach turn and part of him wants to fall to the ground and beg for her forgiveness. He never thought he’d see the day when he’d be the one to make her feel like this. She was disappointed in him, and he was kicking himself for ever uttering a bad word to her.
“I need to apologise - “
“No, you just needed to get me on my own away from the guys.”
Her icy tone catches him off guard, but he feels he deserves it. As much as he’s desperate to finally apologise, he can’t deny that seeing her spending her night with everyone but him was making him jealous. He’d watched her friendships with the drivers blossom over time, especially Carlos and Lance, yet seeing their arms around her and smiles aimed in her direction tonight drove him crazy.
“Am I wrong?” She mocks, reluctantly wrapping her arms around his neck for the sake of her own comfort.
Daniel chooses not to answer, which is an answer in itself. She sniggers, looking off to the side to see the group all engaged in conversation with one another. She knows they’re all putting on an act and pretending not to eavesdrop. Those drivers love a gossip just as much as the next person.
“I don’t like seeing you with them.” Daniel finally admits, his voice low. He doesn’t intend for the entire grid to know his business.
“It’s never bothered you before.”
“Well this time is different.”
“How?”
“Because you’re not speaking to me.”
“And whose fault is that?”
Silence falls between the couple, Y/N’s hold around Daniel’s neck loosening. He reaches up and grabs her hands, readjusting them and holding her wrists tightly. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” She asks, glaring up at him, a devious smile poking at her lips.
“Don’t try to walk away from me.” He lets go of her arms, letting them float down to her sides as he leans in close, lips pressed against her ear. “Especially not when you’re dressed like that.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes at his words. A poor and sorry attempt at winning her back, yet completely expected from Daniel. “You think sex is going to fix this?”
“Who said anything about sex?” He plays dumb but she sees straight through him. That had always been a thing in their relationship; they were both terrible liars, or rather couldn’t lie to each other as the other could always spot it.
Stepping back, she calls over to Kika who’s stood between Pierre and Charles, tracing circles around the rim of her glass. “Bathroom.” She smiles and Kika nods, slipping away from the table.
Daniel sees this and steps forward, blocking Kika’s path. “Actually, she doesn’t need you to go with her.”
“Daniel - “ Y/N snaps, cut off by his arm linking with hers and pulling her in the direction of the bathrooms.
“Come on.” He barges through the doors, squeezing the two of them into the first stall and turning the lock.
“I can’t believe you just spoke to Kika like that.” She whispers angrily, yanking her arm out of his grasp.
“She’ll get over it.”
“Pierre won’t.”
Y/N folds her arms over her chest, leaning against the flimsy cubicle as Daniel’s eyes wander around the small space. She sighs, heels scraping against the ground as she stands back up straight. “Well you got me here. What do you want?”
“You know what I want.”
“Actually, I don’t. Did you bring me in here to apologise… or was there something else?” There’s a shift in her tone and a look in her eye that Daniel instantly recognises. He knows she’s still angry at him, but sees there’s a part of her that wants him just as much as he wants her.
Sparing her a proper response, he slips a knee between her legs and pushes her against the wall. It shakes a little, encouraging a small smile to appear on her face. “You disappoint me, Ricciardo.” She purrs, running a perfectly manicured finger across his jaw.
“Something tells me you’re not so disappointed.” He grinds his knee upwards, pressing it against her clothed pussy. She groans, body slumping forward in pleasure. He catches her with his chest, pushing her back up, keeping her upright against the wall. “Does that sound like the moans of a disappointed woman?”
“Shut up.” She hisses, delicate fingers wrapping around his throat to pull him in for a kiss. Daniel moans, the sound strangled as her nails dig into his neck. The kiss is entirely in her control as she holds him in place, squeezing his throat just enough to make his breath hitch. She draws back, sucking his tongue between her lips and letting it go with a quiet popping sound.
“If we do this, it doesn’t magically fix anything.” She breathes, releasing her grip on him to rest her hand on his chest.
Daniel is smart enough to know better, and knows that hasty sex in a bathroom stall isn’t going to mend all of their problems, but he’s too turned on and fuelled by liquid courage to care. Running his hand over the top of hers, he links their fingers and flips her around to face the wall, pressing her palm flat against the cold wood. She yelps in surprise as he uses his free hand to hike her dress up. He’s delighted to see the black lace that’s barely covering her, and he hooks his forefinger through the waistband to pull her ass towards him. “Planned on getting lucky tonight, huh?” He taunts, his fingers tracing the patterns in the lace.
“I was hoping one of the guys would take me home.” She quips sarcastically, bending over more and grinding her ass against his hand. Daniel groans, letting go of her hand so he can use both freely. He grabs her ass and spreads her legs, his mouth falling open at the sight of her pussy peeking through her underwear.
Wasting no time, he drops to his knees and pushes the thin string to the side, giving him full access to the part of her he needs the most. Feeling his hot breath against her exposed cunt, she gasps, parting her legs even further. “That’s it.” Daniel hums, taking his middle finger and running it slowly through her folds. Y/N’s legs quiver as he touches her, barely inserting a finger as he concentrates on circling her pussy and feeling just how soaked she is. His finger eventually finds its way to her clit, flicking gently against the swollen bud, making her whole body twitch with arousal.
She moans his name, the word elongated on her tongue. He stops for a second, lying his hand flat against her core. “Shh… You don’t want people hearing us now, do you?” He whispers.
Squeezing her eyes shut and biting her lip to suppress any further sounds, Y/N nudges Daniel with her leg, urging him to continue. Instead, he grabs her thighs and pulls her closer to him, her feet sliding along the slippery tiled floor. “Let me taste you, baby.” The sound of his voice disappears between her legs, her thighs almost cupping his cheeks as he finds her clit with his tongue. The tip of his tongue swipes across her clit, slowly then repetitively in a rhythm. His hands hold onto her thighs tightly, his fingers leaving indentations in the supple skin.
Y/N sinks her teeth into the back of her hand, trying her best to stay quiet. Saliva and bite marks cover the spot just above her wrist whilst Daniel buries his head further and laps up her pussy like a starving animal. His nose pokes between her folds, and the newfound friction elicits a heavy exhale from deep within her chest.
Desperate to keep that nose she loves so much as close to her as possible, she reaches behind to grab Daniel’s head and guide him to the perfect spot. Fingers tangling in his hair and clutching at the roots, she rides his face, relishing in the feeling of his tongue flat against her clit, and the tip of his nose pressing into her. Daniel holds his breath as she ruts her hips against his face, gripping her thighs until it hurts. She winces, tensing the muscles as she rests her forehead against the wall, teeth still gnawing on her hand. He grunts, the sound sending a vibration to her clit and throughout her entire body, making her knees buckle beneath her. He catches her, supporting her body with his hands alone as he delves his face deeper to suck her clit into his mouth.
Losing all sense of caring, Y/N lets her hand fall free from her lips, releasing a stifled moan that echoes around the bathroom stall. Her thighs squeeze together involuntarily as she comes, and Daniel has to prize them open to set himself free. He stands, hands fumbling with his jeans as he sloppily lays kisses on the back of her shoulder, his chin still slick with moisture, so much so that Y/N can smell her own scent filling the air.
“What did I tell you about staying quiet?” Daniel whispers, his lips barely touching the back of her ear.
“I’m sort of sick of you telling me what to do.” She retorts, attempting to hide the shakiness in her voice. Daniel rolls his eyes, trying to ignore her words as he pushes his jeans and boxers down his legs, leaving them bunched around his ankles. He knows she’s not just talking about the present, but he’s too desperate to feel her wrapped around his cock to let it bother him. He hasn’t been able to touch her for weeks, and seeing her spread wide for him like this is enough to almost push him to the edge already.
Hands gripping her dress around her waist, he pulls her towards him, sliding his cock inside her effortlessly. Mutual gasps of pleasure and hissed curse words slip off of their tongues as he bottoms out inside of her, his clammy hands losing grip of the satin. Reaching round to grab her arms, he crosses her wrists and holds them behind her back, forcing her cheek against the wall to support her upper body. There’s an aggression to his actions, one hand holding her wrists and another snaking its way into her hair. Tugging her head back, he leans forward, his face beside hers. She looks at him through her peripheral vision, a smug smile on her face as she notices his slack jaw and half-lidded eyes. Daniel was never truly in control when it came to Y/N. The effect she had on him was dangerous and made him want to do things unimaginable. All she had to do was look at him a certain way and he’d literally and figuratively drop to his knees for her.
Daniel’s slow thrusts tell her that he doesn’t plan on lasting very long. Despite his tight hold on her and rough fingers in her hair, his hips roll in leisurely circles, the tip of his cock stroking her g-spot in a deliciously torturous rhythm. The restroom door creaks, a collection of footsteps clattering along the floor outside. With shadows passing the stall and voices filling the space, Daniel drops his hand from Y/N’s hair, instead using it to cover her mouth and keep her quiet. She tilts her head, sucking his forefinger into her mouth, her tongue wet and warm and making Daniel’s cock twinge inside of her. He moans, trying to swallow the sound so nobody will hear.
Daniel’s wet finger trails out of her mouth and down her neck, drawing a line of her own saliva along her throat. Wrapping his arm across her upper body, he holds her close as he fucks her, the heat between them making his shirt stick to his chest. Beads of sweat run down the back of Y/N’s neck and under her dress. Even beneath the harsh bathroom lighting, her skin glistens and looks good enough for Daniel to taste, to lick clean.
Voices gather at the sinks, water running and paper towels unravelling from the holders. Daniel silently prays for them to hurry up and leave, the feeling of Y/N’s pussy clenching around his dick becoming too much to bear. The muffled sounds of the music outside briefly fill the room, before disappearing behind the door. He releases his breath with a long groan, his body slumping against hers. “Finally.” He hisses, stepping back and pulling her ass with him, bending her into a perfect L-shape.
Relieved to be alone again, their pants and moans circle around the stall as Daniel drives his hips back and forth, quickening the pace. His firm grip on her ass cheeks leaves little white outlines around his fingers as he coaxes himself to climax. Hearing the sweet sounds coming from her mouth sends him over the edge, his thighs stiffening as he comes inside her, his body jolting forward in ecstasy. She straightens, resting her body against the wall with Daniel pressed against her back, his sweaty forehead slumped onto her shoulder. He pulls out with a huff, his cock leaking with cum and legs feeling sore.
Y/N readjusts and pulls her dress down, smirking to herself as she feels cum drip out of her and pool inside her underwear. She runs her hands through her hair, hoping she looks presentable as she turns to face Daniel. He zips his jeans and smiles at her, but doesn’t earn a smile back. “I told you, this doesn’t change anything.” She states flatly, reaching for the lock. He stops her, taking her hand in his.
“Come home with me.” He pleads, running his thumb softly over her knuckles, a stark contrast to the way he’d touched her just a few minutes prior.
“You’re kidding, right?”
Daniel’s expression remains serious. He opens his mouth to repeat himself, but she cuts him off with a defeated sigh. “Fine. But we leave now. I don’t need to be dealing with questions.”
“Deal.” He smiles, earning an eye roll from her as she unlocks the door and heads out, her heels clicking against the tile. He follows close behind, the satisfied grin never leaving his face.
1K notes · View notes
moonchildstyles · 1 year ago
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retrouvailles
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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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romanoffsbish · 10 months ago
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Please, Forgive Me
Natasha Romanoff x F!R
You broke up with Natasha—what have you done? | WC: 1,882
Warnings: Brief Angst | Toxic “Friend” / Natasha (if you squint) | Nonsexual Nudity (18+) | H/C Ending
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“You look really pretty," Valerie, your best friend said with a smile that made your stomach flip into turmoil.
——
The smile on her face dropped, the sound of your chair scraping against the linoleum the clearest rejection. It made you sick and regretful for the last twelve hours.
It was an adrenaline rush spurred on by another fight with your beloved girlfriend, Natasha... Your beautiful, sweet Natasha with enamoring eyes and a sultry smirk.
You lurched up the dinner you just shared with that traitor Valerie, who smiled at you so tenderly, it was alarming. With her repulsive blue eyes, riddled with darker hued lines to which you confused with safety.
They were dangerous; a dark storm you got caught up in, not much unlike the one you were running through.
You missed the soft pair of green that belonged to the woman who owned the key to your heart and knew the way to unlocking your soul with purposeful fingers.
Looking into her eyes was a luxury only you and Yelena were granted; the halves of Natasha's heart, oh my...
You'd broken that heart only thirteen hours ago, now you were running through the rain to make amends. It was well past midnight but you had to get across town to the compound Natasha was unfortunately staying at.
If only you would have cast that she-devil aside at the first warning Natasha threw your way you'd be safe in her arms right now, likely looking into her eyes that reflected the same heat the fire beside you would've.
Natasha's eyes were your favorite feature, truly. The way they changed your view of her in various places always filled you with wonder on how she saw yours in the first place, she was just too good for this world.
At the compound they were almost always glazed over with a clear authority no one could question. From a side glance you'd see the Black Widow, but whenever she looked your way, which was often when you'd visit, there was a sparkle of humanity reserved for you alone.
Inside the four walls of your apartment her eyes always shined like brilliant emeralds, and her teasing smirk oftentimes softened into a goofy smile; a pure love that unfolded within her irises, right before your very own.
When you were outside she'd usually wear sunglasses, but on the off chance she'd forgotten them you could see the way the sun drew out light splotches of brown. Which fondly reminded you of the days you two spent wandering the countryside, getting lost in forests with shades of green that reflected the same field you got lost in every time you looked into your lovers orbs.
They were complex—guarded, but you had worn down her walls enough to get a peak into her greatest joys and most heartbreaking sadness. You blinked hard, a hand on the freezing call box outside of the compound going unfelt as you tried to forget the pools of sadness.
Those were the last things you saw when you broke up.
The thought alone nearly halts you, the minuscule contents left within your stomach churning tauntingly as if to remind you that this was all your fault. Valerie told you Natasha was being toxic, and in some twisted sense you actually believed the hypocrites words.
You told Natasha she was toxic, and you knew how much that likely shattered her remaining self image.
What kind of person does that to the love of their life?
All of you wanted to push the code and call out to her, but you realized now how selfish it was to expect her to console you. This heartbreak was all your own doing because you truly thought Valerie was your friend, that she was right thinking Nat was being controlling, but she was a two face liar and you were an absolute fool.
Natasha deserved better, your hand fell from the box and you were prepared to walk away, but a soft voice full of exhaustion called through the speaker, "Y/N?"
All you could do was to pitifully whimper her name.
You cast a look down at your watch, a photo of the two of you smiling popped up under a bright red 1:32AM that flashed beneath a raindrop, which magnified the early morning hour that filled you with shame.
There was no time to apologize for the impromptu arrival as you heard the loud buzz that let you in. You resumed your sprint and through your tears made it to the place Natasha stood ready to catch you in her arms. The impact had to have hurt her just as it did you but she stood strong, like an unmovable fortress. A warm breath fanned over your chilled cheek and fresh hot guilt trailed down your cheeks when you felt her relax.
Natasha wasn't angry, no, she was relieved. This was meant to inspire joy in you but it hurt you more. Of course the woman would forgive you just like that.
"I'm so sorry Nat," you wailed, breaking the silence, "Fu-fuck, I can't believe I-I," you couldn't stop the harsh hiccups that stopped your heartfelt apology.
This absolutely made Natasha panic, you had stopped breathing for more than three seconds, she was about to rush you to the medical wing if not for your sharp inhale. "Keep breathing detka, just breathe, please."
You looked up into her eyes and for the first time ever you saw fear, in the bravest set of eyes you'd ever seen.
"I," you tried again but she pecked your lips shut. "I don't need you to apologize detka, you coming back to me is apology enough. I'm not mad, just worried, so please don't fuss and just let me take you inside..."
Natasha was a warrior but right now she was breaking, her eyes were pleading with you to finally stand down. To wave your white flag and let her fix everything.
"Okay," you whispered, and were rewarded with a warm kiss to your cheek that sent a shiver down your spine, which didn't go unnoticed by the worried spy.
Without question the redhead took you straight to her room and ran you a bath that likely rivaled the devil's. The redhead preferred room temp but never backed down from the challenge when it meant she could hold you close. Tonight was different though, even if she didn't need your apology she did need your consent.
In your relationship, that was technically called off, it was always welcome unless announced otherwise.
Natasha made no assumptions, and simply escorted you into the room when she deemed you'd adjusted to the rooms temperature enough before you were set to enter another that would have been polar opposite.
But you stopped her dead in her respectful tracks.
"Stay." She couldn't say no even if she wanted to, the way you looked over at her, like a frightened mouse, it made her forget all of the pain from the prior day.
There was nothing but tenderness in her touch when she tilted you up and slid in behind you. Her arms didn't even have a chance to settle around you as you instantly rolled over. Natasha had huffed in genuine surprise when you straddled her, your arms dangling over her shoulders as your face pressed into her neck. Her muscular arms locked over one another around your lower back and she hummed a soothing tune.
A gentle smile adorned Natasha's face when she heard the first snore then felt it rumble against her skin. She was ticklish and suddenly desperate to clean the both of you up and get you tucked into her Avengers bed.
The first time she heard you call the mattress that with such disgust she became defensive. But, before she could match your energy you elaborated and it was so sweet, how you regarded your apartment bed as hers, that she learned to listen first and question later.
Natasha knew yesterday afternoon that you'd come back, once you've had time to think of course. Not because she was manipulative or cocky either, but because she believed in not only your love, but her gut. She knew that as soon as you saw Valerie's intentions you'd come here to apologize for thoughts given to you.
The glint in your eyes when you're being truthful was missing when you broke things off, and so she knew this was just a standard moment of lived experience.
Natasha knew you wholly, which is why she knew better than to expect you to stay asleep when she left the room. She returned to find you sat up, the sleeves of her hoodie were balled up in your fists that rubbed your eyes in an attempt to make your vision less bleary.
"Detka," she hummed, it was angelic like, "I made you some tea because I wanna get ahead of your cold."
You pouted and shook your head. "Natasha..."
A tense sigh left her and your back straightened.
"I am not mad Y/N," her tone was level and void of unsureness, "you can't sway me because I love you, and I know you were being poisoned by your dear friend."
"Enemy," you corrected venomously and she chuckled heartily, as if your distaste healed her fresh wounds.
"The point is I love you and knew you loved me too."
"I do," you pleaded with pooling tears in your eyes. "You are my one and only Natasha, I'm so sorry."
"Don't cry pretty girl," she wiped away tears that slid halfway down your cheeks. "Don't be sorry either, I think we're stronger than this moment detka."
"But I hurt you, you should hate me." Natasha gritted her teeth and nearly spilled the tea as she set it down with a purposeful slam. "Don't ever say that again."
You blinked in shock as she gripped your chin and forced you to stop staring at the wall behind her, and into her eyes instead. Another sob shakily left your lips as you wordlessly understood the truth in them, she wasn't capable of doing anything else but loving you.
Instead of trying to make your point that she deserved better, which you knew would be futile, you leaned in and kissed her with a gentle passion. "I'm sorry..."
"I forgive you," Natasha relented, giving you a sense of closure even if she didn't mean the words. Her entire life up until you required a ruthless demeanor, but she has taken so well to the softer side of life with you. It was impossible for her to feel the anger she should towards you when you'd done nothing maliciously.
You called her toxic, it hurt; you didn't mean it though.
Intent is everything to the woman, and she knew yours was, ironically, under the influence of another's words.
Plus, Natasha knew on some level that she was toxic—it was something Valerie would come to find out once the redhead finally tapped into the fresh heartbreak...
For now though, she'd hold you close and listen to the way you breathed, a warmth, layered with a sense of calmness crept into her chest and soothed her woes with every subtle reminder that you were still hers.
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loggiepj · 2 years ago
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YOU'RE NOT MY TYPE
Summary: Wanda mistakenly rejects you when you try to ask her out.
And now she regrets it because you're definitely, undeniably her type.
Seeing your ex-girlfriend kiss someone else in your workplace felt like hell.
It was as if love broke you. The ability to function hindered only by one organ in your body. And even if it was so tiny, once it was hurt, it would hurt you like a ton.
Through the first weeks, the breakup affected your work. Finding yourself stuttering through discussions or staring blankly in space during meetings, it was as if your life stopped and you began to question on your existence.
What is the meaning of life if not to love?
Your boss even requested for you to take a leave because he said you deserved it. And you wondered which thing you did deserve, the leave or the breakup.
Maybe both.
When your friends started to notice you being all depressed and mopey on your table while your ex from another department was smiling like crazy as she prepared herself for a date with the new guy, they immediately felt the need to console you with food, drinks and company.
That was why on your 7th week after the said awful breakup, your friends managed to pull you on your feet and dragged you with them into a bar owned by the sister of one of your  friends.
After gulping down your second shot of whatever drink your friends offered to you, you finally stood up and declared.
"Okay, I think that's enough for today-"
But Natasha, your somewhat close to bestfriend, stopped you. "Cmon Y/n, we barely even started."
"Yeah, Y/n," Steve, Nat's boyfriend, added as he made you sit back on your stool. "Plus, the reason why we're here is so you can find yourself a gal and move on from that stupid ex of yours."
"She's not stupid," you immediately argued, making Steve raise his hands in surrender. You didn't even know why you were still trying to defend her. She hurt you. "Sorry... She's just, complicated. That's all."
"Enough about your past," Pietro butted in. "Steve's kinda right, you know? You have to realize that there's still plenty of fish in the water and your ex was just a tiny plankton."
"That's not even a fish-"
He stopped you midsentence. "What I'm trying to say is that there's someone out there waiting for you to ask her out. And all you need is a one big push. Maybe you'll even thank your ex someday."
You only shook your head as he offered you another shot.
"Unless... you're scared," Pietro added.
"Oh... This is good," Tony meddled in. "Did you just call Y/n a scaredy cat?"
"I am not scared to flirt, okay?" You defended yourself, straightening the collar of your shirt. "I just... Well, I'm just not in the mood."
"Fine, if you're not scared as you say you are... I dare you... To ask that bartender out," Pietro suggested, pointing at the woman mixing and serving drinks at the bar. When you turned your head to glance towards her, as if on cue, Stand By Me by Ben E. King blared from the speakers in the background. The woman had brownish blonde hair tied up in a bun. Her emerald eyes glinting as she smiled at her customers. You could tell right away she wasn't the kind of bartender who'd sport a fake smile, she was a genuine one, like a beautiful flower in an open field of buckwheat.
You thought Pietro had good taste because the woman was so breathtakingly attractive. But you knew there was no way she'd say yes being asked out in a place like this. She had probably received a lot of offers, too. Looking like that, most people would just objectify her. While you would worship her.
You couldn't blame her if she'd say no though.
So you agreed to Pietro's dumb dare. "On one condition. If she'll say no, I am going home."
"That makes no sense. We're here to party for you.... And what makes you think she'd say no? I mean, you're beautiful, I'm not blind, Y/n, and she looks like an angel in hell," Pietro said, his arms flailing before you to explain.
"I just know she wouldn't, okay? She deserves to be asked out, but not in a place like this," you reasoned out.
"Deal, then!" He agreed after a moment of silence. "But please put a little effort, too."
"I'll try," you mustered up a bit of courage, as you stood and made your way to the bar. Her last customers just left with drinks in hand as you slowly approached, hands in your pocket.
"Hi!" You must have greeted her enthusiastically because it made her jump on her spot. You couldn't deny that she was more beautiful up close and it made you forget why you were there in the first place.
"Hey, what can I get you?" she asked, her voice so sweet and lovely.
"Just a can of coke, please," you replied, smiling.
She only giggled, not expecting you to order something nonalcoholic.
Once she placed a can, a glass full of ice and a napkin before you, you immediately added, "Oh, you forgot something."
Her brows furrowed in confusion, wondering if she served the wrong can.
Then you handed out a napkin to her and said, cringing internally, "Your number."
After five seconds of painful silence, she broke out into a loud laughter. And you smiled because she had a beautiful laugh.
"Sorry," she managed to say after trying not to laugh for a second, covering her mouth. "But you're not my type."
"So you're straight?"
"No, I'm bi..," she hesitantly admitted. "But just because I'm half gay doesn't mean you're my type."
And you released a soft chuckle, nodding back at her with understanding, because you were right all along. Internally, you were rejoicing because you won Pietro's dare and a soft warm bed awaited you at home.
"And you find rejection amusing too, first time," she went on, now with an awkward laugh.
You licked your lips as you said. "Sorry, turning serious now.. Okay, I'm hurt." You placed your hand dramatically on your chest. "Both physically and emotionally... What's your type then?"
She was now wiping a clean glass dry as she replied. "Someone who doesn't give corny pick up lines in a dingy bar like this."
You let out a laugh because your thoughts about her just matched and it intrigued you even more.
"Actually... I don't pick up girls from bars like this. I was just dared to by my friends," you explained.
"Ohh, and you know why I know you're not my type?" she asked with a smirk.
"Enlighten me, please."
"Because I knew you'd say that. Exactly those phrases. What are we? Highschoolers playing truth or dare?"
You only smiled, giving her credit for that. If you were in her shoes, you'd probably do the same thing too.
"My name's Y/n..," you introduced yourself. When she wasn't responding, you added. "And yours?"
She only chuckled at you. "And... I'm working."
"Hi, Working! That's a pretty cute name. For sure you hate your parents for that though."
Giving you one last laugh and a shake of head, the woman tended to another group of new customers and you decided to leave her in peace.
When you came back to your table, your friends laughing and awaiting for your return, you only punched your hand in the air in victory.
"I told you she'd say no," you said, as you grabbed your bag from your seat, slinging it on your shoulder.
"What?!" Pietro exclaimed.
"And because I won, I can go home now," you added, leaving a couple of tens on the table. "Thank you so much for the company guys."
Little did you notice that the bartender was staring at you, wondering why you were suddenly walking out the door with no one in hand even though you were undeniably attractive and literally could have anyone. Did you really just flirt with her and only her?
"Hey, Wanda! My lovely sis!"
When she saw her brother, Pietro, leaning in front of the counter, Wanda immediately shrugged him off, telling him he already had too much alcohol.
"Why did you say no to my friend, Y/n?" Pietro groaned like a kid as he took a seat.
And Wanda's eyes suddenly lit up.
"Oh, so you are the one who tried to set me up with your friend," she complained. "Sorry, Piet. She's just not my type, okay?"
And Pietro glared at her as if she had said the most offending thing ever.
"What? Y/n is definitely your type."
"You're unbelievable, you know that? I have standards and her asking me out like that in a bar like this is just a no-no for me." 
Pietro sighed as he leaned, resting his head on his folded arms. "Look... She's just not trying hard to ask you because I dared her to. And she didn't want to ask you really. Actually, she was opposed to the idea. She made a deal about it that if you'd reject her, she'd leave and go home, which made her happy to be honest."
Wanda grew confused as she placed the cleaned glasses back on the shelf.
"So you forced her to ask me out, even when she doesn't even want to?"
Pietro smiled apologetically. "Sort of... But I am telling you, sis, Y/n is your soulmate... She's just going through some stuff right now. And you rejecting her would definitely not boost her confidence."
Wanda only laughed. "Oh, from what I witnessed earlier, she didn't need that much help."
When Tony walked into the conversation just to order refills, Pietro immediately included him. Him and Pietro were childhood buddies and knew Wanda since little.
"Hey Tony, what about you? Do you think Y/n is Wanda's type?"
Then Tony's eyes widened in realization. "Oh my God, you are right! I've never thought of it before. I think they're soulmates."
Wanda only scoffed, ignoring the sudden churn she felt in her stomach. Did she make a mistake?
"See?" Pietro exclaimed, then she pulled Natasha when she happened to pass by along the bar. "Nat, you know my sister, Wanda, right?"
And both of the girls smiled and acknowledged each other.
"Wanda said that Y/n is not her type," Pietro went on.
Natasha only raised her eyebrows. Then she looked at Wanda in shock. "What? But Y/n is a hopeless romantic, Wanda. And a complete nerd if you ask me. She's definitely your type."
"She goes to musicals," Steve suddenly butted in, as if their table just teleported to the bar.
"Oh, and she likes to watch-"
"Interstellar!" Both Natasha and Tony screamed as they giggled.
"She must have watched that movie for the thousandth time," Pietro added. "More than Wanda had seen it... There were times I couldn't get the movie soundtrack to leave my head for weeks-"
"Okay, okay, I get it," Wanda interrupted. "Y/n and I have common interests. But I just don't like to be asked out in a bar... and besides, if she's really that amazing as you tell, how come you just talk about her around me now?"
"Because she just got out of a 5-year relationship," Pietro slowly answered as they all grew silent. "And she's still hurting."
Upon the revelation, Wanda's heart ached for you. You were hurting and she was rude to you, she didn't even give you her name.
When the topics have changed, Wanda couldn't stop wondering what if she did say yes. Would you take her seriously?
She had previous relationships that she didn't even want to remember because of too much trauma and red flags. And she didn't want to relive those moments.
Pietro knew she had been single for almost a year now, not being able to find time to date, and when she did have time, it was either a no show up date or a bad first impression date. She wondered if you were her first mistake, the one who got away.
Even after her shift, Wanda's mind always drifted back to you. To the point when she saw Pietro help her arrange the tables after the bar closed, she relented.
"Do you have her number?" Wanda sheepishly asked.
And Pietro only smiled at her as he pulled out his phone.
But Wanda hadn't found the courage to text you until a week after. She was about to send out her drafted message, probably the 11th version, to you when you accidentally bumped into her on the streets.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't see you there," you immediately apologized. Then upon recognizing her, you greeted. "Hi, Working! I haven't seen you in like what was it, a week now?"
Wanda bit her lower lip to suppress a laugh as she replied, her insides squirming. "Careful there, one might think you're counting."
You only chuckled back then you noticed the groceries she was carrying. "You need help with that?"
But without waiting for her reply, you grabbed the bags from her. "So where to?
Wanda must have blushed but she tried to hide her face by looking down the pavement. "Nice try, showoff... To the dingy bar, please..."
But you only smiled as you two walked along the streets, knowing the bar she was referring to was just two blocks away.
"What are you doing in the food market on a Sunday, anyway?" Wanda curiously asked, breaking the silence.
"Oh, I went there for the food," you answered honestly, smirking at her.
"Yeah, very smart, smartass," Wanda smirked back.
You continued. "There's actually this store that sells a variety of nuts-"
"-which you can choose the quantity of each type at the same rate!" Wanda finished, then she realized what she did, nerding out on nuts.
"You like nuts that much, huh?" You joked. You found her cute, though.
"Ha ha... very funny."
"Hey, I meant the food," you quickly explained.
Wanda couldn't stop the smile from widening on her face.
When you finally arrived at the bar Wanda was working at, you noticed how she pulled a big keychain from her bag, numerous keys dangling around.
"You own this bar?" You asked, slightly intending the question as a joke but curiosity killed you.
Wanda hesitantly nodded. She didn't see now why she needed to hide.
"Wait," you muttered, connecting the dots. "So your brother must be Pietro Maximoff, then. I'm one of his dear friends."
"Yeah, he's my twin brother, actually."
After entering the bar, you followed her to the kitchen where you placed the groceries on top of the table.
Wanda suddenly grew nervous, now that you're both alone in a small room. "Do you like something to drink, a refreshment of the sort maybe? As a thank you," Wanda asked, nerves started to kick in.
"Oh, no it's okay," you instantly replied, shaking your head. "I have to go home anyway and feed my cat."
You thought she looked disappointed at the moment but you could just be imagining it.
But Wanda was indeed disappointed.
Before you turned to leave, you added. "Sorry about that night, though... I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable like that. If it was anyone to blame, you should blame Pietro. He was the one who dared me to ask you out."
Wanda only chuckled softly, her heartbeat racing.
"No, it's fine. That's just my brother. He's just silly and all."
You nodded and smiled. "Okay... I won't keep you long... Have a great day, then, Miss Working Maximoff."
It took Wanda to get the joke and when she laughed out loud, you were already gone. And she regretted not giving you her number. Because she still didn't have the courage to text you first.
The next time you saw each other was at a common friend's wedding two weeks after that short interaction. You didn't want to come but Tony would kill you if you didn't.
And then you saw Pietro's sister looking like an angel, a beautiful flower in a sea of grass.
She was dressed in a pretty white dress and her eyes never looked so greener than before. To be honest, you thought she looked more beautiful than the bride herself, no offense to Pepper, Tony's bride-to-be.
"Hi, Working!" You greeted behind her.
Wanda should be angry at being teased at but when she recognized the voice and the joke, she couldn't help the butterflies in her stomach.
"Hey, Y/n," she greeted back. Then she leaned forward to kiss your cheek in greeting, which made you jump and melt at the feeling of her lips on your skin. Wanda couldn't help but feel entranced by the way you look that day, she didn't even notice her brother was talking.
"Why is she calling you Working?" Pietro asked.
But the ceremony just started and he was immediately shushed out.
At the reception, you found yourself dancing to your favorite song when it came up. It was Wanda's favorite too.
When she saw you dancing, Wanda immediately went to ask her friends to the dance floor, needing an excuse to bump into you. But it was to no avail. Her friends were still full from the meal they had eaten.
Someone coughed behind her, making her abruptly turn. Then her lips curved into a smile as you looked at her, your hand held in front of you. "I heard you have troubles finding yourself a dance partner."
Wanda sheepishly took your hand, as she answered. "Well, now I don't."
And you both had the time of your lives as you and Wanda danced to the lively song followed by another pop one, then a rock song. When Lunar One by Seventeen Evergreen played on the speakers, you both tried to catch your breath as her arms slowly snaked  around your shoulders while yours wrapped around her waist.
"I have a question," you began as you swayed to the song, smiling at her.
"Yeah?"
"If you've finished working, does your name change into its past tense Worked?"
Wanda didn't even know why she was laughing at such a corny joke but she was, tears warning to get out from her eyes.
"What if you're in England," you added. "And someone calls you Job, would you acknowledge that person or correct him and say that's not your name?"
Chuckling so hard, she punched you lightly on your shoulder as she said, "Stop it. I believe now you know my real name."
"I... may have stalked your brother's social media."
"And what have you seen?"
"That you have a beautiful and a very unique name.... but not as unique as Working though."
Wanda shook her head in laughter, her eyes suddenly drifted to your lips, wondering what it felt like against hers. But the moment ended when Wanda was suddenly asked out to a dance by one of the guests. You happily, but deep inside disappointed, let her go.
What you didn't know was Wanda's eyes follow you after that.
When the night ended and everyone eventually started leaving, Wanda expected you to see her afterwards, knowing you both had a moment.
She knew you were feeling it too. And then she would just ask you out right there because you didn't seem to have the courage to.
But Pietro said you already left because you were catching a ride with your friends. And Wanda's wonder and insecurities started to rise.
It was almost winter when you got invited to Tony's manor for a very early Halloween party. Pre-party as what Tony would call them. He wanted to do it early because Pepper wanted a month-long honeymoon before the holidays.
You were not fond of parties but it was a great opportunity to lay out your small telescope and rusty camera in their wide backyard. The manor was near the countryside, away from the light pollution of the city.
You arrived at 1am, set up your devices for half an hour and you were preoccupied. Around 3am in the morning, you finally had a full glimpse of the Milky Way galaxy's core.
When Wanda found out you came, she immediately went looking for you. She was about to give up until she found you in the backyard, the last place she thought you were at.
"What are you doing out here?" Wanda called out to you, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her body as she approached you. "It's literally negative degrees."
And Wanda might have fallen in love when she saw you smile so wide from ear to ear as you saw her.
You then said, "Look above you."
Wanda craned her neck to see what you were talking about. And she didn't even realize how vast the night sky looked right now above them with thousands of twinkling specks of light.
"Wow! That's a lot of stars," Wanda said, her voice full of amazement, as she stood next to you.
When you gently grabbed her hand, her heart stopped beating and she did try her best to focus on your voice instead because she was sure she'd faint on the spot if she didn't.
You pointed her hand at the direction of the sky.
"Do you see that?" You traced the outline with her hand in yours. "That is the core of the Milky Way galaxy."
And when Wanda finally gathered her bearings, she saw what you were trying to say.
"Oh my! I thought I'd never see it in real life. Only in pictures," she blurted out, the skin around her eyes creasing as she smiled.
"I know, right?"
Then you looked at her and you thought about how beautiful she looked up close. And it felt like a moment, but you were sure the earth slowed down around you.
Shaking your head away from the thought, you decided to look back at the sky. You were not her type. Why do you keep forgetting that?
When you noticed her body tremble slightly, you worried.
"Are you cold?"
"I-"
But without waiting for a reply, you wrapped your extra jacket around her.
"Better?"
Wanda nodded as she breathe in your perfume, loving it and wishing that she could have you more than just your scent. She wanted everything about you.
You and Wanda must have talked about the stars, nebulae, galaxies and the new space telescope from NASA for too long, you didn't even notice that almost an hour has passed.
When Wanda was about to confess her feelings to you, someone called out from the house and disrupted the moment.
"What the hell are you doing out there?!" Tony shouted. "It's freezing cold!"
And Wanda didn't get a chance to.
The next time Wanda saw you, you were crying in the balcony of Pietro's house. He was hosting a small party to celebrate his promotion at work.
Knowing that you weren't alone, you immediately wiped the tears from your eyes. Turning, you saw Wanda and greeted, "Hi there!"
"Hey," Wanda cooed softly as she stood beside you, rubbing your back. "What's wrong?"
She couldn't help but feel protective around you. If someone made you cry, they would have to deal with her after.
"Nothing, just...," you answered in a small voice. "Something went into my eye, you know."
And Wanda softly chuckled as she continued to rub your back, soothing you calm. And you were because she was there with you.
"You're a terrible liar too, do you know that?"
"Oh I wouldn't know. I've only tried them on your brother."
"Well, you know he's an exception right? He literally believes everything. He is that gullible."
You laughed.
After a moment, you grew silent, just staring out at the horizon before you. You knew she was waiting for you to speak up, but not rushing you.
Then you suddenly muttered. "I wasn't crying because I was sad, you know."
"Why are you then?"
"I met up with my ex-girlfriend earlier... S-she said that she messed it up and she wa-wanted to get back with me."
Wanda wished so bad she couldn't hear you right now if she'd only hurt herself.
"Did you?" But Wanda still wanted to know.
You only shook your head. "No, that would be crazy... That's why I'm crying because I thought I'd never make it through the heartbreak. I was totally broken months ago. And now I can look at her and feel nothing. Absolutely nothing, Wanda... It's just amazing how time can heal you."
Releasing a breath she didn't realize she was holding, Wanda smiled.
"And those were just happy tears?"
You smiled at her. "Yeah, those were happy tears."
Wanda then hugged you, her arms slipping around your body, as she buried her face into your neck. You hugged her back, placing your head on top of hers.
"Is this okay?" she asked.
You whispered yes as you let her hug you like that and treasured the moment. As long as she was there, even just as a friend, it would be okay. You would be okay.
Trying to distract you, Wanda started when she pulled away. "Tell me about your favorite galaxy."
Then you began to tell her about Andromeda and how it was so near, it was always visible to the naked eye.
As Wanda listened to you, she realized you still needed a little time before getting overwhelmed by confessing her feelings. So Wanda gave you more time.
Three nights passed and Wanda still felt the same.
Wanda wasn't working that night at the bar when you and your friends decided to drop by. The night wasn't busy because it was a weekday and some stocks just needed some replenishing.
Going away for a small event the next day, Wanda could only sign the purchase orders provided by her staff on that night. That night you specifically dropped by.
Wanda thought that the feelings were mutual and that she was finally getting through to you but when you introduced your new officemate to her, eventually realizing you were setting her up with your officemate because said officemate was asking for her number, her heart broke into pieces. And you didn't even mean to. It wasn't your fault that you thought she wasn't interested in you.
You were in the comfort room that time washing off the ketchup that smudged your shirt when Wanda came bursting through the door.
"What the fucking hell is wrong with you?!" Wanda exclaimed.
You had never seen her look so terrifying before.
"Wanda-"
"What was that about, huh? You just set me up with someone!"
"I-I just thought I'd introduce you two because you're both single and-"
Wanda only sighed, stopping you. "God, how can you be so oblivious?"
"Wan-"
Her mouth crashed against yours, as she pinned you against the cold tiled wall. And as quickly as it happened, she immediately pulled away and cursed, leaving you dumbfounded.
"Shit I-I am sorry, I just thought you like me back-" Wanda stopped herself as she stepped away from you and exited the room.
You ran after her, surprising your friends, until you were outside the bar. The streets were now deserted as it was almost midnight. Wanda was already a step away to her car, having trouble in finding her keys.
"Wanda!" You called out to her.
Wanda looked at you as her body wracked up in sobs. You immediately wrapped your arms around her in a tight embrace.
"I'm sorry... I know I ruined it, I ruined our friendship-"
"Stop, Wanda," you butted in, pulling away to rub each of her shoulders as you tried to calm her down. "You didn't, okay? Because I like you too. So much, Wanda. Even way before knowing I wasn't your type."
Softly chuckling, Wanda wiped her eyes as she softly said. "I regretted every single day why I said that... I really did. Because you are my type, Y/n. You are amazing and sweet and so beautiful and you make me laugh and giddy... I-"
She swallowed back a sob as you hugged her again, burying your face into her hair.
"You make me happy, too," you confessed. "I've never been happier before I met you, Wanda."
After a moment, she pulled away as you both looked into each other's eyes, yours sometimes drifting towards her lips. "And I don't think I can manage another day without knowing what your mouth feels like against mine."
Wanda's eyes smiled at you as she softly laughed.
"Why don't you find out?"
And you almost just did as you began to cup her face and leaned forward.
"I don't know... maybe if she'd agree to go out with me on a date tomorrow, I would," you quipped, making her chuckle.
Wanda sniffled as she licked her lips, leaning towards you as well. Her arms were now wrapped around your neck as yours around her waist. "Maybe I can fit her into my schedule."
Both of your noses were now merely touching, feeling each other's breath on your faces, her fingers caressing the baby hair at the back of your neck.
Nobody knew who closed the gap between the two of you, but you knew you didn't want to stop kissing her.
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justasimpleton-26 · 7 months ago
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Jason Todd x Reader: College life
College had stressed you out to the point where you considered a life of crime.
Don't get you wrong; you didn't want to commit any type of crimes or fight anyone of the BatFamily, but how were you going to use Geometry in real life?
You were so focused on stressing over your upcoming exams that you weren't paying attention when you bumped into someone.
You used the term "someone" very loosely; for all you know, the marble statue was dressed in cool clothes by some student as a joke.
It isn't until the statue turns to look at you that you realize that holy shit this is an actual human being.
A very buff person, but human all the same.
He has spiky jet black hair that sticks up in random places, his bangs colored stark white. Emerald green eyes peer down at you as this man looks over six feet tall, his body bulky with muscle.
The guy wears a faded black t-shirt that looks almost gray, his pants faded and biker boots shoved on.
"...miss?" the guy asks, making you shake yourself out of ogling him some more.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" she'd asked, and he chuckled.
"I was asking if you were lost." the guy repeated, and you blushed, trying not to make it noticeable that you were blushing.
"Sorry, I live on campus so I know my way around. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going which is why I bumped into you. Sorry about that by the way." you rushed to explain, bringing your book closer to your chest.
"Ah, I see. I'm Jason by the way." the guy-Jason-said, as he moved his book and a graded paper to his left hand as he held out his right to shake her hand.
You took it but couldn't help but notice that he was holding a geometry book, and the graded worksheet on top was actually a geometry test with high marks.
An idea planted in your brain, so you looked up at the genius giant, and tried to not make it seem like you were desperate for help. (Which you were, Jason didn't need to know that.)
"Hi Jason, um, look this is going to seem random, but I was wondering if you could maybe tutor me in geometry?" you asked, secretly hoping against hope that he would say yes.
Jason blinked, as if the question had caught him off guard.
"How did you know-" then he looked at the paper and book he was carrying and nodded as if that made sense. "Yeah, sure, meet me at the college library once your done with all your classes."
You thanked him profusely, and there was even a skip in your step as you headed back to your next class, leaving Jason behind.
It's not until you're having your bride and groom dance that Jason admits that the geometry book and test was actually Roy's and he'd been carrying his stuff when you approached him.
You're in disbelief and ask Jason if he was even good at math, and he chuckles before he gazes into your eyes.
"I am now, Roy tutored me." Jason answers.
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whoopsyeahokay · 8 months ago
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October Sun
summary: things had gone from weird to worse in a matter of seconds. it'd seemed all your secrets had decided to reveal themselves to Wally without so much as considering how you'd feel about it. you'd guessed that was the price you'd had to pay for your choice to share yourself with a member of Split River High's Afterlife Support Group.
pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader
warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.
bon reading, frens
___________________________💀
OCTOBER SUN pt.10
You were six, sitting on your sister Aurora's lap in a hospital room. Monitors beeped—long intervals, pitched notes—and, below that, your great-aunt's rattled breathing. Everything stank of disinfectant.
Ginny lay in the bed; pruned and pale, translucent skin hanging from her bones. She was just past seventy, but had aged several decades in the two weeks since the symptoms had started. Now, she looked like the skeletons your neighbors strung up for Halloween. Ghastly. Small.
Dead.
Mommy dozed in the armchair across from you, her head at an awkward angle, mouth ajar, one hand rested on her swollen belly. For days, she'd subsisted on nothing but good ol' fashioned Celtic stubbornness, running herself into the ground to undo whatever had put Ginny in the hospital. Nothing worked. Potions, pastes, blood spells, smudging rituals; it didn't matter what Mommy and Nanna did, Ginny's doctor insisted her condition was deteriorating.
It was so strange, you thought, that Ginny didn't just tell them herself. After all, she was able to stand in front of you without assistance and seemed much healthier than she had even moments ago.
She'd been asleep, silvery and thin and wheezy, and then her eyes had popped open and she'd gotten to her feet with the grace of a ballerina. Auburn hair in fluffy curls, pinned neatly away from her face; lips bright, Victory red, and skin peachy.
She was as pretty as a picture in a church bell skirt and smart, collared blouse, the colors much more suited to her than the starch white of the hospital gown. The pendant of her necklace was now one of a pair dangling from her earlobes, silver circles glinting in the sterile light.
"Are you better?" You asked her, marveling at her loveliness.
Ginny crouched to meet you at your level and placed her hand on yours, green eyes bright as emeralds in the sun. She smiled, "Don't tell mummy. This will be our little secret." She addressed Aurora next, "I'll be back as soon as I can, pet."
Aurora nodded, solemn, and you both watched Ginny greet a young man in similarly outdated dress as he entered the room. You didn't know who he was, but Aurora must've because she offered him a watery smile, eyes glistening.
"Where's Ginny going?" You asked her.
She shushed you, murmuring, "You can't tell mom, okay?"
Annoyed, "I won't." You weren't 3, you knew how to keep a secret. You'd kept plenty for your new friend Hana. Like her crush on the crayon stealer, Simon Elroy, or how she always took two milks at recess instead of one.
"She's saying hello to Grandpa Jack." Aurora told you, but you sensed there was a lot more to it than that. You gave her your best glare. She rolled her eyes, "They're probably going to try and find out what's wrong with her."
But, "She's better, dummy," you said, craning your neck to watch her swan out of the room with a man who'd died before you were born.
Aurora sighed the way she did whenever she thought you said something stupid and pressed her hand to your cheek, forcing you to look at the bed.
You gasped, astonished that, there, under the layers of quilts your Nanna had brought, was Ginny; breath rattling, monitors beeping, white as a china doll and asleep.
That was how you learned that Traveling meant something different to your family.
‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗
One second you were clung to Wally like a limpet, the next you'd vanished into thin air. Snapped out of existence like you'd never been there at all. Frantic, Wally looked left, right, to the back of the stage, and then spun around to face the rows of seats.
His jaw dropped, blood draining from his face. You stood at the top of the center aisle, shirt no longer rucked up the way Wally had made it; hair as tidy as it had been before he'd run his fingers through it; skin no longer sporting the perfect blush he'd coaxed to the surface.
Even from where he stood, Wally could see that your eyes burned a nebula of colors, the way they had when Wally caught up to you outside the school earlier. As soon as he'd registered it—proof that something magical had just transpired—they dimmed to their normal hue, just as the man behind you, Mr. Anderson, Wally identified, demanded, "What are you doing in here?"
He seemed angry, more so than the time Wally had watched him chew out a group of boys in the locker room showers for smoking weed. Mr. Anderson grabbed you by the arm and hauled you out of the theater like you'd been trespassing.
Wally charged up the aisle, thoughts of how you could fucking teleport taking a back seat to the desire to shove Mr. Anderson to the ground for assuming he had the right to touch you like that. The connection between you and Wally bittered, shrieked, fear and fury swirling together to pump through Wally's veins.
Oh hell no.
"I'm sorry," You apologized. Mr. Anderson released you, causing you to stumble from the momentum he'd used to force you into the hallway. "I won't let it happen again."
In an ill-fated attempt to wedge himself between you and Mr. Anderson, Wally checked the man's shoulder with his own, but little happened. Mr. Anderson had repositioned himself, almost like he'd anticipated the action, and the intention waned into a light graze. One that had no impact on the man, but that caused Wally to trip into the wall.
Mr. Anderson escorted you through the school toward your locker, gravely explaining that you'd overstayed your welcome by an hour and a half; the Wednesday team practices and club activities already packed up and gone.
Glancing outside, Wally was shocked to see the sky was dark. Apparently, making out with you was the equivalent of pressing a giant PAUSE button on the fourth dimension. He was sure no more than twenty minutes had passed since you'd jumped into his arms and kissed him within an inch of his sanity.
Teleportation and time manipulation? Wally gaped, images of his favorite comic book heroes swarming his mind. Holy shit, you were an X-Man. He had big fat feelings for a Mutant prodigy. Was he the Cyclops to your Marvel Girl?
Needing to do something to ensure Mr. Anderson wouldn't try to grab you again, Wally inserted himself between you and him. A move that appeared to influence Mr. Anderson to maintain the space Wally enforced with his presence.
Good, Wally thought, cracking his knuckles, because while he had no problem trying to beat his way into the living world to knock a few of Mr. Anderson's teeth out, he knew that would take a lot more than noble intention to pull off.
He loathed feeling helpless. Back in the day, he'd stood up for the kids who got bullied, had done his best to fend off the misguided idiots who'd used their post-puberty size for evil. Trouble was that now he couldn't do more than make a light flicker by concentrating really, really hard.
Don't be fooled: Dawn made it look easy, but it wasn't.
Finally reaching your locker, Mr. Anderson reiterated, "What were you doing in there?" His demeanor all wrong. Wally knew enough about the guy to know that, usually, he was a cool kind of dorky. Relatable. However, something had obviously possessed him because he was acting like you'd discovered his hidden collection of porn mags.
Wally didn't like it. He wanted Mr. Anderson to fuck off and leave you alone more than he'd wanted anything for a long time. Retaining his position between you and Mr. Anderson, chin up, hands balled into fists at his sides, Wally willed Mr. Anderson away.
You began, "I was just—" when Wally gritted out, stare fixed on the man's haggard face, "You don't owe this dickhead an explanation, baby."
But you spoke over him, "Mathilda asked me to look for something she'd forgotten in there yesterday. She's in the Mean Girl's Musical?" You supplied, and, jeez, you were quick on your feet.
Mr. Anderson was unimpressed, "For two hours?"
"No! No. I was studying in the library when she texted me."
Wally began to wonder how many yarns you'd had to spin for it to come so easily. Part of him was uncomfortable with the notion that it seemed like second nature to you, while another, bigger, part of him seared the way lemon juice stings a papercut.
He recognized it was self-preservation. A lifetime of harboring a massive secret that, okay, might not get you carted off in a straitjacket these days, but definitely wouldn't make it easy for you to go through life normally. He'd seen people ostracized for less. Like Katelynn who, a week before her death, had been spurned by her scene kid friends because she'd admitted to being a fan of Hilary Duff.
"Do you have to get anything from the library, then?" Mr. Anderson wanted to know, the V between his brows deepening when his phone buzzed in his blazer pocket. The third time in the short minutes since he'd found you.
"No." You said, cowed, even though you shouldn't be. He'd been the one whose conduct had been inappropriate. He should be begging for your forgiveness, not making you feel terrible like it was his job. "I swear, I won't let it happen again."
Wally's blood boiled.
"See that it doesn't." Mr. Anderson warned. His phone buzzed again. "Get your things and go home."
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Anderson unpocketed and checked his phone as another call lit up the screen. Private, the caller ID claimed.
"You'll have to use the main entrance." He said, already backing away, "Everything else is locked up." Then he leveled you with a dark look of authority, "I assume you can make your own way out?"
Wally could feel the tension in your muscles, could hear your heart stutter behind your ribs. His fingers twitched, itching to bust the man's head right off his shoulders. And, damn, when had he last felt such violent inclinations? Even against those prima donna bullies, the rage hadn't distended into anything remotely close to this.
"Yeah, I..." You cleared your throat, "Yes."
Mr. Anderson retreated and took the next call that came through, his bark of, "Give me a minute," resonating through the empty hallway as he disappeared around the corner.
As soon as he was out of sight, Wally spun on his heel to face you. You shrunk against your locker, arms folded around your middle and eyes faraway, chewing the inside of your bottom lip as you lost yourself in thought.
Wally moved into your bubble, the connection between you calmed, and smoothed his hands down your waist; one into the back pocket of your jeans, the other gliding back up and into your hair.
He pulled you gently against him, tucked your head under his chin and asked, "You good, pretty girl?"
He felt you nod into his chest, "Yeah. That was just every shade of weird imaginable. Something was off about him." You leaned away just enough to gaze up at Wally. "He's usually so...friendly."
Wally pressed a kiss to the top of your head, "I don't want you to stick around, babe. I don't trust that dude not to do something stupid if he finds you again."
"For real?" You sounded stunned, "Him?"
"Honestly? Yeah. He was giving off serious Bundy vibes. You didn't do anything wrong and he acted like you'd cold-cocked his mama." Wally glared in the direction Mr. Anderson had gone, concluding, "Maybe he's the reason Maddie's blood was splattered all over the boiler room."
"Jesus, Wally, it wasn't a Fear Street massacre." You shunned the idea, disentangling yourself from him to open your locker. After a moment of reflection, "Do you really think he's capable?"
As you grabbed your backpack and started to shove what you needed into it, Wally leaned on the locker beside yours, shrugging, "Like I said, Bundy vibes. And I can't stop him if he decides to come back with a machete, so please," he implored, "Get your stuff and let's go."
Thankfully, you took his advice without further argument. Pulled on your leather jacket, slung your backpack over one shoulder, and held your hand out for Wally to take as if it was something you did all the time.
Champagne-fizz burst in Wally's chest as he accepted the invitation, lacing your fingers together and setting a leisurely but purposeful pace toward the atrium.
"So," He began, "You lie like that often?"
Shame bled into your features as you cast your gaze to the ground. You didn't look at him when you said, "Only when I have to."
"Do you have to do it a lot?"
"More than I'd like, yeah." You shrugged, audibly unhappy about the fact. "Trust me, it's not that I want to. But my family has a strict No One Can Know policy when it comes to our..." You lifted your free hand and air-quoted, "gifts."
Wally bumped into your side sportively. He took a beat to consider his question before he asked it, unsure if he was ready to hear anything other than what he wanted to. "Do you feel like you have to lie to me?"
You stopped and drew Wally back the two steps he'd taken ahead. Looking him square in the eye, you promised, "I'm not going to lie to you, Wally. About anything. Ever." Once he nodded to accept he understood, you moved along, "And anyway, you're now in on the one thing I have to lie about. So, unless I'm under a Fidelius Charm, I honestly don't have anything else to hide."
"A what charm?"
"Do we not have Harry Potter in the library?" You asked as if to no one in particular.
"Oh man, yeah. Rhonda got really into those books for awhile." Wally sloped toward you to stage-whisper by your ear, "She's a total nerd for them. Says she's a Slytherin." Wally straightened and snickered, "Whatever that means. She'd kill me if she ever found out I told you."
You drew an X over your heart, "I won't tell a soul," before you released Wally's hand to push the door to the atrium open with both of yours.
As he followed you down the ramp toward the front entrance, Wally was unable to ignore the elephant in the room any longer, "When were you going to tell me you could teleport?"
It startled a laugh out of you, the kind that starts with a snort. A wave of fondness washed over Wally and he grinned stupidly at you, all teeth and soft eyes.
"I can't." You corrected. Rather, "I can, uhm, project...astrally."
Whoa. You were officially the coolest person Wally had ever known.
A barrage of questions threatened to spill out of him, ranging from reasonable to unhinged. And who could blame him? Normal people couldn't leave their bodies at will and surf the cosmos!
"Astral projection is real?" He asked in as even a tone as he could manage.
"Being a ghost is real." You countered bluntly.
And, "Touché." He conceded, "But you can't blame a guy for being surprised when something out of the Twilight Zone can happen in real life."
You seesawed your head, lips adopting a playful smile. God, you were beautiful. "Fair." You said, winking at Wally who was then forced to swallow the need to pick you up and pin you to the nearest wall with his mouth.
The air was crisp when you both exited the school. He walked you to the picnic tables near the bus stop, resting on the end of a tabletop and pulling you between his legs. Like this, you were pressed flush against him, body fitted so perfectly into his.
The connection rumbled and flared, erupting volcano-hot, piloting Wally's actions. He slid his hands from your waist down to squeeze the pert swell of your ass, and dragged your hips against his.
You gasped, delicate, and let your head fall to the side to expose the column of your neck. Wally took advantage. Brushed his dry lips from your collar to the hinge of your jaw, little darts of tongue and drags of teeth.
"Fuck, baby, you don't know what you do to me," He groaned, his dick fattening in his sweatpants. And he sure as shit meant it. The connection between you was driving him crazy, keeping teenage boy hormones in check an impossible battle.
He rolled his hips, chasing the friction, using the leverage he had with his hands in your back pockets to drag you into his lap. He rearranged himself on the table, slid back to sit more comfortably, and encouraged you to rut against him.
Wally kissed you like it was the last time, like this was the only chance he'd ever have to do it. Slow, deep, slick. The sounds you made, fuck, wanton and needy; moans and gasps and punched-out sighs.
And then, because, of fucking course 'and then'—your phone buzzed right in Wally's palm. Long, sequential blitzes of vibration. A phone call.
You groaned in annoyance, taking your phone when Wally graciously handed it to you, and answered.
"Hey," You greeted, head on Wally's shoulder and body still.
His mama had raised a gentleman, he reminded himself and curled his long arms around you in a loose embrace, repeating football stats in his mind to cool his erection.
"Yeah," You were saying, "Yeah, I know, but I got caught up in the...Well, mom's a big girl, I'm sure she can find someone else to shake the floorboards this one time."
Wally tried to give you an inquiring look but the angle was too awkward, so instead he filed that tidbit away for later, above astral projection but below In Betweens. And, shit, that's right, you were both supposed to discuss your fritzy ghost powers, not dry hump on school property. Oops.
You growled, climbing off of Wally altogether and hopping to the ground, pacing as you expressed with sarcasm and sass, "Why don't you get your new husband to do it, or are we still keeping him in the dark about the family business?"
Wally barely made out the, "Could you stop being such a selfish little brat for o—" before you hung up on who Wally surmised was your sister. With your back to him, he couldn't tell how you felt about the exchange, but from the tension in your shoulders and how forcibly measured your breathing had become, he thought it was safe to assume not great.
"You guys don't get along?" He ventured.
On a last, heavy breath, you twirled back around, "Actually, we get along really well." You sucked your teeth, "It's our mom's choice of occupation that puts us at each other's throats." Wally knew what was coming, couldn't soften the disappointment. "I gotta go." You said regretfully.
He plastered on a smirk, aiming for levity but sounding too dismayed to stick the landing, "You'd think the universe didn't want us to help Maddie."
In what Wally could only describe as a fit of absolutely fucking not, you strode right up to him, slung your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hot, middle-finger-to-the-sky kiss.
"Fuck the universe," You said when you parted, breathless, perfect, his, "I'll come in early tomorrow. Like, seven-thirty-early. Can you meet me in the parking lot?"
Repeating his words from earlier, "Anything for you, pretty girl," Wally vowed, grinning at the prospect of cuddling up somewhere intimate with you in the morning.
Although his thoughts weren't wholly innocent, he recognized within himself the genuine desire to do anything to be near you, for however long you'd give him. Whether that was two minutes or two hours, Wally would be grateful.
"Great," You smiled, bright against the dark autumn evening, "I'll see you then."
A final, sweet stamp of your lips to Wally's cheek and you went on your way, Wally having to watch as you stepped over the boundary of the school grounds and into a world where he couldn't follow.
"Can't wait," He uttered and the connection between you both quieted completely.
💀___________________________
PART NINE - PART ELEVEN
also available on AO3!
MASTERLIST
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leiawritesstories · 6 days ago
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snowy nights with you
written for @throneofglassmicrofics November prompts: "cozy" & "curl"
just some cozy fluffy winter fluff ;))
word count: 752
warnings: none ;)
enjoy!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rowan's soft, rumbling chuckle drifted through Aelin's hazy slumber, and she cracked her eyes open to find him sitting on the edge of the couch, brushing her hair gently away from her face. "Hey, Fireheart. Good nap?"
"The best," she murmured, still groggy. She'd flopped onto the couch only a few minutes after she'd come home from work, another overly long day of dealing with her sleazy boss. Once her shoes were off and she was wrapped in her old sweats and one of Rowan's college hockey sweatshirts, she'd tumbled right into that inviting heap of blankets draped over the couch and closed her eyes.
"How long has it been?" she wondered, slowly pushing herself to a seated position.
He glanced at his watch. "Well, I just got home, so probably a couple hours. You hungry?"
"Always." Right on cue, her stomach rumbled. She laughed. "Yeah, I know, it's been a while since lunch."
"Good thing the takeout should be here in a few minutes," Rowan said, a smile pulling at his lips.
She looped her arms around his neck and plopped a theatrical kiss on his cheek. "Best husband in the world."
"I try my best, love," he teased, sliding his warm hand around to the back of her head and kissing her properly. She sighed into the kiss, drinking in the taste of his lips.
When she pulled away, smiling, her cheeks were flushed a soft pink. "I could get used to this," she joked, as if six months of marriage hadn't already acclimated her to the giddiness of coming home to her husband.
"Might have to change things up, then." He winked at her. "Can't have my wife thinking we have a fixed routine." His thumb rubbed the back of her palm, curving around the emerald on her left hand. "How was work?"
She groaned, tucking herself into his side and hiding her face in his shoulder. "About as good as usual." Her boss, Arobynn, was a sleazy asshole who ogled every woman in the office as much as possible and was constantly making lewd gestures at her.
"I'm gonna punch his face in," Rowan grumbled, irritation scrunching his brows. "Does he seriously not understand that you're my wife?"
"He probably just doesn't care." Aelin ran her thumb over the groove in Rowan's forehead, smoothing out the lines. "And Ro, my love, you can't just show up my office."
"I know." Sometime in the last handful of minutes, he'd managed to untangle the blankets from around Aelin and tuck them neatly over both of them. "But you're okay, yeah?"
"I am." She kissed the corner of his lips. "I can fend for myself, and I have Dorian and Fenrys if I need male backup."
"Okay." Rowan looked like he wanted to say something else, but he was interrupted by the chiming of the doorbell. "Food's here." He kissed Aelin's forehead. "I'll go get it."
Aelin settled herself back into her blanket cocoon, soaking in the warmth from the heap of blankets and her husband's sweatshirt. A chilly breeze curled in from the open front door, and she shivered, tucking the blankets tighter around herself. Her eyes drifted shut again, almost involuntarily, and she blinked awake to find the living room window cracked just a few inches.
It hadn't been open before.
Groggy, Aelin scrubbed her hands across her eyes, unwrapped herself from the pile of blankets, and stood up slowly, her body not quite willing to leave the cozy warmth of the couch. But she had to close the window, so she made herself walk across the floor and tug it shut. As she did so, a whiff of Rowan's cologne drifted up from the sleeve of his sweatshirt, and she closed her eyes, pulling the crisp pine scent deep into her lungs.
When she opened her eyes again, a film of tears blurred her vision as the recognition that she'd once again been dreaming hit her like a truck.
Only hours ago, she'd come home from work and wrapped herself in her husband's sweatshirt, clinging to one of the last pieces she had left of him. Only hours ago, she'd tucked her face into the thick, pine-scented fabric and breathed Rowan's presence into her blood, and she'd fallen asleep to the most beautiful memories of him.
But as always, she awoke to the reality--her, alone in the house they had hoped to fill with laughter, clinging to Rowan's clothes because she could no longer cling to his body.
~~~
TAGS:
@live-the-fangirl-life
@superspiritfestival
@thegreyj
@wordsafterhours
@elentiyawhitethorn
@mariaofdoranelle
@rowanaelinn
@house-of-galathynius
@tomtenadia
@julemmaes
@swankii-art-teacher
@charlizeed
@booknerdproblems
@earthtolinds
@goddess-aelin
@sweet-but-stormy
@clea-nightingale
@autumnbabylon
@llyncooljones
@silentquartz
@renxzs
@anarchiii
@fauna-flora11
@cynthiesjmxazrielslover
@mysterylilycheeta
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shy-urban-hobbit · 3 months ago
Text
Modern au
Lambert takes his niece to get her ears pierced for her birthday and oh no, the new guy at the studio is ridiculously hot!!
"You still sure about this, kid?" Lambert asked as the two of them rounded the corner onto the next street, Ciri took a break from demolishing her purple frosted doughnut to give him an excited nod. It was the answer he'd been expecting but it still didn't hurt to check. Ciri had expressed interest in getting her ears pierced a few months prior and the agreement she'd reached with her father was that if it was something she still wanted by the time her birthday came around and it wasn't just a passing whim then she had his permission. That day had finally arrived and Lambert had volunteered to make the arrangements and take her to his usual guy, fully convinced that Geralt would just end up wandering into the nearest Claire's otherwise - having no personal experience, the man had proven himself to be clueless when it came to researching reputable places.
He felt Ciri press a little closer to him and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. He didn't blame her, they weren't exactly in the most respectable part of town anymore - he was pretty sure the rats would try to mug you if they were capable - and if any of Ciri's three parental figures were with them (Jaskier was definitely in the realms of honorary parent at this point, whatever the situation was with him, Geralt and Yenn) they'd probably be making them turn around and head back. They weren't though; and Lambert had been using this place for the last seven years, since he was eighteen and making questionable choices just to push Vesemir's buttons.
There'd been some new graffiti added to the red brick of the outside of the studio since the last time Lambert had visited - not that it'd stay there very long before one of the inhabitants covered it with work of their own. Years of this has led to a good portion of 'Dyn Marv tattoos and piercings' being covered in a mish-mash of traditional tattoo designs, psychedelic swirls, detailed wolves and tigers and a relatively fresh looking comic style UFO by one of the top windows.
Lambert's brow furrowed a little in confusion at the noise that greeted them as they entered. There was music playing - nothing unusual in that, there was always music playing on a low volume but this wasn't Cedric's usual heavy metal or Schrödinger's classic rock or even Axel's K-Pop. It sounded almost like folk rock if Lambert had to guess, unfamiliar but not unpleasant.
The figure behind the counter was also unfamiliar as they stood with their back to them, fairly tall and dark skinned with black curls tied back with a strip of blue cloth, a sleeveless white tank showing off muscular arms. Lambert cleared his throat awkwardly to catch their attention, then felt his throat dry up instantly when they turned at the noise. Oh no.
He was fucking gorgeous. A few loose curls framed a high cheek-boned face, full lips framed by labret and septum piercings pulled up into a wide smile which in turn caused khol rimmed, emerald eyes to crinkle at the corners. A silver chain disappeared into the low neck of his tank top which also offered a glimpse of toned chest, the edges of black ink barely visible.
"Hi there, can I help you?" He asked and oh god, even his voice was hot.
"You're not Cedric." Lambert immediately wanted to go drown himself in the customer bathroom.
"He left me in charge while he had to run out. Something about moving apartments and Schro getting stuck in a box again..." He finished with a shrug, "I'm Aiden."
Lambert felt something click in his brain, "Cedric's brother right? He's mentioned you a couple of times."
"Whatever he's told you, it's all lies." Aiden said with a wink, leaning on the counter and resting his chin on his hand - the back of said hand Lambert noted, sported a tattoo of a realistic snarling, green eyed black cat.
"So anything I can help with today or would you rather hang out and wait for Cedric, although I couldn't tell you how long he'll be."
"Depends. How are you with kids and piercings?" He knew Dragonfly only dealt with tattoos whilst Joel specialised in the more 'adult' piercings and didn't tend to take clients under twenty one. Lambert gestured to Ciri who had wandered away from him to browse over the display of various spiked cuffs and brightly coloured necklaces for sale.
"I've experience with both. I did my apprenticeship and got my qualifications under Cedric and Axel and have many niblings and foster siblings, as you probably already know if you know Cedric."
Lambert nodded. Cedric and the others ran a tight ship, they wouldn't allow Aiden to work here if he didn't meet their standards, "Ciri." He called, dragging the girls attention from a plastic unicorn necklace she'd been eyeing up "This is Aiden, he's going to do your piercings, ok?"
Ciri scrutinized him for a couple of seconds before giving a nod. Aiden grinned back.
"And what are we going for today. Nose, belly button? No don't tell me... eyebrow!"
Ciri giggled, "My daddy said I can get my ears pierced for my birthday."
"Oh really?" He threw a quick look at Lambert and something in his expression closed off, "Well let's get some studs picked out and then we'll get you all comfy and set up."
"Can I use the bathroom first, please?"
"Just through there, sweetie." Aiden said, gesturing to the lime green door behind her before placing one of the standard forms in front of Lambert, "We'll do the boring paperwork in the meantime."
"I'm not daddy by the way." Lambert blurted out after a couple of minutes spent in awkward silence.
"Huh?"
"I'm her uncle." He held the form out for the other whilst trying his damned hardest not to stare at those lips.
"Well," Aiden deliberately brushed his fingers against Lambert's as he went to take it, voice pitched lower as his eyes slowly looked Lambert up and down, "If you ever want to be someone's Daddy, I wouldn't be opposed."
Before Lambert could even think of a response to that Ciri returned and Aiden was back to being professional, yelling for Dragonfly to come watch the front before showing his newest client all of the different earrings she could choose from and having a serious discussion about red Vs. blue as if he hadn't just made Lambert's brain short circuit. Dragonfly chimed in with her opinion every now and then too whilst throwing a smirk at Lambert which left him wondering how much of that exchange the petite, heavily tattooed blonde might have heard.
Lambert was ready to leave at a moments notice as Ciri glanced around Aiden's workspace, sitting stiffly and looking far too small in the leather chair.
"Ok Ciri, we're all ready to go." Aiden settled on a stool next to her, angling himself so the tray bearing the bright pink studs (and more importantly, the needle) was out of Ciri's eyeline, "Now, you look a teeny bit nervous there so would you like me to explain everything to you or just shut up and get on with it?"
"Could you tell me please? I don't like not knowing what's happening."
Ten minutes later, after having Aiden show her everything he was going to be using and answering all her questions, a much calmer Ciri was staring at the far wall trying to count all of the band stickers which had been put there and added to over the years, with Lambert sat on the now vacated stool by her feet "Feel free to swear kid. We won't say anything if you don't."
"Absolutely." Aiden agreed, "Ok. And 3...2...1"
"BUTTS!"
Lambert rolled his eyes heavenwards whilst Aiden looked like he was trying to hold in a laugh.
"Well, I can honestly say I've never had anyone scream 'butts' in my face before now. You got a poop to go with it? 3...2...1"
"POOP!"
"I need to be having a word with her dad if she thinks butts is a swear." Lambert muttered as he paid, Ciri back to hanging around the jewellery display and proudly showing off her new piercings to Dragonfly.
"Oh come on. It was pretty hilarious." Aiden chuckled somewhat awkwardly, "Hey, I'm sorry if I came on a little too strong earlier by the way. Sometimes my mouth shoots off before my brain kicks in."
Lambert made sure Ciri was suitably distracted before leaning in closer, "It's not your mouth I want to make shoot off."
The hitched breath he got in response was incredibly satisfying.
"Uncle Lambert, look what Dragonfly gave me!" Ciri yelled, breaking the moment and holding up the unicorn necklace from earlier.
"For the birthday girl." Dragonfly looked a little too smug and Lambert was going to figure out a way to get revenge.
"Well then...if there's nothing else I can help with today...?"
"Actually-"
Vesemir sighed, shaking his head in defeat as he caught sight of Lambert, "Please tell me taking Ciri wasn't just a cover for that. What on earth were you thinking?"
Lambert merely waggled his eyebrows in response, the new gold bar in the left catching the light as he did. Right now he was thinking getting an impulsive piercing to give the pretty guy a reason to touch him wasn't the dumbest thing he'd ever done by a longshot. Especially when said pretty guy gave him his private number afterwards "Incase you have any problems with aftercare."
He smirked as he fished out his phone, firing off a message to Aiden inviting him to find out sometime exactly how seriously he took aftercare.
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hajoon-iz-won · 9 months ago
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Tumblr media
Best First Time Ever!
PAIRINGS: non-idol Heeseung x reader
SUMMARY: Y/N, a twenty-year-old girl, was determined to have her best first time ever at a club. She had grown up in a small town with conservative parents who didn't seem to care about her dating life or losing her virginity. Now, she thought it was easier to find someone to feel good with for a night at a club than trying to maintain an actual relationship.
WARNINGS:
smut, fluff, 18+ mdni
Dom!Heeseung, Sub!reader, gentle domHeeseung, fingering, size kink, breeding kink, reader loses her virginity, dirty talk, mentions of alcohol and getting drunk, pet names(baby, sweetheart, angel), creampie, aftercare
Word Count: 6.1k
Today would have been the day. Y/N was resolved that today would have been the day. It wasn't like she did this kind of thing frequently — no, she was undeniably more calm concentrating on in her dorm than in clearly clubs and hitting the dance floor with outsiders. In any case, she'd had enough of being prodded by her friends and roommate. "Twenty years of age, you're truly still a virgin? ” She had recently never felt like it made a difference, and zeroing in on her examinations had forever been the need. Among that and working, she hadn't actually had a lot of chance to zero in on dating, considerably less losing her virginity. In any case, presently… ?
Indeed, she guessed it was far more straightforward to simply track down somebody to feel quite a bit better with for a night at a club than need to disrupt her timetable by attempting to keep a genuine relationship. Indeed, even still, she was somewhat anxious. "Goodness, come on, you will be fine. You look perfect; it'll benefit you to get out for an evening!" Her closest friend offered her a smile and an energetic wink, the blonde lady throwing a simple arm around the more youthful young lady's shoulder. "I endeavored to make you look this great; I'll be cursed assuming I let you back down of flaunting my craftsmanship," Gaeun prodded, directing Y/N towards the entry of the club. "Plus, would you say you are truly having the college experience in the event that you don't look at a club no less than once? I'd prefer not to see my dearest friend denied of such a significant encounter! “ A low moan got away from Y/N, a hand moving upwards to card through dull dark red locks, emerald eyes looking at her companions faces. "I'm here, right? I'm not going to chicken out. I just. Do you have a peculiar outlook on being here? I don't actually have the foggiest idea acceptable behavior in places like this," she conceded. Not that that was actually her issue; she'd be quick to concede that she had grown up extraordinarily protected. Regardless, she realized she was the cliché illustration of that modest community young lady, having experienced childhood with a little ranch with her conservative mother and father.
It wasn't so much that they had been purposefully attempting to conceal the world from her possibly; she just questioned they had a lot of interest in cooperating with such things themselves, so how could they teach their sweet young lady on it? Also, sex? God, sex was, obviously, not discussed. Sex was marriage, and marriage alone, they had demanded, and she would have no need to be familiar with it up to that point. No doubt, as though. Culture shock was likely the most ideal way to depict what she had felt after leaving that modest community interestingly. Her college was situated in a major city, all things considered, many miles from the solace of her home and family. Furthermore, things were… So unique here.
Indeed, even now, two years in the wake of disappearing for school, she still now and again winds up attempting to change. This, however, wanted to beat a major wall for her. "I guarantee we'll have a great time," Gaeun guaranteed, snatching her hand and pulling her inside. "This is my #1 club in the city. It generally has the best music, the beverages are modest, and there aren't a lot of wet blankets." The principal thing Y/N saw as they moved toward the entryways and she was accordingly pulled inside was the music. It was difficult to make out what it was precisely at the volume it was at, however there was a profound, beating bass that appeared to vibrate through her, resonating in a consistent heartbeat she'd up until recently never experienced. Emerald eyes went wide in shock at it, however it was nowhere near unsavory. “See? I told you, it's great, right? Come on." Another little pull, and Y/N wound up moving no sweat, energetic expectation and fervor for something new and exciting getting comfortable her bones, far offsetting her anxiety. The lights were darkened, countered by brilliant hued strobes that illuminated the room in dynamic, moving examples, creating weird shaded areas on bodies moving and moving together to the beat on the dance floor. The music droned, stronger now than when they'd originally entered, and she wound up more charmed than she suspected it would be. In the event that she could just allow herself to unwind… All things considered, this really seemed to be loads of tomfoolery.
After an hour, Y/N had concluded she most certainly owed Gaeun for hauling her out. She was having a great time, body influencing against others to the profound, thundering bass of the music generally around her, liquor in her veins, and disposing of any excess uneasiness. Gaeun had vanished into the group some time prior, immovably pulling on the hand of a man she had met at the bar while getting them drinks, leaving Y/N all alone to partake in the music. Her head felt light even as she advanced toward the bar, rapidly requesting another fruity beverage. They were delightful, and she was satisfied that she could scarcely taste the nibble of liquor in them, something she'd been watchful about. The pleasantness of peach moved on her tongue as she roosted at the bar, tasting at her beverage joyfully.
“You might want to slow down there, sweetheart.” The voice was deep and rumbling, amusement coloring its tone as a large man moved to slide onto the stool beside her. “You don’t look like you frequent places like this, not if the way you’re drinking is any indication. That’ll hit you like a truck—it tastes good, but it’s dangerous as hell if you aren’t looking to get completely drunk.” The stranger hummed, chocolate eyes glittering with amusement.
The man was certainly older than her; that was the first thing Y/N noticed as hazy green eyes raked over him. Salt and pepper black and gray hair. At least 6 feet tall to her small-statured five foot five. A firm, chiseled jawline that looked like it could have been sculpted by a damned artist. Actually, the rest of him looked like it might have been too—the tight black t-shirt and denim jeans did nothing to hide broad shoulders and a muscular chest.
For a moment, her mouth damn near watered. God, he was handsome. How it was that the other women here weren’t flocking around him, she would never understand. But she certainly wasn’t going to complain, even if she made a face at him, sticking out her tongue. “Is it really that obvious? “
“Absurdly so. Might as well be written on your face.” He chuckled. “So, I know it’s cliché, but I gotta ask. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing all alone at the bar? It seems you should be with someone, dancing and having a good time.”
A giggle escaped her, covering her pink, freckled cheeks with a hand to hide it. “You’re right, that definitely was cliché. Lucky you, you’re right about me being new to all this, so I haven’t heard it a thousand times. I’m with my friend. She’s…” A vague wave of her hand towards the crowd of bodies. “Somewhere in there? She made a new “friend,” and they’re dancing. I just wanted another one of these,” she explained, holding up her drink. “And what about you? A handsome man like yourself, you didn’t come here with someone? What did little old me do to get attention?”
She immediately wanted to cringe and groan. Way to go, Y/N; that was definitely not smooth. He’s going to think you’re an idiot. And I mean, you came here looking for a good time. Well, here’s a guy way out of your league who might just be interested if you could play it cool for half a second.
The stranger laughed, a deep rumbling sound that reverberated through her almost as easily as the music did, the pink on her cheeks deepening. “Nah, I came alone. Name’s Heeseung. And when you’re done with that drink, I’d love to take you out on the floor for a dance, if you wanted mind.” He rolled his eyes, clearly amused. “Come on now, sweetheart. Surely you know how pretty you are, huh? I got eyes in my head. Was a little amazed you weren’t surrounded by men. Clear down the block.”
“Y/N.” She returned, offering her hand, before raising a brow. “Well, aren’t you a sweet talker? Hmmm. You know what they say, Heeseung, flattery will get you everywhere.” She teased, finishing up her drink before standing, wibbling only slightly. “A dance sounds great.”
He didn't hesitate to reach out and steady her, curling her hand within his much larger one as he led her towards the dance floor. “Well damn, it looks like a lucky night for chivalry.” He teased her back, drawing her against that broad chest as they began to sway. “So, Miss Y/N, what would you normally be doing on a night like tonight, if not being too pretty for words at a dingy bar?”
She couldn’t resist snorting in amusement, rolling her eyes up at him. “Silly. I’d typically be in my dorm studying, I suppose. I’m a student at the university. Biology major, nothing too interesting, I’m afraid.” A rueful smile settled on her lips, even as she melted into him, one arm draping around his neck. God, she felt so damned tiny against him, something deep and primal screaming at her about how safe and strong being in his arms felt. Yes, he was definitely perfect for her intended foray into adventure.
“Nothing too interesting, she says, like understanding science isn’t an incredible feat,” he shot back, a playful smile on his lips. “I ain’t anything so clever or fancy. I’m a firefighter. It is tough, dirty work, but it needs to be done. At the very least, I get to come home each night feeling like I’ve made some kind of difference,” he admitted, even as he drew her closer. “Have to admit, this isn’t my usual kind of scene either; the loud noise bothers me sometimes. But tonight? Well, damn, tonight I’m glad I came.”
“I’m glad I did too,” she admitted, her free hand settling on his chest. “Handsome and a firefighter? Gotta say, you’re ticking my boxes left and right here.” Y/N teased, leaning up on her toes to brush her lips along his jaw, the alcohol thrumming in her veins long since waving goodbye to any inhibitions she might have. He was strong, gorgeous, and seemingly kind. She wanted him to take her apart. She wasn’t even fully sure of what that meant, but God, her body knew on instinct alone that it had to be him.
“Glad to hear it, sweetheart.” He chuckled. “How many more boxes do you think it would take for me to check off before you let me kiss you?” Heeseung questioned, already cupping her jaw and guiding her gaze upwards to meet his own.
“Not even one.” It was all the warning she gave before she was leaning up on her toes, capturing his lips with her own. At least she knew how to do it—she’d kissed boys in high school and shared fleeting things with guys back home behind her family’s barn. Kissing Heeseung, though… It felt different and sent sparks of electricity rushing through her in a way the guys back home never had.
He didn't even question it. Immediately, he was drawing her closer, one hand sliding under her rear to lift her towards him as he leaned to meet her in kind. His tongue brushed along her lower lip, a silent bid for entry before he was pressing inside to taste her. Fuck, she tasted so sweet, like the peach and mango from the drink she had been sipping only moments before, with the slightest bite of vodka still on her tongue. He guided her slowly into the kiss and showed her how to move against him. He was all too happy to deepen it, to take the time to explore every inch of her, guiding her hips against his own from his hold on her. “Well, thank God, sweetheart.” He groaned against her lips. “Because I thought I was going to lose my mind if I didn’t get to do that soon.”
A soft moan escaped her, her”lips parting without hesitation as he deepened the kiss. It was as though she were running on autopilot, her body knowing exactly what it was that she was aching for, even if she herself didn’t, and it sought it out readily.
Why hadn’t she been allowing herself these delights sooner?
“Heeseung…” she mewled, her fingers tangling in raven locks and tugging as she melted into him, pressing against him more completely. “Please… It feels so good,” she admitted breathlessly, chasing his lips with her own the moment he drew back for breath, greedy for another. “If I asked really nicely, would you take me home and kiss me until I can’t think straight?” She questioned, her voice soft and needy. “Because I’d really like to be able to feel a little more than is appropriate for a dance floor in a dingy club.”
Heeseung raised a brow at her, her lips curving upward in amusement. Forward little thing, wasn’t she? “I think we can certainly arrange that, sweetheart. Why don’t we get your things? You can text your friend; I’ll even give you my address to give her so she knows your safe,” he offered, leaning down to nuzzle into her throat teasingly, suckling at smooth caramel skin until violet began to blossom beneath his touch. “Because frankly, I think I’d like to do a lot more than a dance floor allows for too.”
“Deal.” She agreed, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards the coat check. A moment later, she was typing out a text to Gaeun with the details of where she’d be and not to worry, letting Heeseung draw her into his side all too contentedly. He was strong, he was warm, and he was broad. It was as though she fit perfectly against him, as though she had been made to be there.
“I called us a cab while you were texting your friend,” he told her, brushing a kiss on her head and waving down the taxi when it appeared.
Ten minutes later, he was helping her out of the car, leading her to the front step of a cozy-looking white house. She wobbled slightly on her feet, leaning against him for support, even as she clutched at his sleeve. Maybe he was right, and that last drink was a mistake, she mused, all too happy to let him guide her inside.
She wasted no time in pouncing, pressing his larger frame to the door with renewed fervor once it had closed, stealing his lips with her own in a greedy kiss. “Fuck….. can’t tell you how good kissing you feels.” She admitted, her arms winding around his neck, her body pressing against him once more. “Girl could get addicted if she’s not careful.”
Heeseung growled low against her lips, shifting them until her back pressed to the wall, legs under her thighs lifting her, and guiding her legs around his hips as he met each kiss in kind. “You’re one to talk, sweetheart. Such a sweet little thing, you have no idea.” His tongue once more invaded her mouth, taking control with ease, even as she rolled her hips against him feverishly, instinctively telling her to seek out the sweet friction she was missing out on currently. Her head felt hot; it felt like the world was spinning, like she was burning alive in the best way possible, like she couldn’t get a grip on anything.
Y/N woke up in a strange room, nestled down in a bed that was far too comfortable to be her dorm bed. The blankets were soft on her skin, and early morning light cast rays against the bottom of the bed as she sat up, rubbing at her eyes tiredly. Just what in the hell happened last night? Emerald eyes glanced down, widening in surprise. Okay, so the shirt she was in definitely wasn’t hers. For a moment, panic welled up inside of her, glancing around her surroundings frantically until she noticed what lay on the nightstand—a glass of water, two painkillers, and a note.
Morning Sweetheart;
First off, don’t worry. We didn’t go past kissing last night. That last drink of yours hit you pretty fast, and I wasn’t about to take advantage. Here are some painkillers. I imagine your head is hurting. Your clothes are washed and folded on the dresser. When you’re ready, come on downstairs, darlin’. I should have breakfast ready for you by then.
-Heeseung
All at once, it came rushing back to her. The loud, thudding music. She had strong hands on her and a broad waist beneath her legs. Lips met hers feverishly as she stole kiss after kiss. She had suddenly been dizzy and exhausted, barely even able to keep her eyes open. He’d carried her to his room, given her a shirt to wear, and tucked her in for the night.
Well, fuck, that was embarrassing! What was he going to think of her now that she had gotten too drunk off a few fruity drinks to even stay awake? Goddammit… There went her chance to get rid of that stupid virginity too. Gratefully, she reached for the pills and water, popping them back with ease, even as she made a promise to herself to never drink again. It wasn’t worth it if the way her head was feeling right now was anything to go by.
Y/N groaned, dragging a hand down her face and setting the cup back on the nightstand. Okay, time to evaluate—she had options here. She could get dressed, sneak downstairs, and pretend like nothing had ever happened. Or she could stay burrowed in his shirt, go down to see what the breakfast he’d mentioned was, and see if he’d still let her try again. If she were being honest with herself, she would have preferred the second option. He was handsome, kind, and apparently caring enough to tuck a strange girl in his bed because she’d drank too much. She definitely wanted her first time to be with him.
Well. That settled it, then.
She slid out of bed, moving towards the dresser mirror long enough to run her fingers through her hair, making sure crimson curls at least looked presentable before padding down the hallway and a large staircase. The scent of bacon and eggs hit her immediately, making her mouth water as she followed it to where she presumed the kitchen to be. Silently, she walked up behind him, sliding slender arms around his waist from behind, burying her face in the broad expanse of uncovered, muscled back.
“Well, good morning to you too, baby.” He chuckled, glancing over his shoulder at her. “I’m guessing you found the note and painkillers, huh? Poor baby, I bet your head is pounding. Go sit down and get comfy. Breakfast just needs to be plated up. Bacon and eggs will get rid of any hangover you might have, I promise.”
Y/N found herself reluctant to let go, brushing a soft kiss between his shoulder blades before forcing herself to take a step back. “I did. Thank you so much for that, by the way. I’m so sorry I fell asleep; you must think me such an idiot.” She groaned, dragging a tired hand down her face, even as she obediently perched in one of the kitchen chairs. “I promise, I really did want to come home with you. I wanted you. Want you.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that we’re at least still on the same page, princess.” He hummed, plating up her food and setting it in front of her, kissing her head tenderly before taking a seat opposite the girl. “Nah, I don’t think you’re an idiot. You already told me it was your first time out like that. I’m guessing it was your first time drinking too?” A little laugh escaped him at the glum nod of her head, the crimson dancing along freckled caramel cheeks. “It’s alright, baby. You eat up, and if you still want me after you have some food in your stomach, well…The corner of his lips tilted upwards in an amused little smirk. “I’m sure we can figure out what to do about that.”
She paused, her emerald eyes widening and her hand pausing with the fork mid-air as her gaze shot up to meet his. “Really? Even after all that, you still want me?” She questioned, shy hesitation creeping into her voice.
“Mmm. Maybe you just look too good in my shirt, sweetheart. Maybe I haven’t been able to stop thinking about kissing you, feeling you under my hands. Maybe I dreamed about how pretty you’d look coming undone.” Heeseung hummed calmly, as though the admission were nothing at all, though mischief twinkled in his eyes as he lifted his coffee mug to his lips, taking a long sip. “First things first, though. Eat. I promise it’ll make you feel much better.” He cajoled softly.
“Alright, alright.” She agreed, though the crimson on her cheeks remained. Admittedly….. The bacon and eggs looked and smelled utterly delicious. And when she had finished moments later, she had to admit it was already helping her feel a little bit better, her migraine finally beginning to let up.
Y/N paused for a moment before she was sliding out of her seat, padding around the table to slip onto his lap, straddling him carefully, and draping her arms around her neck. Was it far bolder than she normally was? Yes, but God, she ached for this man. Had been aching. “I should probably warn you,” she admitted, even as she instinctively rolled her hips down against him. “I’ve never done this before, so I may not know exactly what I’m doing.”
A low groan escaped him as she rocked against him, the shirt doing little to act as a barrier between them. “Hey, that’s completely okay, sweetheart. I know more than enough for both of us, okay? All I need you to do is tell me if anything is too much.” He dipped his head, lips brushing along her throat, leaving a scatter of dark marks in their wake. God, she looked beautiful with his marks, and he couldn't help but commit each little mewl that fell from her lips to memory.
“Tell you what, baby. Why don’t we start nice and easy, huh? I’ll pick you up, real safe and sound, and carry you upstairs. We can take a nice, hot shower together. I’ll kiss the ever-loving hell out of you and get you feeling nice and relaxed for me, hmm? I promise, I’ll take such good care of you.” He kissed his way back up her jaw, cupping her face as he stole her lips with his own. He could get drunk off kissing her; he knew he could.
“Fuck…” she moaned, tipping her head to grant him access to her throat, her fingers tangling in dark locks and clutching on tightly. “Heeseung, please~! “She mewled, unsure of what exactly it was she was asking for. All she knew was that she needed more, needed everything this man could show her, could give her. It was as though some deep, primal part of her had now awoken and was aching only for him.
She met the kiss in kind, heat pooling once more in her stomach, blinding and hot as it coiled and uncoiled, slick already pooling between her thighs, dampening the soft lace that lay between her legs. Even though this had her delirious from pleasure, how much better would it be when she had him touching her? “Shower sounds good.” She agreed breathlessly. “God, yeah, I want that. I want you to touch me so badly. I want you to teach me. Please, Heeseung? ”
“How on earth can I say no to that?” He picked her up with ease, guiding her legs back around his hips as he made quick work of carrying her up to the bathroom, settling her onto the counter with another feverish kiss. “Good girl. Not much longer now, I promise I’ll give you everything you need. Just be a good girl and wait just a moment longer for me.” He ordered softly, reluctantly drawing back. He set to work, turning on the shower, adjusting the temperature until it was just right before kicking off his own sleep pants and turning back to her.
Her mouth goddamn near watered at the sight of him. Firm, muscled thighs to match the rest of him, and… Oh God, he was already so hard. Surely not all of that would be able to fit inside of her! She took a breath, licking her lips in anticipation, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him just yet.
“Come here, beautiful,” he cajoled, helping her back off the counter before his fingers hooked in the hem of his shirt, tugging soft cotton up and over her head. “So gorgeous. You make me want to absolutely ravish you, baby. Cover you in my marks so no man can touch you but me.” A low, possessive growl escaped him as he drew her close, dipping his head to nip along her collarbone, even as his once large, calloused hand lifted to gently cradle her breast. “So perfect for me, I bet you’ll be an angel coming undone.”
A moan left her as his thumb brushed along her nipple teasingly, pressing her hips against him. The feeling of his cock pressing against her was all at once terrifying and thrilling. Shy fingers moved until they could slide between their bodies, curling around him curiously.
Heeseung couldn’t help but moan, tipping his head against her shoulder and nipping at the soft caramel skin once more. “Fuck….. feels good, baby.” Reluctantly, he drew away from her, kissing her head. “Into the shower, sweetheart. I promise I’ll keep touching you, but at this rate, we’ll never make it in.”
His fingers hooked In the hem of her pants, letting them slide down her thighs, before he caught her hand in his own, guiding her under the hot spray carefully, just to step in behind her. It was no hard task to tug her back to his chest, running his hands smoothly over her skin beneath the hot spray. One hand cupped a supple breast once more, the other sneaking it’s way down over her stomach. “Remember, if anything doesn’t feel good, I need you to tell me, okay? ”
The hand continued Its journey downward, drawing needy whines and mewls from her lips as they slid between her thighs, stroking over slick folds. “You’re already so hot and wet for me, aren’t you, Y/N? ”He groaned, the digits easing inside to stroke over the delicate little nub above her entrance, teasing it with skillful little twists of his fingertips against her.
Oh. Oh, that felt incredible. Her eyes widened, a sharp and needy whine escaping her lips as she leaned back into him, her hips rocking into his touch. “Heeseung, please! “Y/N gasped, reaching out to clutch at the wall for purchase. “Oh God, don’t stop, please.”
It was unlike anything she had ever felt before—hot and sharp, the heat in her stomach coiling even tighter as his fingers slid lower, two easing inside. Her legs trembled, weak in the knees, as he wrapped a strong arm around her waist to steady her.
There’s a good girl… Fuck, you feel so hot and tight around my fingers, sweetheart. I bet you’ll feel even better around my cock.” He crooned, his voice a husky rumble in her ear before his lips were once again finding her throat. It was as though he couldn’t get enough—something deep and possessive urging him to leave more and more marks until it would be impossible to miss them.
God, he ached to bury himself in her right now. But he had to be patient. He wanted her to be nice and relaxed for him, and he wanted her first time to be good to her. It was something special she was offering up to him, and he would be damned if he wasted that. “Come on, sweetheart.” He moaned low against her throat, beginning to thrust the digits into her. It wouldn’t take much, he imagined, if no one had touched her this way, and he wanted to watch her fall apart on his fingers before he took her to his bed.
Heat bubbled within her, blindingly hot and dizzying, as she rocked into his touch, desperate to meet each thrust of his fingers in kind. It felt strange; it felt foreign, but it felt amazing. Even just the two digits stretched her open more than she’d ever had before, and when he curled his fingertips to drag along slick walls, she swore she’d seen stars.
He was definitely the right choice.
A moment later, she found herself tipping over the edge, unable to hold back, as her first orgasm hit her hard and fast. “Heeseung!” The cry was sharp, bouncing off the tiled walls to echo through the room as he continued rocking the digits within her, helping her ride out her high.
“Good girl. That’s my good girl,” he praised, slowly pulling the digits out. He chuckled at her whine, kissing the top of her head. “I know. I know, sweetheart. But I don’t think my fingers are enough, huh? So I’m going to pick you up and carry you to my bed. I’m going to lay you out pretty beneath me, and I’m going to make sure you scream.
He turned her carefully, scooping her up bridal style, stealing kiss after feverish kiss as he stepped out of the shower, careful not to slip. He didn’t care that they were both soaked; the sheets would dry. No, all that mattered right now was burying himself in her, making this pretty little thing his.
Y/N clutched on tightly as she was carried, brushing soft, needy kisses and nips to his neck and shoulders as he held her close. All her inhibitions and nerves melted away into nothing—no, there was only this handsome man and his skillful touch. She had no idea that it could be like this, and it was dizzying how badly she wanted more.
Heeseung laid her out gently, guiding her legs apart before moving between them and stealing her lips in a feverish kiss. He wasted no time—no, he needed her now. His hand gripped himself tight as he guided his aching cock against her folds, sinking home in one firm thrust, burying himself to the hilt within her.
Her moan was lost against his lips, her sharp gasp swallowed down as his tongue once more invaded her mouth, exploring every crevice it could, claiming it as his own as his cock did the same. It was overwhelming, but not bad. She felt so damn full. The stretch burned just a little, but that did nothing to diminish her desire. If anything, it left her feeling even more sensitive, with her arms draping around his neck and her legs hooking around his waist.
“Heeseung… fuck fuck fuck, please!”
It seemed as though he needed to be told twice. His hands cupped her hips and slid under her rear as he began to set a fast, hard pace, using his grip on her to guide her up into each rough, unforgiving thrust. “Fuck baby, you feel so good. All mine now; you know that, don’t you? I’m going to fill you up, sweetheart; I’m going to fill you up with my cum; I’m going to claim you inside and out.” He was unsure where the words came from; he’d never been the possessive type, but something about her drove him wild. She was just so damn perfect for him. “Going to breed you, baby, going to fill you so good your stomach swells, so good everyone knows you’re off limits.”
She didn’t know why the idea of that got to her the way it did. She’d never been interested in even the idea of having kids, and the notion of actually being kept had always been more viewed as a hindrance to her schooling and her future career plans. And yet, the thought of her stomach swelling up with his child and of him actually wanting to keep her was even more intoxicating to her.
“Do it!” She mewled, her fingers tangling in his hair, drawing him back in for another desperate kiss. “Please, fuck, I want that so badly, Heeseung. I want everyone to know I’m yours! God, I need it, I need to be full, please, please, please. I’ll be so good for you, please.”
It was as though he had awakened something deep within her and left her wanting for him alone. Each sharp, hard thrust stole her breath and had her gasping and mewling as she writhed beneath him, unable to do much more than simply hang on for the ride.
“I’m so close, baby girl. Just a little more, and I’ll fill you up.” He promised, kissing her over and over again. If he had his way, he was never letting her go. She was his now, and he’d do everything in his power to convince her to stay. One last sharp, and he was spilling himself inside of her with a sharp growl, stealing her lips in one last domineering kiss as he pressed deep, let his seed fill her completely.
Her body tightened around him, as though trying to milk him for everything he had, the feeling of hot liquid rushing inside of her sending her over the edge once more. Her fingers found his back, her nails clawing and scratching as she scrabbled for purchase to ride out her moans and sobs of delight escaping her lips.
He fucked her through It hard before finally falling beside her, rolling them until he was comfortably on his back, drawing her to lay atop him in a way that let him stay buried in that slick heat, dragging a comforter up over them.
“Feeling good, baby?” he questioned, carding a gentle hand through her hair even as she snuggled all too contentedly into him. God, she was cute…
“So good,” she agreed, her voice breathless and sleepy as she nuzzled into his chest. “Did you really mean it? About keeping me? ”
“I did,” Heeseung promised, surprised to find just how much he meant that. “I know it might be a little bit backwards considering… but I’d really like to try this with you, sweetheart. I hate the idea of you leaving my arms, of you being too far away. Is that alright, baby? I know you have your studies, and I have work, and both those things can be a little crazy. But if you let me, I promise I’ll do such a good job taking care of you.”
“I…” She hesitated for only a moment, biting her lip nervously. It was supposed to only be a one-night stand, just her taking control to lose her virginity and shut up her friends. But if this handsome, strong man who made her feel so fucking good and so incredibly safe actually wanted her… Who was she to say no?
“Alright,” she agreed softly, brushing kisses along his collarbone sleepily. “I can’t promise I’ll be any good at this; I haven’t really dated very much, and school has always been my priority. But if you really want to try this, we can try.” Y/N agreed, her eyes heavy.
Heeseung couldn’t help a fond chuckle, her hand sliding to caress her back sweetly beneath the blanket. She was so damn cute. “There’s my good girl. I’ll help you learn, okay? We’ll figure it out together as we go. Poor little honey, I think that second orgasm really hit you hard. Why don’t you get some sleep, sweetheart? We can figure it all out when…” He paused, glancing down at her. Her eyes were closed, her breathing steady, and her fingers curled against his chest. “Huh. Guess I didn’t need to do much coaxing there.” He murmured to himself, rolling his eyes in amusement.
Content that she was safe and happy, he let his own eyes grow heavy, joining her in sleep a moment later.
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