#the hot pink and electric blue don’t work super well to me and i think the designs are just all over the place | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hrina · 5 years ago

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Polished

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 15.6k REQUESTED: nope!

hi everyone 💘 this is the bodyguard AU that i’ve spent all week writing. she’s another long one (i think i have a problem lol) but i worked really hard on it and i’m super proud of how it all turned out. i really hope you like it! if you do, please feel free to leave me some feedback here.

thank u to the people who acted as my betas for portions/the entirety of this fic: @emotionally-imbruised, @gucciwoodnymph, @poppunkdork and @atlafan! i appreciate it so much!

warning: this fic contains mentions of blood, minor violence, attempted assault, weaponry, and a single use of the f-slur. if any of this makes you uncomfortable, please keep scrolling.

with all of that being said, enjoy! i can’t wait to hear ur thoughts 💖

~*~

September 18, 2020

“Cheers!”

The tequila burns its way down your throat as you toss the shot back. Your ears are ringing, the sound amplified by the music pulsing through the nightclub. Lights flash from the ceiling, bathing everything in pinks and blues and greens and purples. To your right, Sydney leans forward, smiles toothily, and yells something at the bartender. You think she might be telling him that it’s her birthday, even though that won’t be true for another month—perhaps it’s an attempt to secure an additional round of drinks. Your hips sway unconsciously as you sink your teeth into a slice of lime.

It’s a Friday night.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch the bartender nodding with a permissive smile on his face.

It’s a Friday night, and Sydney is handing you another shot of tequila.

Someone places their hand on the small of your back as they pass. A little zap of electricity races down your spine.

It’s a Friday night, Sydney is handing you another shot of tequila, and you’re drunk. You’re very, very drunk.

The pinch of salt that you lick off your hand stings the edge of your tongue. You don’t reflect on the sensation for too long, though, choosing instead to tip your shot glass back and let the alcohol run its course. The bottom of the glass thuds against the countertop when you slam it down, but the noise is lost amidst the heavy bass pouring through the club. Sydney smiles up at you as she bites into her lime, a green grin. You laugh.

“So!” your friend screams, grimacing at the sour aftertaste lingering on her lips. “Where’s Harry?”

“What?” You squint and lean in, bending down slightly so that you can hear her properly.

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and repeats the question: “Where’s Harry?”

“Oh!” You smirk, shooting her a mischievous wink. “Managed to shake him off for the night!”

“No shit!” Sydney yells, her jaw dropping. “He let you come?”

You pucker your lips, averting your gaze. “Er…not exactly.”

In response, her eyes widen, and she just laughs. You grin when she slaps your arm gently and grabs your wrist, tugging you away from the bar and into the dancing crowd.

“Who cares?” she says loudly, throwing her hands toward the ceiling and shaking her hips. “He’s got a stick up his ass either way!”

Despite your inebriated state, part of you longs to correct her. He’s actually not that bad, you want to say, because it’s true. In public, Harry is stoic and reserved and always on high alert, but that’s because he has to be. It’s his job. You resent the fact that he intimidates your friends, and that it complicates your outings, but you don’t resent him. He’s been assigned to you for two years now, and there’s never been an incident—you wonder if it’s because he’s good at what he does, or because you don’t really need protection after all.

All this time…perhaps your mother was just overly paranoid. And perhaps she continues to be overly paranoid, even to this day.

You shake those thoughts from your mind; they’ll just give you a headache.

Another hand lands on the small of your back, but this time, the contact isn’t fleeting. Fingers pinch and tug at the material of your shirt, relentless. You’re about to whip around and demand that this badgering stranger unhand you, but then a pair of lips are right at the shell of your ear. Hot air fans down your neck—you shiver.

“Why do you insist on making my job so much harder than it has to be?”

~*~

Harry doesn’t speak a word after ushering you into the car. The whole ride back, you sit with your arms crossed, staring out the window and trying to shake off your dizziness. A deep pout is etched into your lips. Your somber expression doesn’t shift, not even when Harry pulls up to the tall metal entrance of your estate, punching in a code on the keypad and sticking his head out of the driver window to undergo a retinal scan. He settles back into his seat afterward, blinking rapidly and waiting for the front gates to creak open.

“How’d you find me?” you slur as you stumble into your bedroom. It’s the first time you’ve spoken since he dragged you out of the club.

Harry doesn’t answer as you make your way over to your bed; your room is large, rivalling the size of an overpriced studio apartment. The furniture is all carved from the finest mahogany, and a glass chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Tall, full-length windows are framed by satin curtains. On the opposite wall stands the door to your private washroom, and next to it, the entrance to your walk-in closet. It’s lavish, it’s luxurious, but it does nothing to ease the situation at hand.

“What?” you ask, plopping down onto your bed. You lift one foot up, fiddling with the strap around your ankle. “Ignoring me for the night?”

You purse your lips as you struggle to get your heels off. Your head is swimming, and a deep feeling of shame is blossoming in your chest. Groaning loudly, you smack your hands down against the duvet and squeeze your eyes shut.

Footsteps approach, but you pay them no mind. You only open your eyes once you feel a pair of rough—albeit nimble—fingers dance down your shin. Through the slight blur in your vision, you find Harry kneeling before you, his hands working deftly to unclasp the strap on each ankle and gently tug your shoes from your feet. You wiggle your toes, sighing appreciatively.

“Thank you,” you murmur, swallowing heavily.

He only grunts in response.

The two of you sit there in silence—you on your duvet and him on his haunches. He’s looking down at the ground, and you take the moment to study his features—the sharp bridge of his nose, the fluttering of his eyelashes, the twisting of his lips. His black suit fits him well, filled out in all the right places; gold cufflinks glint in the moonlight. He’s attractive, and you’re not blind. But your relationship is strictly professional, no matter how much you like to think that the two of you have grown close enough to be friends.

“Find my iPhone,” Harry mutters suddenly.

“What?”

You recoil. He looks up at you with piercing green eyes, and only then do you realise that he’s answering your initial question.

“Oh,” you say, nodding. “Well…good to know.”

His lips twitch.

You wobble into the washroom, trying your best to rub off the makeup on your face despite your inebriated state. Somewhere beneath the buzz, you know that you didn’t get all of it—and that there’ll probably be dried crusts of mascara beneath your eyes tomorrow—but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“You missed some.”

You jump, your gaze snapping upward. In the reflection of the mirror, Harry is leaning against the doorway. You groan, raking your fingers through your hair.

“Don’t worry about it,” you mumble.

Harry’s brows creep up his forehead, surprise evident on his face. “Aren’t you always telling me that it’s important to take it all off before bed?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m smarter when I’m sober.”

He snorts. “Good one.”

You frown.

He pushes off from the doorway, stepping closer to you and reaching for the pack of discarded makeup wipes. When his eyes meet yours in the mirror, he tilts his head to the side, gesturing to the toilet on your right.

“Sit.”

You pout like a child, plopping down onto the ceramic lid and waiting impatiently. Harry takes his sweet time, slowly pulling a wipe from the package and unfurling it gingerly. You’re momentarily entranced by the way the rings on his fingers sparkle in the light. But then a yawn tears past your lips, and you begin to tap your foot against the bathroom tiles, letting out an annoyed sigh.

“C’mon. I’m tired.”

He shoots you a stern look. It’s enough to shut you up.

You watch him intently as he crouches down in front of you and grabs your chin between his fingers. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs. The deep baritone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

His ministrations aren’t as tender as they should be—you make it a point to tell him as much.

“You’re rubbing too harshly,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut. “Be gentler with it.”

“Quiet,” Harry huffs.

Spurred on by his irritation, you continue: “Are you always this rough? Your poor girlfriend…”

He grits his teeth.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he deadpans. You whimper when he drags the wipe unforgivingly over the delicate skin of your eyelids. “But if I did,” he adds, “she’d like it rough.”

Your shoulders stiffen once his words sink in. He says nothing else, choosing instead to crumple the wipe up into a ball and toss it in the garbage. You follow his movements with wide eyes, staring up at him as he stands.

“Brush your teeth,” he tells you, rubbing his fingers over his jawline. “Your breath stinks.”

And then he’s gone.

After a haphazard attempt at brushing your teeth, you shuffle back into your bedroom. Harry is still there, but he’s holding two pieces of fabric for you to take. You recognize them as the baggy t-shirt and the shorts that you usually wear to bed.

“Thank you,” you say, laying the material out on your mattress. Your lips part with another loud yawn as you unzip your skirt, letting it fall from your hips and pool around your ankles. When you cast a glance toward Harry, you find him facing away from you, his fingers laced behind his back.

Always a gentleman.

You tug on the soft, cotton shorts—the hem falls a few inches below your bottom. You reach behind your back, trying to thumb open the clasps of your shirt, but quickly grow frustrated as the seconds draw out.

“Harry,” you sigh, shaking your head.

“Yes?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Can you help me with this?”

Gingerly, he peers at you over his shoulder. Once he takes note of the fact that you’re dressed, he steps closer to you. You toss a thumb backward, gesturing to the column of buttons stacked along your spine.

Again, Harry manages the task easily. You stiffen as he parts the fabric of your shirt, your eyelids growing heavy with each new inch of skin exposed. Though he’s not standing nearly as close as you would like, you can still feel faint puffs of air floating across the nape of your neck. The room is silent; you’re afraid that he can hear your heart battering against the confines of your chest.

Do his hands linger a touch longer than necessary, or is it just your imagination?

“Thank you,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.

You pull your shirt off, leaving yourself in just a lacy black bra. Harry’s sharp intake of breath is audible, and then he’s whipping back around.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Give a guy a warning next time, yeah?”

“Next time?” you parrot, emboldened by the alcohol in your system. “Am I going to be stripping for you on a daily basis?”

He grunts. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

You smile to yourself, unclipping your bra and shrugging on the baggy t-shirt he’d given you. “I know.” You clear your throat. “You can turn around now. I’m decent.”

Harry glances over at you as you climb into bed, pulling the covers back and nuzzling your face into your pillow. He bites his bottom lip, crossing his arms over his chest and watching as you settle in for the night. Once your shuffling has ceased, he squares his shoulders, his gaze flitting toward the door.

“Well, if that’s everything—,” he starts, taking a step back.

“Wait!” you say, shooting up into a sitting position.

He freezes, his eyes going wide. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you reply. You shrug, picking at a loose thread on your duvet and avoiding his eyes. “Would you—I was just wondering if maybe—you could stay?”

“Stay,” Harry echoes. You nod, still refusing to look at him. He sighs, and the pet name that he seems to have reserved exclusively for you falls past his lips.

“Love…you’re drunk.”

“Exactly,” you shoot back. “I’m drunk and I just…it feels like I’m floating, and I need something to keep me grounded. And—” you groan, “I know that doesn’t make any sense, but could you please stay? Just—just until I fall asleep. Then you’re free to go, or whatever.”

Harry’s eyes are wide by the time you’re through with your little speech. His expression leaves you feeling even more embarrassed than before. You’re about to roll your eyes and grumble out a never mind, I’m being stupid, just leave, but then he’s approaching your bed cautiously, like you’re a deer that he doesn’t want to startle.

“Just until you fall asleep,” he confirms, drumming his fingers over his bicep.

You nod, expecting him to settle into the armchair a few feet away.

He doesn’t though; you watch attentively as he lowers himself down to sit at the edge of your mattress. His posture is stiff, back straight—he uncrosses his arms, but then locks his fingers together and places them securely in his lap. You hold back a laugh.

“You can relax, you know,” you say, rolling onto your side so that you can fix him with earnest eyes. “I won’t bite.” You pause. “Unless you’re into that kind of stuff.”

“I’ll leave,” Harry threatens without missing a beat.

You giggle, smothering your cheek into your pillow. “Fine, fine, I’m sorry.”

The ghost of a smile dances across his lips. Your eyes fall from his face to his lap; without thinking, you reach out, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and tugging his hands apart.

“It’s already chipping,” you say, a hint of admonishment seeping into your voice. “You should’ve let me put on the protective coat, dummy.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says, flexing his fingers in your grasp. “You’re just gonna redo them on Wednesday, anyway.”

“Still,” you murmur, thumbing over the purple varnish on his nails. You scrape your knuckles against his, letting out a quiet sigh. “What colour do you want next? Are we sticking with lavender again?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Let’s try something new.”

“I went shopping yesterday with Sydney and bought mint green,” you tell him through a yawn. “What do you think of that?”

“’S nice,” he replies, though it sounds like he’s far away.

You peer up at him through your lashes, only to find that he’s staring at you intently. Under normal circumstances, you would offer up a quip about how he can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you. But you’re tired, and you’re warm, and his hand is now stroking over yours, and you don’t want to ruin the moment.

Maybe he’ll stay the night, is your last thought before you drift off to sleep.

When you awaken the next morning with a pounding headache and a dry mouth, Harry’s gone. The only proof left of the night before is a tablet of ibuprofen and a glass of clear liquid sitting on your nightstand. The ceiling wavers above you; you might still be a little drunk.

You sit up, popping the pill into your mouth and knocking it back with a large swig of water. There’s a dull ache in your chest but you ignore it, opting instead to pull the covers back up over your head.

He didn’t stay. You try not to feel too disappointed as the realisation sinks in.

September 23, 2020

Harry is waiting for you once you get out of class.

Usually, you fall into step with him, ready with a teasing remark about how he must not have anything better to do with his time. He knows that the two of you probably look like quite the pair—you, with your bag and your coffee and your cheeky smirk, and him, resigned and rigid and expressionless. He would give anything to claw his way out of this situation, to smile along with you and laugh at your jokes and tuck your hair behind your ear. But he needs this job, and your mother loves him like a son, and he doesn’t want to do anything to screw that up.

Today, however, you leave class with a new friend. Harry’s entire body tenses when he notes just how closely the man is walking next to you. He follows the two of you from a safe distance, trying his best to be inconspicuous. You laugh at something that your companion says, and his jaw clenches—he pretends not to know why.

It feels like eons have passed before you and the man finally part ways. Harry doesn’t waste any time.

“Hey,” you say without even turning to look at him. When he glances down at you, he finds a shadowy smirk on your face.

“Hi,” he replies, clearing his throat. “Good class?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“That’s good.”

He blows out a breath, pushing through a door and holding it open for you to follow. You thank him softly, releasing a happy sigh as the warm sunlight hits your face. Harry’s gaze is drawn to the serenity of your features, but he looks away quickly. He’s not really in the mood to endure your taunts. Not today.

“So,” he starts as the two of you amble down the sidewalk, “you made a new friend?”

“Yeah,” you say, shouldering the strap of your messenger bag. “His name is Kevin. He’s nice.”

“He’s funny, too, I’m guessing.” The slightest tinge of bitterness seeps into his words. He hopes that you won’t notice, but of course, you’re as perceptive as ever.

You glance over at him, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

Harry keeps his eyes trained in front of him, where he can see a black car inching into view on the road ahead. Your chauffeur rolls down the window, lifting one hand in greeting. Harry waves back, his expression betraying nothing.

“It’s a good thing you know better, then, isn’t it?”

You laugh at his comeback, but the noise isn’t as cheerful as usual. If anything, it sounds a bit forced.

“Yeah,” you say. Harry opens the car door for you, and you climb into the backseat. “I guess it is.”

~*~

“Your hand is shaking.”

“It’s not my hand, it’s yours.”

“You’re smudging it.”

“Because you keep moving!”

You sigh, sitting back against the headboard of your bed and squeezing your eyes shut. You don’t need to see Harry to know that he’s fighting a smirk. The discography of your newest celebrity obsession is playing on your phone. Harry has told you multiple times that he hates this song—and that’s exactly why you have it on repeat.

“Can we please listen to something else?” he asks, shifting carefully on your bed.

You crack one eye open. “Can you stay still long enough for me to finish doing your nails?”

“Fine.”

You scoot closer to him, reaching for your phone and shuffling the songs in your library. Harry exhales in relief when a new, slower melody begins to trickle from the device. You toss it away, holding out your hand and looking at him expectantly. He lifts his chin, placing his fingers onto one of your crossed legs.

The sensation of his hand on your knee shouldn’t leave you breathless, but it does. You feel like his palm is burning a hole through your sweatpants. It’s been like this for as long as you can remember—painting his nails every Wednesday night, listening to music and enjoying each other’s company. Some evenings, conversation is scarce; others, it’s like you haven’t spoken in months. It doesn’t make a difference to you—you just like knowing that he’s there.

“How’d the call with your mum go?” Harry says. He makes a move to rest his chin against his fist before realising that the action will inevitably disrupt the polish on his other hand. You notice, smiling softly at the awkward moment.

“It went well,” you hum. Harry likes the way you purse your lips in concentration. “She’d landed in Amsterdam a couple hours prior. Called me when she got to the hotel.”

“That’s good.” He blows out a breath. “How long is she staying for?”

“A few months.”

“I see.”

You peer up at him, your eyes swimming with curiosity. “Do you know why she’s there?”

He shakes his head.

“Are you lying to me?”

“Love,” he starts, frowning gently, “you know she doesn’t—I’m not—she doesn’t keep me in her circle.”

“I know,” you say, somewhat mournfully. “I just thought—maybe she would’ve told you.”

A dejected crease forms on your forehead. Harry longs to lean forward and smooth it out with his lips. He hates when you get like this, but on the other hand, he can’t blame you. Surely, it must be difficult to be kept in the dark, especially for so long. It’s been years, and you’re still not exactly sure of what your mother has gotten herself into.

And despite your frequent questions about her trips, you’re not exactly sure if you want to know.

Silence ensues, and the two of you wordlessly agree to drop the topic—at least for tonight. You finish painting the nail on Harry’s middle finger, bending down and blowing cool air on the wet varnish in hopes of speeding up the drying process.

“Careful,” he warns when your hair tumbles over your shoulder. Without thinking, he reaches out, trying his best to gather the strands in one hand so that they don’t fall onto the freshly-painted nails splayed out over your knee.

You squawk in surprise, sitting back up and circling your fingers around his wrist. “What’d you do that for?” you say, admonishment evident in your tone. “You’re gonna screw these ones up!”

“I was just—!” he tries, but you shush him, scrutinising the semi-dry polish on his other hand. After a long moment, you sigh in relief, returning it and narrowing your eyes at him.

“You’re lucky,” you tell him, snorting quietly. “I would’ve killed you.”

“Like you could take me,” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Nothing.”

You smirk, peering down at the mint green covering three out of his five nails. Absentmindedly, you run your fingers over the hills of his knuckles, softly tweaking his pinky at the end of your journey.

“We’ve come a long way since the black, haven’t we?” you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice. “That was so boring.”

“It was.” Harry nods.

It’s comical, really—a big man like him, sitting cross-legged on your bed. A man covered in an intimidating black suit, hunched over and watching with wide eyes as you meticulously paint shiny varnish onto each one of his nails.

A year ago, you would have been reminding him of this at every available opportunity.

Now, though…now, you’re just enjoying the closeness of it all.

“Er,” Harry clears his throat, and you peer up at him through your lashes.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“I—,” he looks away. “I just wanted to apologise for earlier today.”

“Earlier today…,” you trail off, frowning in confusion. “What happened earlier today?”

“When I—when you—never mind.” He shakes his head.

You smile. “I’m totally fucking with you,” you tell him, snickering quietly. You shrug. “And it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Harry’s brow furrows. “You’re the worst,” he grumbles, his lips curling down into a scowl.

You laugh, reaching forward and shoving his shoulder gently. “You love it.” Your own shoulders shake as you look back down, dipping the dried nail brush into its accompanying pot of green polish.

“Plus,” you add, trying to keep your voice light. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Unfortunately, you’re the only man in my life.”

Harry lifts one eyebrow, unimpressed. “Should I be insulted?”

You resume painting his nails, giggling at his sardonic tone. “You should be flattered.”

October 10, 2020

You’re walking back to the car when it happens.

It’s a beautiful day—the sun is shining brightly, and there’s not a cloud in the sky. You and Harry pass by a woman walking her dog, but not before you bend down, transferring all of your shopping bags into one hand (a feat, Harry thinks) and cooing at the furry little creature.

“She’s adorable,” you tell the owner, peering up at her with shining eyes. “What’s her name?”

“Blossom,” the woman replies, smiling.

“Blossom,” you repeat, turning your gaze back to the fluffy white dog. “Oh, you’re beautiful, aren’t you? I just want to eat you up.”

The owner laughs nervously—Harry doesn’t blame her. You’re harmless, but he’s right behind you. He’s sure that he looks intimidating, lingering in a black suit with his arms crossed over his chest. He makes no move to engage with the woman or her dog, even though the little boy in him yearns to run his fingers through Blossom’s soft white fur. Instead, he stands there, waiting patiently as you bid the lady goodbye and blow one last kiss in her pet’s general direction.

The two of you continue walking; the car is only about fifty feet away.

“That was one of the cutest dogs I’ve ever seen,” you say once you’re out of earshot. You glance back over your shoulder, sighing longingly. “Do you think she’d put her up for sale if I asked?”

Despite himself, Harry smirks.

“Contrary to popular belief,” he begins, uncrossing his arms. “You can’t buy everything you see.”

“I bought you, didn’t I?”

“I’m not for sale. And even if I was, technically it would’ve been your mother who bought me.”

“Okay, well then, we bought…your services.”

“Jesus.” He shakes his head, chuckling a bit. “You make it sound like I’m a prostitute or something.”

You laugh.

Harry loves your laugh. He loves the sound, loves the tone, loves the pitch. He loves the way your features crinkle up with joy as the noise slips from your mouth. Every time he hears your giggle, his gaze is drawn to your face, like an inborn reflex.

He’s grateful for that. He sends out a prayer of thanks to whatever mighty powers that may be, because when he looks at you, he sees everything. He sees your smile, the apples of your cheeks, your full, fluttering lashes.

And he sees the shaky red dot positioned squarely between your eyes.

“Get down!”

You squawk in surprise when he tackles you to the ground.

“Harry—!” you start, but then a telltale whizz! rockets past your ear.

You scream.

Your shoulder makes contact with the cement of the sidewalk, and a flare of pain blazes up your arm. Harry’s on top of you in an instant, his hands on either side of your head and his green eyes wild with panic. You’ve never seen him look so scared.

You know what’s happening, but you can’t seem to move. Your pretty pastel shopping bags are lying around you in a heap. Some are still on your arm, digging into your wrist and cutting off circulation. Harry appears to realise this as well, because he climbs to his knees and yanks your hands free.

“Go!” he shouts, but his voice is muffled by the ringing in your ears.

The two of you stagger to your feet. You take in your surroundings, your lips parted in shock. “My—my bags…”

“Forget the bags!” he yells. He grips your biceps callously, spinning you around and shoving you in the direction of the car. “Fucking run!”

~*~

“Harry…”

“Harry.”

“Harry!”

“What?” he roars, whipping around.

You stumble backward, nearly bumping into the wall behind you. You’re standing in the front foyer of your estate, your face littered with tears and your hands perpetually shaky. Harry locks the door and then wrenches closed the curtains on the windows flanking the entrance. The abrupt action causes him to wince.

“You’re hurt,” you state, though your voice is weak. “Harry, your arm…”

“’S just a graze,” he mutters, turning on his heel and storming past you.

You follow him as he makes his way toward the tall, winding staircase in the middle of the room. The steps span every level of your house, from the top floor to the basement. Harry pauses on the first stair of the flight leading downward, his hand on the bannister and his back to you.

“Go to your room,” he orders lowly, refusing to look at you. “And stay there.”

“Go to my room?” you repeat incredulously, your eyes bulging out of your head. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Harry doesn’t reply; instead, he blocks you out, descending the stairs into the basement without another word. You let out an angry yell, furiously fisting the material of your cashmere sweater. A few long moments elapse before you grit your teeth, and then your feet are smacking heatedly against each step as you rush after him.

You’re quiet once you reach the bottom of the flight, looking both ways for any clue as to where he could’ve gone. You purse your lips when you see him turn the corner, his left hand clutching his right bicep and a deep scowl etched into his face. Silently, you follow.

He ducks into a room at the end of the hall, pushing the door closed. However, it doesn’t click into place, leaving a small crack for you to peek through once you reach the threshold. You place one hand over your mouth to stifle your breathing, watching with wide eyes as Harry yanks his suit jacket from his torso.

His white button up is crisp and pristine—save for the right sleeve, which is soaked through with blood. You nearly gag.

Harry stalks through another doorway—a quick glimpse inside reveals it to be a bathroom. You push open your door ever-so-slightly, taking in the scene in front of you.

His bedroom. Of course.

You’ve never actually been inside his room. You’ve always known he lived somewhere in the house—a safe haven to frequent after midnight—but you’d never been bold enough to seek it out. You’re surprised to find that his room is quite similar to yours. It’s smaller in size, but the layout is the same (excluding your full-length windows and luxurious chandelier). The walls are painted a deep shade of burgundy, and the bed is made up of black satin sheets. He also has a walk-in closet and an adjoining washroom, just like you.

Bolstered by your discovery, you slip inside, nudging the door closed. Something on his dresser glints, catching your eye—you turn toward it.

It’s a picture frame. Upon closer inspection, you notice that it bears a photo of Harry. He’s young, but not that much younger than you are, now—maybe nineteen or twenty. He’s got his arms wrapped around two women, holding them against his sides; one is older, her face slightly weathered with age, whereas the other is youthful and alert, sporting bright eyes and smooth cheeks.

With a jolt, you realise that Harry and both of these women all look eerily similar—and that they all share the same smile.

The sound of running water jerks you out of your daze. Your head snaps up in the direction of the washroom; the door has been left ajar.

Harry is standing in front of the sink, soaking a washcloth underneath the faucet. His hair is dishevelled, and his button-up has been ripped open, exposing his chest and abdomen. A silver pendant—a dog tag—hangs from his neck. You’re shocked to discover all of the tattoos littering his skin—you’ve only ever been privy to the cross inked into the dip of his thumb.

Your eyes trail up his body, landing once again on the bloody sleeve covering his arm. The sight of it is enough, giving you the courage you need to speak up.

“Just a graze, huh?”

Harry’s eyes flicker up to meet yours in the mirror. A small part of you is upset that you didn’t manage to catch him by surprise. Are you really that predictable?

“Thought I told you to go to your room.”

You place your hands on your hips, scowling deeply. “And I thought you were twenty-six, not fifty. Who are you, my father?”

“No,” Harry says, and you hate the coolness with which he addresses you. He wraps the wet washcloth around his fingers, squeezing excess water from the fabric. “But I am your bodyguard.”

“You’re also hurt,” you retaliate, taking a step toward him.

Harry moves to the side, trying to put some distance between your bodies, but you’re not deterred. You back him up until his leg knocks against the edge of the bathtub, lifting one eyebrow challengingly because he has nowhere to go. His nostrils flare in irritation—you don’t think he’s ready to give up.

“You have two options,” you tell him, set on holding your ground. “You can either stop being such a proud prick and let me help you, or we can stay like this, and you can bleed out onto the bathroom floor.”

A long stretch of silence ensues. Harry stares at you with hard eyes, but you refuse to let your foundation crumble. Just when you think he’s going to force his way out of the situation, he sighs in defeat, his shoulders slumping dejectedly. You hold out your hand, and he dumps the washcloth into your waiting palm.

“Come here,” you say, backing up.

You hop onto the counter, spreading your legs and beckoning him closer.

He hesitates. You roll your eyes.

“Get over yourself,” you snap, shaking your head. “You’re not that dreamy.”

It’s unmistakably a lie, and you both know it, but neither of you say anything. Harry settles into the gap between your knees, keeping his arms securely at his sides. You peer up at him nervously, setting the washcloth down onto the counter and reaching forward to lightly grasp the collar of his shirt.

“This might hurt a bit,” you whisper, tugging the material away from his shoulders. He hisses when the fabric passes over his wound, scraping unpleasantly against the raw skin. You purse your lips, murmuring gentle apologies.

His left arm is covered in tattoos. You want to stop what you’re doing, trail your fingers over each design, and marvel at every little detail. But you can’t—you have bigger things to worry about at the moment, and not even your priorities are that screwed up.

Harry swears under his breath when you press the washcloth to his bicep. The material is warm and wet, and you use it to soak up the blood that’s been smeared down to his elbow. Once you’ve cleaned the area around his wound, you lean in to get a better look at what you’re dealing with.

The skin is pink and irritated, and there’s a deep groove running across the width of his arm. He’s lucky—he’s so, so lucky—but even as you stare, blood begins to pool all over again. You quickly press the washcloth back against the laceration.

“Fuck!” he chokes, reaching out and gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”

“Sorry.” You shift, trying to catch his eyes. “Do you have any disinfectant? And bandages?”

He nods, bending down and pulling open one of the cupboards below the sink.

“Let me—,” you start, but he cuts you off quickly.

“Still got one good arm, don’t I?” he grumbles.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to reply.

The disinfectant stings like a bitch—you tell him as much before spritzing it onto his wound. He lets loose a string of colourful curse words, and despite the tension hanging in the air, you smile. The bandages are next; you rip off a long strip, winding it around his bicep and tying it into a tight knot at the end.

“You need to keep pressure on it,” you murmur, though you don’t know who you’re addressing. “That should stop the bleeding, eventually.”

“Eventually,” he echoes. You stare fixedly at his collarbones and nod.

A beat of silence passes between you.

“I’m sorry,” you finally mumble, looking down at your lap.

He grunts. “For what?”

“For this,” you say, shaking your head and gesturing between your bodies. “You—you got shot, Harry.”

“Graze,” he reminds you, but the correction only makes you feel worse.

“It doesn’t matter!” you say, looking up at him earnestly. “You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t,” he says. He’s staring at the mirror behind your head, refusing to meet your gaze. “And if it weren’t for me, you would have died.”

“That’s exactly my point!” you cry. You wrap your fingers around his forearm, hoping that the contact is enough to make him understand. “Who says my life is more valuable than yours? Some stupid fucking paycheque? Or—?”

Harry cuts you off before you can say anything else, squishing your cheeks together with his left hand. You make a surprised sound in the back of your throat, your brows knitting together at the suddenness of the action. You’re sure that you must look extremely unappealing, with a puckered mouth and inquisitive eyes, but he just gazes at you solemnly, licking his lips before speaking.

“I would take a bullet for you, no questions asked.” He stresses every syllable, like he doesn’t want to risk any potential misinterpretation of his words. “And not just because it’s my job.”

For the first time since he’s known you, he witnesses you speechless. Your squished lips part, but no words come out. Harry sighs, releasing your cheeks and stepping back from in between your legs. You watch as he approaches the bathroom door, pulling it wide open and making his request clear.

“You should get some rest,” he mutters, and once again, he refuses to meet your eyes. “It’s been a long day.”

October 12, 2020

Harry pokes his head through your bedroom door just as you end the call with your mother. You groan, tossing your phone onto your mattress and flinging yourself into the mountain of pillows piled against the headboard. When you catch sight of him in the periphery of your vision, you greet him with a glare.

“You told her?”

He shrugs, stepping into your room and clasping his hands behind his back. “It’s my job.”

“No,” you say, mildly annoyed. “Your job is to make sure that I don’t get killed. Not to go running to my mother at the first sign of danger.”

Harry bristles. “She’s my boss. And you’re her daughter—she deserves to know.”

You groan, shutting your laptop and rolling over onto your stomach. Your sheets are soft; you wish that you could sink into the fabrics and let them swallow you up until you wink out of existence.

“What did she say?” Harry asks, snapping you out of your reverie.

“She wanted to come home,” you mumble, shaking your head. “I told her to stay where she was.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m fine!” you tell him, exasperation leaking into your words. “And I know that I’ll never hear the end of it if she has to cut her trip short because of me. God forbid she act like a parent for once in her life.”

“She’s trying her best.”

You laugh hollowly, turning onto your back and staring up at the ceiling. “That’s a lie, and we both know it.”

Harry doesn’t respond.

You peer over at him with raised brows, like you’re truly noticing his presence for the first time. “I’m surprised you’re still on duty. Does she not care about the fact that you’re injured?”

Again, he doesn’t respond. His silence, however, reveals everything.

“You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Bullshit,” you bark out, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. “So, what?” you ask, your lips curling down into a scowl. “You get to decide what’s ‘relevant’?”

“I’m here to protect you,” Harry states firmly, fixing you with stern eyes. “And I can’t do that from the sidelines.”

You scoff but say nothing else. A hush washes over the two of you, hanging heavy in the air. You pick at a loose thread on your duvet, your brows tucked tightly together.

Harry is the first one to break.

“Have you told your friends?”

You shake your head.

“Why not?”

“They don’t need to know.” You shrug. “Sydney’s rented out a booth for her birthday on Saturday, so I’m just going to go and pretend like nothing ever—”

“Hold on,” he cuts you off, wrinkles creasing into the skin of his forehead. “You—you’re joking, right?”

“Why would I joke about Sydney’s birthday?”

“No, I mean—,” he grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. You stare at him, utterly bewildered. He stands up to his full height, and the exasperation warping his features fades; apathy takes its place. “I’m sorry, but you’re not going.”

“What?” you shriek. Your unbothered appearance quickly disintegrates into a heated grimace. “What do you mean, I’m not going?”

“You’re not going,” he repeats, and you hate the calm—almost tranquil—expression on his face. “That’s final.”

“Okay,” you start, scrambling to your feet and holding up your hands. “Let’s pause for a second, yeah? I know we fuck around and laugh about my daddy issues sometimes, but…you do know that you’re not actually my father, right?”

“This isn’t about your daddy issues,” Harry declares, though his tone is void of any and all emotion. “It’s about your safety.”

“And what about my sanity?” you fire back. You tug the sleeves of your crewneck over your clenched fists, desperately searching for something to keep you from falling apart. “Are you saying that I’m basically trapped in my own goddamn house?”

“You’re being dramatic.” The mask that he’s wearing seems to have been carved from stone.

“Well, you’re being a dick.”

“I can live with that.”

“Harry!” You stomp your foot—like a fucking child—as your eyes dampen with tears. Your initial sense of shock washes away, replaced by a helplessness that you haven’t felt in a long time.

The next question that leaves your lips is pathetically frail.

“Why are you doing this?”

He finally meets your gaze, and for the first time since he’d walked in, it feels like he’s looking at you rather than through you. His back straightens, shoulders squaring like he’s preparing for divine combat. You approach him carefully, a stray tear streaking down your face. Before you can wipe it away on the material of your sleeve, Harry is reaching out with his uninjured arm, cupping your cheek and catching the droplet with his thumb.

“Less than forty-eight hours ago, an attempt was made on your life,” he murmurs, staring at you with earnest green eyes. “And you’re already so willing to risk it again?”

You sniffle, lifting your chin in defiance and batting his hand away. Harry’s expression falls, and his gaze grows cold once more. You wrap your arms around your torso, glaring at him angrily. Your subsequent command drips with venom.

“Get out.”

He doesn’t put up a fight.

October 14, 2020

It’s nearly one in the morning when someone knocks on your bedroom door. At first, you don’t hear it, too preoccupied with the song pouring from your headphones into your ears. But then it’s there again, a bit firmer this time, and you pause your music, calling out a gentle, “Come in!”

You don’t know who you’re expecting to see. Maybe it’s one of the housekeepers, doing some late-night laundry and bringing you fresh towels for the next day. Maybe your personal chef has been baking cookies again—a common coping mechanism for when she can’t sleep. Your mouth waters at the thought.

All of your hopes are dashed, however, when the door creaks open.

The first thing you notice is that Harry’s not wearing his usual attire. You don’t know why you’re surprised—it’s past midnight, and he’s technically off-duty. It’s still shocking, though, seeing him sporting a plain t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants instead of the crisp, dark suit to which you’ve grown so accustomed. Your eyes drop to his hands—at least he’s still wearing his rings.

“Hi,” Harry utters lowly.

You turn back to your laptop, not saying a word.

He sighs, dragging a palm down the side of his face. Fresh bandages peek out from beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. For some reason, the sight startles you, and you remember that this is the man who had quite literally taken a bullet for you.

You suppose that it’s time to remove your head from your ass.

You shut your computer, pushing it to the side before tossing your legs over the edge of the bed. Harry watches you cautiously as you approach him, still as a statue. Swallowing heavily, you reach out, pushing the sleeve of his shirt up and brushing your fingers over his wounded bicep.

“How is it?” you ask, your voice no higher than a whisper.

He relents, shoulders deflating as he exhales. “’S better. Still sore, but it’s healing.”

“Can I see?”

He nods.

You’re surprised at how easily he lets you take the lead. You push the door closed with one hand, lifting your chin in the direction of your bed. He obeys your silent request and pads over to your mattress, easing down onto the duvet with his sock-clad feet still flat against the floor. You join him a moment later, settling in on his right side and crossing your legs to get comfortable.

His arms are limp, but his posture is straight. He stares at the door as you tug on the knot of his bandages, watching as they loosen around his bicep. Slowly, you unwind the gauze, subconsciously holding in a breath and awaiting what lies beneath.

The graze has started to heal. The skin around it is a lighter shade of pink, and the wound itself has begun to mend. You’re relieved to see that there’s no blood dotting his skin. Out of the corner of your eye, Harry’s throat bobs with a heavy swallow.

“It looks good,” you murmur, unsure of whether you’re talking to him or to yourself.

He just nods again, remaining motionless as you wrap the gauze back around his arm. You redo the knot at the end, and then you have to physically restrain yourself from leaning forward and smoothing your lips over the concealed wound.

Instead, your hands fall to his wrist. Harry stiffens, but then relaxes when you lift his fingers up to your face. Your brows furrow as you study the chipped green varnish on his nails. He’s been choosing the same colour for weeks, now—you’re glad that he seems to like it.

“Do you want me to?” you ask softly, peering up at him through your lashes. You’ve never been in his company so late at night (whilst sober, at least) but you suppose that there’s a first time for everything.

“Yeah,” Harry mutters, fidgeting with the material of his sweatpants. “Please.”

You shoot him the tiniest smile imaginable, and then you stand, making your way into the washroom to retrieve the worn, well-loved nail kit hidden under the sink.

~*~

“Do you want to keep the green?”

He shakes his head. “No, let’s try something else.”

“Okay.” You nod, dumping the contents of the bag onto your mattress. Little, colourful glass bottles clink together as they roll out onto your duvet. You look up at Harry with a raised eyebrow, gesturing luridly to the selection laid out in front of him. “Take your pick.”

His gaze sweeps over each shade before he shrugs—you don’t miss the slight wince of pain that passes over his lips. “I can’t decide,” he says simply, and when he looks back up at you, he’s almost shy. “You choose.”

“You’re giving me a lot of power, you know,” you say wryly. A soft chuckle slips from his mouth. After a brief moment of deliberation, you settle on pastel yellow, holding up the bottle so that he can see it clearly. “This might be pretty.”

“Pretty,” he echoes, staring straight into your eyes. His gaze knocks the air from your lungs and leaves you wondering if he’s talking about the colour, or about…something else.

You give the tiny bottle a good shake, catching sight of your phone laying off to the side. Without thinking, you snatch it up from the duvet, unlocking it and tapping onto your music app.

You hand the device over to Harry. When he shoots you a confused look, you just say, “If I’m picking the shade, you can pick the songs. Seems fair to me.”

He smiles.

You screw open the cap of the nail polish, studying the consistency of the liquid inside. “I might need to apply two coats to make it opaque enough,” you mumble, mostly to yourself.

Harry just hums in agreement as he scrolls through your music library.

He eventually seems to settle on a decision, because just then, a soft, monotone note wafts out from your phone’s speaker. You recognize the tune right away.

“Girl Crush?” you ask, the corners of your lips kinking up into a nostalgic smile. “I would’ve never guessed.”

He returns your tender expression, tilting his head to the side sheepishly. “It’s a nice song.”

“It is,” you concur. A sharp spark passes between your fingers when you reach for his hand, but neither of you comment on it. “Okay,” you say, shooting him a faux-menacing look. “Don’t move.”

The two of you sit in silence for the next ten minutes. You’re meticulous as you paint the varnish onto each one of Harry’s nails, your tongue caught between your teeth and your brow furrowed in concentration. You can feel him staring at you—he’s practically burning a hole through your head—but you say nothing, mostly because a small part of you is enjoying the attention.

“What were you doing before I showed up?” Harry asks quietly, breaking the silence.

“Working on a presentation for my seminar class,” you hum, dipping the nail brush back into its bottle. “It’s due Friday.”

“Are you nearly finished with it?”

You shake your head. “Not even close.”

“Love,” he starts, and you think you hear a hint of admonishment creeping into his tone. “Why’re you wasting your time giving me a bloody manicure?”

“Don’t worry about it.” You wave away his qualms with an absentminded flick of your hand. “I’ll get it done; I promise.” You pause for a moment, puckering your lips before you add, “Plus, I like doing your nails. It’s therapeutic.”

“Therapeutic,” he repeats. It’s obvious that he doesn’t believe you.

“Yeah,” you nod, blowing cool air over his fingers. “It’s nice—this. Us.”

He doesn’t reply.

You start on his other hand, careful with your ministrations. The memory of his closing wound is still fresh in your mind, and you don’t want to risk any sudden movements that might open it back up. You work noiselessly for the next few minutes.

“It’s weird seeing you dressed like this,” you murmur suddenly. The words slip out before you have the time to register them.

Harry chuckles faintly. “I’m usually on-duty, aren’t I?” When you nod, he continues: “Plus, we’ve never done this so late at night.”

“We can,” you say, perhaps a little too quickly. Your ears grow hot with embarrassment, and you’re suddenly extremely grateful for the fact that you have an excuse to not look at him. You stare hard at the rings on his fingers, swallowing heavily. “I mean…if you want. I’m sure it’s more comfortable sitting in sweatpants instead of slacks.”

“Don’t you have an early class on Thursdays, though?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, his question ripe with subtle mockery.

You chew on your bottom lip and refrain from telling him that you’ll happily show up to class with bags under your eyes if it means spending more of your time like this—with him. “Oh. Right.”

He laughs softly, and silence falls over the two of you once more. Just when you think that your conversation has tapered off for the night, he addresses the elephant in the room that you’ve both been trying your hardest to ignore.

“I’m sorry about the other day.”

You freeze, nearly smearing a glob of yellow onto the cuticle of his pinky. When you offer up nothing in response, Harry persists.

“I’m sorry I made you cry,” he mutters, lowering his head in shame. “I hated seeing you like that.”

You look up at him with wide, shining eyes. You’ve never witnessed him so full of remorse—the sight makes your heart ache.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, discarding the nail brush back into the pot of bright varnish. “I—you were probably right, anyway. It’s too dangerous.”

“No.” He purses his lips. “I think I was just being selfish. I was…trying to protect my ego.”

“What do you mean?” you ask softly.

His fingers flex when you stroke over the rough skin of his knuckles. He sighs.

“It’s my job to keep you safe,” he says. The words are slightly strained. “And I nearly failed.”

“But you didn’t,” you say, leaning forward.

“But I almost did!” he counters. You recoil, stunned by the emotion in his voice. He clears his throat and covers your hands with his. You can’t even be bothered to worry about the fact that his nails might ruin.

“When you told me that you were going out again, and so soon…,” Harry trails off, shaking his head. “I panicked, and I tried to take control. I’m sorry.”

You squeeze his wrists comfortingly and nod. “It’s alright,” you say thickly. “I forgive you.”

He blows out a relieved sigh, straightening up and blinking rapidly. Just like that, all evidence of his personal sentiments is gone. He can turn his feelings on and off so quickly—you suppose that it’s necessary in his line of work. Still, though…you don’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed.

“You should go to Sydney’s birthday,” he states matter-of-factly.

A small smile forms on your face. “I—are you serious?”

“Yeah.” He bobs his head in approval. “But I’m coming, too, obviously. Need to make sure you stay out of trouble.”

Your modest smile grows into a bright grin. Somewhere beneath your vibrant excitement, you realise that both of your hands are still tucked tightly between his.

“Escorted to a party by my hot, British bodyguard,” you tease. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

October 17, 2020

The club is packed. You can barely move, squished between perspiring bodies and gyrating hips. You can’t even see the bar because of how many people are crowding the counter, waiting to order their drinks. It’s dark, and hot, and the air smells of sweat and desire—typical.

Under normal circumstances, you would’ve never come out on a Saturday night. The pros simply do not outweigh the cons.

Thankfully, though, these aren’t normal circumstances.

The booth that Sydney has rented is a beacon of hope, a little island of peace in the surrounding sea of chaos. You’re right next to the birthday girl, laughing at how captivated she is by the song booming through the building. She wraps one arm around you, tilting her head up and accepting another swig of vodka straight from the bottle.

The rest of your friends are scattered. Some are with you, lounging in the booth and drunkenly screaming lyrics up at the ceiling. Others are out on the dance floor, blending into the crowd and twirling around without a care in the world.

Sydney is plastered; you’re not too far behind.

A quick glimpse at your phone tells you that it’s a few minutes past one in the morning. It also makes you realise just how badly you need to pee.

There’s a man standing near the bar—he’s been eyeing you unsubtly all night. From what you can tell, he’s cute. A baby blue button-up hugs his shoulders nicely, and his blonde, shaggy hair is swept sideways on his forehead. He’s tall and handsome, and you don’t think you’d mind kissing him. As you inch your way toward the edge of the booth, a large part of you wonders why you haven’t already made a move.

You trip over your own two feet as you stand, and you’re sure that you would have broken your fall with your face if it weren’t for the strong pair of arms that catch you mid-tumble.

And oh. It comes rushing back to you, wrapped up in stark clarity.

That’s why.

Harry’s pained grunt reverberates lowly in your ear. With a loud gasp, you realise that your fingers are digging loosely into his injured bicep.

“I’m so sorry!” you yell over the music as he helps you back onto your feet. “Are you okay?”

He just nods, shaking off his discomfort and clenching his jaw.

He hasn’t moved from the edge of the booth all night. He’s been standing there for hours, untouched by the turbulent current of drunk socialites. You suppose that it’s because he appears to be just another member of security, watching the crowd and ensuring that everyone is staying safe.

“Where are you going?” Harry shouts. His question is barely audible, swept away by the basslines vibrating through your body.

“Bathroom!” you yell back.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. You pat his shoulder gently and shake your head. “I think I’m perfectly capable of taking a piss by myself! Thank you, though!”

He frowns, looking like he wants to argue. When he sees the expectant, mocking expression on your face, however, he clamps his mouth shut.

You shoot him an appreciative smile, tossing your thumb over your shoulder and barking out a quick promise of, “I’ll be right back!”

You’re pleased to discover that the washrooms of the club are split up into private cubicles rather than simply aggregated in one big space. The walls of the corridor are lined with doors and littered with a few drunken stragglers. You pass a man and a woman who are locked in a blazing kiss, and a hot pang of longing claws its way down your sternum, settling uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach.

The last cubicle on your right is vacant. Breathing out a quick prayer of thanks, you duck inside. There’s an empty shot glass standing on the edge of the sink, but other than that, the room is in good condition. You tug your underwear down as you position yourself above the toilet, clutching the hem of your dress close to your chest and doing what you came to do.

Two minutes and one flush later, you’re screwing open the faucet, sighing happily as cool water runs over your wrists. To your right, a dispenser containing lavender-scented soap is nailed into the wall. You wash your hands quickly before wringing them out and wiping the excess wetness against your thighs.

When you open the washroom door, you freeze in your tracks. A man—that same man who’s been making eyes at you all night—is standing in the threshold.

He’s even taller in person. And now that you’re closer to him (and shrouded in better lighting) you can see that his hair isn’t blonde like you’d originally thought, but light brown. His eyes are a stark shade of cobalt blue, attentive enough to indicate that he might be one of the only sober people in the entire building.

“Hi.” His voice is as smooth as velvet.

“Hi,” you reply, offering up a small, wary smile. He’s cute, but who the fuck tries to pick a woman up as she exits the bathroom?

“My name’s Lukas,” he says, holding out his hand. You take it gingerly, quietly introducing yourself in return. He smiles at the mention of your name. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” You stand on your tiptoes, peering over his shoulder and chewing on your bottom lip. “Sorry, my friends are waiting—”

“That’s a pretty dress,” Lukas tells you, placing his hands on either side of the doorway. Somewhere beneath the buzz of alcohol in your system, you’re aware that he’s successfully blocked your only way out. He takes a step toward you, and you match it with a step back, nearly tripping over a shallow crack in one of the tiles on the floor.

“Thanks,” you say, your lips curling into a dim scowl, “but I really should be going.”

“Or we could hang out in here,” he suggests, shrugging innocently (in the back of your mind, you know that his thoughts must be the furthest thing from innocent.) “Just the two of us.”

“No, thanks.” You shake your head vehemently. Your palm finds a place on the wall, and you use the leverage to keep yourself steady. Your eyes rake down his body as he inches toward you, searching for any potential weak points.

Elbow to the nose? Knee to the groin?

Just then, a gruff utterance of your name is heard from out in the hall. You nearly sob in relief.

“Harry!”

Less than a moment later, a large, sweaty hand slaps down over your mouth. You squeal, frightened tears rushing to your eyes as Lukas heaves you up against the wall. He digs his fingers into the column of your throat, keeping you pinned with one hand while the other reaches for the door, aiming to slam it shut.

Before it can close all the way, a strong, ringed hand appears out of nowhere, shoving the barrier back open. Hinges creak as the doorknob crashes into the side of the wall, nearly putting a hole through the plaster.

Harry’s nostrils flare as he absorbs the scene laid out in front of him. Only a second passes before he’s stalking inside the cubicle, his mossy eyes alight with one palpable emotion: rage.

“Get the fuck off of her!” he bellows.

His palms make contact with Lukas’ shoulders, and he uses the brunt of his weight to shove him away from you. The other man goes tumbling into the opposite wall, almost stumbling over the porcelain bowl of the toilet.

“The fuck is your problem?” Lukas snaps, rubbing the back of his head as he regains his bearings.

Harry pulls you out of harm’s way, putting himself between you and your aggressor. You watch the scene unfold from behind him, anxiously fumbling with the hem of your dress.

“Don’t—,” Harry points at Lukas threateningly. His voice has returned to its normal, low octave, but you can still hear the fury simmering beneath his words, “—ever fucking touch her again.”

Lukas pushes himself off of the wall, cracking his knuckles and angling his head to the side. His blue irises glimmer maliciously as he looks over at you.

“Is this your boyfriend, sweetheart?” he asks. The words are nothing but a wicked taunt. He sizes Harry up, assessing his figure.

You watch his eyes widen when they land on the pale yellow polish decorating your bodyguard’s nails, and then—much to your horrified surprise—he laughs.

“Oh, my mistake.” He shakes his head, a spiteful smile splitting across his face. “He’s just a fuckin’ faggot.”

Harry doesn’t react to the insult—but you do. Before you can even register your actions, you’re slipping out from behind him, lifting your arm high into the air and delivering a sharp, backhanded blow to Lukas’ right cheek.

Your knuckles sting at the contact, but the pain is overshadowed by the smug sense of vindication that settles in your chest. Anger warps your features, turning you into someone unrecognizable.

“How dare—?”

The rest of your sentence dissolves into an alarmed shriek when Lukas seizes your wrist. He snarls.

“Know your place, bitch!”

You brace yourself for his retaliation, but the strike never comes. In the blink of an eye, Harry has Lukas’ arm pinned behind his back. Blue eyes well up with agony, and a pained shout slips from his lips. You recoil, startled by the sudden shift of power.

Harry leans down, his mouth just above Lukas’ ear. He glances up at you briefly before looking back down at the cowering man before him. In that moment, your gazes meet for only a millisecond, but the contact somehow puts you at ease.

“Apologise to the lady,” Harry mutters, pulling Lukas’ arm even tighter across his back. “Or I break it.”

Lukas whimpers, glaring up at you with angry eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he spits out, though there’s no sincerity behind the phrase.

Wordlessly, you lift your chin, spinning on your heel and making your way toward the door. Behind you, a surprised yelp slices through the air, followed quickly by a violent thud. When you peer back over your shoulder, Harry is brushing his palms off on the lapels of his suit, and Lukas is kneeling over the toilet, his chest heaving.

“Harry,” you say, calling him over. You hope that neither of the men can hear the slight quiver in your voice.

Harry approaches you, and you reach out for him. He offers you his uninjured arm; you link your elbow through the gap between his bicep and his torso.

You expect it to end there, but then Lukas mutters something unfamiliar under his breath. The words are nearly indiscernible, but you know for a fact that they’re definitely not English. Harry must hear them too, because he freezes in his tracks.

“Harry,” you say, tugging gently at his sleeve. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“Say goodbye to your friends,” he replies bluntly, dodging your question. “We’re leaving. Right now.”

~*~

The journey back home is painfully quiet.

Harry says nothing until the car drags through the metal gates of your property and peels up the roundabout leading to your front door. Once your chauffeur cuts the engine, Harry turns to him, shaking his hand firmly and thanking him for the ride. You bid the man goodnight, catching his kind smile in the rear-view mirror.

He seems nice. You should probably learn his name.

But that can wait.

The effects of the alcohol in your system seem to have worn off. You attribute your sobriety to the fact that you were cornered and nearly attacked in a public bathroom not too long ago. You’re still a bit wobbly on your feet—not to mention the loud, persistent ringing in your ears—but your mind is clear. That’s all that matters.

Harry leads you inside, cupping his palm beneath your bent elbow and keeping you steady. Part of you longs for him to slide his hand closer and trail his fingers down your back until they’re tickling the base of your spine. But that would be unprofessional, you remind yourself, so you keep your mouth shut.

Walking into your room fails to bring you the familiar sense of comfort that it usually does. You swallow heavily, kicking off your heels (these ones aren’t embellished with any straps or buckles, thank God) and making your way over to your bed. As you approach your mattress, your fingers find their way to your back, grasping for the zipper of your dress that’s settled just above your shoulder blades.

You grit your teeth in frustration, stopping suddenly and casting a glance behind you. Harry is waiting at your door, standing rigidly with his hands clasped tightly in front of him.

“Can you…?” Your question is hushed and incomplete, and you don’t wait for his reaction before turning back around. The sound of his low footsteps reaches your ears; your skin prickles in anticipation.

His fingers are gentle as they tug your zipper down. He’s close—closer than usual. You can feel his warm, laboured breaths puffing out against the nape of your neck.

Harry pauses when he drags the zipper past the middle of your back, exposing the clasp of your bra. His hands abandon your body, leaving you confused. Before you can question him, however, he’s fiddling with the little hooks on the undergarment. A moment later, the cups holding your cleavage in place loosen and slip lower on your chest. A soft, dazed gasp tumbles from your lips.

Harry then resumes his previous actions, unzipping your dress the rest of the way and stepping back once he’s finished. You face him, clutching the sagging fabric against your sternum to keep it from sliding down your torso.

“Thank you,” you murmur. Suddenly, the floor is a lot more interesting than the man standing before you.

Harry just grunts in response.

You hesitate, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. There’s a palpable tension hanging in the air; you feel like it might suffocate you if you don’t voice the question dancing on the tip of your tongue.

“What was it?” you ask quietly, refusing to take your eyes off of the ground. “In the washroom, before we left—what did he say? It wasn’t English—”

“French,” Harry cuts in. You pause, clamping your mouth shut and waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t add anything else.

“What did he say?” you repeat. Beneath the loose, shapeless material of your dress, your heart is beating a mile a minute.

“Nothing,” Harry utters after a long moment of silence. “At least, nothing that you need to worry abo—”

“You’re lying,” you seethe, and the abrupt wave of irritation that washes over you is enough to make your head snap up. Your gaze burns into his face, lips curled down into a vivid scowl.

“Harry—,” you say, reaching out with one hand and shoving helplessly at his chest. He doesn’t budge, of course—the realisation only makes you angrier. “Stop lying to me.”

He clenches his jaw, and strong, slender fingers circle around your wrist before you can pull away. You squawk in surprise, your brows knitting together at the suddenness of the contact. Harry’s green eyes blaze with an emotion that you can’t quite recognize, but even then, it still leaves you utterly breathless.

You watch, stupefied, as he slides his palm beneath yours, lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a soft, barely-there kiss to the hills of your knuckles. Your jaw slackens, but—for the first time in your life—you have no witty comeback, no sharp retort.

“Une putain gâtée, tout comme sa mère.”

The words are a low murmur. His mouth brushes against your skin as he speaks. You’re enthralled by his French accent, but the sour expression on his face tells you that he must’ve just said something rotten.

“A spoiled whore,” Harry translates—he looks almost ashamed, “just like her mother.”

Your hand slips from his grasp.

October 18, 2020

You’ve been in your room all day.

Harry hasn’t moved from his station outside, standing in front of your door with his arms folded over his chest. It’s been hours, and he hasn’t heard a peep from you. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s bored. You’re usually right next to him, talking his ear off and being your bossy, teasing self. He misses all of your little quips, not to mention the devilish smiles that you give him when you take a shot at pushing his buttons.

Now though, the silence is getting to him. He considers pulling his phone out and indulging in a trivial little game to pass the time, but then ultimately decides against it. The sun has fallen from the sky, and the moon has risen in its place—his shift is nearly over.

His cellphone chimes from inside his pocket. He fishes around for the device, eventually tugging it from the depths of his trousers. When he taps onto the screen, he finds a text from Lana, your personal chef.

Her dinner is ready. Do you want me to bring it up?

Harry purses his lips before typing his reply.

No, I’ll come down. Thank you.

A single smiling emoticon is her response.

After retrieving your plate from the kitchen and bidding Lana goodnight, Harry makes his way back upstairs. He stalls in front of your door for a few seconds before shaking off his uncertainties. His fist raps three times against the wood, and he waits expectantly for your answering call.

His shoulders deflate in relief when he hears a faint, yet familiar, “Come in.”

The room is dark, illuminated only by a small lamp on your nightstand. You’re lying on your bed, spine against the mattress and eyes trained on the ceiling. Your hair is fanned out against your pillow, and you haven’t changed out of your sleepwear (though it’s late now, Harry supposes, so there’s really no need). Cotton shorts sit low on your hips, but thankfully, your t-shirt is covering everything that needs to be concealed. When you turn your head toward the door, Harry notices that your eyes are rimmed with red.

You’ve been crying. The realisation makes his chest ache.

“Hi,” he says quietly, approaching your bed with cautious footsteps.

“Hi,” you croak. You sit up and clear your throat.

He holds out your plate. “Dinner is served.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“That’s true.” He tilts his head from side to side, acknowledging your words. “But you haven’t eaten all day.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” you mumble, though you take the dish from him with eager hands, confirming his hypothesis. “Mac n’ cheese?” you ask, peering up at him with wide eyes.

He nods. “Compliments of the chef. She said it was your ‘comfort food’, or something like that.”

You pick up the spoon resting on the side of your plate, dipping it into the pasta and scooping up a large bite. Flavour explodes across your tongue, and you hum in appreciation at the taste. “Lana’s the best.”

Harry doesn’t respond. When you look over in his direction, you find him standing awkwardly at the side of your bed, like he’s not quite sure where to go.

“Do you want to sit?” you ask through a mouthful of food. His lips twitch at the warbled quality of your voice.

“No, I—,” he starts, shaking his head. “I can leave you alone.”

You swallow heavily, running your tongue along the roof of your mouth. “Stay,” you tell him, averting your gaze. The softness of your tone makes him pause, but you just shrug. “I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

~*~

You finish the entire plate of macaroni in a matter of minutes. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen you scarf down food that quickly. You offered him a bite, but he turned it down, claiming that you needed it more than he did.

He was right, of course. But you would rather die than tell him as much.

You set the dish down onto your nightstand, snatching up the reusable water bottle on the corner of the little table. Harry watches, amused, as you take a large gulp of the contents inside. Once you’ve swallowed, you chance a glance over at where he’s sitting on the edge of your mattress. There’s a small smile playing on his lips.

“What?” you ask wryly.

He chuckles lightly. “Nothing.”

You smirk but decide to drop the subject.

Harry shifts, rubbing his palms over his thighs nervously. “How are you feeling?”

You look away—you knew that he would try to breach the topic of last night, but the question is still a punch to the gut.

You shrug wordlessly. He clucks his tongue.

“That’s not an answer, love.”

Your shoulders slump in defeat. A loose thread on your duvet catches your eye, and you twine it around your index finger. Another long moment of silence passes before you finally speak.

“I’m just…confused.”

“Confused?” Harry’s eyebrows knit together.

You nod.

“How so?”

A rushed, humourless laugh falls from your lips. “You’re joking, right?”

When Harry shakes his head, you sigh.

“All my life,” you say, a lump forming in your throat, “I’ve been kept in the dark. Do you know how embarrassing it is, as a little kid, to not have an answer when your friends ask what your parents do for a living?” You wrap your arms around your torso, hugging yourself tightly.

“I even used to joke about it at school,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “‘Yeah, guys, my mom’s secretly a drug dealer!’”

Harry doesn’t say anything. You take his reticence as a sign to continue.

“But then, as I got older, I realised that maybe I wasn’t that far off. She might not be in a fucking drug ring, but she’s still doing something illegal. There’s no way that we could afford to live like this, otherwise.” You gesture toward the glossy chandelier hanging from your ceiling.

“And then you came into the picture,” you say, rubbing tiredly at your eyes. “And that’s when I really started to panic. But I didn’t want to show anyone how I was feeling, obviously—so I kind of just kept it all bottled up.”

“Until now,” Harry murmurs, his expression unreadable.

You nod. “Until now.”

The material of your t-shirt is twisted up in your fists. You exhale heavily, releasing the fabric and smoothing it out with your palms. Several long seconds of tranquility ensue, until—

“Arms.”

Your gaze snaps over to Harry. “What?”

“Arms,” he repeats gruffly, staring directly at you. “She’s not dealing drugs. She’s dealing arms.”

You sit back against the headboard as his words sink in. Silence hangs in the air, growing thicker by the moment. Your mouth opens as you try to make sense of this newly-revealed information, but your lips only form around dying sounds and nonexistent sentences. Eventually, you settle for a simple, “Huh.”

And despite the trepidation of the situation, Harry laughs.

The sound brings a small smile to your face. It quickly slips away, however, when you remember something else.

“Last night, the guy at the club…,” you trail off, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I don’t think what he said was just an expression.”

Harry’s eyes are solemn. “Neither do I.”

“He told me his name was Lukas,” you say, straightening up. “Has my mother ever mentioned him before?”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t know anything else,” he replies. Deep down, you recognize that he’s telling the truth. “She only shares things with me when it’s absolutely necessary. My job—first and foremost—is to protect you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, shifting closer to him. Harry stiffens briefly when you place your hand on his arm, but then relaxes again. The fabric of his suit is soft, pressed to perfection. “I—thank you for being honest with me. I feel better now that I know.”

He nods.

“And thank you for yesterday,” you add, swallowing heavily. “For keeping me safe.”

“Next time, I’m accompanying you to the bathroom,” he mutters. “End of discussion.”

You laugh. A tiny, barely-there smile creeps onto his lips. Your eyes fall to the yellow polish on his nails, and you hesitate.

“Harry,” you say. Anxiety unfurls in your stomach. “Can I ask you something?”

“’Course.” His voice is a low rumble. “What is it?”

“Last week,” you mumble, fidgeting with your fingers, “after you got shot—or grazed, whatever you want to call it—”

He freezes. You have a strong feeling that he knows where you’re going with this.

“You said—”

“I know what I said.”

I would take a bullet for you, no questions asked.

Your mouth goes dry. Harry won’t look you in the eye, but you refuse to let him shy away. You squeeze his forearm softly, hoping that the contact will prompt him to meet your gaze.

It does. When he peers up at you, the green of his irises sets off a series of echoes in your head.

And not just because it’s my job.

“Why did you?” you whisper, leaning toward him.

He blinks, embarrassed.

“You know why,” he grumbles, staring fixedly at your duvet. A loose strand of hair flops onto his temple as he shakes his head. “Don’t make me say it.”

Something shatters inside of you. Impulsively, you lurch forward, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

Harry’s face snaps toward you as you sit back. You’re greeted by wide eyes, foreign and unrecognizable, and seemingly unable to make out who you are. The small mountain of hope that had been growing in your chest crumbles into nothing, scattering like dust in the wind.

You clench your jaw, trying to keep yourself composed. He’s looking at you like you’re a stranger.

“Sorry,” you sputter. Panic washes over you, and your eyes prick with the telltale sign of tears. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry—”

Just as it had last week, Harry’s hand finds your face, squishing your cheeks together and cutting off your apologies. You gaze up at him as he leans in; he’s shaking his head ever-so-slightly.

“Why would you do that?” he asks, and it almost sounds like he’s berating you. “Why would you—?”

“I’m sorry,” you eek out. Water beads along your bottom lashes.

“I’ve been trying so hard,” he carries on, smoothly disregarding your regrets. “Trying to keep myself from—”

He breaks off, gritting his teeth and staring directly into your eyes. His next words are stern, finite.

“It doesn’t fucking matter anymore.”

His fingers release your cheeks and migrate to the back of your neck. He uses the leverage to pull you in so that you can meet him halfway, and then he’s kissing you. It takes a moment for everything to register in your brain, but soon thereafter, you’re melting into him and kissing him right back.

You grip the lapels of his suit between tight fists, tugging him closer as you pour every ounce of yourself into his embrace. Harry’s lips work fervently against your own; the palm on the back of your neck slips lower, settling at the base of your spine. His other hand comes up, splitting apart so that his thumb and middle finger find themselves on each side of your jaw. The grip is bruising, unforgiving—you whimper in delight.

“This is—,” Harry can barely get the words out. “—unprofessional.”

“It is,” you murmur, nodding fiercely.

“We shouldn’t,” he says.

“We shouldn’t,” you agree breathlessly.

But neither of you stop.

Harry lays you down on your bed, climbing on top of you whilst still doing his best to keep your lips attached. Your hands slip beneath his suit jacket, fingertips digging into his back over the white button-up covering his torso.

“You’re wearing too much,” you whine once the two of you break apart for air.

He chuckles, pushing himself up onto his knees. You watch, awestruck, as he fiddles with the buttons lining his abdomen, undoing each one swiftly before yanking the jacket from his shoulders. A shadow of pain passes over his features.

“Careful,” you say softly, referring to his injured arm.

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he brings himself back down to where you are, wasting no time and dipping his tongue into your mouth.

“Mm,” he hums, smacking his lips together. “Mac n’ cheese.”

You giggle. “Guess you got a taste, after all.”

He nods, smirking. “In all honesty, though,” he murmurs, his lips smearing against the lower-half of your cheek, “I’d much rather get a taste of something else.”

He punctuates the innuendo with a gentle bite to your jaw, and you moan.

It doesn’t take long for his hand to travel south. Harry gives you a questioning look when his fingers reach the elastic waistband of your shorts.

“Can I?”

You nod.

He curses when the digits slip beneath the fabric, because you’re not wearing anything underneath. His palm scrapes over the triangle of trimmed hair at the apex of your thighs, and he nearly starts salivating right then and there. You whine impatiently, bucking your hips up to spur him along.

He chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck. “Gagging for it, aren’t you?”

A strangled squeak echoes in the back of your throat, but you say nothing.

“Answer me,” Harry growls, nipping softly at your earlobe. “Tell me you want it.”

“I want it!” you choke out. You wrap your fingers around his forearm, guiding his hand lower so that he can feel just how wet you are. “Please—I want it.”

“So polite,” he murmurs, sponging his lips up to your temple. Your eyelids flutter shut when he begins to rub languid circles into your clit. “Where are those manners usually hiding, hm?”

“Harry—,” you sigh, feeling your face grow hot. You’ll never admit it, but his taunts stoke the fire building in the pit of your stomach. He laughs darkly, sliding his middle finger down your slit and prodding coyly at your entrance.

“You’re soaked, and I’ve barely done anything,” he mutters. His thumb stays positioned squarely on your clit as he lowers his head, pecking your lips delicately. “Want me inside?”

You nod, but he only tuts in disapproval.

“Words, love.”

“Yes!” you whine, pouting deeply. “I—I want you inside.”

He smiles.

You squirm when he slips his finger into you, adjusting to the intrusion. Harry probes around curiously, stroking along your walls until he brushes against a spot that has you crying out in thrilled surprise and squeezing your eyes shut. The patronizing laugh that falls from his mouth is hot and heavy against your warm cheeks.

“That’s it, yeah?” he asks. “That’s the spot?”

You breathe out a weak whimper of confirmation, and he snickers. When he peers up at you and finds your eyes closed, a small frown tugs at the edges of his lips.

“Look at me, love,” he orders, adding another finger into your heat. “I wanna see you.”

You shake your head and turn away, face hot with humiliation. It’s good, though—it’s so, so good.

“Look at me,” Harry repeats, “and I’ll let you cum.”

It’s an offer that you can’t refuse.

Slowly, your eyelids flutter open. He grins at you, pride sweeping over his features. You keep your gaze trained on him, even when he speeds up the movements on your clit, his thumb rubbing quick shapes against the sensitive nub. Your back arches, toes curling into the duvet as your orgasm approaches. Harry kisses your lips, humming happily at the contact.

“Cum,” he commands quietly. “Cum for me, and then I’ll ruin this cute little cunt.”

The filthy promise has you falling apart.

He holds you tightly as your high washes over you, absorbing all of your little moans and cooing words of encouragement into your mouth. You shake, staring up at the ceiling and watching as the chandelier above you splits into doubles. The glass crystals twinkle alluringly in the dim light of your room.

“So pretty,” Harry whispers. He pecks the clammy skin of your cheek, and you sigh.

“That was…,” you trail off, unable to find the right words.

“Good?” he supplies, pulling his hand out of your shorts.

You bark out a weak, incredulous laugh. “Way better than ‘good’. I don’t think I can feel my—”

Your confession falters when you turn to the side, just in time to witness Harry slide two of his fingers past his lips. He groans desperately at the tang that spreads over his tongue.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, almost like he’s in a trance. He nuzzles his nose against yours, dropping his hand onto the bed next to your head. “You’ll let me have a proper taste next time, yeah?”

Without a second thought, you nod rapidly. “Yeah.”

Harry grunts in surprise when you push him off of you. His back lands against your mattress with a dull thud, and he chuckles faintly when you sling your leg over his waist, straddling him.

“What’re you doing?” he asks playfully as you begin to unbutton his white shirt. You pepper kisses down his chest, worshipping each new inch of skin that becomes exposed. His hands subconsciously find their way into your hair, gathering the bulk of it into a makeshift ponytail. Your clit positively throbs, ignited by the dominant undertones of the action.

“You got me off,” you say. Though the accompanying shrug of your shoulders is nonchalant, your heart is thundering beneath your ribcage. “Seems only fair, don’t you think?”

You undo his belt and flick open the button of his black trousers. Harry groans as you palm him over his slacks, sinking into the plush pillows cradling his head.

“Right,” he breathes. “Only fair.”

His cock twitches when you dip your hand into his boxers, and God, he thinks to himself as he shudders, he loves you.

~*~

You awaken in the middle of the night to sounds of restless shuffling. Your room is dark, engulfed in black. Blinking the sleep from your vision, you push yourself up, peering around and waiting for your eyes to grow accustomed to the obscurity of your surroundings.

The spot next to you on your mattress is still a bit warm, covered with wrinkled sheets. When you finally zero in on the source of the noise, you find Harry sitting in the armchair a few feet away from your bed. He’s slouching, his head supported only by a closed fist. His white shirt is draped over his shoulders, completely unbuttoned. Gray boxers sit low on his hips, revealing a pair of ferns inked into the skin just above his pelvis.

Not even five hours ago, you trailed your tongue along those very same tattoos.

“Harry?” you say groggily, and he freezes. “What—what are you doing?”

His eyes are bright, despite the encompassing darkness.

“I—,” he hesitates. “It’s alright. Go back to sleep.”

“Not unless you join me,” you retort. You slide your legs over the edge of the mattress so that you can face him properly. “What’s going on?”

He shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “We kind of just passed out, and…I wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with me, like, sleeping in your bed. I didn’t wanna cross any lines.”

You balk.

“Harry…,” you start, fixing him with a drowsy yet bewildered look. “You’ve literally had your fingers inside of me, and now you’re worried about crossing a line?”

A quiet chuckle of accountability falls from his lips; the sound makes you smile. You reach out with one hand, wiggling your fingers at him and tilting your head toward the rumpled pillows waiting for you.

“Come back to bed.” Your request is soft.

The storm in his eyes dissipates, and he obeys.

You sigh as you settle back underneath the duvet, snuggling into his side and tossing a leg over his thighs. Harry wraps his good arm around you, craning his neck and pressing a tender kiss to your hair. Your fingers creep up his chest, toying with the dog tag resting between his pectorals.

“Is this going to change things between us?” you ask in a small voice.

A long moment of silence ensues.

At last, Harry replies:

“I don’t know.”

You were expecting that kind of answer, but it still stings. A big part of you wants him to say no, things won’t change. He’ll still have you, and you’ll still have him, and the two of you will still bicker back and forth like children fighting over a candy bar. He’ll still roll his eyes at your antics whilst nevertheless being willing to take a bullet for you. You’ll still tease him relentlessly to mask the way your heart races whenever he’s around (which, unfortunately, is all the time).

But the logical side of your brain knows that those fantasies are just fabrications of flimsy, wishful thinking. The two of you have crossed a line—just like he said—and you can’t go back.

As though he can sense your inner turmoil, Harry squeezes you closer into his side. “I was looking online…,” he begins, and you peer up at him with curious eyes.

He meets your gaze—his chin creases adorably—and continues. “And I saw these cool photos of someone’s nails; they painted little cherries on them.”

“That sounds cute,” you mumble.

“It was.” He nods. “And I was thinking that maybe, on Wednesday…would you want to try something like that?”

Warmth spiderwebs through your chest.

The two of you have crossed a line, and you can’t go back.

But you can move forward. And perhaps better things are waiting on the horizons up ahead.

“It might not turn out like the pictures,” you warn lightly. “I’ve never really done nail art before.”

“That’s alright,” Harry says, brushing your hair out of your face. “I just thought it’d be fun to give it a go.”

You lean up, slotting your lips against his. Harry cups your cheek, keeping you close. When the two of you finally break apart, you smile, running your thumb lovingly over the edge of his jaw.

“Remind me to pick up the tools tomorrow after class.”

~*~

READ PART 2 ON PATREON

#harry writing #guardrry #making this my pinned post because i love her and she's one of my greatest creations ok 🥺🥺#harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #i'd love to know what u think! reblogs + feedback mean the world to me

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persephonesfill · 4 years ago

Text

choke on me—chapter six

breathe me in (prequel fic)

chapter five

chapter seven

a/n: not much to say about this one, i just hope you guys enjoy it!

rating: explicit

warning(s): this chapter contains smut bc i have no self control

—————

Tony is sore in that delicious way that comes with a good fuck, feels the echo of Steve’s cock pressing into him and splitting him in half. It’s not impossible for a man of Tony’s age to get hard so quickly after an orgasm, but definitely improbable. Were he less desperate, less crazed, he might consider the side effects of regularly sleeping with a super-soldier without a condom, but all he really wants is for Steve to fill him up again.

He wants Steve to tie him down like he promised once and leave more bruises and bites, leave his mark on Tony, until there’s no doubt that Tony belongs to him in a way he has only ever belonged to himself.

He says so, and Steve fucks him again, all slow and deep now that they've taken off the edge. Tony spreads his legs willingly, pouring all of the love he has in his body into every kiss, every caress to Steve's skin. He didn't have the courage to say it just yet, but he wants Steve to feel his love. It takes them no time at all to come again, Tony's toes curling, his fingers sinking into Steve's skin.

"God," Steve gasps into Tony's throat as he pulls out of him. Tony's right there with him, his skin hot to the touch, his legs still shaking from the force of his orgasm.

Steve lifts his head from Tony's throat, and Tony brings him down for a kiss. They exchange languid, sweet kisses like they have all the time in the world. They don't. They don't because HYDRA's back and worse than ever, and Tony knows down to the marrow in his bones that there's something else on the horizon. Something ruthless and out for blood.

He wants to savor this moment with Steve, wants to live in it for as long as humanly possible, because who knows when they'll get another moment like it. Unfortunately, Tony's discomfort wins out.

"We're sticky," he says against Steve's lips and wriggles his hips. Steve pulls away from him and glances down, observing the mess they’ve made of each other; Their come and the lube is starting to dry on Tony's skin, leaving it tacky.

"I'm not sorry," Steve says softly. He runs a finger over one of the bruises he left behind on Tony's collarbone, presses a feather-soft kiss there. He does the same to the hickey on Tony's neck and the bruises on his hips and works his way back up to Tony's lips. Steve tastes like salt as Tony moans into his mouth. His cock gives a half-hearted twitch at the thought of one more round with Steve, but another orgasm might actually send him into cardiac arrest.

Tony breaks the kiss and pushes Steve's hair back from his forehead. Two bright blue eyes pierce him like hooks snagging his skin. "I don't expect you to be. Sorry that is," he clarifies at the look of confusion upon Steve's face.

"Come on," Tony murmurs. "Follow me."

Steve does so willingly, easing out of the bed and taking Tony's offered hand. Tony leads him into his bathroom, trying his best to ignore the heat of Steve's stare on his ass.

His shower is large enough to accommodate five grown men and is more than enough space for Tony's purposes. The water kicks on with a hiss, coming down like a bout of summer rain. "Turn around," he murmurs to Steve. Steve does as he's told, and Tony grabs a spare loofah and his body-wash, working it into a good lather. He scrubs Steve's shoulders and his back, his fingers working on loosening any knots he comes across. Steve carries so much tension like he's Atlas, forced to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders for all eternity. Steve moans, his hands pressed against the marble tiles. He pushes back into Tony's touch, his head falling forward into the spray.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can," Tony says. He lets the water run down Steve's back, washing away the suds before he turns him back around to face him. "Because I want to," he whispers like it's a secret. "Is this okay?"

Steve swallows before nodding. Tony repeats the process on Steve's front, running the loofah across Steve's pecs and the firm muscles of his stomach, delighting in the way Steve seemed to tremble at his touch. He's never done this for a partner before. Usually, Tony's dates didn't stay long enough to cuddle, let alone shower together, with the exception of Pepper. But this...it had never been like this. It's like he's discovering a new element again or building his suit for the first time. Bringing something into being that which the world had never seen before.

Steve returns the favor, taking his time as he washes Tony's body, lingering over scars, old and new. He pauses when he reaches Tony's sternum. The skin is smoother there, newer. Tony can hear his heart beating like a war drum in his ears, and he's almost certain Steve can feel it.

Steve places his palm directly over Tony's chest like he's trying to reassure himself that it's still beating. Tony puts his hands over Steve's, effectively trapping him.

"Can you feel it?"

"I can."

"It's because of you," Tony confesses. "I'm alive, Steve. I made it. This is proof, honey."

The pet name slips out unbidden, but Tony doesn't have it in him to take it back. He doesn't want to anymore. And given how Steve's eyes soften at the name, he doesn't want Tony to take it back either.

"They got close today," Steve says. His brow is furrowed, a scowl twisting his features. All of Tony's hard work, trying to get Steve to relax, down the drain. "Too damn close."

"It's going to take more than a bunch of neo-nazis with delusions of grandeur to kill me."

Steve's shivers. Tony doesn't know if it's from the shower or if it's the thought of Tony's heart stopping. Either way, it's time for them to get out. If they stay in here any longer, they'll shrivel up like raisins.

Tony shuts off the shower and loans Steve one of his towels. He shuffles into his bedroom, his exposed skin prickling. Steve stands in the middle of Tony's bedroom, hunched in on himself, almost as if he doesn't know what to do with his body. An uncharacteristic display of shyness from him.

Tony supposes that their day has come to an end; The sun has gone out of sight, the edges of the sky tinged with a thousand shades of pink, orange, and violet. They should eat dinner, and Tony needs to gather up everyone's armor and weaponry for some much needed updates and—

He doesn't want to be alone. And seeing Steve standing there like he has no place in Tony's room, in Tony's life, makes him want to remediate his mistakes. He wants Steve to stay for as long as he wants to.

"Tony, I—"

"Steve, I want—"

"Sorry," Steve blushes. "You first."

Tony’s suddenly aware that they’re just standing there in their towels, nothing else separating them from seeing each other’s bodies. This time feels noticeably different from all the other times they’ve seen each other in the nude. It’s more than his body being laid bare. "Can you...can you stay with me?"

"Tony?" Steve whispers, a little bit of awe seeping into his voice. Tony holds back a flinch, trying to tamp down on the surge of guilt that threatens to choke him. Had he been so cruel to Steve, so sparse with his affection?

"It ends now," he thinks. He'd never make Steve feel like that again, even if it killed him.

"Please?" Tony asks. "I don't...I don't want to be alone. Please stay with me."

“Okay,” Steve says. His voice is softer than Tony’s ever heard it. It strikes a chord within him, like an electric shock directly to his core, leaving him exposed and bleeding. They change the sheets together; Tony doesn’t feel like sleeping in a wet patch if he can help it. It feels intimate yet routine. Like he and Steve have done this a thousand times already.

Dropping their towels, they slide into bed together, tossing and turning until they’re somewhat comfortable, both of them unused to sharing a bed after being alone for so long. Tony curls up into Steve's side, tangling their legs together. Steve's hands stay at his sides, not pulling Tony close but not pushing him away either, making his stomach twist.

He doesn’t want there to be any distance between him and Steve, wants to press against him until he can’t tell where they begin and end.

Steve has that cute little wrinkle in his brow when he's thinking hard about something. His skin burns where it’s pressed against Tony, flushed from the heat of the shower...or maybe Tony’s proximity.

Tony’s lips find their way to the shell of Steve’s ear. “Hold me, please?” he whispers. Steve tenses, every muscle in his body coiled like a tiger ready to strike.

“Please?” he says again, a hint of desperation bleeding into his voice.

Steve’s hands hesitate at his sides before he wraps Tony up in his arms, the full heat of his body engulfing Tony. He melts into Steve’s side, letting a sigh of contentment escape. There’s no sound but the sound of their breathing melding together; Tony’s bedroom might as well be on another planet, he and Steve, the sole occupants. It’s a comfortable silence, one that Tony doesn’t feel the need to fill for once with inane chatter. For the first time in years, he feels safe. He feels loved.

Steve strokes Tony’s arm, his touch far lighter than one would expect from a soldier; he touches Tony like he’s something precious, with the soft, exploring hands of an artist. Of a lover.

Steve’s the one who breaks the silence, clearing his throat before he speaks. “Tony,” he begins. His voice is rough, unsure like he doesn’t know what he wants to say exactly.

Tony hums, signaling that he’s listening.

“Seeing you fall, today...it brought me low."

Tony closes his eyes. What little peace they have falls away. He knew the conversation was coming, but he hoped they’d at least have a day to regroup. He’s had the conversation plenty of times with Pepper, with Rhodey, even with Happy. He’ll hear Steve out, but the second Steve even hints at Tony quitting as Iron Man, he’s digging his feet into the proverbial sand.

“It was like losing Bucky all over again,” Steve continues. He’s stopped caressing Tony but still holds him close, a reassurance. “And if they had gotten your hands on you...like they did to him...God, I don’t—I don’t know what I would have done.”

Despite his body heat, Steve’s words leave Tony cold and shivering. He had prepared for Steve to beg him to stop, to step away from the suit. He hadn’t prepared to think about sharing the same fate as Bucky; Battered and broken, only to be put together worse off than he was. A mindless puppet forced to commit countless horrors. And if HYDRA did it to Bucky, what was stopping them from doing it again, especially since their precious asset was on the run? Who’s to say there wasn’t an army of brainwashed super-soldiers somewhere, ready to usher in HYDRA’s new world order?

Tony closes his eyes, pressing his head against Steve’s skin to clear the chilling image from his brain.

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Steve whispers with a fierceness to his voice. Steve frees one hand and grabs hold of Tony’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. “You hear me? I’d die before I’d let them get to you. To any of you.”

His heart speeds up again, and given their proximity, Steve can surely hear it, how crazy he makes Tony. With a declaration like that, how can he not love Steve with everything he has?

“And what about you?” Tony asks. “Who’s looking out for you?”

Steve swallows. “This isn’t about me.”

“Like hell it is,” Tony snaps, anxiety creeping up on him like a thief. “You’re not the only one who was worried today. If you’re willing to lay your life down for me, at least respect me enough to let me do the same.”

Steve doesn’t speak. Tony doesn’t know if he shocked him or offended him, or perhaps Steve was just thinking over what he would say.

“Is that what you think?” Steve says quietly, hurt coloring his voice. “That I don’t respect you? That I don’t know what you can do? Tony, I admire you. Not for your looks or your money, but for who you are.”

Tony can’t look away. It’s like there’s some electric current going from him to Steve, and the second they break eye contact, it’ll cease to exist.

Steve pushes on. “You have such a big heart, Tony. The world needs you. I need you. So, I’m not going to apologize for wanting to help keep you safe. I know you can take care of yourself, but if something happened to you...something I could've stopped…"

Steve trails off. Tony doesn't want to think about what his death would do to Steve. On many occasions, Tony had learned to never trust people who said they didn't have a dark side because chances were that they were lying. Steve had been his exception. Steve, who held him when he was lonely and drank hot chocolate with him on the nights when his demons got to be too much. How could someone like that have a dark side?

But Tony remembers how Steve fought by his side like a demon, like the god of war himself. What he saw today scratched the surface of how far Steve Rogers would go for someone he loved.

But did he love Tony? Did he love Tony like Tony loves him? Before his anxiety could get the best of him, he pushed the thought from his mind. Regardless of how Steve truly felt, Tony would still care for him. There was no going back. Hell, Tony didn't want to go back. Steve was in his heart now, whether he liked it or not.

"A promise, then," Tony states. "A pact. We protect each other. We take care of each other."

Steve practically pins Tony down with his gaze. Tony wets his lips and finishes with, "We trust each other. Alright?"

"One condition," Steve replies, "and I'll agree. Just promise me one thing."

"And what's that?" Steve's response is instantaneous."Don't pull away from me."

There goes Tony's heart again, beating like it wants to leap out of his chest and directly into Steve's hands. He hears the unspoken words in Steve's condition, and he realizes that that's precisely what he's doing. Handing Steve his heart on a silver platter.

"Here you go. Here's my soul, too. Whatever you want, it's yours," he thinks.

"Okay," Tony says. "I can do that. I have a condition, too."

"What's yours?"

"Don't stop kissing me," Tony says, feeling silly for even saying the words, but Steve doesn't laugh.

Instead, Steve swallows, and in one fluid motion, he's rolling so Tony's beneath him, his arms bracketing Tony's sides.

"I can do that," Steve whispers, stealing the words right from Tony's mouth.

#stony #superhusbands #steve x tony #stevetony #steve rogers #tony stark #marvel #mcu #imperialstark fic #my fic #my writing #nsfk

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todorokiaimee · 4 years ago

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Dopamine Chapter 5

Previous Chapter

“Hey, Sero! Thanks for hosting tonight,” Kirishima said as he pulled an ice-cold beer out of the fridge. “It’s been a long time since we had a guys night.”

Sero nodded as he looked over the Uno cards in his hand. “No problem dude. I’m always happy to pull you away from your old ball and chain.”

“Well, Marina and I are still a while off from the wedding.” Kirishima chuckled as he rejoined the game, the guys all gathered around Sero’s kitchen table.

“Fuck, don’t get him talking about Fish Sticks,” Bakugou grumbled. “He’ll never shut up.” Kirishima’s fiancé Marina had always rubbed Bakugou the wrong way but even he couldn’t deny the fact that they were made for each other. That fact aside, he still refused to call her by name.

“Speaking of little ladies…” The redhead smirked, before playing his card down on the pile. “Bakugou! Would you be so kind as to give us an update on your mystery woman?”

It had been a few days since Bakugou and Jada’s date. The blonde couldn’t deny the chemistry between them, but he was resigned to keep things casual for now. Love and hero work just didn’t mix. It’s only a distraction and gives your enemies something to use against you. Even so, he couldn’t get the dark-skinned beauty out of his mind ever since he first laid his eyes on her.

“Mystery woman?” Kaminari questioned as he played a draw 2 card. “The one he ditched us for on Mina’s birthday?”

“The one and the same,” Kirishima smirked, turning toward his friend. “Spill dude.”

Bakugou scoffed, playing his turn. “I don’t kiss and tell boys.”

“Boo you whore!” Kaminari laughed.

“We need to know more about the chick that effectively pulled you out of the booty call business.” Sero pushed as he took a drink of his beer.

I’m pretty sure I’m her booty call. But not for long. “I don’t owe you guys shit.”

“Can we get a name a least?”

“It’s Jada!” Kirishima confessed with a toothy grin.

“Jada!” Kaminari cooed. “First name basis already?! Things are getting serious!”

Bakugou only shrugged, drinking his beer. “She’s American so... not really.”

“Oh American!” Sero quirked a brow, laying down his card. “Taking a page out of Todoroki’s book, huh?” He smirked, sure he’d get a rise out his friend.

“I’m nothing like fucking Half n Half!” The ash-blonde barked.

“You don’t know what you’re missing with these American girls, Sero.” Kirishima smiled, laying down a wild card. “They’re so bold. Jada certainly isn’t letting Bakugou off easy. Oh, and I pick Blue.”

“Ooof I love it when they play hard to get,” The electric hero groaned, biting his lip. “Only makes me want them more.”

“We know.” The rest of the gang deadpanned.

Sero shook his head as Kaminari played a reverse card. “You went after Jiro for a solid 3 years before you got wise.”

“Oh, Jiro…,” Denki sighed lovingly. “The one that got away. I really thought we had an unspoken thing.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes with a grunt. “She was fucking gay you twat!”

“Well, I know that now! Also, can we talk about how hot she and YaoMomo are together? I mean damn.”

“I thought we were grilling Bakugou?” Kirishima interjected, playing a draw 4 card.

“Yeah,” Sero agreed, picking up his cards before playing his turn. “You’re not off the hook yet. Tell us!”

“Fuckin weirdos.” Bakugou hummed, leaning back in his chair. He never liked to talk about his exploits but he took pity on the guys. He was the only one of them actually dating besides Kirishima and his almost married stories were just a mushy love fest. “You know I only like the best so…” He smirked, looking around the room as his friends waited in anticipation. “She has this crazy body… like stacked. Legs for days. Piercings. Green eyes and smooth dark skin…”

“American and Black?” Kaminiari interrupted. “I sense a pattern here.” Sero shushed him, urging Bakugou to continue.

“She’s smart too. She fixed my gauntlet with just tools in her purse,” He chuckled, remembering her tinkering on his gauntlet with ease. “She’s unpredictable. Whenever I think she’s gonna go right, she goes left. It drives me fucking crazy but there’s something about her.” He paused, stroking the stubble of his beard as he mumbled. “She’s just different.”

The room fell silent as they looked at their explosive friend in awe until Kirishima finally said what they all were thinking. “Dude. You’re gushing. Like actually gushing about a girl.” He paused as a huge grin pulled at his lips. “You’re catching feelings!”

“The fuck I am!”

“Yes, you are! Ask me how I know.”

“I swear to God if you bring up Marina again I will--”

“You just called her Marina!” Kirishima laughed as his friend let loose a small explosion in his hardened face.

“Don’t be shy, dude,” Sero teased. “It’s about time actually. We were getting worried about you.”

“Shut up!” Bakugou grumbled. “Let’s get back to the game.”

“Okay, let’s hurry this up because I’m ready to move onto phase two of the night,” Kaminari said as he played another reverse card.

“What’s phase two?” The redhead asked as he played a reverse card back to Kaminari.

“It’s a surprise!”

“I’m probably gonna hate it but fine.” Bakugou huffed.

“Uno!” The electric hero cheered as he played yet another reverse card.

“Fuck!” Bakugou yelled as he looked over to his guilty-looking redheaded friend. “Shitty hair if you play another reverse I’m going to reverse your existence.”

“I’m sorry! That’s all I can play!” He grimaced as he laid down the card.

“And a wild card for the win!” Kaminari boasted, laying down his last card. “Fork it over bitches!”

The men all groaned as they took out their wallets, each tossing 10k yen onto the table. “Why were we playing and betting on fucking Uno anyway?” Bakugou mumbled.

“Because Denki doesn’t know how to play poker.” Sero huffed.

Kirishima chuckled. “Well, it worked out fine for him I guess…”

“Okay, it’s time for phase two!” Kaminari said as he pocketed the money. “We’re going to the strip club! I’m gonna take your money and make it rain!“

__________________________________________________________________________

Filing out of the uberX, the boys made their way to a seemingly everyday luxury building, Denki talking over his shoulder, “Guys you are going to love this place. It’s called The Secret Garden. Super classy and discrete.”

Sero laughed as he pulled out his ID, walking up to the bouncer at the door. “Dude all I need to know is are the girls hot?”

“Well duh.” The electric hero chuckled. “My girl Tiffany can throw it back.”

“I should probably call Marina and tell her the change of plans,” Kirishima mumbled apologetically as he took out his cell phone.

“Heh. Pussy.” Bakugou jeered as his friend stepped away to call his fiancé.

It was then that Kaminari looked amongst his friends as they all took turns showing their IDs. “Everybody’s got cash money, right? The ladies do not take cards. I found that out the hard way.” With an affirmation from the rest of the crew, Kirishima returned to the group, pocketing his cell phone.

“What did Fish Sticks say?” Bakugou asked the redhead with a smug smirk. “Do you have to go crawling back home with your dick between your legs?”

“She’s cool,” he shrugged. “She said I could browse the menu as long as I don’t order anything.”

“No lap dances for you then.” Sero laughed.

“That’s cool,” Denki said with a bright smile, leading everyone inside. “The main stage is where the best girls dance anyway.”

As the men made their way up to the mainstage of the club, Bakugou took a moment to gauge his surroundings. There was mellow house music pumping through the speakers has men and even a few women sat around in comfy chairs as gorgeous scantily clad women danced sensually on top of them or just talked with them seemingly enjoying their company. Strip clubs always made Bakugou vaguely uncomfortable but he couldn’t put his finger on just why. Maybe it was just the very public nature of traditionally intimate activities. It didn’t matter anyway, there was no way he was going to be seen as the prude of the group.

The group of friends all sat down around the edge of the main stage, each pulling out a healthy wad of cash to prepare for their first dance. Denki however, took it a step further as per usual. The hero pulled out a money gun, eagerly loading it up with his Uno winnings from earlier that night. As the others rolled their eyes at their eccentric friend, a petite pink-haired woman dressed in a frilly lace baby doll set walked up to the man with a sweet smile. “Mr. Kaminari welcome back! It’s been so long since you last came to play with us.” Sakura cooed as she batted her lashes.

“Princess! Good to see you! I’m sorry it’s been a while. Duty calls.” Denki smirked as he flexed his biceps, not so subtly. “Tiffany should be performing on the main stage tonight, right?”

“Umm, how many times have you been here?” Kirishima whispered to his electric friend.

“Sorry hun,” Sakura apologized. “She called in sick tonight. But my girl Nubia is about to go on. She always puts on an amazing show.”

“Nubia, huh?” Denki hummed as he scratched his chin. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of watching her dance. This should be fun!”

Bakugou sighed as he stood up from his seat. “I’m gonna go get a beer.” The man made his way back to the bar, the bartender taking his order as the lights on the mainstage went out, a woman crossing the floor. He hummed as he paid for his drink taking a sip as the MC’s voice rang through the speakers.

“Welcome back to the main stage our exotic beauty and tonight your faithful assistant, Nubia!”

As the lights lifted, Bakugou watched from the bar as the dancer stood on stage, her back to the audience. Dressed in tight office attire, she tossed random papers into the air as James Brown’s “It’s a Man’s World” played throughout the club. (https://youtu.be/ilMV5tu9bcQ)

And then she turned around.

No. Fucking. Way. The explosive hero nearly choked on his beer as he stared. He knew those dark locs and green eyes anywhere. The woman on stage was in fact, Jada Jackson.

He continued to watch from afar as she twirled around the pole to the music, slowly peeling off articles of clothing until she was left in a silver bra and thong set. He clenched his fists as he seethed watching her long legs wave in the air, her curves on full display. This can’t be happening. Bakugou willed himself to stay calm as his friends cheered her on, cursing under his breath as she finally rid herself of her metallic bra, leaving her chest bare to the world. It was then that Jada crawled across the stage floor, right up to his friends staring in awe.

Jada smirked as she went up to the blonde who had been very enthusiastic, shooting yen bills onto the stage with his money gun. Kaminari practically drooled as his eyes flicked from her full breasts to her green eyes and back again, “Good God, where have you been all my life?”

“Waiting for you, sweetheart,” Jada breathed as she moved her body seductively, her eyes flicking to the large wad of cash in his hand. “Is that for me?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Then slide it in, baby.” She smirked as she stretched out the band of her thong. Denki eagerly slipped the stack of bills into the band as she let out a lewd moan followed by a delighted giggle. “I love a nice thick one.”

Denki gulped, exploring all the possibilities in his mind. “Let me take you away from all this…”

Next, Jada turned her gaze to Sero, a nervous smile plastered across his face. “Look at that smile. Aren’t you a cutie.”

“T-thank you, ma’am.” He stuttered as he put his cash tip into her thong band as well.

“So polite. Thank you, sir.” Jada gave him a wink before crawling over to her next target, Kirishima. She giggled to herself as she knelt on her knees before him, his eyes refusing to look anywhere below her neck. “Someone looks a little shy.”

“Heh yeah… maybe a bit.” He chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck timidly.

“Relax, honey. I don’t bite.” She purred as Kirishima laughed, showing off his pointy pearly whites. “Oh. But maybe you do.” Jada breathed as she came up with an idea. “I think I’d like these chompers right… here.” Just then, the ravenette grabbed his head, pulling his face into her large breasts, giving them a shimmy for added effect.

THE FUCK?! Bakugou couldn’t believe his eyes. He silently seethed as he chugged his beer. Here was his girl, the woman he had invested so much time and energy on, and his friends are ogling her freely. His palms popped and sparked as he crushed his beer can in his fist as Jada finished her dance, collecting her clothes and tips before disappearing into the back. The hero stomped back up to the stage with his eyes filled with rage, Denki taking notice of his friend.

“Dude! You missed the whole dance! I think I just met my future wife.”

“Shut the fuck up Kaminari.” Bakugou practically spat, as he walked up to another dancer. “Oi! The girl that was just on stage. When is she coming back out?”

The woman looked him up and down before giving the hero a playful smirk. “You want a dance, baby? I’d be happy to help you out.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He said dismissively. “When is Ja- Nubia coming back out?”

“I’ll go get her.”

The dancer turned on her heel with a sigh before walking backstage and into the dressing room. “Hey, Jada?” She looked around the small crowded area quickly finding the dark-skinned beauty amongst her fairer colleagues.

“Yeah?” She asked as she fixed her makeup.

“You got a request for a dance.”

“Really?” Jada mumbled, a smile pulling at her plump lips. “Must be my lucky night. I got some great tippers stageside tonight. Was it the skinny blonde one with the black streak in his hair?”

“No it was a blonde but he had a spikey undercut… super buff too.” The dancer hummed as she played with her hair. “Nasty attitude though so I would be careful. Should I tell Tanaka to keep an eye on him?”

“NO!” Jada yelled before quickly recovering, “Um I mean, I got it. I’ll be right out, just let me change into a new set.”

After quickly changing into a new navy bra and pantie set, Jada nervously made her way back onto the club floor, praying to whoever would listen. Please don’t be him. Please don’t be him. Please don’t be him. She held her breath as she looked around the room, a pair of ruby red eyes locking with hers instantly. Fuck it is him. Her heart dropped into her stomach as the ash-blonde walked up to her, practically steaming. “Hi handsome, you want a dance?”

“You’re just gonna act like everything’s fine? Really?” Bakugou fumed. “Were you ever gonna tell me?!”

“Okay! Sounds like you want a private dance! Follow me to the champagne room, sir.”

With a flip of her long dark locs, Jada led Bakugou out across the floor, his friends quickly taking notice. He ignored their cheers for what they thought would be a seductive dance at his request. Instead, their hoots and hollers only fueled his rage even more. Once inside the ultra-private champagne room, Jada was the first one to speak. “I can explain.”

“This should be rich, Dimples.”

“This is only temporary.”

“Temporary?” He scoffed as he crossed his muscular arms.

“Yes!” Even she knew she didn’t sound very convincing.

Bakugou laughed, rolling his eyes. “I swear to God if you tell me you’re only doing this to pay for law school or some bullshit like that--”

“I’m doing this to pay for a number of things that I’m not at liberty to discuss with you. And frankly, I don’t owe you shit!”

“Well, you’re so full of shit that you must have plenty to go around!”

Jada bit her lip as she let out a deep sigh. She really didn’t think she was going to have this conversation with him this soon if ever. “Look, I have to make a living, same as everybody else. When YOU go to the strip club someone has to dance for you. So obviously you were okay with that arrangement as long as your girl wasn’t on stage.”

“I didn’t want to fucking come! The point is you fucking lied to me!”

“I never lied to you.”

“You didn’t tell me the whole truth!”

“You didn’t ask the right questions.”

Bakugou groaned as he raked his hand through his hair, exasperated. “Fuck! I can’t believe you actually had me bragging to my boys about you. Me! Bakugou fucking Katsuki gushing over a woman.” The hero was so furious he was shaking. In fact, he was more than furious, he was embarrassed. “I sang your praises to my friends only for you to turn around and take your clothes off for them!” He laughed as he shook his head in disgust. “Oh, and you let my best friend motorboat you too. Can’t forget that.”

The ravenette paused, taking a step back, turning her eyes away from his burning gaze. “I’m not going to apologize for doing my job. You and friends came here to be entertained and I delivered.”

“I’m a Pro Hero for fucks sake!” Bakugou yelled, throwing his hands into the air. “I can’t date a stripper. Not knowing any extra off the street with a yen can see your goods.”

Jada paused, unsure of what to say. She wasn’t surprised by his reaction, but she didn’t expect the bite of his words to cut her so deep. I knew this was a bad idea. I knew you were a bad idea. “Well, let me rid you of that problem. You won’t be seeing me anymore.” She said coldly before holding her hand out to him. “That’s 55,000 yen for the dance.”

“What?!” He barked in confusion.

“The champagne room is super private and luxurious. No cameras so as to not hurt your precious image.” She hissed as her nose began to tingle. “It costs more and my boss is expecting a cut.” Don’t you fucking do it, Jada. You will not cry in front of him. “I know you’re good for it so let’s not drag this out.”

The blonde scoffed, digging into this pants pocket to pull out his wallet. “I can’t believe I have to pay for a fucking fight,” he mumbled, taking out a wad of cash. “You didn’t even dance…”

“Yeah but like you said…” Jada said as she snatched the money from his hand. “Your boys enjoyed the show, didn’t they?”

To stop himself from completely losing his cool, Bakugou pushed past the woman and stomped back out onto the club floor. He sulked up to his group of friends, now watching a new dancer on stage. Kirishima was the first one to spot him, immediately noticing his abnormally hostile energy and his overly red face.

“Whoa! Where’s the fire, bro?”

“We’re leaving!” Bakugou bellowed, walking over to the door.

“Dude, what happened?” Sero asked as they all got up from their seats before following Bakugou out of the building. “Did you not like your dance? She was hot.”

“Did you like it a little too much?” Denki chuckled as he gave the ash-blonde a slap on the back. “Cuz I mean I wouldn’t blame ya. That’s a meal I’d eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“SHUT UP!” Bakugou yelled, punching his well-meaning friend in the face, his frustrations finally getting the better of him. Stumbling backward, Kaminari held his nose in his hands as he groaned in pain.

“Katsuki! What the fuck dude?!” Kirishima shouted as he steadied the electric hero. “What’s the matter with you?”

“That was her!” Bakugou boomed as he paced the sidewalk.

“Who?”

“Jada!”

The men all stared at Bakugou blankly, not understand who he meant.

“The stripper…” he explained through gritted teeth. “Nubia. It’s fucking Jada!”

The group of friends all looked at each other in confusion until the reality of the situation finally clicked into place, all of them shouting at once, “FUCK!”

Meanwhile, inside the club, Jada left the champagne room with her head hung low as she silently counted the wad of cash from her almost beau. Eizan was right… I was stupid for even trying. With a sigh, she sauntered backstage to the dressing room, plopping down in her makeup chair. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t even notice her best friend pull up a seat next to her.

“Wow, girl look at that fat wad! What did you have to do to get that?” Sakura asked cheerfully.

“Nothing…” Jada breathed, putting the cash away for safekeeping.

“Sweetheart, why do you look so upset? What happened? Did that guy do something to you?” The pink-haired woman quickly looked her friend over for any marks or bruises, her concern growing.

“No, I'm fine.” Jada insisted as she touched up her makeup, taking special care that her eyeliner and mascara were still intact. “I just got a reality check is all.”

Chapter 6 | Masterlist

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missingrobin · 4 years ago

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Freaks (Peter Parker x Genderneutral!Reader)

Warnings: Fighting

WC: 2628

Loosely based on: Freaks by surf curse (I highly suggest you listen to it!!!)

A/N: I’m so sorry I’ve been gone for so long guys! I missed you so much and I’m back to writing more consistently. If you have any requests don’t hesitate to send them my way!

Masterlist

Your day started like any other, you rolled out of bed, got ready for your day, grabbed your bag and roamed to the nearest coffee shop. Still only half awake you ordered your tea and sat outside at the table farthest from people possible. Birds chirped loudly and swarmed the pretty blue sky that rested above. You slurped your tea and checked your phone. You scrolled through Instagram looking at friends from high school and how they were doing in college. You felt a small wave of sadness wash over you as you thought about how you would be starting college in the fall and how you would have to leave your family behind. Your eyes were constantly heavy and felt like the weight of the world was sitting on your face from worrying about school and life in general. Nothing had been the same since you started experiencing small changes in your body. Your head would be pounding and it would like you were being run over by a truck. Your hands would start changing faint colors of purple or blue when you weren’t even doing anything, and worst of all sometimes you would stand up and instantly black out.

You felt a dizzy spell coming on so you decided to walk back to your apartment. You walked slowly and hazily till you reached your door, but still the banging in your head wouldn’t stop. You stumbled inside and fell on your couch deciding to rest for a while.

Meanwhile at the avengers compound…

“Tony we’ve been tracking Y/n for 2 weeks already, we can’t just sit around and wait till they start attacking innocent civilians,” Steve said while resting his head in his hands from frustration. Nat walked in and heard all the commotion but decided to walk out before things got too ugly.

“Steve please shut it, I know but I don’t want to make the wrong move and get us all killed because you wanted to be impatient,” Tony rolled his eyes. Rhodey and Bucky sat at the kitchen table listening into one of Tony and Steve's many fights.

“Then what are we gonna do Tony!” Steve snapped at Tony.

“We're gonna send the kid in to capture the other kid,” Tony smirked and did his I told you so face while the room got quiet.

“Tony I’m not so sure about that, do you really think the kid could do all that?” Steve questioned with judgmental eyes. Rhodey and Bucky looked at each other and then looked away, everyone was completely lost in their thoughts questioning if this plan would work.

“Yes I’m sure,” Tony remarked after a few minutes. “It’s pretty hard to mess up a kidnapping when you’re an Avenger,” Tony pushed his glasses up to his face and everyone eyed each other looking for what to say. By this time Nat was back and decided to sit in the living room and listen in as to what was being talked about.

“Tony you’re helpless,” Steve stormed out of the room and decided to go train.

Tony rubbed his hands together and yelled at Friday. “Friday send Parker his assignment and tell him if he messes this up I’ll put a bomb in his suit.

“Okay Mr. Stark your message was sent.”

Queens, New York(Peters bedroom)

“Yeah Ned, I told Flash not to eat Safeway sushi but do you think he’d actually listen to me.” Peter sighed and rubbed his forehead.

A flash came out of his closet doors from his suit and he jumped up instantly.

“Hey buddy I’ll call you back, Stark sent me a mission.” Peter squealed and jumped up and down like a little kid.

Peter walked over to his suit and pressed the intercom. A hologram shot out and appeared right in front of Peter.

“Kid your mission is to go capture this mutant,” Tony held up a picture of you and Peter gawked and your beauty. “They’re highly dangerous and don’t know how to control their powers just yet but we’re capturing them to train them and recruit them for the avengers, Oh by the way they can control your mind and heal people with water so maybe try and get on their good side.” Tony smiled nervously and the hologram faded away.

“Fuck how do I always get left with the shittiest jobs possible,” Peter raked his hands through his hair and flopped dramatically on his bed. “I’m not so sure if it’s right just to go kidnap someone if I don’t even have a motive, I’m pretty sure that's illegal but I need to impress Mr. Stark.” Peter flopped on his bed and questioned whether he should or shouldn’t try and kidnap you.

After an hour of pure mind riddling thoughts Peter stood up and decided to get this over with. He pulled on his suit and shot out his window, he hesitantly followed the his built in GPS that led to your apartment.

When he arrived he tried to climb through the back window that led into your bathroom but missed and went through your bedroom window. He crept around slowly and tried to see if you were home. He checked your bathroom first, then your kitchen, then finally your living room. You rested uneasily on your couch tossing and turning almost every other minute. You spoke softly in your sleep and occasionally snored.

“Well this wasn’t too hard,” Peter chuckled while shooting a tranq dart at you. Too bad it wasn’t that easy for him though. You physically weren’t awake but your brain could sense if you were in danger at any time so your eyes shot open and you rolled off your couch before the dart could strike your skin.

You rose and started floating. A thought popped in your head that you should throw him out a window and that you did. You flicked your hand softly to the left and Peter was sent flying out of your apartment. He crashed on the pavement and civilians screamed. You felt bad for flinging him out a window but it had to be done. Then you screamed.

“What the actual fuck, how’d I do that?” You looked down at your hands and flipped them over almost 20 times trying to find a logical explanation as to how you just threw some guy out a window.

Something in your brain didn’t let your guard down just yet. There was still some type of danger around and you needed to get out of here as soon as possible.

You dashed out of your back door trying to avoid the street but you were met with Black Widow and Captain America.

“Fuck,” you sighed in defeat while they both stunned you with electric pods. You passed out and hit the ground hard, fading off into another restless slumber.

When you woke up you were in a metal room that had no doors or windows. It was cold and empty other than a metal chair that you were chained to. You slumped over into a proper position and tried to focus your eyes but you just couldn’t.

Outside the box

“Are they okay?” Peter questioned with sorry eyes. There were bruises all over his body and a small cut on his face. Peter pushed the hair out of his face and stared at his battered fingers.

“They’re fine kid, but why’re you so worried about them? Didn’t they throw you out a window or something?” Tony eyed Peter and waited for his answer but it never fully came. Just small stutters fell from Peters lips and confusing glances shot Tonys’ way.

“Ooooh I get it you think they’re attractive don’t you,” Tony raised his eyebrows and smirked while elbowing Peter in the side causing him to start coughing. “Shit sorry kid didn’t mean to kill you but at least my plan worked out,”

Peter craned his neck around and his eyes shot open. “What do you mean your plan worked out Mr. Stark, I literally was thrown out a window.” Peters’ hands started getting hot and his heartbeat fastened.

“Kid keep up, out of all the Avengers I sent a literal child to go capture a super powerful mutant, why would a billionaire, playboy, genius do that when I knew that they could literally kill you. Hmmm let me think, I did that because I knew they wouldn’t see you as such a huge threat compared to Natasha or Bucky. Look I’m not saying that I don’t believe in you or that I think you couldn’t do it I’m just saying that I’m smart so I sent you in first. Then I let the adults handle it.”

Peter pushed himself off the couch and stormed off to find where you were being held. Tony groaned knowing that he really just messed up. Peter wandered the hallways till he could find any clue as to where you were being held.

“Hey Bucky, can I pretty please ask you a super secret question?” Peter flashed puppy eyes at Bucky and did a tiny smile.

“They’re being held in the basement by the gym, anything else?” Peter's jaw dropped instantly.

“I- um how exactly did you know that I was going to ask that,” Peter nervously racked his hands through his hair and a faint tint of pink graced his cheeks.

“I heard some of what Tony said and I know what it's like to be held captive by someone, so get them out of here kid. I know that we’re the avengers and all but we don’t have the right to make decisions for someone like that, Unless they’re actually trying to harm people and the only reason they harmed you was because you tried to capture them, and I’d do the exact same thing if I were them.” Bucky ran out of words to say and looked away. Slowly he turned around and walked in the opposite direction.

Bucky and Peter were never really close so it baffled Peter that Bucky would go against Tonys’ orders to help someone he doesn’t even know, but Peter could see the pain in Buckys eyes when he talked about being held captive. Maybe this was the wrong choice and it would cause a lot of tension between Tony and Peter but it was a risk that Peter was willing to take to do what is right.

Peter stormed down to the Basement and eventually located the holding cells. They were in one long hallway that extended about 100 ft. The hallway was lined with cells that had transparent barriers that would instantly burn anyone who tried to go through them. Peter searched every cell till he got the very last one which was a metal door that had no handle.

Peter kicked the door and your head shot up instantly. You tried with all your might to shake out of the chains that bound you and your chair to the floor but it was no use. Panic filled your veins and your hands instantly started to sweat. Then suddenly you were met face to face with the most gorgeous boy you’ve ever seen.

“Hi I’m Peter, Peter Parker,” the charming boy flashed you a bright smile and you looked at him shocked.

“Um hi I’m Y/n nice to meet you I guess,” you smiled a warm smile but you were still hesitant of the stranger that stood in front of you.

Peter stood awkwardly still and stared at you like you were a shiny diamond.

“So Peter, I’m guessing you didn’t kick a hole in that wall just to say hi, so what exactly do you want?” You straightened up in your chair and eyed Peters’ body, he wasn’t skinny or super buff but the perfect in between. He had the most perfect brown eyes and hair, and whenever he didn’t know what to do with himself he racked his hands through his hair.

“Oh right I’m here to save you Y/n,” Peter smiled warmly

“Well what the hell are you waiting for,” you giggled softly. Peter rushed forward and ripped the chains that attached you to the floor right out like they were merely plastic. You stretched your arms and legs but you nearly tumbled over from not walking for a few hours.

You and Peter rushed out of the metal room and tried to weasel your way out of the compound. You snuck around corners and hid by houseplants trying your best not to be spotted. When you finally got out of the compound you didn’t know what exactly to do. Your head was spinning from all the crazy shit that happened today. You were kidnapped by the Avengers, then unkidnapped by the Avengers. You felt like you might explode.

“Okay Peter, I need answers right now, Who the fuck are you really? Why did you help my escape and how did you even know where I was in the first place?” Wrapped your arms around your torso, taking a step back from peter.

The sun was finally starting to set and the cities’ lights started shining in the sky.

“Okay first things first, I’m Spiderman and I know you might hate me a ton for attempting to kidnap you butttt I was just trying to win Mr. Stark's approval because I kinda care about what he thinks of me, and I knew where you were because Bucky told me where to find you. Oh shoot you know Bucky right,” You shook your head super confused. “Okay so Bucky is the Winter Soldier, and he wanted me to help yo-”

“Okay Spider boy slow down, I get the most important parts,” You were still quite confused as to why Peter would break the trust of someone he cares about the most just to save you.

“So why did you betray Stark, you barely even know me,” you sighed softly waiting for Peters’ response.

“I saved you because before you threw me out your window the look in your eye made me believe that you didn’t actually want to hurt me but you were just scared like I was, and I couldn’t just sit by while you were being held prisoner for no apparent reason that’s totally against my morals,” Peter flashed a quick smile and you could tell in your heart that he was one of the most genuine people in the entire universe. He wasn’t lying at all about anything that he just said and he was actually worried about what would happen to you if he didn’t step in.

“Thank you Peter, that’s definitely one of the kindest things anyone’s ever done for me. I just don’t understand what's going on with me, I’ve never thrown anyone out a window before and I keep getting weird feelings everyday. My life is just really going downhill,�� You found your way to a park bench and decided to sit for a second, Peter joined you.

“Hey Y/n we’ll figure out what's going on with you and I promise to keep you safe, I’m pretty sure this super shitty traumatic event at least ended with a friendship right.” You laughed calmly and soon Peter joined in. “Yeah this definitely bonded us for life Peter.” You both stared at the stars that now fell all over New York. They shined so bright that you almost forgot about all the shit you just went through together. In that moment it was just you and him. All the buildings and commotion faded away and the sky became your home.

The comfortable silence was ended by you softly. “So Peter what exactly do we do now?” you questioned sending a slight shiver down your back.

“ Now we try to hide you from the Avengers.”

I hope you guys enjoyed this story and If you’d like a Part 2 please comment below!

Have a great day, see you soon <3

#peter parker #peter parker x yn #marvel #spiderman #spiderman x stark!reader #spiderman x y/n #spiderman x reader #peter parker x reader #Captian Marvel #steve rodgers imagine #peter parker fluff #peter parker fanfiction

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theshopislocal · 4 years ago

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corinth rains

New and improved Heaven may well be the Happiest Place (not) on Earth. But Dean, it turns out, is still Dean.

(also on AO3)

chapter two

Heaven is warm, bucolic, and perfect. And it gives Dean the damned heebie-jeebies.

He recalls a memorable night spent with Pamela - well, as memorable as it could be after a fifth of Macallan. Sam had said ‘So get this...’ and then fucked off to the local library, leaving Pam and Dean at the hotel bar. They’d drunk til the lights got fuzzy, and Pam had leaned back against the barstool, arching one dark eyebrow.

She’d had Dean supine across the foot of the squeaky queen, sitting astride him and working some kind of magic. She’d settled his hands on her slim waist, tugged at his hair, bitten his lips; he’d had nary a moment to want something before she gave it - the craving coming on the heels of the having.

Heaven is much the same - perceptive and generous - and it leaves Dean feeling just as he had that night with Pam. Vulnerable, flayed open. Seen.

He assumes it’s heaven’s off-brand kind of ESP that’s landed him here, seated at a teakwood dining table in a house over yonder.

There are soft sounds from the kitchen - cabinets opening, a gurgling coffee maker, a substratum of tuneless humming. Dean hunches over his plate and shovels another forkful of pie into his mouth. It’s sweet and rich, tart and crumbly, and he barely tastes it at all.

“You alright?”

Dean looks up to find Mary seated across from him. She’s a little younger than when he last saw her, but otherwise she’s just as he remembers - her yellow hair falling in waves over her shoulders, her eyes a soft Carolina blue.

She stares at him, calm and unconcerned, the bow of her lips turned up in a tiny smile.

Dean shakes his head and gives a little shrug. “Yeah, ‘course,” he says, gruffer than intended.

She notices, he’s sure, but she only tips her head in a nod. “Okay.”

A quietude stretches between them, peaceful but gravid. Mary tilts her head, face serene and mildly expectant, and she inches a pale hand forward on the table. His fingers clench around the little dessert fork, and he takes another bite.

She’s waiting, he realizes, for him to speak, to get there. Though where ‘there’ is, Dean’s got no damn idea.

“You know,” he says, to fill the silence, “Sammy asked me if I remembered anything,” he swallows, throat dry, and looks down at his plate, “‘bout bein’ a kid.”

Mary’s eyebrows pop up, and she smiles a little wider. “You remembered me,” she offers.

Dean’s eyes alight on hers, and his lips purse. There’s something something fragile in her face, a budding hope that he doesn’t want to crush. You made me sandwiches, he wants to say. You told me bedtime stories.

His stomach clenches. You burned alive, gutted on the ceiling.

Dean looks away, brow furrowed. “‘Course I did,” he grunts out, throat tight.

She gives him a look that goes right through him - compassionate, or maybe pitying. Her mouth turns down like she can hear his thoughts, and he bites his cheek, shamefaced.

“What else do you remember?” she asks, and her voice is mild and curious, lacking the censure Dean expected.

Dean reins in his surprise and dips his head, summoning a wry smile. “Well,” he says and points his fork at the plate of pie crumbs.

She rolls her eyes and nods, smiling once again. “Yes, obviously pie. What else.”

He stares at her for a moment, feeling wrong-footed and a little short-changed, then peers through the open French doors toward the mountainside. He scans his memories, steering clear of the ugly ones that present themselves first, looking for something - anything - to keep her smiling.

...Weedy grass and buzzing bees.

“Our backyard,” he murmurs, and feels his lips quirk up.

Mary’s smile grows soft, warm like the spring air. “Mm,” she hums. “Always overgrown. Your dad never wanted to mow it.”

Dean withholds a wince at the mention of John, and a muscle twitches in his jaw. “I liked it how it was.”

Mary’s eyes dart up to his, and her soft laugh lines deepen. “Yeah, you did.”

Dean’s eyes trace over her face, searching for something, though he’s not sure what. She’s still the girl who made a deal with a yellow-eyed demon. Still the woman who left, and left, and left again. She’s no more perfect now than she ever was, but...

She has laugh lines, and yellow hair, and Carolina blue eyes. And she’s looking at Dean like she’s missed him forever. Damn, if he hasn’t missed her, too.

Something loosens in his chest, and his fists unclench. He smiles, wan but sincere, and leans back in his seat, crossing his ankles under the table. “Coulda done without the bees though.”

She huffs a little laugh and shakes her head. “You loved the bees,” she counters.

Dean raises a doubtful eyebrow. “Did I?”

“Mhm,” she hums, nodding sagely. “You’d chase ‘em around, flapping your arms like little wings.”

Dean squints, searching his scattered memory. He remembers the yard, the foliage, the window into the kitchen. He remembers thunder and lightning and torrential downpour. He doesn’t remember himself.

“Huh,” he says, and folds his arms over his chest.

He stares across the table at Mary. She’s silent but smiling, her eyes far away. It’s a familiar look, one he’s seen on nearly everyone he knows in Heaven. Like they’re lost in a beautiful memory - a moment in their past lives that they didn’t regret.

Dean doesn’t think about his human life. He’d lived it, after all. That was enough.

“You drew me a map once.”

Dean eyes flick up from where they’d settled on his dirty plate, and his brow furrows. “A map?”

She nods, still staring glassy-eyed into the middle distance. “You followed one little bee all day long,” she murmurs. “Counted all the flowers she landed on. Then you,” she swallows, and her eyes go shiny, “you raced inside and scribbled it all out on the back of a—” a startled huff of laughter, “—a takeout menu.”

Dean watches her, the way her eyes flick back and forth, like she’s watching the scene unfold before her. There’s an ache near the center of his chest like a bruise. “I don’t remember that,” he says, voiced pitched low.

Her head tilts up, absent eyes meeting his as she pulls herself from reverie. “You were... three? Maybe four?” She looks down and brings a hand to settle over her heart. “It was beautiful,” she whispers, and tilts her head. “Wish I still had it.”

Dean nods at her, though she’s still looking away, and he feels a hot coil of guilt in his stomach. Mary had adored him, he knows that much, and she’d lost him as surely as he’d lost her. He remembers the expectant way he’d looked at her in the bunker, wanting something she couldn’t remember how to give. Something he barely even remembers himself.

There’s movement behind Mary’s head, and Dean’s eyes snap to it.

Something is... growing on the wall.

Dean’s fists clench up, and he watches with hawk eyes as the thing manifests, forming itself into a vaguely rectangular shape. He feels his lips purse tight and his spine straighten like a rod.

Mary senses his sudden tension and looks up, following his eyes over her shoulder.

“Oh my god,” she whispers in awe.

She unfolds herself from her chair and stands up slowly, as if in a dream. She walks the four paces to the wood-paneled wall, reaching out a cautious hand. Her fingers close around the frame of the thing, and she gives a soft sigh.

Dean stares at her back where the knobs of her spine meet her neck, her shoulder blades distorting the periwinkle plaid of her blouse. She turns around, her eyes fixed on her prize, thumbs smoothing over the simple wood frame.

She comes around the table, sliding into the chair at Dean’s side, and when she finally looks up at him, her eyes are bright and red-rimmed. She takes Dean’s hand in hers, her skin smooth and cool, and slips the little framed drawing into his palm.

He peers down at it and gives a startled bark of laughter.

The drawing is entirely ridiculous - an indecipherable riot of squiggly pen lines and waxy crayon color. There’s a messy bed of green near the bottom, which Dean assumes is grass, and it’s speckled with tiny blobs of vibrant pink and deep red - flowers, Dean thinks. Near the center of the page is a single white daisy with a bright yellow bumblebee hovering over it. A swirling purple line trails behind its black-striped body, making loop-de-loops around every flower. The sky is a strip of electric blue at the top, just above an empty field of white - the landscape drawn as children often do, with the heavens separated from the earth.

His fingers hover over a grease-stained corner, illegible text bleeding through. “Jeez,” he breathes out. “Clearly I missed my calling.”

He hears the broad smile in Mary’s voice. “Coulda been the next Da Vinci,” she says, nudging his shoulder.

Dean huffs and raises an eyebrow. “More like Picasso.”

She laughs at that, as he knew she would, and it sounds like Corinthian bells, chiming in harmony on the breeze.

Dean smiles to himself, eyes roving over his apparent masterpiece before alighting on a strange scribble in the corner.

“What’s this?” he murmurs, pointing a finger at the tiny black and blue squiggle.

“Hm?” Mary leans closer to him, and Dean’s nose twitches with the scent of tart apples clinging to her hair. She looks at the little scribble, frowning for a moment, before her eyebrows pop up. “Oh, wow,” she sighs out, leaning closer. “I forgot about that.”

She reaches out a hand to grasp the side of the frame opposite Dean’s, the small weight of the silly little drawing shared between them. She’s got that look again, like there’s an old Super 8 projection playing in her head. Dean wonders what’s on the reel.

She chews her lip for a moment, then tips her head toward Dean. “You remember what I used to tell you before bed?” she asks, peering up at his face.

Dean frowns. “Brush your teeth or they’ll turn green?”

She gives him a look. “That was Dad.”

Dean tips his head back in a nod. “Right. Uh...” Dean trails off for a moment, unsure. Nearly all of his childhood memories are of Mary, but they’re weathered and vague, filtered through the consciousness of a toddler. He barely remembers the words she said, only the lilting strains of her voice as she calmed him, soothed him, protected him—

An image flits across his mind, and he sucks in a breath: a tiny figurine that sat on the mantel, with fluffy little wings and a crown of white roses.

Dean blinks and shakes his head. “Angels are watching over me,” he intones.

He sees Mary nod in his peripheral vision, and her finger taps on the little scribble near his thumb.

“It’s—” Dean starts and frowns, askance, “...an angel?” he guesses.

“Mhm,” she hums, giving another slow nod. Her finger slides across the two tiny black scrawls, vaguely triangular and joined at the middle. “Wings,” she says, then taps the blue oval just above, “halo.” He sees her smile out of the corner of his eye. “You drew it all the time.”

Dean stares at the squiggle, a frown etching across his forehead. The figurine he remembers was nearly solid white, the only deviations its pink skin and dark eyes. There’s not a speck of white in the little scribble, no cherubic cloud-seeder to be found. Just messy black shapes and a faded blue circle. Black wings, blue halo.

Black wings. Blue halo.

Black wings.

... Blue—

The painting slips from his fingers as Mary takes it back in her hands. She holds it gently, reverently, as she stands and walks around the table. Dean shakes his head to clear it, and watches as she replaces the little picture on the center of the wall. It looks, at once, as if it has always hung there, and like he’d drawn it but a moment ago.

A shiver climbs up the back of Dean's neck. He shrugs it off.

“How’s Dad?” he asks lowly, and regrets it immediately.

Mary turns around, her eyes a little wide, eyebrows climbing toward her hairline. Dean isn’t sure why he asked. He backtraces his train of thought, only to find he hadn’t had one at all; seems he’s done his usual shtick of putting his foot in his mouth the very moment he opens it.

Mary seems to sense his imminent retraction, and she settles her face into a genial smile. “He’s good,” she says mildly and comes back to her seat across from Dean. “Wasn’t sure he’d like it here, at first. But,” she settles into the worn wooden chair, “I think he does.”

Dean represses a scoff at that. “Why wouldn’t he?” he says and picks up his fork, eyes downcast. “He’s got you.” He slides the crumbs around on his plate, shoulders hunching forward. “All he ever wanted.”

Mary is silent for a long moment, and Dean doesn’t look up - he can picture her face well enough. His fork scrapes against white porcelain, the sun a bright glare on the stainless steel tines.

Mary sighs, barely audible. “You ever gonna talk to him?”

Her voice is soft and ambivalent, as if she’s already accepted his answer. It gets Dean’s back up, and he peers up at her through flinty eyes.

She’s staring at him, face guileless and open. There’s a spark of curiosity in her eyes, flavored with a sort of tempered sadness. But there’s no reproof, no expectation, and Dean gets the strange feeling that there isn’t a right answer. Or a wrong one.

Dean’s jaw goes a little slack, and for a moment, he thinks he might simply say, No.

Mary tips her head to the side, eyes going soft as her lips turn up, and the moment passes.

“‘Course, I will,” Dean grumbles, casting his eyes back to his empty plate. He shrugs. “Not avoiding him, just...” he trails off and shakes his head. Best leave it there.

Mary takes a slow breath, and Dean sees the vague shape of her leaning forward in her seat.

“Well,” she starts, lacing her fingers on the tabletop. “I won’t speak for him—”

Dean snorts. “But.”

Mary sighs, amused and resigned. “But... I know he’s got a lot to say. He just...” she pauses for a moment, then shrugs her shoulders. “He doesn’t really know how to say it. He knows he—” she cuts herself off with a quick shake of her head. “Well,” her hands raise in a brief shrug. “It’s his truth to tell.”

Dean nods absently, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He’s known since ‘they live over yonder’ that a reckoning would come for him and his dad. Dean just isn’t quite sure if he’s ready for whatever truth John might tell - or if he’s even inclined to listen to it.

Dean clenches his jaw and drops his fork onto the plate. It clatters loud in the calm of the spring afternoon, and Dean barely restrains a flinch.

Mary leans further forward, hand sliding halfway across the table.

“Dean—”

“Think Sammy’s gonna join the Arch,” Dean says overloud, settling his elbows on the tabletop.

Mary pauses at the abrupt change of subject, but deftly lets it slide. Her eyes flutter a bit, and she pulls her hand back. “Yeah?” she asks, giving a slightly awkward smile.

Dean feels a twinge of guilt in his throat and swallows it down. “Mm,” he nods. “Eileen’s gonna join. And lord knows wherever she goes—”

“Sam goes,” Mary finishes, her smile seeming to widen and soften at once. “He loves her,” she murmurs.

Dean’s stomach clenches taut, even as a smile comes unbidden. He remembers Sam peering over his shoulder as they’d stood on the bridge, his mouth slack and eyes liquid. Dean had known without looking who stood behind him. Sam had gone to her on shaky legs that crumbled beneath him as he reached her. Dean’s vision had gone blurry, and he’d turned away from them, eyes squinting out at the sunlit mountain.

“Yeah,” Dean says, voice a little thick. He clears his throat and nods. “And I get it, ya know. He—” he interrupts himself on a wincing inhale. “He lost her before.” A dry swallow. “Twice.”

Mary makes a little noise in her throat. “Three times,” she whispers.

Dean frowns, confused, and glances up at Mary. Her eyes are shiny, mouth screwed up in a tiny sad smile.

Oh. “She... she went before him?”

Mary’s eyebrows scrunch together, and she sniffs. “She stayed with us. Til he came.”

Dean’s brows rise at that. Offering comfort in a time of need isn’t really his parents’ bag - at least, not that Dean can remember.

Then again, he can’t think of anyone who knows grief better.

“Huh,” he grunts in lieu of a response, and glances up.

Mary is still staring at him, but the melancholy has given way to a sharp sort of consideration. Her eyes dart over his face, slightly squinted, and she looks so much like Sam that Dean turns to stare out at the sun.

Here in Heaven, Sam and Mary are quite alike: happy, whole, and ready for a new life - a new fight.

Dean is just... tired.

“You know,” Mary begins, and Dean’s eyes flick to her hands, still resting on the table. “He’s not going anywhere,” she says, and Dean’s eye twitches in a wince. “You know that, right?”

Dean nods and swallows, looking down at his own hands. “Yeah, I know.” And he does know.

“Even if he joins the Arch,” she continues as if he hadn’t spoken. Her voice is ardent but still gentle, and she leans forward. “He’s not going anywhere. He—” she huffs and tips her head side to side. “He might get a little banged up, maybe, but—”

He knows. “I know.”

“—he...” Mary trails off on a sigh, stretching her arm across the table. Her fingers brush his, and he holds himself still. “No one’s gonna take him away, Dean.” She runs her thumb over the knuckles of his fist. “It’s work,” she acknowledges. “Dirty work, even, but... it’s not life or death,” she murmurs with a tiny smile. “Not here.”

Dean knows this. He knows all of this, but... But that doesn’t stop him from... It’s not the same as...

It doesn’t make him—

“I know,” he intones, giving her a tight smile.

Her eyebrows make a sympathetic shape, and she pulls her hand back. Dean’s shoulders relax, just slightly.

“You know, your dad thought you would join,” she says with a little smile.

Dean huffs out a chuckle, bitter and resigned. “‘Course he did,” he grunts, pressing his thumbs together.

“Dean,” Mary sighs, tone somewhere between chiding and apologetic.

Dean’s lips turn down, and he shakes his head. “Sorry,” he mutters, mostly sincerely.

“It wasn’t an expectation,” Mary says, then gives a little shrug. “He just... I think he figured all the—” she shakes her head, as if searching for the words, “-the soul-searching would...” she sighs. “I dunno... Make your teeth itch,” she finishes with a wry smile.

Dean gives her one back, though he feels a headache coming on. His teeth do itch. Everything itches. Everything chafes.

“Well,” he starts and swallows again. His throat’s gone bone dry. “Still searching, I guess,” he says, and he supposes it might be true, but- “Not sure what for, though.”

Mary reaches her hand out again, and Dean goes tense for a moment. His eyes flit to hers, and he finds them crinkled at the corners. She’s smiling at him as she’d smiled at his little drawing, as she’d smiled when she sat him down, as she’d smiled while he ate his pie. She’s smiling at him now, as she had when he was a boy, as she always has.

Her skin looks like clouds, her eyes like the sky. She laces her fingers with Dean’s, and the tension across his back fades away.

“I think,” Mom murmurs, “you’ll know it when you find it.”

chapter one | chapter three

table of contents

#corinth rains #destiel #deancas #fanfiction #post-canon #slow burn #dean-centric #tw: depression #chapter wc: ~3.4k

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Galactica, Chapter 47 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Violet bombed her design pitch, and Adore and Pearl broke up.

This Chapter: Violet gets a lovely surprise, Aiden gets angrier, and Courtney comforts a friend.

***

“So,” Fame looked over at Raja, leaning back on the green velvet couch. “What do we think?”

Ivy had come by with lunch, two salad containers now sitting half empty on the table. They had received printouts from Ivy with the original couture sketches, whatever samples the designers had handed them, and polaroids of the garments as they looked today.

“About the couture looks?” Raja smiled. They were talking about the Spring collection, but Raja was also finalizing the dresses and roles for Monday’s holiday collection showroom show.

“Mmh,” Fame nodded, fiddling with her thumb, the edge of her manicure looking like it was cracking.

“Who do we want this on?” Raja held up one of Kiara’s holiday designs, the dress a lovely red. “I’m thinking blonde?”

“Good call.” Fame smiled, that particular dress without a doubt ending up in Chad Michaels’ closet. It always got Fame in the best of moods to watch Raja work, her friend at her very best when she was pulling final styles together, her eye for the entire picture unmatched.

“We still need a holiday dress for Raven,” Raja smiled, holding up her fiance's headshot. “Opening or close?”

“Who says she’s getting either?” Fame teased, a laugh leaving her when Raja shot her a look. “I want her closing. She does that very well. Makes everyone feel like spending money.”

“Mmh,” Raja smirked, a proud expression on her face, putting Raven with one of the prettiest dresses in the bunch. It was weirdly romantic how Raja always looked out for Raven, though Fame was sure she’d deny it if she was ever confronted directly.

“Okay,” Raja sat back on the couch, putting her elbow on the back, golden bracelets clacking on her wrist as she rested her head on her hand. “What’s the verdict for couture?”

“Hmm,” Fame chewed her lip, flicking through the folder on her lap. “I think Alexis should open. This sky-inspired piece of hers,” Fame pulled the sketch out, “is lovely.”

“I agree.” Raja nodded. “And closing?”

There were several to choose from, but if Fame was being honest, there was only one that made sense for her.

“What about Violet’s?”

“Violet’s?” Raja sounded genuinely surprised, her eyes widening. “I thought you hated it?”

“What? Why?”

“Because you cut her off?”

“Raj, please,” Fame rolled her eyes. “She was talking my ear off, explaining all these incredibly unnecessary details when her work clearly spoke for itself. It’s very unbecoming to need that much reassurance of a job well done.” Fame pulled Violet’s dress from the folder, the flared sleeve and horizontal beads exactly what Fame wanted.

“Aha.”

“Good.” Fame put it down on the table, not noticing the small smile on Raja’s lips. “We’ll email everyone, and start looking for our exclusive models if we need anyone from overseas-” Fame paused. “Hold on. I have to call Courtney. This manicure is driving me absolutely crazy.”

***

It was always a rare relief when Fame decided to go into Raja’s office for a meeting rather than the other way around, and today was one of those lovely days, Ivy taking care of everything they needed and urging her to go take a real lunch break while she had the chance, that she’d call her back if necessary.

Which for Courtney meant a visit to her favorite department at Galactica: makeup. It was incredible how just walking into their suite made her whole body relax, the bright and sunny creative energy something she absolutely craved. Even the way people dressed was better down here: bright colors and fun patterns and hair every color in the rainbow. Alaska gave her a warm welcome as always, inviting her to sit down and eat with them, even sharing some of the Chinese food they’d ordered, which was a very nice addition to Courtney’s own sad little garden salad.

“You know,” Kim said, wiping her mouth with a napkin as she took in Courtney’s face, eyes squinted as if imagining the way the colors would look, “the Spring Rain palette would look amazing on you.”

“Omigod, it so would! Let’s try it out!” cried Amy, clapping her hands. Amy was the department’s coordinator, and Courtney hadn’t spoken to her much, but based on her electric-blue pigtails and ruffly Lolita dress, she knew she liked her.

“Whaddaya say, Court? Wanna be a canvas for a bit?” Alaska asked.

“Sure!”

Soon, Courtney was sitting in a director’s chair as Kim and Amy went to town on her face.

“Are your eyes green or blue?” Kim asked, tilting her chin this way and that in the bright light.

“Green. But I think in some lights they look blue.”

“Yeah, this cerulean is really picking that up.”

“Try adding a bit of the peacock,” Amy suggested.

“Yes! Good call!” Kim said, picking up the palette again.

Courtney closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of brushes being swiped against her skin, Kim’s movements both precise and certain. It was awhile before Courtney felt any urge to speak again, asking a question that had been on her mind for awhile.

“Um...do you guys know Bianca Del Rio?”

“No, I wish!” Kim chuckled. “She’s such a badass.”

“We have mutual friends. Why?” Alaska smiled curiously, and Courtney suddenly felt a bit embarrassed.

“Well...I don’t know, I was just wondering what you think of her.”

“She’s everything I want to be when I grow up,” Amy piped up, swatching a few lip colors on Courtney’s arm. “She’s supposedly a real ball-buster, but my friend at Marie-Claire says she’s a decent boss. At least, people like working for her.”

“That’s cool,” Courtney said, biting her lip, cheeks growing hot under the lights as she worked up the nerve to ask what she really wanted to know. “What about, um...her...dating history. She’s gone out with a lot of girls, huh?”

“Yeah...she has,” Alaska replied slowly, exchanging a look with Kim as Amy stepped up to apply the chosen lipstick.

Kim waved a pair of lashes in the air, waiting for the glue to become tacky.

“The thing about Bianca is…” Alaska paused, seemed unsure of whether she should continue, before saying, “She’s not really into relationships. She just doesn’t ever seem to want more than flings. I mean, we’ve crossed paths dozens of times over the years, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with the same girl twice.”

“Oh.” Courtney nodded, settling back while Kim applied her lashes, wondering why her heart was pounding so fast.

“But that said, I mean...she does seem to treat people pretty well. You certainly never see girls crying about her in the tabloids, which I think says a lot, considering her...volume.”

“It helps that she’s apparently god-level in bed,” Amy giggled.

“Don’t trust the rumors,” Alaska warned.

“Well, I’ve heard it from someone first-hand, so…” Amy trailed off, giving a suggestive wink before reaching forward to finish the look with a delicate, shell-pink lip gloss, as Courtney tried her best not to squirm in her seat.

“Umm...anyway…” Alaska began awkwardly, when loud buzzing from the table interrupted. “Oh, Court, it’s Fame.”

Alaska handed her the phone, the usual seizing of Courtney’s stomach whenever her boss called telling her that the fun was over.

“Hello?”

“Courtney. I’m done with Raja, and my thumbnail is chipped.”

“Ye-”

Fame hung up before Courtney could respond, leaving her slightly puzzled.

“Thanks guys, this was super fun,” she said, sliding off the chair and grabbing her handbag, knowing she’d be expected to send a memo to design right away, along with apparently finding a manicurist to come to the office? Maybe?

“Wait!” Kim cried, holding up a lighted mirror for her to see the whole look.

“Wow.”

It was certainly a lot more colorful and dramatic than the makeup Courtney normally wore, and for a split second, she let herself imagine that she was backstage getting ready to perform, or on the set of some glamorous photo shoot, before pushing those silly fantasies down and giving Kim a grateful smile.

“Thanks, really, you guys are awesome,” Courtney said, internally lamenting the fact that she had to leave this colorful and fun office to go back to the stark white institutional tension upstairs.

***

From: Courtney A. Jenek To: (undisclosed)

Subject: Spring Runway Selection

MEMO TO GALACTICA DESIGN AND TAILORING DEPARTMENTS

FROM THE OFFICE OF MISS FAME

Please find attached the selected looks for the opening and closing of the Spring runway show, along with the alternates that we are keeping in the show, placement TBD.

Additionally, make sure to note the following upcoming deadlines in relation to the Spring couture collection:

December 5, 7 pm - submission for the rest of the Spring couture runway looks

December 11, 7 pm - final revised Spring couture submissions

December 12 - Selection of final couture looks/alternates

December 14 - Individual designer meetings with tailoring dept

December 18, 11 am - First fitting

January 11, 11 am - Second fitting

***

“Oh...“ Violet couldn’t believe it.

She had clicked on the placement, hoping that her dress would be in there somewhere, Trixie’s promise that nothing would get scrapped completely not enough to reassure her, but there it was, in black and white.

Her first couture look for Galactica was closing the fucking Spring show.

“Holy shit-” Violet whispered, the information not sinking in at all.

She had been chosen, she had done well, she was making the company proud.

Violet was just about to panic, everything so overwhelming, when a second email ticked in.

From: Courtney A. Jenek To: Violet Chachki

Subject: Fwd: Spring Runway Selection

OMG ALKDJALSKDJALDJ IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU!!!11 AKFJSALKFJASLKFJALFSD CONGRATS!!!!!!!111

Violet snorted, Courtney’s excitement radiating through the screen, that message somehow making it real.

From: Violet Chachki To: Courtney A. Jenek Subject: Re: Fwd: Spring Runway Selection

Thanks

***

Aiden closed the door to Trixie’s office firmly behind him, using all the strength in his body not to slam it with full force. He briefly imagined how good it would feel, to be able to make the walls vibrate with all of the rage he felt inside. Instead, he swallowed down all the bitterness and headed to his desk.

It had been an awful meeting, Trixie pulling his typical nice guy act to say that he was “concerned” about Aiden’s “attitude” and wanted to make sure that he was gonna be the right fit for the Galactica team long-term. That he wanted to see more collaboration with the other designers, and as a learning experience, he should be prepared on Monday to assist backstage for the Holiday collection show.

Assist.

Aiden was a designer, not a fucking tailor, not a fucking assistant, and this was going to be a new low. Not to mention that he was already in a foul mood, having seen the selection for the opening and closing Spring runway looks. That new little brat, the baby with no experience, not like Aiden, had been chosen to close the show.

He sat at his chair for almost a minute, saying nothing, just breathing deeply. Before Kiara asked, “Everything alright, dude?”

“Oh yeah. Everything is fucking great!” Aiden snapped, not bothering to stay and take in the stricken look on her face before getting up and marching to the restrooms, where he could at least lock himself in a stall and get a tiny minute of peace and quiet.

***

“Omigod, I’m so happy to see you!” Adore exclaimed, pulling Courtney inside her apartment, over to the sofa. “I stole a bunch of alcohol from Bianca before I left, so I’m well stocked! What do you want?”

“Gin and tonic?” Courtney asked, taking off her coat and settling down against the plush velvety purple fabric of Adore’s sofa.

“Coming right up, ma’am!” Adore exclaimed, walking over to the open kitchen to pour Courtney’s drink.

“So, you seem...how are you?” Courtney ventured, knowing that Adore was probably still in a fragile state, but not wanting to destroy what seemed like a decent mood.

“Well you know… It’s been shit. But I stayed with B all week and she’s like, kinda the best in this situation. She didn’t even gloat over being right.”

“Aww, that’s sweet. I’m glad she took care of you.”

Adore set Courtney’s glass down.

“Yeah, it was nice.”

There was a firm knock on the door, and Adore jumped up again, running to answer.

“Pizza’s here!”

“Pizza?”

“Yeah, I ordered ahead because I knew you’d be working late and you probably haven’t had a real meal all--thank you!” She closed the door, carrying the boxes and a bag over to the coffee table and setting it down with a smile.

It was such a sweet gesture, and Courtney was truly starving, so she almost felt bad reminding Adore, “Um...I’m still doing that vegan thing, remember?”

“Oh shit. I’m so sorry, I totally forgot, I-” Adore bit her lip, looking more distraught than was probably necessary, given the circumstances.

“It’s okay, I’ll just pull off the cheese, don’t worry!” Courtney reassured her.

“But you’ve told me like a billion times and I keep forgetting and I’m just the worst friend ever,” Adore sniffled. “I’m so sorry.”

“Baby, it’s okay, really.” Courtney crawled over to Adore, hugging her tightly.

“It’s not. I got you a kale caesar salad too because I know you used to like those but that’s not vegan either. God, what is wrong with my stupid brain?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. You’re human, you make mistakes. It was still so nice of you to get all this.” Courtney pressed a kiss to her temple. “And you know what? I’ve been so strict for a few weeks, I think it’s okay to have one cheat day.”

“Are you sure? We can order Chinese or Thai if you want, or there’s-”

“I’m sure. I came here to try and cheer you up. Not to make you feel guilty.” Courtney snuggled against her, head on her shoulder.

“Okay. We can postmates some vegan gelato for dessert.”

“Perfect.”

Adore sighed, leaning her head against Courtney’s for a moment before sitting up and opening the food. Courtney accepted the plate from her, pulling the cheese off her pizza and shaking up the caesar salad - she decided that she could handle the dressing if she omitted the little container of parmesan.

They ate in silence for a few moments before Courtney looked up at Adore and asked, “Do you want my cheese?”

Adore’s eyes widened, looking down at her plate.

“Yes!”

She took it with such enthusiasm that it made Courtney laugh.

“Was this the plan all along?”

“I wish. I’m not that smart,” Adore told her.

“Yeah you are. You’re very smart. You’re the best.”

Adore held her gaze for a few moments, eyes welling up before the tears spilled down her cheeks. She covered her face, and Courtney shoved the plates aside, laying Adore’s head down in her lap.

Courtney stroked her hair for awhile, letting her cry, not saying anything, tears soaking into her skirt and tights. When her sniffling finally subsided, she asked, “So on a scale of 1 to 10...how much do we hate her?”

Adore rubbed her red, swollen eyes. “That’s the hardest part. I don’t really hate her at all. I mean, I asked her to be honest with me, and she was, and...it just wasn’t what I wanted to hear. So...no, I don’t hate her. It would be too exhausting to hate her.”

Courtney took her hand, holding it tight and solemnly saying, “Okay. Then I’ll hate her for you. So you don’t have to.”

Adore’s face crumbled as her tears began falling again.

“You’re the best friend in the world.”

“No, you are,” Courtney said with a grin. “Come on, let’s go wash your face and order that gelato!”

***

“I just can’t believe that my dress is going out on that runway, like, I was so sure Fame absolutely hated it, and-”

“You don’t need to chop the parsley that finely lovely eyes,” Sutan smiled, stirring the pasta puttanesca sauce they had made together. Sutan wasn’t necessarily the best cook in the world, neither he or Raja ever really picking up on their mothers love of spending time in the kitchen, but he could do a few dishes well, and after seeing Violet’s fridge, he had made it a mission to make sure his girlfriend had a minimum of culinary experience.

“Oh,” Violet paused, looking down at the cutting board. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sutan pressed a quick kiss against her temple, standing side by side in the kitchen surprisingly nice. “I know it’ll be just as amazing as your holiday dress.”

“Please,” Violet smiled, though Sutan could see on her face that she was pleased. He wasn’t going to buy anything at the show, but he was still coming along, both to test one of his newer models, but also because he wanted to see what Violet had created in action.

“I’m serious.”

The sauce was almost done, Violet pulling a face when she had seen him slice up the anchovies, but Sutan was pretty sure that she’d like the dish, if what she tended to gravitate towards could be used as any indication.

“Would you mind setting the table?”

“Not at all,” Violet smiled, putting the knife down, quickly washing her fingers, her jewelry left in the little bowl by the sink that Raja and sometimes Raven had used when they all lived together.

Sutan hadn’t actually noticed it until Violet had dumped her rings into it, the fact that it was there completely escaping his attention, interior design never something that had interested him.

When he had gotten married to Kahmora, he had moved from this apartment directly into her place and back again after their divorce, how she wanted things decorated not anything that had mattered to him in the short time they had been married.

He had never really lived with Jinkx, their relationship thankfully never moving any further than their disastrous engagement, but he was fairly certain that he wouldn’t have been asked about his preferences, shame momentarily curling in his belly at the thought of how unfair and terrible he had been to Jinkx.

“Sutan?” He was pulled out of his thoughts by Violet’s voice, the woman standing by his cabinet with a smile on her face. “Did you buy wine? To have with dinner?”

“I got us a bottle of red.”

“Okay,” Violet nodded, grabbing the wine glasses from the shelf. Juju used to complain when she came over, and had told both Raja and Sutan multiple times that the apartment was furnished for giants, but Violet never had trouble getting anything.

Sutan’s alarm went off, telling him it was time to drain the pasta, Violet handing him two plates so he could serve up their meal, both of them sitting down at the table.

“Do you like it?” Sutan smiled as he watched Violet taste the food, a thoughtful expression on her face as she chewed on it.

“It’s fine.”

“So you hate it?” Sutan lifted an eyebrow, a smirk on his face.

“No!” Violet seemed outraged. “Don’t put words in my mouth.” Violet kicked him under the table, smiling now. “It’s nice.”

“Sure,” Sutan laughed, Violet’s deadpan deliveries still something he was getting used to, her dry humor a lot more enjoyable than he had ever imagined. “Good.”

They ate for a while, chatting back and forth, Sutan refilling their glasses, Violet almost finished with her pasta when she put down her fork.

“I-” Violet looked at him, her teeth biting into her lip. “I’ve been thinking about Aspen?”

“Yes?”

“And I’d like to go.”

“Oh?” Sutan wasn’t aware that it had been something she had been considering, the fact that she was even thinking about turning it down not even crossing his mind.

“Well I’m glad.” Sutan smiled, hiding his confusion. “Mostly because I already booked your plane ticket.”

“Really?” Violet sounded genuinely surprised, almost as if she wasn’t sure if he had been serious about the offer.

“Really, not that I would have forced you to come.” Sutan tapped her foot under the table, Violet still such a mystery to him. “Raven on the other hand,” Sutan smiled. “That could have been a problem, since she’s bought matching everything for you two.”

“... What?”

***

ADORE: Courtney’s a vegan, you know.

BIANCA: Yeah, she told me.

ADORE: I keep forgetting like an asshole so I just wanted to make sure you knew and would have some vegan stuff on thurs

BIANCA: It’s gonna be 100% vegan, I hired a chef to cater. She even making vegan relleno de pavo

ADORE: WAIT WHAT

ADORE: How the FUCK do you make vegan relleno de pavo?

BIANCA: I dunno, but she’s a professional.

ADORE: And what about the corn pudding? IT NEEDS BUTTER

BIANCA: Would you relax? It’ll be delicious

ADORE: WHAT ABOUT THE TURKEY

BIANCA: I don’t eat turkey. You’re outvoted 2 to 1.

ADORE: BIANCA DEL RIO I’VE HAD A VERY TRAUMATIC WEEK! IT’S THANKSGIVING! TURKEY!

BIANCA: I’ll get you a package of fucking Hillshire Farm, calm down

ADORE: I want to be mad at that but I love Hillshire Farm. lol

BIANCA: You’re welcome

BIANCA: Btw you’re also welcome to cook whatever you like and contribute to the meal

ADORE: Um...no thanks

BIANCA: Thought so, cunt

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #vitan #bitney #miss fame #raja gemini #alaska thunderfuck #courtney act #kim chi #violet chachki #aiden zhane #adore delano #bianca del rio #lesbian au #m/f au #fashion au

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mckenzie1314 · 4 years ago

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Ok so, This is my first time posting a work of mine on here !! I hope everyone enjoys! Please give credit if you’re going to share on other sites!! Thanks for the read!

Restless Nights

•aotc! Anakin one shot

•Anakin Skywalker X Female Reader

•Warnings: Mature content!! Read at your own risk! Just pure Smut.

• Overview: You lover Anakin Skywalker is on an important protection mission for Senator Amidala. You miss him a lot and also,, need him 👀 You surprise him on his mission and enjoy a night of pure pleasure with the Padawan

•Here’s the inspiration for this one shot!!😏

You noticed lately Anakin has been super on edge, more than usual.

Sure, being a Padawan had its stressors, but recently Anakin and his Master Obi Wan Kenobi have been given orders to protect a certain Senator, Padmé Amidala from assassins.

And Anakin was such a liar. You would ask him how the mission was going or if he was worried and he would always say back, “Sweetheart I’m fine. Everything is totally fine. Don’t worry your pretty little head about me”

He always knew how to put on the charm. But you knew he was lying. Obi Wan would call you to check in with the Jedi Temple about the mission to protect senator Amidala, and after everyone left he would inform that Anakin in deed, was a little stressed. “He’s not as focused as he usually is. He might just be nervous with this being a protection mission and possibily wanting to prove himself to the Jedi Council.” He would say.

You knew he needed a little break.

Heck, even you needed a break. Working at the Jedi Temple Library all of the time was stressful.

Since Anakin has been gone a lot, you have begun to notice your longing for him. You missed seeing him, laughing and talking with him. You missed twirling his padawan braid and caressing his perfect cheek bones.

His kisses, those you definitely missed (in more places than one you might add). You missed feeling his strong arms wrap tightly around your body, his lips near you ear whispering naughty things, his calloused hands making their way in between your- ok you really needed to see him.

Being apart of the Jedi and in a secret relationship was hard enough as is. Especially when you were working in the Jedi Temple Library and a certain Padawan would take his daily walks to see his favorite librarian.

That is how you two met anyway, at the library.

~~~~Flashback~~~~

Anakin Skywalker, the rumored Chosen One, made his way to the Library with Obi Wan Kenobi, a well known and respected Jedi, at his side. The two cloaked men made their way over to you at the wide desk. You already knew your fellow Jedi friend Obi Wan, so you two exchanged a warm hello.

“Hello Y/N, how are you on this day?” You smiled and put down your book you were reading. You briefly looked at the boy next to him and for a slight second, the two of you held eye contact. It was electric.

You stifled a laugh. “ Hello Obi Wan! I am very well. You?”

“Just fine.” He smiled back. You and Obi Wan went way back. You two have known each since he was was appointed Jedi Master. He always preferred his time free time in the library. You were a young Temple Librarian in training under Jocasta Nu, Chief Librarian and head of the Jedi Archives. Years later and you are now Chief Librarian.

“That is always good to hear. What can I help you two with?” You asked now looking at the young Padawan. He was, beautiful to say the least. You have never seen such beauty in one person before. He had to of been 19, about 5 years younger than you. He had dirty blond hair, styled in the usual Padawan cut with his braid at his shoulder. His eyes were ocean blue and were mesmerizing to look at. And his lips ? Pink and pouty as ever. They were very kissable even.

No! You thought to yourself. A Jedi could never show feelings to another as long as they were in the order. It was code. And it had to stay that way.

He looked at you, up and down and a small smirk formed on his plump lips. Boy did he know how to charm.

“Well, Y/N, Padawan Skywalker here is going to be studying up on some Jedi meditation techniques, any book recommendations?” You laughed and gave them a nod. “Right this way.” You said, Obi Wan smiled and nudged the Padawan forward. “If he cuases any trouble, don’t call me.” Obi Wan had yelled to you before turning to leave.

And what exactly do you remember from that day? Every part of Anakin Skywalker. The two of you did more than studying meditation techniques. He was hot stuff and he knew it. You remember his hot breath on your neck and in your ear as you were showing him different books, whispering explicit things a Padawan shouldn’t know, but he did. You never felt so excited, and bad at the same time before. You remember his beautiful plump lips gracing your neck and jaw, eventually the two of you giving into the sin. The two of you giggled as you stumbled into a book shelf, having to duck and hide from other people around the library. He was everything you’ve ever wanted. You knew it was wrong, but he made it feel right, made it feel worth risking it all.

~~~End of Flashback~~~

It had been a year now since that glorious day the two of you got hot and heavy in the Temple Library. You occasionally think back to it and smile, then of course blush at the memories. And boy have there been many other times like that.

But back to you feeling lonely and missing him.

You needed to see him. And you could tell that he needed a break. A distraction.

~~~~

You com-linked Anakin. He picked up your call after 2 rings. His small hologram self popped up. “Well aren’t you a beautiful sight for sore eyes.” His raspy voice said. You felt your cheeks redden.

“Hi Ani. I’ve missed you so much.” You said finally looking back up at him. You felt silly, being shy in front of a hologram version of him but, here you were. He still managers to make you feel giddy.

He lightly chuckled at you. “Oh y/n I miss you so much. I wish I was there with you now, admiring your beauty in person.” Sheesh he had his charm turned up high today.

“Anakinnnn. Stop it.” You said covering your face, your cheeks turning a darker shade of red. He really had you whipped, but he was also head over heels for you.

He laughed, his smile wide, flashing his perfect teeth. He suddenly looked around, to the left and to the right. Puzzled, you asked, “Ani? What’s wrong?” You asked quietly as he seemed to be walking somewhere.

“Shhh wait a second y/n... alright I’m in the clear. We’re alone now. I forgot Obi Wan was in the other room with senator Amidala. Didn’t want them to hear us.”

“Hear us do what, exactly Anakin?” You asked, your voice suddenly sultry. He caught on to your game as looked at you, a smirk playing on his plump lips. “Well to my surprise. Does Chief Librarian y/f/n y/l/n want to commit some sinful acts over the com-link?” He whispered, gently biting his bottom lip. He knew that drove you crazy.

You started to heat up, your breath hitching. The effect he had on you was unbelievable. You still get weak in the knees for him while he is half way across the galaxy.

You looked around too, seeing if anyone was listening. Thankfully, you were in the clear. “ oh I don’t know... has Padawan Skywalker been a good guard for the senator?” Anakin let out a deep chuckle. “Yes of course. The senator is under good care. Now, what are we going to do?” He asked, getting that familiar look in his eyes. Lust. Even through a hologram you could tell. But, you wanted to play hard to get. This would really get on his nerves but you loved it.

“Well, obviously she’s not if you’re here talking to me. I guess you aren’t doing your job well enough Ani.” You said in a serious tone. Anakin’s face fell. “Wha-“

“I’m only joking Ani! Relax.” You cut him off with a laugh. Anakin shook his head and bit his lip again.

“ You are such a tease y/n. You know I don’t like that.”

“Oh I know you don’t. Where are you staying exactly?” He then told you where he was staying, some extra quarters the Senator had in her apartment. He also told you that him and Obi Wan would take shifts on watching over the Senator while she slept.

If you were going to go over, you had to do it while he was on his sleeping schedule. You figured Anakin knew what you were up to, his tone in voice got more and more velvety the more you two talked.

It was going to be risky but, so was the whole relationship.

~~~~

You arrived to the Senator’s Apartment. Anakin told you of a secret entry way he found to get in without having to go through all the trouble and hassle of the security system.

You didn’t exactly tell him when you would get there, but he knew you would be there sometime that night.

You wanted to surprise him, have him come in and see you, and then take you right there.

You made it into his room, you could tell it was his because you could see his change of dark Jedi cloaks hung on the wall. The thing about Jedi is that, well, you never had much down time and changing clothes didn’t happen as often as you wanted.

You heard voices close to his door. It sounded like the Senator, Anakin and Obi Wan. You stayed quiet to try and listen. “Well today was a successful day in the senate! I am now very tired and will retire to my room. Thank you Obi Wan and Anakin.” She said.

“Of course Padmé. Sleep well.” Obi Wan stated.

You could faintly hear her heels walk off.

“I will take the first shift Anakin. You have 2 hours remember. Don’t make me have to keep waking you up.” Obi Wan instructed. “Yes of course master. I will not let you down like last night.” Anakin stated. You giggled quietly. Anakin loves his sleep, even though he barley got enough of it.

You suddenly felt a little guilty. You were going to be taking away from his sleep. You knew he would have terrible nightmares as is. You shook your thoughts away as you heard his door slide open.

You sat straight up in the chair on the other side of the room.

The door closed slowly and you could tell Anakin knew you were in the room. It was dark, but you could see his figure. You waited for him to say something, but he never did.

Maybe his force senses were off?

That couldn’t be. Anakin has the highest midi chlorian count ever recorded. He definitely knew you were in there.

“ Ah stars I am tired.” Anakin said outloud with a slight groan. This drove you a little crazy. You then suddenly had an idea.

Anakin proceeded to undress, slowly you might add, making you more and more eager to feel his touch, to have him undress you.

But you had to wait just a little longer. His toned body was always a turn on for you. His strong arms and broad shoulders, his chiseled pecs and abs. He was truly a work of art.

Anakin wore nothing but long black pants. He walked over to the window and opened the blinds, the lights from the outside city shone his beautiful side profile. His jaw line stood out, his pouty lips extra plump. You couldn’t wait to kiss them, bite them, feel them on your hot skin.

Anakin chuckled slightly but then pretended like he had to cough. You forgot sometimes that he could read your thoughts. Your want and desire for him was going off like an alarm and he knew it. He finally made his way over to the bed, getting under the covers and adjusting him self, and finally pretending to be asleep.

You waited a few minutes. You wanted to watch Anakin sleep. Not in a creepy way but, you just loved seeing him calm, and vulnerable.

He even looked beautiful while he slept. The city lights made it look like there was a halo around his head. The chosen one, Anakin Skywalker was your lover. You loved him. The both of you haven’t really gotten to that level yet but, you have been thinking about it a lot. You definitely loved him and would do anything for him. Hopefully soon, you could get the courage to tell him that.

You were getting antsy and remembered your little game you had in mind. It was filthy, but it was hot and Anakin would absolutely love it.

You stood up and slowly made your way over to where Anakin slept. You didn’t exactly know how to start. You wanted to ‘surprise him’.

You smirked. You had another brilliant idea. You sat on his bed, ever so gently caressing his beautiful face. You bent down and kissed his lips, lingering for a moment. “Anakin, Anakin.” You whispered in a dreamy type tone. His eyes twitched, then he scrunched his nose. Wow he was such an actor. You kept caressing his face, slowly moving his blankets off of his body. “ Annnnaaakinnnn. What issss it that you trulyyyy dessirreee?” You say again in the whisper voice. His face was showing many emotions.

His hips bucked up in the air, his breathing becoming heavier. “Y/n. D-desire y/n” He mumbled in his “sleep”. You couldn’t help but blush. You carefully moved yourself to be on top of him. You gently against his crotch, quickly feeling a reaction. “ mmm- ah-ah, fuck.” He lightly moaned, pretending this was all a dream. Your lips pressed to his ear, licking the lobes of his ears and whispering his name over and over.

You left light kisses on his face, then moved to his neck, sucking lightly making sure not to leave bruises. He began to hiss and suck in his breath. His hips rocked a little harder against you. You moved your hands down his beautiful chest, carefully moving off his crotch and putting your face near his crotch, his erection very visible through the pants. His face contorted as you slowly pulled down his pants, chanting, “ The Chosen One” over and over. You knew this was one of his many kinks.

His breahting and moans were becoming more erratic.

Once his pants and boxers were pulled down, his hard dick sprung up. You had to hold back a giggle. You took him into your mouth, earning a low moan from Anakin. His breath hitched and made a hiss noise.

You moved your head up and down his shaft, hallowing your cheeks to really take more of him in. Anakin was groaning quietly now. His naked hips were bucking against your face at a slow Rhythm.

As you continued, you heard Anakin saying things. He was moaning your name. The thought of having the chosen one moaning your name and being vulnerable was making you want him inside you more and more.

“Mmm y/n. Yes, yes. Ah ah. Mmm fuck.” He moaned quietly. You figured this was enough, and you stoped sucking him immediately. As soon as you did Anakin sat right up. His lust blown eyes stared down at you.

“Y/n why did you stop? You tease.” He said with a deep breath and a wide grin.

“Oh so you did know I was here then huh?” You said as you sat up laughing along. “Come here.” He whispered and pulled you into him, his plump pink lips molding into yours. You moaned into the kiss. You have been needing this for so long. He moved down to your neck, biting and sucking. “Of course I knew you were here. Just didn’t expect you to start out with giving me head And pretending to be a ghost” He said while he attacked your neck. You let out a breathy laugh.

“Had to start somewhere Skywalker.” You said moving your hands into his short hair, gripping at what you could. He laughed against your neck as he began to take your top off. You noticed he suddenly slow down, admiring your chest. “Ani?” You asked slightly concerned. He grinned. “ Just admiring your body. It truly is art work y/n.” You blushed for the 50th time and kissed him sweetly. He suddenly grabbed you and flipped positions, you now being on the bottom.

“Now, let me indulge in my favorite art work shall we?” His rough hands gripped your thighs and made their way up your sides. he kissed you passionately. You moaned into the kiss once he unclipped your lacy bra without any struggle. He gently bit your bottom lip, driving you up the wall. He broke away from the kiss, sitting back up to admire you again, this time topless.

“ Y/n, you are the most beautiful creature in all the galaxy.” You felt cocky for a second. “ even more attractive than a certain Senator?” You asked in a sultry tone, sitting up on your elbows. Anakin’s face held a look of pure bewilderment. “ Why would you even ask that? Y/n you are an angel, like I told you the first day I met you” He said as he moved off the bed and got on his knees. You stared at him quizzically. “And how can I know that you haven’t said that to Senator Amidala as well Anakin?” You said, cocking an eyebrow. You were messing with him and really wanted to see where this would go.

Anakin hooked his arms around the underside of your thighs and quickly pulled you close to him, causing you to giggle. You knew exactly what he was about to do. “Now now Chief Librarian Y/L/N. I would never ever go back on my word. I’ve only met one angel, and that angel just happens, to be you.” He said in between soft kisses on the inside of your thighs. He got so close to where you needed him most, but he continued to tease you.

“But, maybe I am mistaken. Would a so Called angel, NOT where underwear? Look at you. Already a wet mess for me.” He exclaimed.It added to the excitement of the night- going commando you thought.

You began to squirm. You needed him to take you now, fill you up with all of him, fuck you senselessly into tomorrow.

As if he read your thoughts, He slowly began to push himself into you. Your hand flew up to your mouth to cover your loud moans. The last thing you needed was Obi-Wan coming in and the secret love affair is ruined.

“Thats is babygirl, gotta be quiet.” He breathed out and his movements continued. You needed him now. “F-faster Ani.” You moaned quietly. His hips picked up more speed, rough hands gripping onto your love handles and squeezing them. You threw your head back as you suddenly felt an invisible force play with your clit. You absolutely loved it when Anakin fucked you with the force. Even as a Padawan he knew how to unlock more sides of its power.

“fuck Ani- ugh f-faster!” You whimpered, biting your lip so hard it began to sting. Anakin grunted, sweat building up over his beautiful body. He leaned closer into you, to create more friction like he knew you loved. His Padawan Braid kept smacking you in the face but you loved it. He knew how to make you feel good in all the right places.

His moans were your favorite sound. You loved just watching his reactions as he made loved to you- the pure ecstasy written over his flawless face. He picked up the pace even more, a very familiar feeling quickly building up in the pit of your stomach. The force rubbing on your clit intensified, finally sending you over the edge. “Ani! I- I’m- ahhhh fuck!” You whisper shouted as you rode out your high. “Oh fuck baby. I’m almost there.” He groaned. You smirked. “ Come on Chosen One. Cum inside this angel. Let it go.” You said in his ear. That was it. A string of moans and profanity were said as Anakin came inside you.

He slowly pulled out and quickly got to work licking your cunt and cleaning you up. You let out more strings of moans and content hums. He swirled his tongue in each direction, licking you clean. This was always his favorite part. He sits on his knees and smirks down at you in your relaxed state. He wipes his chin and brings his long fingers to his lips, licking some. “ Mmm delicious. Angel, would you like to try?” He said bending over on top of you and holding his fingers up to your mouth. You took his fingers into your mouth and sucked on them, tasting the juices.

Anakin grabs his com link and checks the time. “ An hour left. Wanna cuddle till then baby?” He asks as he grabs the blanket covers and covers both your naked bodies.

“ Of course Padawan Skywalker.” You say as you cup his face and gently kiss him. Anakin smiled and deepened the kiss. “ In all seriousness though, thank you for coming over here tonight. I very much enjoyed and appreciated that.” He said tracing your back with this rough hands. “No problem Ani. We both needed a break. Here’s to many more nights like these. “ you say with a giggle. Anakin chuckled and smiled down at you. “ Yes, especially when I’m away on missions.” He said as you both quietly laughed, finally snuggling into each others warm bodies and enjoying the time you both had together before reality would soon strike again.

#anakin skywalker #star wars #smut #attack of the clones #IM REAL NERVOUS

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notyetneedcoffee · 5 years ago

Text

Glasshouse

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning: Nothing – this one is a load of FLUFF

Written for the @cake-writes 1k followers challenge. Thanks for the prompt!

ooooo

“You’re fidgeting.” Pepper Potts smirked into her champagne.

Crossing your feet at the ankles, you tugged at the hem of your lavender cocktail gown. Cool air circulated through the back of the limo, but you wished you could roll the window down for fresh air. “You know I’m not very comfortable in dresses.”

“Well, I think you look lovely.” Tony Stark smiled.

“Thanks, but I know I look alright. I just prefer my jeans and boots.” You winked.

“Yeah,” Tony half turned to his girlfriend. “How come she gets away with the casual attire. How many times did force me into a suit?”

Pepper smiled. “No, I just tried to make sure you weren’t wearing the clothes from the night before. Y/N can dress however she wants. She’s my PA. She doesn’t work for the company. Besides, even in jeans she’s always stylish.”

“Thanks, Pep.” You grinned. “I’m really looking forward to this. I’ve always wondered what it looked like at night. Thanks for the invite.”

“No problem. It’s a great event.”

The limo pulled onto the road along the edge of the New York Botanical Gardens. It lined up with the other cars for a drop off at the steps of the Enid Haupt Conservatory. You could see the enormous Victorian-style glass house. The late afternoon sun shone off the panes.

“Is there going to be anyone else there that I know?” You asked.

“Joseph, Mike and Rachel from the CFO office with be there. Kim from the gallery is coming, too.” Pepper thought.

“I gave tickets to Rhodey Nat, Bruce and Cap.” Tony finished off his drink. “Although, I don’t know if they’ll come.”

You took a slow drink, silently hoping one in particular did.

As your limo pulled up to the Conservatory, you smiled. The entry courtyard looked beautiful with extra pots of late summer flowers, six foot candelabras with flickering electric bulbs, and a long carpets rolled out for guests.

Tony got out first, smiling for the photographers. He held his hand out for Pepper, who gracefully slid from the car. They posed for just a moment. Tony then reached out a hand for you. You forced a calm smile onto your face. Stepping out, you managed to not fall.

Inside, the scent of earth and oxygen rich perfumed air hit you in the face. You loved it here. The botanical collection dated back more than a hundred years, and the building reminded you of the giant Victorian glass house like those in Kew Gardens in London. Ran or shine, this garden was perfect.

Tonight, tall cocktail tables speckled the area allowing for people to set down their drinks. Wait staff wove between guests with trays of champagne or wine. Some trays were full of hors d’oeuvres. You wondered away from Pepper and Tony, more interested in the flowers than the business associates.

As you made it to the Desert displays, after walking through the orchids, you spotted Steve Rogers. He wore a perfectly tailored dark blue suit, his tie a bit loose. He held a full glass of champagne. You stopped, watching for a moment because the look of complete panic in his eyes made you want to laugh.

Four lovely, but heavily made up, young ladies crowded closely around him. Their clothes were very expensive, and if you were any judge, so were their hair extensions. They beamed up at the super soldier, practically draping themselves over him. He looked immensely uncomfortable.

Few people wandered this far from the center of the conservatory, where the party was most dense. You wondered if he’d come out here to get away from the crowd. Perhaps the quartet ambushed him. An idea brought a smile to your face and you turned back the way you’d come.

Finding what you needed, you turned around and marched straight towards Steve. At the last second he saw you coming and stepped back from the women as much as he could without stepping into the plant beds. Holding out the glass in your left hand, you slid yourself between one of them and tucked yourself into Steve’s side.

“Here you go, Babe. I told you I could find you a beer even at a function like this.” You smiled up at him, trading him the beer for the champagne.

Even though he’d only met you in passing a several times over the months, Steve easily fell into your ruse. “Thank you, Sweetheart.” He pulled you a little closer and kissed your temple. Taking a long draw off the glass, he sighed. “So much better. Mmm,” He licked the head of the beer from his lips. Your eyes following his tongue. “Y/N, this is Britney, Rachel, Sarah, and Ashley.”

“Girls.” You nodded with a smile. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“I didn’t see you come together.” Sarah smiled coldly.

“I came straight from work.” Steve answered immediately.

“So, I just rode with Tony and Pepper.” You finished.

“Oh,” She looked deflated. “We didn’t realize you were involved. It’s never been reported.”

“Benefit of working with a bunch of spies.” You smiled into your champagne.

Steve laughed. It was a warm genuine laugh. His hand, comfortably resting on your opposite hip, pulled you a little closer. He smelled wonderful, woody, spiced, and rich. You hand slipped under his jacket to rest on his lower back.

“Well,” Rachel gave a tight smile. “You make an adorable couple. I could really use a fresh drink.”

The others agreed and the four soon wondered off, leaving you and Steve standing alone among the cactus and aloe. He pulled you a little closer. You could see the pulse beat at his neck. His tongue slid over his lush lower lip. In the time you’d known him, you’d never been able to just admire him. Doing so this close practically took your breath away.

Steve’s breath tickled your ear. “I owe you.”

“Yes,” You giggled. “Yes, you do. The look on your face when I walked down here was priceless. You looked like cornered prey.”

“I didn’t want to be rude, but they were coming on pretty strong.” A light flush colored his neck. Even though the reason for your ruse had walked away, he still kept you close with his hand on the small of your back. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“No problem.” You smiled. A part of your mind marveled at how utterly comfortable his touch felt. “This is a great suit, by the way. You wash up pretty well.”

He beamed. “Got to wear something other than a uniform once in a while.” Steve’s eyebrow quirked up, he leaned very close to your ear. “I’ve never seen you in a dress before, completely took my breath away.”

You pulled back and looked him in the eye, somewhat surprised.

“You’re lovely anytime,” he grinned, expression softening. “But you look particularity stunning tonight.”

“Wow, thank you.”

Steve led you around the beds of plants, walking slow. “I’m sorry we’ve never really had the chance to talk much. Every time I’ve seen you, you’re in and out before I’ve had the chance to say anything.”

“The only time I ever get over to the compound is when Pep needs Tony to do something. And running him down is like chasing a toddler who’s eaten too much candy.” You giggled.

He laughed. “That’s pretty accurate. He thinks highly of you, though. Which is saying something. There’s not many people Tony compliments for their intelligence.”

You gave him a sly smile. “Sure. He’s just worried I’m going to reprogram his shower to go ice cold at random intervals, or that I’ll have all his suits taken in by a half inch.”

Steve’s laugh drew the attention of a few people milling around. He pushed his fist against his mouth, trying to hold it in. “I would pay money to see Tony freak out because suddenly nothing fit.”

“Oh, he would never say a word.” You chuckled. “He would just drink more of those awful concoctions instead of eating, and work out like mad, and have F.R.I.D.A.Y. do all sort of body scans.”

“You’ve thought about this too much.”

“Got to keep my mind occupied while I’m waiting on his preening before events. He takes twice as long as Pepper.” You tossed him a sideways grin.

As you walked slowly through the plants with the warm air carrying the complex earthy smells, the hand on your back held your complete attention. His palm was hot, you could feel it through the fabric of your dress. The urge to lean into him felt overwhelming.

“You know,” taking a sip of champagne, you steeled your nerves. “You can always call me sometime… if you want to talk.”

Steve stopped, looking around. He took you by the arm and led you behind a gorgeous display of purple and pink orchids. “That would be okay?” The innocent question in his eyes made your heart flutter. You nodded. He smiled. “Okay. I’d really like that. Although you know, I never know when I’ve got to go…”

You touched his chest, stopping his words. “Believe me, after spending the last year and a half working with Pepper, I complete understand how chaotic your life can be. It’s not a problem.”

His blue eyes studied you, intense yet curious. Moving a piece of your hair away from your face, his thumb barely brushed your cheek. Such a tiny gesture, such a delicate sensation, yet you needed to fight the urge to moan.

“I suppose you would.” A soft smile curved his lips. “It’s not exactly something you can just explain to some one. Would you like to go for a walk?”

“Yeah,” you tucked your hand into his arm and set your glass on a nearby table. “I would like that.”

Steve set down his own glass and covered your hand with his own. He led you out of the ornate iron and glass doors. Wondering slowing along the path, the difference between the warm air of the glass house and the cooling air of park made you shiver. He stopped, and removed his jacket. Before you could object, Steve’s suit jacket was settled over your shoulder. The scent of him becoming stronger.

You sighed. “Thank you.”

He stood directly in front of you, pulling the jacket closed. You watched a pinched line form between his brow. “I need to confess something.”

“Oh?”

“We, um, we may not have had much chance to talk,” the pink flush touched Steve’s neck again. “But, I do, um, know a fair amount about you.”

“Have you been checking up on my file?” You teased, faking shock.

He smiled, biting his lip. “At first, but I saw the reference to your past times, and that led to that website with all your sketches.”

“My Instagram?”

“Ah, yeah. You’re really good.” He tucked your hand into his arm again and turned you towards the roses and conifers. “I like your pencil work. You have a great eye.”

“A what does Steve Rogers know about art?” You glanced sideways at him.

A wide smile spread across his face as he looked up into the trees. He sighed.

“What?”

“It’s just that you asked ‘what does Steve Rogers know’ not ‘Captain America’.” He couldn’t wipe the smile away.

“It’s who you are.” You stated plainly, although the way he beamed was infectious.

“Yeah,” Steve stopped, taking your hands into his own. “But people tend to forget there’s a man beneath the uniform.”

You nodded, knowing it to be true. “I don’t need to be reminded of that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Steve sighed. “And it’s really nice.”

You giggled. “And you’ve avoided the question.”

“Oh,” He shrugged. “I draw a little, too.”

“Really,” Your fingers wound in his. “What other secret talents do you have? And don’t say bench pressing a BMW, because that’s not a secret.”

Steve laughed. Holding your hand, you began your walk through the garden again. “Um, I like to bake bread.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I used to help Bucky’s Ma back in the day. I still remember how. There’s just something about filling the house with that smell, you know?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“What about you? Any other secret talents?”

“You cannot tell Tony about this one.” His brow popped up, but he nodded. “I know Shiatsu. I give a killer massage.”

“Really?” Steve’s grin turned devious.

“Any more secrets?” You leaned into a little closer.

“Oh, I’m full of secrets.” His voice dropped just a little. You involuntarily licked your lips. Damn.

“Yeah.”

“M-hm” Steve’s eyes drifted between you eyes and you mouth.

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve been dying to kiss you since you called me Babe.”

Your lips parted in a silent ‘oh’ just as he leaned close. Steve’s lips brushed yours, a gentle and soft touch. His hand slid along your waist. Pulling back enough to look into each other’s eyes, he smiled before pulling you closer. Kissing you more thoroughly, his tongue tentatively touched your lip and you opened eagerly for him.

His other hand slid to the back of your neck, as the keep deepened. You leaned into his strong body, feeling his muscles beneath the smooth shirt. A small moan escaped your throat as his teeth lightly tugged at your lower lip. Steve broke the kiss, only to rest his forehead against yours.

“Whoa.” You grinned, wanting wrap yourself around him, surprised at the intensity of your reaction.

“Yeah.” He breathed. “So, um, it may be a little old fashioned but can I ask you to be my girl?”

You kissed him again, pulling him close and molding your body against his. Smiling against his lips, you purred. “I can definitely do with a little more ‘old fashioned’ in my life.”

TAG

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#cake's 1k followers celebration #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction

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honouraryweasley12 · 5 years ago

Text

Hands-On Learning (NC-17)

I wrote this for a Romione fest that didn’t end up happening last year, but I was prompted to post it by @wildegreenlight. I’m SUPER rusty with my writing, so I hope it’s alright. The prompt for this fic was “Courage”.

Contains smut, so don’t read if you’re not interested in that kind of thing.

~*~

Her foot was tapping impatiently, despite the steady shiver of nerves running up and down her back.

She glanced first to her left, then her right, checking for the thousandth time that there was no one around. She had purposely picked the day of the Gryffindor/Slytherin match to execute her plan, knowing the castle would be emptied.

She'd once been accused of being a scarlet woman, and for the first time in her life, she felt as though it was warranted.

And she didn't care, not one bit.

Ironically, it was her accuser's youngest son who was the target of her... corruption.

Hermione's cheeks flushed pink and she licked her lips, imagining what was going to happen in mere minutes. She leaned back against the worn cushion and let out a slow breath, attempting to calm the hammering of her heart.

Was she really going through with it?

To distract herself, she surveyed the library from her spot. It was her favourite seat in her favourite place in Hogwarts, hidden away in the far back corner, amongst books covered in a thick layer of dust.

Next to her settee was a small table where her bag and supplies sat. She had been working diligently for a while—NEWTs weren't that far away—until she couldn't concentrate any further. If Ron only knew how easily he could distract her!

The silence was broken by the familiar creak of the heavy wooden library doors. She craned her neck and saw a flash of red hair, causing a pleasant flutter in her stomach. She missed him so much during their separation, despite his almost monthly visits.

His approach was obvious, his footfalls echoing in the cavernous quiet of the library. Hermione took a moment just to watch him, his too tight uniform stretched across his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up exposing his freckled forearms.

Ron stopped, a puzzled look on his face as he stared directly at her.

"Hermione?"

His hoarse whisper was met with silence as she continued gazing at him.

He stepped over to the desk and looked down. "This is her stuff," he said to himself. "Where is she? I promised Ginny we'd go watch her play. Hermione's note told me to meet her here."

He peered around the corner, greeted by more books, but no girlfriend. Hermione couldn't help but notice how good his arse looked in his old trousers.

He turned back to the couch and peered at it, sensing something was amiss. His eyes narrowed, as if she'd suddenly appear.

"Ron?"

He didn't respond.

"Good, it's working," Hermione said loudly.

Still no response. Hermione's lips curled up slowly, her plan about to come to fruition. She picked up her wand and made a few complicated movements.

The air shimmered for a split second, before revealing the brunette witch.

Ron leaped backwards and gasped. "Bloody hell, love!"

She giggled at the expression on his face, before jumping up from her seat and flinging herself into his open arms. He lifted her up, and their lips collided, mouths slightly open, hungry for one another. Hermione moaned as Ron sucked on her plump bottom lip, her hands tangled in his fiery locks.

They pulled away, chests heaving.

"Missed you," Ron said between breaths.

"Oh Ron, me too!"

Their eyes met. "Just a few months more, yeah?"

Hermione nodded. "I can't wait. As much as I love school, I miss you, and Harry, and everyone. Mostly, I just want to start my life outside of school—with you."

He gripped her tighter and held her close for a moment, before reluctantly setting her back down on her feet. She grasped his hand and led him to the sofa. Ron dropped down onto the middle and slung his long arm along the top.

As he got settled, Hermione again repeated the series of wand movements. If anyone was looking, the young couple would have disappeared, unable to be seen or heard.

"What was that for?"

She shrugged as she took a seat next to him, his arm pulling her to him. "Privacy."

"Erm, alright." He looked at her strangely. "There's no one here."

"I don't want to get caught."

"Oh, is that why you asked me to wear my uniform? Did someone complain to McGonagall? I swear I didn't know George had charmed my Wheezes robes to start shouting about the latest products during my last visit."

Her cheeks flushed. "No, it wasn't because of that."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "What's going through that big brain of yours?"

Now was her chance to be bold. She just hoped he wouldn't laugh at her.

She shifted in her seat, leaning against the armrest, his arm loose around her. "I asked you to wear the school robes because I was hoping you would help me with something."

His copper eyebrows furrowed. "Of course, but what does that have to do with my uniform?"

She tried to swallow; her mouth suddenly dry. Her voice dropped, timid. "Well, you see... I... I have... I have... this fantasy."

Ron's eyes immediately went wide and he pulled her close again. "Go on."

"I used to sit here sometimes when I was done my work, and daydream about you. How good you looked in your uniform and how badly I wanted to..."

"Wanted to what?"

"Wanted to touch you. Wanted to feel you." She paused and gulped hard, opening her eyes to stare intensely at his, doing her best to mask her vulnerability. "How I wanted to... control you."

His mouth dropped open, the milliseconds feeling like hours to Hermione.

"Say something!"

"Bloody brilliant!"

"Really?" She asked, flabbergasted. She'd been expecting a much different reaction.

"Oh, yes. Do you... do you know how many times I've wanked to bossy Hermione?"

She glanced down and could see a prominent bulge straining against his trousers. She couldn't help but reach out and slowly run a fingertip along his length, causing him to jump slightly.

"Mmmm," she groaned. "I have a very specific fantasy, in fact. I think you're going to like it. Do I have your permission?"

Ron nodded his head vigorously. "Fuck, do whatever you want." He began to reach for his belt buckle, but she promptly slapped his hand away and placed her own hand on his chest.

"You won't do anything unless you're told. Understood?" She felt a surge throughout her whole body with her commanding words.

"Yes."

"It would always start like this, us sitting together here on this settee. In my dreams you would try to hide your arousal from me... but it was rather obvious."

She leaned into his chest, running her other hand up the inside of his thigh to his bulge, this time softly gripping him through the cloth. He let out a low groan. She felt how hard he was, constrained and now controlled.

By her.

The very thought of having her lanky, far stronger, ginger-haired boyfriend at her whim sent a shudder of electricity right to her core.

She looked up at him, his blue eyes afire with want. Her eyes never leaving his, she slid her fingers up to his zipper, pulling the tab agonizingly slowly, tooth-by-tooth until it was all the way down. Her slender fingers slid into the opening, one layer away from his bare flesh.

A dark spot of precum was already visible against his grey pants, showing her how much he was enjoying her fantasy.

She began stroking him again. "Have you figured it out yet? My fantasy?"

He shook his head, staring down at where her hand was. "Shite, keep that up. Feels fucking amazing."

She smirked and found the opening in the front of his underwear. Her fingertips grazed his hot skin, his low moan vibrating in his chest. She gently pulled him out through his fly, exposing him.

"What are you—"

"This was my fantasy, Ron. To feel you in my hands. To..." She stopped and blushed. "To get you off, here in the library."

"Are you joking? You really fantasized about wanking me here?"

She nodded before slowly stroking him, his long, thick cock standing proudly as her small hand ran up and down.

"Mmmm... I have to say, your...wand... is much bigger than I dreamed about. The books I read on human sexuality certainly didn't—"

"Hold on, you read sex books? Why am I not surprised? What else—"

"Quiet!"

She moved her hand from his chest and clamped it over his mouth, causing them both to groan at her sudden aggressiveness.

Hermione squirmed, her arousal growing as she continued her attentions on his hard cock. She slid her hand back down into his trousers, cupping his bollocks, before sliding her hand up, all the way to his large head in long, slow, deliberate motions. She could feel every throb and jerk as he thrust into her hand.

"Do you like seeing my hand around your cock?"

Ron nodded and mumbled something into her hand. His hand, which had been gripping her side, moved up to her breast.

"No touching yet!"

"Mmmph," was his only reply. He instantly let go and tucked his hand behind his head. He slumped, his legs spread wide, completely at her mercy.

She began to pick up the pace. Seeing his pale cock in the open as her small hand jerked him off, against the backdrop of his dark trousers, caused her another wave of arousal. She started grinding against his thigh, her breathing becoming faster. She leaned forward in anticipation.

"Fuck, touch me now!"

His arm snaked behind her back, down to her waist, pushing past the waistband of her skirt. He delved greedily into her damp knickers, his two long fingers finding her clit. He began rubbing in slow circles, causing her to cry out.

Her hand was erratic around his throbbing dick as they pleasured each other in the sacred confines of learning which surrounded them.

Hermione removed her hand from his mouth and tangled it in his hair, pulling his head back roughly. The cord of his neck was far too tempting; she couldn't help but run her tongue along it. He pressed into her heated core, drawing another wail of ecstasy.

Her hand was a blur now, up and down. "I want to hear you. I want you to scream my name."

"Fuck! Hermione! I'm so fucking close."

"Get your fingers in me," she begged. "Please, do it, love!"

His long digits entered her wet centre, plunging in and out. She let out a scream as she rode his hand. He was thrusting his hips wildly into her grip.

Hermione was far past the point of her normal decorum, lust and fantasy fueling her thoughts and words. "I want to see you spunk! I want to watch you get off from my hand."

This was too much for Ron to take. "Fuck, Hermione! Slow down, I... I'm fucking coming!"

Hermione, consumed by him, watched as rope after rope of thick spunk shot out of his cock, falling on his shirt, trousers, and covering her hand. Having her fantasy come to life drove her over the edge, aided by Ron's fingers.

"Roooooonnnnn!"

She managed to scream out as she convulsed, her vision darkening momentarily from the impact of her orgasm. She slumped against Ron, boneless. His harsh breaths gently rocked her. She felt him press a kiss into her bushy locks, and she smiled, satiated.

Their heartbeats slowed, nestled in their little cocoon. The minutes stretched out as they relaxed, blissful.

"I can see why the protective charms were needed. That was rather intense."

She looked up, still shy about the whole thing. "It wasn't too much?"

"To be honest, I don't think I've ever cum that hard in my life."

"That was so hot. Knowing I can cause that."

Ron laughed. "You've been causing it for years, you just didn't know it. You're welcome to cause that any time."

"Smug prat."

"But I'm glad..." he began haltingly. "I'm really glad that we can do these things, together. You know, learn and grow with each other. It's one of the things I love most about us, that we can be totally open and honest... finally."

She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly shining from his words. "I love you."

"Love you, too."

After a few more moments of closeness they managed to clean themselves up, and with the aid of a few spells, removed any trace if their activities.

The air shimmered once again, revealing the couple.

Hermione sighed, and went to gather up her books. "I suppose we should go down to the match now. Your sister will be disappointed if we're not there."

"Harry's there, so she probably won't even notice us." Ron suddenly froze, looking as if he was trying to figure something out in his head.

"Ron? What is it?"

He spoke slowly, delight blossoming across his face as he smiled. "Well, if everyone is at the match, the changing rooms will be empty."

"And?"

"Let me tell you about a little fantasy of my own..."

#smut #ron weasley #hermione granger #romione #ron x hermione

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aboyandhisstarship · 4 years ago

Note

i want a foxiyo Pendragon fanfic

ok...but it’s not really my best work, let me know what you think:

Pantora:

Riyo was sitting in her family home, in front of her was a human she had never met before, he was down on one knee saying “Riyo, it’s so nice to meet you I’m Press Tilton, and I have something very important to tell you.”

In his hand was a ring.

years later:

Journal number 15, Coruscant:

SPACE! Now that I have your attention Mark and Courtney, this one is a bit weird; ok in fairness they are all weird. You see this territory, is a not a single planet in an instance in time but a galaxy…like a full on alien life galaxy it is honestly sick.

One rub as there often is, is that this galaxy is in the middle of a civil war, ya I know that screams ol Saint Dane, But so far no signs of him. Of course that does not mean he is not around. This is Saint Dane we are talking about the guy can be anyone.

But let’s get into it. I climbed out of the flume and I was in a concrete style room. So this place is at least slightly advanced.

I glanced to the floor and saw the clothes of this territory. Yea, I was not a fan, in my time travelling Halla I have run into some questionable fashion choices. But this, this was rough.

First was a puffy shirt, a bright pink puffy shirt. Kind of like pirates wear, Bell bottom looking pants with weird metal boots. And a Petty coat looking jacket, as I was getting dressed (leaving on my Second Earth boxers, I have to draw the line somewhere) I was thinking that maybe Saint Dane left these clothes here. I mean come on, I looked like a rejected Pirate in a Disney movie from the seventies, there is no way people actually dress like this.

Underneath the small pile of clothes was a black item, it looked kind of like a Nurf gun, but this bad boy did not fire foam darts, nope…it shoot lasers! Again Pretty cool. But of course my bubble was burst pretty quick after all a weapon meant only one thing, Quigs…god damn it.

I gently pushed open the exit from the flume peaking my head out gun at the ready to shoot any yellow eyed freak I saw, but the room outside of the flume was pretty quiet, it looked some kind of spare parts storage room.

Scattered all around where scraps of metal and wire in what looked kind of like giant plastic boxes. I stepped out of the room closing the door to the flume, it looked like it was built into the wall, the Star was visible, craved into the wall as always.

I kept the blaster close as I crept out of the machine room and there I spotted them, robots! Like something out of Sci fi! I was starting to worry that maybe Coruscant was a territory of all Robots. Honestly that sounded kind of cool but then again, I was not fond of the idea of Saint Dane logic bombing an entire city.

As I crept along trying to figure out how to get out of the machine shop, a robot turned to me…and it’s eyes they were yellow.

Quigs…yea Gulp.

The machine let out a loud chirping and his buddy’s came calling, close to 20 or 30 of them carrying tools of some kind eyes glowing and they were coming for me.

I aimed the gun and pulled the trigger and nothing happened. Now I have not actually fired that many guns in my time travelling the universe, most territory’s don’t have them. I looked to see if I could find a safety like switch, as *ZAPPPPPPPPP* some kind of electric blade sailed past my shoulder, I rolled onto the ground and took off running picking a direction.

For once I actually chose right, the robots were hot on my heels but I saw an opening, where something that looked vaguely car shaped was waiting.

Ignoring the nagging reminder that I left Second Earth before I ever learned to drive I dove for the car thing, A robot jumped on after me but I managed to kick it off. Before I crawled into the driver’s seat saying “oh god oh god, ok pedals?”

I scanned the ground, no pedals; I didn’t see a key like cars on Second Earth.

Then on the steering wheel, ok it was not a wheel, at least not in the way you are thinking of, and more like a yoke, like on planes. Anyway there were two buttons on the wheel I hit them and the Car thing took off hard super hard.

“Woah woah slow down! Uhh breaks!?”

I scanned the controls for the brakes as I pulled up ending up in traffic, as I was bobbing and weaving saying “Please breaks, auto pilot, something anything.”

Now then I heard sirens, great the police…this will be fun to explain.

The police demanded “pull over!”

I called back to the police were on hover bikes along side of me “believe me I would love to, but I have no idea how to drive this thing!”

The cops fired a dart thing at my car and took control, think god.

We gently landed on some kind of platform, Aliens walked by clear as day. And they were dressed more cohertly then I was, as I was looking around before the cop said “sir, we need to see some ID.”

Uh oh, I turned to the cops, they were white armor with red stripes and they were armed, blasters at the ready, I smiled sheepishly “would you believe me if it told you I lost it?”

Another cop spoke “sir, put your hands up please.” It was a different guy from the one that talked before, and yet sounded the same, maybe they were robots.

They aimed at me saying “sir, hands up!”

I slowly raised my hands above my head, as they reached into my coat and pulled out the gun that was left at the flume…I forgot I had that.

I was surrounded as they said “hands behind your head!”

I did and was swiftly handcuffed, great start.

One of them asked “are you with the sepies!?”

I had no idea what he was talking about, well it was coin flip time. “uhhh yes…?”

The cops tensed up, welp wrong answer the officer said “on your feet I think you need to see the commander.”

I was shoved into their car thing as they went a lot smoother then my driving, which in fairness was not hard. I looked around at the active and vibrate city of Coruscant and I noticed the lack of green, I mean New York had Central park, in fact most Big cities I could think of on Second Earth had some kind of Green plants, but here nothing…it was literally all city.

We spent about 5 minutes travelling through the city before we arrived at a building, it was rather bland in design, and made of the same slate material as the rest of the city, I was led inside and shoved into a small room, but not before being searched again. I figured they would take my ring, but they examined and scanned it before handing it back to me and leaving me to stew.

After a few minutes I started to look around, after all I needed to bust out of here, either high tail it back to the flume and come up with a new plan or hopefully dodge the heat.

Well the room was escape proof, or at least seemed that way, so I was stuck there in my pink shirt feeling like a fool.

A few minutes later another cop entered wearing the same armor as the others. I was still not sure if this guy was a robot, he said flatly “my men tell me you are a separatist.”

A Separatist, I thought they said, ohh I guess I should have seen that one coming as I scratched my head “yea that’s me…big Separatist.”

I mean I had literally no other option but to stick to the story at that point, and just hope these guys would not shoot me.

That’s one the guy walked over to the camera in the corner and turned it off, uh oh I had seen enough detective movies to not like where this was going. Then he maundered his armor before pulling out something on a piece of string it was a heavy sliver ring, with a large slate stone in the middle, a traveler ring!

I exhaled “oh thank god, I thought I had really screwed the pooch on that one.”

The guy took off his helmet and revealed a man, he was dark skinned, the closest thing I could think of in Second Earth terms would be the natives of Hawaii.

The guy said simply “my name is Commander Fox sir; I am the acolyte for this territory.”

I nodded “Bobby Pendragon, so what is Saint Dane doing here?”

Fox looked down, the guy looked tired. Honestly I was a little worried as he said “Kriff I have no idea, I mean if he is looking to cause Chaos, then he need not bother.”

He reached over unlocking my handcuffs as I asked “that bad huh?”

Fox nodded “worse, thousands dying a day, millions more displaced.”

I bit my lip, yea this had Saint Dane written all over it, I asked “can you get me out of ya know jail?”

Fox scratched his head “yea I will say…you’re an undercover spy for us?”

I looked at him “will anyone buy that?”

Fox answered “probably.”

Probably probably! I’m looking at whatever the punishment for treason is here and he is hitting me with the probably!? I stood up saying “I sure hope it does, I’m not in the mood to get the lethal injection.”

Fox looked at me before saying “yes I suppose, so you have done this kind of thing before?”

I followed him toward the door “the getting arrested after arriving thing? because honestly, this is a first.”

Fox said “no the, fighting Saint Dane saving the day thing.”

I sighed “honestly…I have lost count I have done it so many times, I mean I win some, he wins some…but every day is a new one.”

Fox pushed open the door “yea that makes sense.”

9 hours later, that’s right guys…it took 9 hours to get out, but when we did I was taken toward a truly impressive building., Fox told me “this is the galactic senate, the seat of government for the republic.”

Again, cool…but my gut was telling me something was off, I mean this territory was at war. The question was why and what role did Saint Dane play.

As we walked through the lavish halls, I saw some oddly dressed folks, Most glared at Fox like he had run over there dogs. And nodded at me like I was one of them. I tried to blend into the background best I could, but it was hard.

After a few minutes we arrived outside of a room. Fox knocked and a second later a voice said “come in.”

The door opened to show a quiet office, inside was a woman with blue skin, she looked to be maybe 20 years old, and her hair was purple she had strange gold streaks along her cheeks. She seemed flustered rushing to meet me.

The girl said “Bobby Pendragon? Press told me all about you, Riyo Chuchi traveler from Coruscant …but you knew that.” She babbled

I raised my hands “pleasure to meet you; you have a nice place here?” Honestly my experice in this territory had not been super positive so far.

Riyo looked me up and down before asking Fox teasingly “this is what you left for him?”

Fox blushed “look…my fashion sense is not exactly.”

I jumped in to cover for him “it’s not the worst thing I ever had to wear on a territory.”

Riyo looked at me asking “oh and what is?”

I answered easily “Eelong, Humans are not considered to be intelligent beings, so they are…well long story short I had to wear rags…yea that place was not fun, almost gotten eaten by a raptor…oh and the Quigs were…”

I looked around the room seeing there eyes start to glaze over, I scratched my head before saying “so you know what Saint Dane has planned here?”

Riyo looked down “I have no clue, he could be anyone…there is a lot of corruption in the galaxy…but there is one woman who can perhaps help us find out who is playing all sides.”

I plucked down on her couch asking “any paper around here, I got to start my journal?” Fox hugged Riyo real deep before leaving…oh looks there is something there, nice.

That’s when I was given the freaking sweet holo recorder I made this journal on Mark and Cortney, I think this one is even better then Veelox? Your thoughts…well as I am writing this, tomorrow Riyo and I am visiting two important types…I am pretending to be from the distant planet of…Bronx, let’s hope they don’t space google it.

The fellows I’m meeting is a Senator like Riyo, Padme something and her secret husband a General Anakin Skywalker, who belongs to group of solider monks…sounds pretty cool. Oh and Riyo tells me they can read minds…great

Miss you guys stay safe

End of Journal 15:

#Foxiyo #Pendragon #first time writing foxiyo...not that there is much of them sorry

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roguepaladin · 5 years ago

Note

Shallura prompt? Rock concert!!!

Congradulations you have just recieved a 2300+ word essay!

This was fun to write, is it romancey enough? I don’t know, but it was fun!

It was freezing!

On this late winter evening, where temperatures dipped below zero and the winds picked up; Allura found herself standing out in the bitter cold, holding on to last bit of warmth her body had left to give. You had to be crazy to be out here, but crazy she had been when agreed to accompany her cousin Romelle to a concert.

Romelle’s favourite rock band ‘Voltron’ was in town and she practically begged Allura to go with her. It wasn’t everyday a famous band came to their city of Altea. Romelle called it her one and only chance to every see them in the flesh, and Allura had to be there to catch her when she fainted.

‘What kind of name is Voltron?’

‘It’s their concept!’ Romelle explained.

‘They use their combined powers as musicians to form the new sound of futurist rock electro! - Allura, stop making that face, you have to come! Please please please!’

So, she eventually agreed, though it took her some time to understand the whole ‘mystical space lions taught them the way’ mythology… and to stop laughing. Now, she was slowly regretting everything!

Romelle made they arrive early in order to get the best spots in the standing area. A plan that had them standing out in the cold for nearly 4 hours. Please be worth it she begged. Granted she didn’t have to pay for the ticket as part of the deal. She looked at her cousin, even in this cold, Romelle never lost a bit of excitement, and she chatted away animatedly. Apparently, her favourite member was the drummer named Hunk and she even wore his colour; a yellow t-shirt and a matching signature headband. Allura looked around noticed many others in line also wearing yellow, some green, but most were dressed in blue, red or black. The reds and blues didn’t seem to like each other. Romelle said it was about a dumb rivalry between the lead singer and the guitarist.

After assessing all the colours, Allura started to feel out of place in her pink puffer jacket. Not that everyone was dressed in team colours, and she also felt they were just like her; here against their will.

When doors finally opened, Allura was dragged by her cousin up to the very front of stage. As close as they could get that was not actually standing on stage. Romelle pulled out her homemade posters and handed one to Allura. On Allura’s poster in bright yellow letters was ‘Feeling unsupported?’, which she supposed made sense with Romelle’s ‘I could be your other leg’.

The house lights went down and the avenue filled with screams as the band took to the stage. A large screen began to play a video, that made them scream more as it introduced the band members over the sound of deafening rock music. When the stage lights came on, Allura didn’t think it was possible for the crowd to scream louder but they quickly proved her wrong.

‘FORM VOLTRON!’

The leader singer screamed in the microphone and the crowd chanted back

‘DEFEND THE UNIVERSE!’

The band immediately started playing their first song, it was now Allura got a proper look at the band. The each wore their signature colour so she knew immediately recognised Hunk at the drums. According to the intro video; D-Jing at the launchpad was the group’s only female member Pidge. Next strumming away at the electric guitar was Keith. Standing next to Keith was the Leader Singer, Lance who seemed to be trying his best to sing a note over the sound of the guitar. The final member, dressed in all black except for his silver dyed bangs was Shiro, jamming away at the bass. Allura felt herself staring at him for most of the set. While the others were high energy, he had a calmness in his manner. He even struck her more when he took over for Lance and sang the bridge, which made half the crowd go wild. His voice was strong and steady and didn’t feel out of place in the lull of electronic beats. Romelle looked over to her cousin-

‘Ah-ha!’ she smirked.

‘What?’

‘I see you’ve decided to join team black, don’t worry, everyone falls for Shiro first’

Allura blushed, ‘I- I’m not falling for anyone’

Romelle laughed.

‘Its nothing to be ashamed of, Shiro is the leader of the group for a reason, he writes all the songs too’

Allura ignored her cousin’s smug face. Though she had to admit he did stand out the most for someone not wearing a colour.

She on the other hand, stood out very clearly dressed in bright pink and standing in front within the ocean of hardcore fans.

At the end of the song, the band took time to introduce themselves. Lance talked the most but he also seemed to have the most fans and he looked very proud of that. Allura was sure Romelle screamed out her left lung when Hunk said a small hello and waved his drumsticks. Keith just waved, and a fan at the back screamed out marriage proposal. Pidge hyped up the crowd with a few beats. When it was Shiro’s turn to talk, Allura felt herself become nervous. She didn’t know why but she felt like his eyes had glanced a bit longer on her than others. The crowd went wild as he smiled over his microphone. He then simply thanked everyone for coming to show, thanked the venue and introduced the next song.

Over the course of the next five songs, Allura wondered if she imagined him staring. His eyes would look up quickly in her direction and quickly down. Perhaps Romelle was right and she had developed some cliché crush on a rock star, because there was no way she could catch the eye of someone famous that easily. This wasn’t a movie where the next moment he would jump over the stage and proclaim her to be the most beautiful thing in the world. However, she was losing count of how many times he stole a glance at her.

‘Maybe he was staring because I’m staring’ She thought, and she blushed at how creepy she must be right now. So, she decided to turned at look at Romelle, who now had long tears down her face because Hunk wouldn’t stare her way. Judging from the way he played those drums, Allura highly doubted he could afford to look away for fear of messing up. She comforted her cousin and tried to help her enjoy the rest of the show.

Allura kept fighting her strong urge to look back over at the bassist, so she decided to close her eyes and dance instead. She had to admit that they sounded very good, not something she would listen to everyday but they played well and the crowd had a good energy. So, she danced, and pulled her cousin into a dance. It was there in the midst of her swaying she caught those eyes, and this time she was 100% sure he was staring this time. Her head moved side to side so he was none the wiser that her eyes were locked on him. He even seemed to be enjoying her watching her dance. Suddenly self-conscious of her dorky moves, she mis-stepped and tripped over the person behind her. Allura watched as his expression change to shock and fall out of view as she slammed onto her back. She was completely mortified! Over the sound of music, she could hear Romelle call out to her, as she tried to pick herself. It was in this process she was interrupted by a sharp pain to the side of her head which threw her back onto the floor, effectively knocking her out.

—

When Allura came to, she was lying on a sofa in what seemed to be the backstage area of the venue. As indicated by the vibrations and muffled sounds of music coming off the walls. She moved to sit up, and could feel her sides and head ache in protest.

‘Don’t get up too fast’ came the voice of woman, it was steady and monotone.

Allura looked over and noticed a tall older woman sitting across from her.

‘Where am I?’

‘Green room. I don’t know what you did to knock yourself out but you were lucky to not be trampled on’

It was then Romelle entered the room, signalled by her delighted squeal at seeing Allura awake. The other woman in the room made a face like her ears were ringing.

‘Are you okay?’ her cousin questioned, examining her up and down.

‘I’m fine, it only hurts a little’

‘That’s a relief! You caused quite a scene!’

Allura felt her face grow hot, ‘W-What…What do mean caused a scene?’

The tall woman got up from her chair and walked over to the pair.

‘For starters, we had to stop the show until we could remove you safely’ she stated as if telling her charges for arrest.

NO! Allura grimaced, they had to be joking, how embarrassing!

Romelle however was smiling at her.

‘Don’t be embarrassed, everyone is SUPER jealous of you right now’

Romelle then described the events after she blacked out. Shiro having seen her get kicked in the head, had stopped the performance immediately and ordered everyone to get out of the way.

‘and guess what!’ Romelle squealed-

Allura had no time to response before Romelle continued on detailing how Shiro, escorted by a few security guards, carried her backstage!

‘-and I explained to Krolia, that you were my cousin so she let me in’

Allura looked over at Krolia who seemed to regret that decision as Romelle couldn’t seem to keep from squealing excitedly about everything. Allura wanted to sink into the floor, what if he thought she made a scene on purpose. She wanted to go home, but her head really hurt and Krolia refused to let her off the sofa. There she was forced to stay another 20 minutes until-

‘THANK YOU, GOOD NIGHT!!!’

The sound of the crowd roaring was heard from the other side of the wall. They had missed the rest of the concert. Not that Romelle seemed to mind, her cousin’s misfortune was working in her favour. She was back stage! Hunk’s jacket was on that chair, if only she could just reach out and touch it! Oh, why won’t Krolia just leave the room and stop watching her like a hawk!

Allura’s heart began to race as she heard the voices of the bandmates come closer to the door.

As the door opened, the sounds of the crowd screaming for an encore filled the room, but none of that seem to register to Allura’s ears as Shiro strode across the room towards her.

‘You’re awake! How are you feeling?’ and he had a genuine concern in his eyes.

Allura couldn’t seemed to find her voice. So Krolia answered for her and drew his attention away to band matters as Allura’s now understood her to be their manager. The other members came to ask her the same questions and here Romelle did the talking with a slight bias in answering mostly Hunk’s questions. Lance and Pidge were polite, lance more so and Keith seem to be just as mute as she was. The attention was overwhelming as thoughts battled to stay present while imagining all the ways she was possibly carried by Shiro. She blushed as she thought of him carrying her ‘princess’ style.

‘Let’s go home…’ she finally managed to say. Which was not something anyone expected a fan to say in this situation. She however was not a fan, and wanted to get far away from those piercing eyes as soon as possible.

Allura pushed herself off the sofa and grabbed her cousin’s hand.

‘Thank you and I’m really sorry I made you have to stop your show, and from what I remember I did enjoy it, so please don’t think it was done on purpose’ and with that she turned and left.

Reluctantly Romelle left the room behind her cousin knowing her excuse to be in that room just went up in flames.

‘Stay here, I’ll go get our bags and coats’ she sulked off and left Allura to stand in backstage area.

The door to the green room opened, which Allura didn’t notice until the person who came out was standing next her.

‘Allura?’

She jumped, and turned to looked at Shiro.

‘I’m sorry, that is your name, right?’

She slowly nodded and he looked relieved.

‘Don’t apologise, I know I’m the reason you fell and got hurt tonight’

‘What…what do you mean?’

‘Well, I was kind of staring at you down- I MEAN! not you…I was staring at your SIGN and then eventually…you’ he seemed nervous to admit that last part.

‘My sign…?’

‘Yeah, ‘Feeling unsupported’?’

‘Oh, well that wasn’t really mine, it was my cousins’’

Shiro now look extremely embarrassed, brushing his hand against his neck nervously.

‘That-Actually makes more sense…it was yellow after all…’ he mumbled.

It was now Allura noticed the hand on his neck and connecting arm was an artificial and extremely well made prosthetic. Did he think she was making a jab at his disability? She wouldn’t- She didn’t know!

‘Anyways! I’m sorry…for that, I’m glad you enjoyed the show, it’s not often I get see someone dance like that’ and he managed a smirk and mimed her.

Allura blushed, she knew it! He was laughing at her moves!

She wanted to tell him off but Romelle reappeared and he excused himself. Stealing one last glance as he closed back the door to the green room. Leaving her with a bundle of confused feelings. If he thought her sign was mean, why was he still evidently flirting with her.

That, however she would have to ponder another day, because for now she had to listen to Romelle describe every detail of her 2-minute conversation with her idol.

END

#shallura #fanfic prompts #allura #shiro #modern au #rock band au #romelle is a crazy fangirl #lizzy does prompts #my writing

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duhragonball · 5 years ago

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Dragon Ball Super Movie 1: Broly (2/2)

Last time, Frieza was planning a trip to Earth to make a wish on the Dragon Balls, when Cheelai and Leemo showed up with a new recruit, Broly. Now they’re hanging out in the mess hall of Frieza’s ship, and the strongest guy on the crew is drunkenly creeping on Cheelai. I guess that lady in the background already shot him down, or he has a thing for the green ladies.

I like this part where Leemo tries to defuse the situation noviolently. He’s not a fighter, and even if he were, he probably wouldn’t stand a chance here, but he’s lived his whole life surrounded by super-strong guys, and he knows how to make due with what he has. It doesn’t work here, but it adds a lot to this scene.

Anyway, I don’t think you need me to tell you how this turns out. Broly steps in, and he overpowers whatsisface in two seconds. This is especially ironic in the U.S. dub, where Broly was voiced by notorious sex pest Vic Mignogna. I kind of wonder what was going through his mind when he did this scene, except he probably didn’t even know the context. They just told him to grunt and yell. Still, he must have watched the movie at some point, right?

Like how would he not make the connection that he’s the grey dude in this scenario, and Broly is getting major babyface heat by standing up for Cheelai? Like, this whole scene was created to make Broly sympathetic, especially compared to his original 1993 incarnation. Good guys respect women, bad guys harass them. Did the point just sail over his head? He was probably all: “Gosh, Broly should have stayed out of this, and donated money to the grey man for his defamation lawsuit against Cheelai.”

Oh, who am I kidding, he probably spent the whole movie staring at Cheelai’s boobs. Or the nearest woman in the theater.

Anyway, Paragus thinks Broly’s getting out of hand, so he uses the shock collar to settle him down. Cheelai and Leemo are outraged (again), but Paragus insists that it’s necessary to keep Broly from going nuts and killing them all.

I’m a bit conflicted about the collar. It’s clearly a replication of the mind-control tiara Paragus used on Broly in the DBZ movie, but this is much simpler in design. Just an electric shock, nothing more. I like the simplicity of it.

However, I also liked the mind-control tiara. It looked stylish, and I liked the mystery of how it worked and where Paragus got it from. There was that scene in Movie 8 where he had an alien henchman run a diagnostic on the device, but there’s no telling if that guy built it or if he’s just the closest thing Paragus could find to an expert. There was a mystique about the thing, which the shock collar just does away with entirely. I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or not.

But it probably serves this plot better, because Cheelai picks Paragus’ pocket while they talk, and she stomps the controller after he leaves. Probably would have been harder to make this work with a magic device like that arm thing Paragus used to make the tiara work.

Paragus gets summoned to Frieza’s chamber again, so while he’s gone, Broly hangs out with his new pals in... I guess a cargo room? He thinks ordinary water is delicious, to give you an idea of how rough it was for him growing up on Vampa. He then explains the fuzzy green thing around his waist, which always reminds me of the bathmat at my grandmother’s house. Paragus used to make Broly provoke a giant green animal on Vampa as a training exercise, until eventually they became friends. Broly named it “Ba” after the noise it made. Paragus disapproved of their friendship, so he shot Ba’s ear off to piss him off good, and put a stop to that. Broly never saw Ba again, so he kept the ear as a memento, and that’s what he’s been wearing this whole time.

See, I like this better than Broly’s Movie 8 outfit, because it has a backstory. I think Ba’s ear was conceived as a way to give Broly a wrap like the red one worn by the original, but someone, probably Toriyama, wanted there to be something more to it.

Anyway, this tale pretty much defines Paragus and Broly’s relationship. Paragus seems to genuinely care about the boy, but his main objective is for Broly to become as strong as possible so that he can prove King Vegeta was wrong to exile them. In pursuit of this goal, Paragus has micro-managed Broly to the point where he has almost no freedom at all. Cheelai suspect that Broly doesn’t even enjoy fighting, which sounds pretty extreme for a Saiyan, but she might be right. I’d like to think this version of Broly would enjoy fighting, but not the way Paragus has been handling things.

Meanwhile, the good guys arrive at the ice continent to find the seventh Dragon Ball. Frieza’s goons stole the first six and the Dragon Radar, so it doesn’t take long for Goku and Vegeta to track them down. Here, we see them in their cute cold weather gear. I don’t get how those coats do a damn thing in the antarctic, but I love Bulma’s spacesuit-looking thing.

So they find the two goons, and one of them looks like an alien John Banner from Hogan’s Heroes. They’re terrified of Goku because he’s breathing hard on the glass of their ship. I’d be more worried about him doing a pressed fruit basket on the glass.

Luckily for them, they radioed Frieza about finding the seventh ball right before Goku showed up, so Frieza comes to the rescue. They banter for a while, but the big story everyone wants to know about is Frieza’s backup. He introduces Paragus and Broly, and Frieza’s plan is to have Broly do all the fighting, and he’ll let them kill Vegeta as long as he gets to finish off Goku.

So Vegeta and Broly start us off. Broly does reasonably okay, but Vegeta seems to have the upper hand the whole time, and then he turns Super Saiyan, which freaks Paragus out, because he didn’t even know that was a thing. That bums Frieza out, because I guess he assumed Broly could do it too? Why would he think that? �� I mean, he turns out to be right later, but he should know that not just any Saiyan can pull that off.

Moreover, Vegeta can transform further than this. People made a big to-do about this part, where he uses the Super Saiyan God form Goku used in Movie 14, but I don’t know, it doesn’t seem like that big a deal to me. I mean, Super Saiyan Blue is better, and Vegeta knows how to do that one, so what’s the difference? I mean, I’m the guy who really wanted to see Vegeta use Super Saiyan 3 a long time ago, so I get why this is a big deal for people, but it doesn’t mean much to me personally.

At any rate, Vegeta seems disgusted with Broly’s performance, but I think it says a lot that he managed to hold out this long against Super Saiyan God Vegeta.

Around this point, Paragus tries to call Broly off, but he can’t, because he doesn’t have the remote to use the shock collar. I’m not sure I understand what was supposed to happen if he still had it. Was Frieza going to fight Goku and Vegeta by himself? Was he going to just quietly withdraw and leave the Dragon Balls behind?

Also, I’d just like to take this time to point out that Paragus looks really dumb here. He looked cool at the start of the movie, when he was younger and looked more like his 1993 design, but then they dressed him in this green and purple number, and the pink shower curtain looks really dumb. Also, I hate how they lightened his skin tone in this movie. At least they brought back Dameron Clarke to play him in the dub. I really like Paragus, and he’s mostly okay in this movie, but he’s nowhere near as cool as the ‘93 version.

As for the fight, Broly somehow gets a second wind, and holds of Vegeta, even in his god form. Paragus suggests that Broly has somehow tapped into the Oozaru power Saiyans have when they turn into giant apes. Except Broly’s tail was cut off at a young age, so he hasn’t turned into a giant ape in years. Paragus seems to think that Broly’s body is using that power anyway, but without the transformation turning him into a big, bulky ape, there’s nothing to slow down his movements.

Also, Broly is glowing green when he does this, so maybe the implication is that this was what every version of Broly has been doing, and I guess Kale too. I’ve also seen it suggested that this ties into Super Saiyan 4 somehow. I mean, it makes sense, because you have to be a Super Saiyan and a Giant Ape at the same time to go SSJ4, and then you shrink down into a humanoid state, with the powers of both. Broly’s doing it in a different order, but maybe he’s worked out something similar?

The thing is, I don’t really buy Oozaru power as a useful thing. This franchise retired the concept thirty years ago, save for a brief comeback in Dragon Ball GT. Hell, they didn’t even show anyone turning into a giant ape in this movie, which seems to rely onthe concept quite a bit. If Great Ape power was so hot, why don’t they just go all in and use it? The implication of DBZ was that, past a point, it just stops mattering, and when Goku and Vegeta became powerful enough, the form became obsolete. But somehow Broly’s using it and he’s strong enough to throw hands with god-Saiyans. Or maybe Paragus is completely wrong about all of this, and he’s only guessing Oozaru stuff for lack of a better explanation.

I mean, I don’t want to rain on anyone’s parade. There’s SSJ4 fans who really like how this movie teased at the form, and that’s great lore, even if this is as far as it goes, but it doesn’t mean that much to me. Personally, I’m more into how Goku used the term “base form” in the script. As in: Broly is holding off Vegeta, even in his base form. I’m pretty sure that’s the first time it’s been used in official material.

So then Goku decides to jump in, using his base form as well, which I find pretty dumb, since Broly was beating up Vegeta in SSG mode a minute ago. This sort of teeters on the brink of GT Logic. I really prefer the way things were in the Cell Saga, where no one would even try to fight Cell or the androids until they were comfortably transformed. I mean, why would you not?

Goku uses Super Saiyan Classic for a bit, then he ramps up to his own Nacho Cheese form, and he manages to subdue Broly for a hot minute. He tries to reason with the guy, saying that he isn’t all that bad, so why not make peace. Notably, when Goku tells Broly he doesn’t have to listen to those bad guys at the ship, it makes Paragus really nervous, like he’s terrified that someone will tell Broly that and he’ll actually listen.

But then Broly powers up and fights his way out of it, and starts taking control of the battle again.

The weaker bad guys lift off to get clear of the battle, while Frieza and Paragus remain behind to watch. Cheelai is frustrated that Broly is being used to fight this sort of battle, even though he happens to be doing pretty well so far.

Piccolo contacts Goku telepathically about this situation, and Goku plans to teleport to Piccolo’s location if things go south. But first...

... he turns Super Saiyan Blue and tries to fight Broly that way.

And this is where the movie uses a bunch of CGI stuff, like like in Battle of Gods and Resurrection F. The graphics look better, like something out of Fighter Z instead of Raging Blast 2, but it still looks dumb. What Toei doesn’t seem to understand is that this stuff ages really poorly. This movie’s not even a year old, and it already stands out. It’s not about improving the graphics, either. The problem is that the poses look so robotic and lifeless. This is especially true for this movie, where most of the animation is so fluid and expressive.

For example.

During this part of the fight, the land gets torn up, exposing the magma below, and Paragus begins to wonder if King Vegeta had been right all along. Maybe Broly really is too dangerous, and sending him to Vampa was the best thing for everyone. As it is, Goku Blue is winning, and Broly is too far gone to realize that he needs to stop fighting. Without the remote, Paragus can only stand by and watch his son get killed.

But Frieza isn’t giving up yet. Once he’s certain that Broly has no more miracles in him...

... he kills Paragus himself, and calls out to Broly to make sure he sees what’s happened.

And that causes Broly to flip out and turn Super Saiyan himself. I guess this is just Super Saiyan 1, and not some nutty alternate form, but the point is that Broly was doing very well in his regular state, so any transformation on top of that makes him unstoppable. Goku tries to hang in there, but then Vegeta jumps in and tells him that he can’t possibly win alone.

So they try hitting him with a Kamehameha/Gallic Gun combo, but that does nothing...

... then they lead him directly towards Frieza, and Broly attacks him instead, because I guess he’s not picky at this point.

Then they teleport to Piccolo. Goku’s plan now is to use the Fusion Technique, but he needs Piccolo to coach them because Vegeta’s never done it before.

Okay, so a couple of problems I have with this part. First, I really don’t like the idea of Broly vs. Gogeta being a thing. I first saw this idea in the opening credits for Dragon Ball Z Budokai 3, and it always annoyed me because I never cared for the idea of Broly as such a powerful threat that only fusion could beat him. Broly’s deal is that he’s an evil Super Saiyan, so my preferred scenario is for Goku or Vegeta to beat him solo.

Second, I’m not wild about how this movie tries to do Broly, Gogeta, and Bardock as a combination platter. The Bardock stuff works reasonably well, since Broly’s origin story takes place when Bardock was around, and Dragon Ball Minus was already written. And Broly was a non-canon concept, so revamping him for this wasn’t a terrible idea. But throwing Gogeta in too just feels like pandering to me. For years, Fathom Events has been screening DBZ features in theaters, and they always seem to go for “Bardock: Father of Goku”, “Fusion Reborn”, and “Broly: The Legendary Super Saiyan.” I feel like a Cooler movie made the cut once, but that was a long time ago. The point is that someone in charge seems to consider those three specials to be the most popular or best ones, and it feels an awful lot like this DBS movie is trying to cash in on that.

And I can’t blame Toei for wanting to combine three popular titles, but it just feels a little too convenient. Fans saw Gogeta coming, because they noticed the lineup Fathom Events had before this movie premiered, and they knew Broly and Bardock would be in this one, so it got them thinking Gogeta would make an appearance as well.

With Bardock, you can make a case that this version is an improvement over the “Father of Goku” version. And Broly may be better off this way than the 1993 version of the character. But this take on Gogeta isn’t nearly as fun or cool as “Fusion Reborn”. The boys just leave the battlefield and drill the Fusion dance until they get it right. How does that make any sense?

Don’t get me wrong, it’s funny how Frieza gets the shit beat out of him for over and hour, but how does that make sense at all?

I mean, Golden Frieza couldn’t beat Goku or Vegeta in the last movie, so how can he survive against a guy who was taking them both on at the same time? For an hour? How did Frieza survive this?

Really, longer than that, because Gogeta takes a minute to decide what to call himself. It’s a cute moment, but still. Part of what makes Fusion Reborn so awesome was that Goku had to convince Vegeta and teach him the fusion in the middle of the battlefield. When they screwed it up, Janemba kept trying to kill them while they tried to deal with it. This movie sucks all of that tension away.

There is a part where Broly goes after Whis and can’t hit him, so maybe Whis kept the big guy busy for a while, but I dunno. Anyway, Gogeta teleports in and promises to handle the rest.

Bulma looks really cute here, by the way.

So yeah, Gogeta goes Super Saiyan and they fight so hard that it opens up a dimensional rift or something...

I don’t know what the idea here was, but it’s trippy and I like it, I guess.

Anyway, Gogeta goes Blue and punches Broly hard enough that they go back to the real world.

But this screencap pretty well sums it up. A blue guy and a green guy shooting green and blue shit at each other.

Gogeta even uses the Stardust Breaker from Movie 12, but Broly survives, even though Gogeta’s at Super Saiyan Blue. I gotta be honest, this is just a bit too wacky for me.

Meanwhile, Cheelai and Leemo steal the Dragon Balls and summon Shenron. She forces whatsisname to tell them how to make the wish, but it turns out you can just ask Shenron directly, so it’s not that complicated.

See, the big twist of this movie, which is really what holds all of this together, is that Broly’s not the villain after all. He’s the victim here, and that puts things in a whole other light now that Gogeta is turning the tables on him. When I found out this movie would come down to Broly vs. Gogeta, I wondered how evenly matched they would be, but since Broly is sympathetic, it changes the equation. Gogeta can just whale on the guy, and it doesn’t matter, because the real suspense is whether Cheelai can save Broly before it’s too late.

As Gogeta prepares a finishing blast, Cheelai wishes for Broly to be sent back to Vampa, and Shenron does it. Vampa sucks, but at least Broly is safe here.

Then Leemo and Cheelai fly out of here to save themselves. Frieza tries to blast them out of the sky. Why didn’t he stop them before they made their wish? Also, why didn’t Shenron offer to grant two more wishes?

In any case, Gogeta stops Frieza from killing them, and he shrugs Gogeta off and prepares to leave. Gogeta just... stands there and lets him? Why? Vegeta has always wanted Frieza dead, and Goku learned the hard way in the last movie. This is dumb.

Meanwhile, Beerus has done absolutely jack shit through this whole movie and he’s very pleased about it.

In space, Cheelai plans to drop Leemo off somewhere and then head for Vampa. She figures she’s a fugitive from the GP and the Frieza Force, so it’s about the only place left for her to go. This definitely has nothing to do with the generous bulge in Broly’s tights, no sir.

But Leemo wants to tag along, since he figures he doesn’t have much going for him either.

Frieza knows that they’re all together on Vampa, but he decides to leave them be for now. He seems to think they can make Broly stronger and better able to control his power, and that suits him for... some reason.

This line confuses me. Is he saying he wants another nemesis, in addition to Goku and Vegeta? Or is he saying that he wants a potential ally to help him defeat Goku and Vegeta? Or something else altogether?

On Vampa, Cheelai and Leemo are starting to realize what they’ve signed on for here. The only food on the planet is bitter, and everything is trying to kill them.

Then Goku just teleports into their cave and gives them a capsule house full of provisions. He even gives them a couple of senzu beans.

Cheelai is suspicious of Goku, but he explains that he just wants them to be safe and healthy, because he wants to fight Broly again sometime. After all, it took nothing less than Gogeta Blue to beat him, so he must be a worthy opponent.

Cheelai still regards Goku as an enemy, but he doesn’t particularly care, since he can find them wherever they go, and Broly seems happy with the idea of fighting with him for funsies.

So Cheelai lightens up a bit and thanks him. Then they ask Goku his name, because they never heard who this guy is or what he’s all about.

So he says that he’s Son Goku... and Kakarot. I like the dub version better, where he specifically says “Broly... call me Kakarot.” Either way, I like this ending, because “Kakarot” was Broly’s catchphrase in the 90′s, and he never says it once in this movie, because he never heard the name until this point. So that’s pretty cool.

But more importantly, I like this as character development for Goku, who once bitterly rejected his Saiyan heritage, including his birth name. Now, it looks like he’s come around on that, to the point where he wants other Saiyans to call him Kakarot. It works well with my personal canon that Saiyans view this as a matter of honor. Vegeta knows he goes by “Son Goku”, but he thinks it would be more insulting to call him that, even if that’s his preference.

And that’s the movie. All in all, a pretty good one, probably one of the best, but not as good as my favorites. I think it would have been better if they had used new concepts and characters instead of mining the past for ideas. A different Saiyan could have played the Broly role just fine, but they went with Broly because of his popularity. Some other power could have been used to defeat him, but they went with fusion because it was popular. It get the reasoning, but I can’t help but notice how Cheelai became the breakout star of this thing, and everyone loves Cheelai and she just might be the most popular thing to come out of this movie, and lo and behold, she’s a wholly original idea. It just makes you wonder what else they might have come up with if they hadn’t stopped with her.

#dragon ball #dragon ball super #dragon ball super: broly #2019dbliveblog #goku #vegeta #frieza #broly #beerus #whis #bulla #bulma #piccolo #gogeta #cheelai #leemo #ba #paragus #berryblue

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