#too tired to rewrite tonight

[stellaluna33]

New chapter of The Long and Winding Road available to read tomorrow! (Monday)

[our-inspire-verse]

You know what. I had a good life. I'm bugging out. I need to go to bed. Jinx, save me. Save me Jinx. (silco angry voice) JINX.

She's lookin at me in headspace like this fr

[niningtori]

i know it's over | oneshot

pairing(s): choi beomgyu x you, kang taehyun x you

summary: you love beomgyu — you truly do — you just wish he loved you back, but after a particularly humiliating night in which he shows you just how little he cares, you finally decide enough is enough. enter kang taehyun, a sweet boy who's the polar opposite of beomgyu; but while you begin to develop your relationship with him, beomgyu realizes exactly what he's missing.

genre: ANGST, romance, hurt/comfort, fluff at the end

warnings: toxic relationships

word count: 7.3k

notes: repost/rewrite of one of my first works (formerly titled: to know him is to love him, and i do) THERE WILL BE AN ALTERNATE ENDING (edit: jk no there won't be), YES the best friend's little brother!beomgyu au won the poll but i'm so hesitant to post it because i hate it so i thought i'd post this for now until i'm able to edit the other work enough to where it's not an actual eyesore.

you're tired. really tired. exhausted, even, as you stalk through the doorway of beomgyu's apartment. you practically tear off your coat, letting it land harshly on the living room floor with a slight thud. beomgyu rolls his eyes and picks it up with a sigh before hanging it up on the rack.

"i told you it was nothing. why are you freaking out?" he asks flatly.

"she was fucking you with her eyes, beomgyu!" you exclaim in frustration.

"and that's my fault how?"

"it's not your fault, but i'm sick of you entertaining women, let alone your actual fucking ex, while i'm standing right next to you!" his ex is just another fish in the barrel, or at least that's what he says, but the thought that they were intimate together at one point still makes you feel sick. truthfully, your boyfriend is handsome, so you've spent the better part of the past 10 months warding off the women who circle him like vultures. you wouldn't mind as much as you do if he seemed at all interested in helping you do so, especially when faced with his ex that you suspect he still has feelings for, but he does not. quite the opposite, actually. it's like he thrives off of the attention and, god, it hurts. 

"i'm not entertaining anybody. i told her i have a girlfriend now," he, well, you would say argues, but it's said so nonchalantly it doesn't warrant the term. 

"a girlfriend you proceeded to ignore while she hung off of your shoulders and laughed all night! i just don't understand how you don't understand how much it hurts my feelings. i'm a human, too! how would you feel if my ex, who was very clearly interested in me, hung around me right in front of you?" and it's like you're explaining empathy to a child. 

"me? i wouldn't give a fuck because it's not that serious," he replies with a slightly irritated shake of his head. 

it's always like this. always. you're always the one who cares more between the two of you. you were the one who asked him out in the first place. you were the one who initiated your first kiss. your first fight. hell, even your first reconciliation. you're not stupid, you know he doesn't feel quite the same way you do, but he has to feel something, right? otherwise, why would he say yes to you when he's rejected so many other women? your brain hurts trying to wrap your head around it all.

 "you're missing the point! if you were me, you would—" you begin frustratedly, but you cut yourself off. "you know what? i don't even have the energy to explain this to you. i don't understand why i have to explain basic human emotion to you, and i really don't understand why i have to beg and plead for you to care about how i feel!" you all but shriek.  

"you don't have to do shit, just leave if you're that fucking unhappy," he spits out angrily, which is the first real emotion — besides mild annoyance —  you've seen out of him this entire conversation. he gets impatient when you're like this, which usually results in you relenting, but not tonight. you're far too hurt to let go so easily.

"you're right! i am unhappy! i just — why don't you care that i'm unhappy? what can i do to make you give a fuck about me?" you have a brave face on but you can feel your eyes getting hot and your voice trembling ever so slightly. 

"you could try not being so damn needy, maybe that'd help."

your eyes redden even further and your lips unintentionally twist themselves into a sour frown. you hate it when he calls you needy because you do need a lot from him, it feels like. his time. his care. his attention and affection. yet you never seem to get it.

"do you not love me? like at all?" you ask. all of the venom in your tone has been sucked out mercilessly and you sound more helpless than angry.

"do you not realize how fucking crazy you sound?" he scoffs as if he can't fathom why you'd be upset. as if he's not watching you break down in real time. 

"why won't you give me a straight answer?" you question, voice softer than it was before.

he does nothing but scowl, and that's enough of an answer as it stands. he doesn't care. never has. probably never will. 

"then why'd you even say yes to dating me?" you truly don't understand. you thought you were different. you thought he saw something in you he didn't see in his harem of other suitors, and trust that there were many.  

"i dunno. i was just bored, i guess," he answers with a shrug and your world as you know it collapses. the man you love sees you as nothing more than a way to kill time. he's picking you up right now just to toss you away when the next shiny toy presents itself, and so far, you've let him drag you around because you love him — that's how much you love him — but looking at him now, at how unbothered he is, you wonder if you've even got anything left to give.

"i really do love you," you manage to squeeze out with a bitter smile. your poor heart is on display for the naked eye to see, and it seems like he really couldn't care less, but that won't stop you from asking: "does that mean anything at all to you?" 

"well, i'm sorry you feel that way," he says simply, "but that's not my fucking problem."

your heart sinks to your stomach and you feel like you're going to throw up. in this moment, as you watch the love of your life dismiss you like you're a fucking dog begging for scraps of food, you feel an overwhelming sense of clarity as you realize he doesn't love you. he doesn't even like you. he probably hates you, actually. like a mental montage, every moment in which he showed you that exact sentiment plays all at once in your head.

all those times you let him choose everything from movies to dinner because the idea of a compromise was inconceivable. all of those occasions, special and otherwise, where you were supposed to go out on a date, but he'd bail without a word and you'd forgive him with no apology. even something as menial as when you'd offer him your share of dessert because he ate all of his and you knew he wanted more, and he'd take it without so much as a thank you. how you'd sit and listen to him tell stories about how amazing his friends were, but he'd never even ask about your day. when those same friends would jokingly call you the perfect girlfriend, and you thought it was an indication of how good your relationship was, but in reality, it was a way to tease him because the thought of actually being with you was so abhorrent and ridiculous that it must be a joke. nobody likes a desperate girl, after all. all those times you told him you loved him and he'd just smile and kiss you deeper. memories like these flood your brain with a vengeance so cruel it makes your head ache, and in a way, you realize it's ridiculous to be surprised when there was so much proof of his feelings in the first place.  

"oh. okay," you say with what you hope is a soft and unbothered laugh, but comes out more as a choked one. "i guess there's nothing left to say. i'll get my shit and go." 

you hesitate for a few excruciatingly awkward moments before collecting yourself enough to start gathering your things, which are scattered haphazardly around his apartment from his bedroom to his bathroom. it's like a walk of shame, almost, and you feel even shittier when he plops down on the couch with a long suffering sigh as he begins to massage the bridge of his nose. you feel so small in this moment — like a petulant child who just got done throwing an unsuccessful tantrum — and you're now soaking in the sobering aftermath and sitting with the thought that he just watched you have a meltdown like he was watching a monkey putting on a show. how much more is he going to humiliate you? enough is enough, you think, so before you can actually finish collecting all of your belongings, you're scurrying out of the apartment. before you go, you glance back at him one last time. 

"beomgyu?" you ask tentatively, tears clouding your eyes. 

"yeah?" he replies with a sigh. this is it, you think.

"i don't want to see you ever again," you say firmly. before he can reply, if he ever intended to in the first place, you slam the door. 

-

there's a lot to love about beomgyu. for one, he's handsome, which is obvious, but he has a certain allure you could never help but be drawn in by. he's always been a charming man, but even more so when he's talking to a woman he's interested in. as interested as he could be, that is. he's funny and comically pompous when he wants to be, but still somehow down to earth despite it all. 

he's been described as a mood-maker, and while he grew to resent that term, you thought it was at least partially true, if only in the context of your relationship. when he's sad, you're devastated. when he's happy, you're over the fucking moon. his feelings are your whole world — or were, you guess, since all that's over now.

it wasn't all bad all the time, you think. there were times where you thought he really might reciprocate even a fraction of what you felt for him, and most of the time, that was enough. you could work with that. love looks different for everyone, you would reason. maybe he just had a funny way of showing it. 

there were days where you'd laugh together and end the night lying in each other's arms while you'd cradle him like he was the most precious thing in the whole world because, to you, he really was. he was normally so boisterous when with his friends, but while he would never admit it to anyone else, he'd tell you about some of his insecurities while you gently combed your fingers through his long, silky hair. he'd speak of regrets and longing for people to take him more seriously. he'd never say it, but he wanted people to see you like you saw him. the real him. you'd let him cry while your hands cupped his cheeks and you'd shush him while he fiddled mindlessly with your hair like a child. you'd kiss the tip of his reddened nose until he laughed instead of cried. times like those, you'd really think you were someone special to him, but now you realize you were wrong. you were just an outlet for him, and anyone willing to be an emotional dumping ground would do the trick, too.

after a few weeks of moping, your sadness has begun to morph into anger and resentment. you spent nearly a year of your life trying to make an emotionally stunted man care about you, and that's not even counting the years of pining over him before you finally worked up the courage to ask him out. it was difficult to see it in the moment, but after being away from him for so long, it's crystal clear that he was honestly just an asshole who didn't really like you. nothing more, nothing less. maybe he'd find someone to change for someday, maybe he'd even work things out with his ex, but for whatever reason, you weren't her. that's just the way it goes, you guess. what really bothers you are the "what if's" of the situation. what if you were prettier, or smarter, or kinder; would he have seen you for who you really are? would he have grown to appreciate you if you had given him more to appreciate? 

either way, there's no use crying over spilled milk now. you won't be going back to him any time soon, and he certainly won't come crawling back to you. you'll continue to think of him less and less until your time together fades into a distant (and unpleasant) memory. you smile at the thought.

-

the first time beomgyu realizes just how impactful your absence is, nothing in particular happens. it's a regular tuesday night a week or so after your "breakup" and he's bored out of his mind. he showers, listens to music, texts his friends and makes himself dinner, but something is missing. 

as he sits on his couch, he realizes what it is: you. right about now, you should be pestering him to hang out and showing up on his doorstep to watch a movie. he'd roll his eyes at first, but eventually relent as long as he got to pick the movie, of course. he wouldn't say it, but he'd actually enjoy glancing over and seeing your reactions. you were comically expressive and every twist and turn of the plot had your eyes bulging and mouth agape, turning to him for confirmation that he was seeing the same things you were. when you watched inception for the first time, it absolutely rocked your world.

he's alone, but he puts on a movie, anyway. every so often, his head turns to the side with the corner of his mouth raised, but you're not there to give a reaction. he should be used to your absence by the third twist, but he still finds himself subconsciously turning to you throughout the rest of the movie. when the credits roll, he's half expecting to hear you chatter on about how crazy it was, but it's silent. the only time that would happen would be when you'd accidentally drift off in spite of how engrossed you were. you'd try to fight it off like a stubborn kid, but would succumb by the final act. he smiles at the memory before shaking his head in disbelief. what's wrong with him? 

moments like these plague him more and more frequently, but the most notable one is the night before his first day at a new job. he briefly talks to his friends about his excitement, but he's too embarrassed to divulge just how anxious he is. times like this, he'd come over and complain for however long he needed. you'd sit and nod, asking questions during his pauses to encourage him to continue, always adding appropriate and thoughtful commentary. 

his thoughts wander to how you're doing alone. you really love him, it seems, so he can only imagine how you're faring without him. he wishes you hadn't blocked his number so he could at least ask how you are. maybe you'd even tell him you miss him. not for the first time, he begins to wonder if he pushed you too far this time around. you've gotten angry and given him the silent treatment before, sure, but you've never blocked him and you've certainly never done it for so long. 

he looks you up on instagram for the first time since your breakup. he's not terribly surprised when he sees he's blocked on there too, but all it takes is a switch to his photography account, which you had forgotten to block, to see what you're up to now. 

the first thing he notices is a picture of you sitting outside with an ice cream cone in hand, sun encircling you. your smile is beaming and your eyes are crinkled and he can almost hear your giggle through the screen. the caption reads "ice cream date with my best friend!”

he scrambles through his memories to try to remember a time in recent history when you two did something similar, but he comes up blank. what he does recall, though, is you mentioning a new frozen yogurt place you wanted to visit with him for your birthday. he nodded in response, but he knew he wouldn't go with you, opting instead to get shitfaced with his friends. in retrospect, maybe you knew it, too. he had checked his phone the next morning and saw he had at least half a dozen missed calls and well over a dozen texts from you. when he finally texted you back, you took almost a full 5 hours to respond, which was uncommon. usually, you'd text back within minutes. it occurred to him later on that that was your version of the silent treatment, and it amused him that you could only hold out for a few hours. he honestly found it kind of cute. 

he remembers what you did for his birthday. how you had secretly invited his friends over to his apartment to surprise him after an especially shitty day at work. he came home to an elaborately decorated apartment and all of his favorite people greeting him. he remembers how happy you looked when he opened up your present to him, which was the guitar he had always secretly wanted but could never quite justify buying for himself. you were so excited, any spectator would think he had gotten you the gift of your dreams and not the other way around. you were practically buzzing with excitement when he pulled you in for a kiss. his friends had whooped at the display of affection, and you giggled shyly at their reaction. what did he get you for your birthday again? anything?

he spends days pondering over this and similar circumstances, which eventually turn into weeks upon weeks. what starts as a nagging feeling that he may have gone too far in his neglect for you becomes guilt and anxiety. he recalls just how torn up you seemed the last time he saw you. to be honest, at the time, he was mostly just irritated. but he never thought you'd actually leave. all he can see is that awful look on your face when you finally ended everything, and all he can remember is the fact that he put it there. he knows in his heart that he has no right to feel this way, but he feels it all the same. 

-

you would have never imagined you'd actually like somebody other than beomgyu, but taehyun makes it as easy as possible given the sticky circumstances. you met at a club your best friend dragged you to, both you and taehyun had to remain sober (designated drivers, of course) and ended up having a surprisingly engaging conversation amidst the blaring music and strobe lights. after that, the rest is history. 

he can tell you've been hurt before, but he gently coaxes you into opening up as you spend more and more time with him. you're afraid of being overbearing and coming across as a lovesick puppy again, but taehyun is gentle and seems to enjoy your attention and affection, even if he's a surface level tsundere. more than that, he actually reciprocates it. 

do you still think about beomgyu? of course. do you miss him? well, you'd never admit it to a single soul, but the way you see him in everything has to be an indicator that you do. it's getting better, though. more bearable. 

a month or so into your relationship, you post about taehyun for the first time. you don't know why you're so nervous about announcing to the world that you have a boyfriend again, but happiness overwhelms your fear when you're met with nothing but positivity. 

-

beomgyu is shellshocked, to put it mildly. the picture of you and your so-called boyfriend is sickly sweet. it's not over the top or anything—just a candid of you in a café holding hands with him while looking over the same menu. the caption is nothing other than a heart and squirrel emoji (why?) and both he and your best friend are tagged. his finger jumps to the boy's profile and he sees the same photo. he scoffs at the cheesiness of it all, but his heart aches at the way all of your friends have commented on the post expressing their happiness for you — they had never approved of him for reasons he's only now beginning to understand.

you always defended him in front of your friends no matter what he did or didn't do. you'd "comfort" him after your friends said something snarky and explain that they just didn't understand him. you'd say that if they knew the real him, they'd see him differently. at the time, he'd scoff and say something along the lines of "i don't need for them to see me differently because i couldn't give less of a fuck about what they think”. you'd be hurt, of course you would be, but you'd never say so.

more and more, like an outsider looking in, he can see just how awful he was to you. it's to his horror that he realizes this must be the case for you, too. the chances of you getting back together with him seem slimmer and slimmer, especially now that you've got that pretty boy on your arm. your words echo in his mind as if to haunt him: "what can i do to make you give a fuck about me?" leave, apparently, and don't look back. 

he can't keep living like this. 

-

a knock on your door is all it takes to ruin your night — you had actually had a really good day up until now. you and taehyun had gone on a breakfast date and napped together until he had to leave in the afternoon, so you're humming now in contentment while applying your nightly skincare, thinking relentlessly about the boy you think you might be starting to love. it feels different from the love you felt for beomgyu, but in a good way. you still think about him and wonder how he's doing, but you always derail that train of thought with a god-given force previously unknown to you. he doesn't care about you, you chant to yourself — it's almost like your daily mantra. in the midst of your thoughts, you hear a knock on the door. you smile widely when you surmise that it's probably taehyun again. you don't realize just how big your grin is until it drops. 

standing before you is not your lovely boyfriend, but the man who made you question whether or not you were even lovable in the first place. he has a small smile on his face, and if you were to look a little more carefully, you'd notice that he actually seems a little nervous. 

"hi," he says, breaking the silence. his heart is racing a mile a minute, and potential scenarios battered his mind the entire way here. what would you do when you saw him? smile? he could handle that. cry? he could also handle that, even if he didn't want to see your tears. what he is not prepared for is the blankness of your features when you ask: 

"what are you doing here?" 

his smile falters almost imperceptibly.

"i, uh, i just wanted to see you." you're merciful enough to give him a nod of encouragement to continue. "a-and i wanted to tell you that i haven't stopped thinking about you for the past few months, and that i, um, i think i'm finally ready to be with you," he finishes with a shaky breath.

you're quiet for a moment and squint your eyes as if you're deep in thought.

"but i thought you were dating someone now? your ex?"

"i'm not!" he says almost a little too quickly.

"i heard you were," you counter, not quite believing him. you heard he had been seeing his ex from one of your friends who happened to live in her apartment complex. she had seen his car in the parking lot a few times in the last couple of weeks and had no reason to lie to you.

"w-well, i've seen her a few times, but not seriously. i — to be honest, i was just trying to get over you, but i've finally realized that i can't becau—"

"so, just to make sure i understand, you're not over me so you're seeing her?" his eyes widen in shock before his head hangs in shame as he realizes exactly what he's done and how he must look to you right about now, but you're not finished. "isn't that what you were doing with me?" your voice is low and indifferent, but each word feels tailor-made to slash at his heart. "wow, i guess some things really never change, but don't worry, i'm sure once she moves on, you'll finally see the good in her instead of me," you spit out.

"can you listen to me? please?" beomgyu is so ashamed he wants to die. he fumbles for the right words, but when he accidentally makes eye contact with you, they die on his lips. he wishes you would give him time to process what you're saying and mull over what to respond with because you always knew he was bad with words, but he supposes he lost the right to your patience a long time ago.

"you want me to listen to you so you can fuck with my head until the next person rolls around?" the latter words are strangled by the tightness in your throat, and he can't help but wince. when he thinks it's over, you continue. 

"nobody has ever made me feel as small as you have. i hated myself because of you," your lip trembles and before he can say a word, you're raising your hand to shut the door.

"wait, wait, wait! just let me say this," he pleads as he gently grasps the doorframe. "i... i love you." he almost thinks he hears you gasp, but he's too busy looking into your unreadable eyes to know for sure. he has never said anything like this to you before. you're completely silent for a few moments before breaking the tense atmosphere.

"j-jesus, i mean, i guess i just don't know what to say," you sputter and his eyes alight with what looks suspiciously like hope. "except maybe that... i'm sorry you feel that way?" you finish with a sardonic smile and a roll of your eyes. before he can respond, which he actually intends to do this time around, you slam the door in his face.

-

if you were to ask beomgyu if he loved his ex mere months ago, he'd say he didn't know for sure, but probably. they ended things rather messily, which seems to be a trend for him, but if he really thinks about it, he doesn't know what he liked about her after all. if he had to pinpoint it, he liked the thrill of the chase and the idea of never knowing how explosive things would inevitably get between the two of them. he liked the toxicity. only now does he understand that that wasn't love at all, but some sort of sick game of hurting and being hurt he doesn't want to play anymore. he doesn't want to hurt the people around him, especially not you, but it would appear that that sentiment has presented itself a little too late. 

there's always been a lot to love about you. always. you're so kind and so incredibly patient, at least with the people you love. you're thoughtful and intentional with your words and actions. you're not perfect, but you try your best to be a good and fair person. and you listen. like, really listen. the kind of listening where you're not just waiting for your turn to talk, but the kind where you genuinely want to know what the other person has to say. even if he didn't know it at the time, beomgyu always did love you. was it in the way you deserved? obviously, with the way things are now, it's perfectly clear it was not. 

even if he does bump into you, it's completely pointless. you made it perfectly clear that you want nothing to do with him. the last thing you said to him echoes in his head with an unspeakable viciousness. 

"i'm sorry you feel that way." he didn't realize just how cruel those words were until they were falling from your lips instead of his. he didn't realize just how cruel he was in general. 

he ponders over how succinctly you summed up your entire dynamic:

"i don't understand why i have to explain basic human emotion to you, and i really don't understand why i have to beg and plead for you to care about how i feel!" to be honest? he doesn't understand why you had to do that, either. 

contrary to what one might suppose about him given his overall shitty personality, he had actually had a pretty good go at life. he was innately able to make the world sit and watch him go, and he wouldn't let anyone forget it. but what should he do since you don't want to watch him anymore? what should he do since you don't want anything to do with him anymore? 

as he sits in the extremely uncomfortable chair of his new least favorite bar, he's confronted by this truth over and over again. he's not completely sure why he's even here — he hates this place, but he remembers you mentioning you liked to come here. in hindsight, there's no doubt that that was a way to hint that you'd like to come with him, but what use is it to recognize it now, after all this time? 

not much, apparently. or at least that's what his conscience is telling him. he should leave, he thinks. he should stop coming here every night hoping he'll run into you because it's wrong to make you uncomfortable when you've said in no uncertain terms that you don't want him anymore. he should, he should, he should. and he will, really. in just a minute. that's what he tells himself, but he just watches the door as he gets drunker and drunker, still.

he's on the brink of literally passing out when he hears a sound he'd recognize anywhere: your laugh. he actually thinks he's hallucinating just because he wants to hear it so fucking badly, but it takes the sound of your voice to convince him it's real. you're actually here. he's incredibly drunk, so the idea of being tactful escapes him. he can't miss this chance.

-

you try, and try, and try some more, but you can't seem to forget beomgyu's last words to you. he loves you? you scoff at the idea. does he even know what love is? it doesn't feel like it —  truly, it doesn't. if that's what his love feels like, you'd rather not feel it at all. 

that's what you keep trying to hammer into your head along with the idea that you're doing well, and you are doing well. seriously. things with taehyun are better than ever and you can really see yourself building a life with him. everything feels so pure and brand new. your feelings for him may lack the intensity that you felt with beomgyu, but that was years in the making, so it's only fair that you nurture the love that's blossoming between the two of you while smothering out the embers of what used to be with beomgyu. it's only right, right? it should be, but the way you're so torn makes your head spin.

so you decide to go to your favorite bar and forget about everything for the night. it's been a long while since you've let loose, and you're excited. you're surrounded by your friends and you're ready to let go. it's only when you excuse yourself to get some fresh air that you realize fate has other plans. 

when you're walking to the curb to take a seat, you feel a tug on your elbow and whip around. 

"who —" you stop dead in your tracks as your eyes meet with beomgyu's misty ones. the ones you used to love so much. 

"hey," he says weakly.

"what do you want?" you seethe while harshly yanking your elbow from his grasp. his lips purse and even in the dim lighting outside of the bar, you can see his eyes water even more. he's always been such a baby when he's drunk. 

"i just wanna talk," he pleads. he sounds so out of it and looks so pathetic you almost feel bad for him. almost.

"i have nothing to say to you," you reply coldly. 

"but i do." he sounds desperate to a degree that you sincerely never thought you'd hear.

"what, are you gonna tell me you love me again?" you retort with a roll of your eyes. you're obviously being sarcastic, but all he can think in his drunken state is how pretty your eyes shine even when they're impatient to look away from him.

"if you're not gonna say anything, i'm leaving," you snap, turning away, but beomgyu is awoken from his daze and gently pulls you back.

"n-no! i mean, yes. i love you, b-but that's not what i wanted to say."

"well, what did you want to say?" you ask, tone laced with annoyance. 

seeing that you'll actually give him a chance to hear him out, he scrambles for a moment before clearing his throat. he’s so anxious that you can see his hands shaking as he wrings them.

"i just want to tell you that i’m sorry. i know i’ve said it before, but i want you to hear it again, and i’ll tell you as many times as it takes for you to believe me. i want to make it up to you — i really do — and i know that i can change. i'm — i just miss you so much i can't stand it. i-if you don’t feel the same way, or don’t care, or however it is, i understand; but i meant it when i said i love you, and i mean it now when i say that i'm so, so fucking sorry," his voice cracks as he finishes and hot tears threaten to find their way down his face. 

"beomgyu..." you begin, not really sure what to say. what is there to say? and any hope he has of being with you is almost extinguished when he sees how much you pity him in this moment, but he'll hold on for as long as you'll let him.

"you said you saw the real me. you know i'm not all bad, right? i'm a piece of shit, but i can't be all bad," he pleads, tears now streaming unabashedly from his eyes. maybe if he can just find the right words, you won't leave him.

"beomgyu," you sigh, "i've never thought that about you. i know you're not all bad," his face perks up at this and he's tempted to bury his face in your neck and sob in pure relief. the pain he's been feeling for the past few months is about to be over because you understand him. always have. even though he's like this, you can still see the good in him. just the thought alone is enough to fill him with pure ecstasy. he goes to close the distance between the two of you to pull you into his embrace, but you gently place your hand on his chest before he can come any closer.

"thank you for telling me how you feel, beomgyu, but if you think you can fix everything with a few words, you're delusional." his face crumbles at this and a sense of panic and dread pools in his stomach.

"w-what? b-but you said —" 

"i know you're sorry, and i know you'd probably try to make it up to me if i let you, but that's not enough. you really hurt me, okay? and it's just, you know, i'm finally happy now, and i have taehyun. i really like him, beomgyu. and he really likes me," you say with a fond smile, as if you're thinking of taehyun right now, and his heart shatters into a million pieces. 

"it's okay," he smiles bitterly, tears still flowing freely. "i... i understand. i just want you to be happy. i want you to be so happy. you deserve it."

"but..."

"go back in," he sniffles. "you don't need to stay here with me anymore." he swipes at his eyes with his sleeve and tries to send you off with a smile, but it's so forlorn, you wish he'd just keep frowning.

"... okay." you turn away, and even though he told you to do it, he can't help but feel an even bigger lump in his throat now that you're actually listening to him.

"beomgyu?" you say softly, before you enter the door. 

his damned heart can't help but flutter again against his will. 

"yes?" 

"don't wait for me anymore, okay?" and he knows you’re being kind, but it feels so final, it hurts more than any hateful words ever could. he should agree, but the ugly and selfish part of him refuses to lie, so he just shakes his head and waves you off. his love is ugly and his heart is broken, but it's still yours to have. 

"I'm sorry," he murmurs again to nobody but himself as you enter the bar.

-

“tyuuunn,” you whine into your phone’s speaker. you can’t tell how it's been since your final conversation with beomgyu, but now you’re drunk and all you can think about is taehyun. about his kindness, how happy he makes you feel, and how much you want to give him all of that in return.

“what is it, baby?” he coos. even in your inebriated state, you can hear the smile in his voice and it makes you wanna smile, too. 

“miss youuu,” you groan. he laughs at your childishness, and you can feel just how much he’s doting on you. it’s a relatively new feeling, being cared for like this, but it’s one you welcome with fervor.

“let me pick you up from that stupid bar so you can stay the night. how’s that sound?” 

“mmm, hurry up,” you pout, and he just laughs again. god, you’re gonna feel so embarrassed by your neediness come tomorrow morning, and he can’t wait to tease you. 

taehyun is so eager to see you, he almost gets pulled over twice while making his way to the bar. he just can’t wait to see how cute you’ll look in his arms, all whiny and grumpy and begging for affection; and he’ll baby you, like he always does, because you deserve it. when he had heard about your appalling history with beomgyu, he couldn’t believe how someone could treat a person as sweet as you so cruelly. truth be told, you do have a bit of a softer personality, but that only evoked the need to protect and cherish you in taehyun. he can’t fathom the idea that somebody would see someone so pure and decide to take advantage instead of nurturing that innocence. his friends keep saying he’s a sucker, and they’re probably right, but he’ll happily be one for you. 

he’s lost in his thoughts when he pulls into the parking lot of the bar you’re in, but his dopey grin drops the second he sees your dreaded ex stumbling away from the building. his face is red, and he’s feverishly wiping away tears and snot. taehyun is a smart man, so he can easily piece together what must have happened, but the thought that you were still thinking of taehyun in this moment comforts him. you had run into your ex, and instead of running back to him, you’re thinking of your new boyfriend. what a relief. taehyun has always known you were still a little broken up about your split with beomgyu. he came into this relationship fully knowing that, but he liked you so much, he really didn’t care. maybe it was rash of him, but he thought it was worth taking a chance. he thought you were worth taking a chance, and so far, he had been correct. 

he parks and stays in his car. if he were a petty person, he might ignore beomgyu and just walk right by him with his arm wrapped around your waist. taehyun, however, is a good person. so good, in fact, he waits for beomgyu’s friend to pick him up before leaving his car to find you.

when he enters the bar, he scans the crowd before he finds you sitting with your friends. your phone is to your ear and it only takes a few seconds for his own to ring. he smiles when he sees your contact photo (the one you both took on a date to your favorite frozen yogurt shop) appear on his screen. he rejects the call and watches you pout before striding over to you and placing his hand on your shoulder. you turn around with a scowl, but your features immediately melt, and you grace him with a toothy grin. you excitedly squeal and wrap your arms around him. he matches your enthusiasm as he peppers your face with kisses.

beomgyu, who has very unfortunately come back to get his phone, watches it all and it’s enough to make him nauseous. he’s in such a daze as he watches you two that he barely registers his own friend honking at him to hurry up. he sees the afterimage of you leaning into taehyun’s touch and accepts the fact that you’ve truly moved on and won’t be coming back. he replays the last conversation you had and he decides he’ll hold onto your words forever. they’re all he has left, after all.

-

you’re so used to taehyun’s apartment that even though you’re drunk enough to see stars, you’re still able to navigate it with ease. taehyun sits you down on his couch and kneels while removing your shoes for you. 

“so chivalrous,” you giggle. 

“anything for my princess,” he replies cheekily with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. 

“why are you so nice?” 

“because i like you,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“i like you, too.” you whisper while your face warms. your gaze becomes heated, and he cups your cheeks while gently guiding your face towards his. his touch is soft, and his lips? even softer. 

he doesn’t push for more. you’re drunk and vulnerable at the moment, so he graciously grabs some of his clothes for you to change into and waits for you to come to bed. when you do, you plop down and he pulls you into his arms. you smile at his earnestness. he locks his arms around you, and for the first time in your life, a man is making you feel so happy and secure you can’t help but melt into the feeling. you feel safe. you feel loved.

“i really like you, you know?” he whispers into your hair, and it’s all you can do to keep your heart inside of your chest. 

“i know. i really like you, too.” and you do. things with taehyun are still new, but as his breathing slows, you realize this is how love should be, and you think you want to be with him for a long, long time.

notes pt. 2: yes there will be an alternate ending where she ends up with gyu :,)

[taglist]

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[dayasusays]

letting u know it took a month to write, edit and feel like a had to rewrite everything. i don’t usually write anything over 1k words, but here’s like 3.8k maybe… i hope you’ll enjoy it and it’s worth the time spend ! don’t forget abt feedback (comments especially) is very important <3

AND IT’S A REQ ACTUALLY i just forget to add it to the post :(

warnings ! — SMUT and ANGST, fem!vigilante!reader, blood and wounds mention, unrequited love, soft maledom, fingering, praise

summary ? — jason is not your friend, buddy, boyfriend or something.

౿ . . ` ౨ৎ ENJOY ‼️

of course it was an occupational hazard, jason thinks. of course he didn’t want to be around you so often, jason thinks. of course it annoyed him to see you too often after you’d patrolled together so many times, jason thinks. of course he didn’t like your smug, sweet face when you overtook him, jason thinks. of course his heart didn’t beat so hard every time he had to hold your hand when you almost fell off the roof, jason thinks. of course he finds you so annoying and smug that he wants to wipe that smile off your face, jason thinks.

he didn’t hate you, and you didn’t hate him. you’d say he's annoying and boring, but it’s fun to compete with him on things from who’s caught the most criminals to how many steps you get in a day. jason’d say you’re too smug, but seeing your face when you lose to him is very flattering. he’d say you know your stuff, and sometimes it’s nice to work with you. but only when you shut up.

he watches you at practice; he watches your every move and can’t help but sigh in admiration. todd watches you bite your lip every time you throw a punch and smiles contentedly. my god, one successful punch makes you feel so proud of yourself, and he catches himself thinking that he wants to push you against the wall and kiss you roughly just so you won’t be so cocky anymore. he wants to bite that lip, pull it back to put you in your place, and…

wait, what?

“you’re too close,” you whisper as he presses closer to you to hide deeper in the shadows of the alley, “move away.” “stop it,” jason mutters back, grabbing your hands and holding them in place.

you’re so annoying. he doesn’t wanna be this close to you either, he doesn’t wanna feel your breath on his skin either, he doesn’t wanna think about how pretty you are even in the dark. and you make it all the more difficult by twitching, pressing your breasts against his chest.

he looks down at you while you carefully avert your gaze. you’ve been working together for months, but it’s so embarrassing; todd chuckles briefly when he notices you lower your head and thinks about how you’ve finally stopped being so annoying, even for a second. even if that second is in the dark alley where you’ve ambushed someone, and when he’s so close to you that everything turns upside down inside.

“wanna go get something to eat after your patrol?” you look over your shoulder at jason, hearing an unintelligible mumble in response, “on the race. to the nearest diner,” you continue, already turning fully towards him with a tired smile on your lips as your stomach rumbles softly. todd has been acting weird lately. you’re not best friends and never have been, but you used to hang out a lot before; you’d eat together after patrols and often treat each other with the words that someone else should do it next time; he’d often let you leave early from patrols because you pretended to feel bad (he knew you were just tired); sometimes jason would even laugh at your jokes. but now you don’t even recognize him as… him. he became distant; the last time you ate together was a month ago. and you don’t care, of course. he’s a man with a personal life too, and you respected that. you two not even friends, you think.

“not tonight,” he mutters in a half tone, not even turning around to look at you, “maybe next week.” and that’s the fourth time he said it.

maybe you’re just worried about him as a coworker. he’s a vigilante just like you, and he’s not allowed to get his head in the clouds. but he doesn’t look like he’s distracted. he’s just avoiding talking to you.

when jason crashes through the window of your house, you have two questions: how does he know your address when you’ve never told him and he's never walked you home, and why all the blood that splatters on the floor as soon as he falls. and both questions go away when you realize that all that blood is his.

you’ve seen jason get hurt before, and you’ve seen it more than once, but it’s nothing compared to fixing him up on your own. he used to always give you directions when he couldn’t do it himself, and he always spoke loud and clear so that you wouldn’t panic too much, but listened to his voice; your hands were shaking as you bandaged him up while he kept whispering to you that you were doing the right thing. but now his voice was so weak you wanted to cry.

when he woke up the next morning on your couch, which he had soaked in his blood, he had two questions: why the hell did he go to you, if it was the last option, given that you were hardly a doctor, and what the hell should he do if he was in such a vulnerable position. it hurts to lift his arm, let alone stand up. and todd thinks…

his gaze falls on you: you’re lying on the floor, next to the couch, among his bloody suit and piles of bandages, and you’re asleep. his face unconsciously softens as he realizes that you’ve probably been sitting here all night, worrying about him and bandaging him up.

jason was even a little embarrassed; breaking into your apartment and ruining your whole evening (whole night) by making you worry. it’s almost childish, he thinks. he should have just gotten to the bat cave, he thinks.

“you okay?” you pull yourself up, sitting down by the couch and rubbing your eyes sleepily, “i only had time yesterday to wash your wounds and bandage you up, not sure that-“ “‘m fine,” todd mumbles back, letting a soft gaze fall on you, “thanks.”

it’s not the first time he’s thanked you, but a good feeling spills inside, making you blur into a smile.

it’s weird. seeing you twirling around jason while he tries to convince you that everything's okay feels weird.

“c’mon,” he mutters almost irritably, “i’m already fine. i just-…” “you’re staying,” you parry, frowning and folding your arms across your chest.

you hold out a bowl of hot soup to him and see the frown not leave his face. it’s almost funny — todd is sitting on the couch, frowning and looking up at you, just as stubborn.

it’s weird being together with you for so long, considering how distant he’s been for the last month, but when you plop down next to him and turn on some comedy on the tv, all thoughts evaporate. jason turns to look at you and sees you smile when you realize you’ve managed to change his mind.

he thinks that maybe you’re right; he should stay at least a couple of days.

you find yourself on the floor next to the couch where jason is sitting, holding his bandaged side; he’s trying to tell you something, but you can barely hear anything as your eyes run over his figure and you don't know what to do. you distinctly feel panic rise to your throat and you can’t hear his voice anymore.

you get up on woozy legs, sit down next to him, and todd makes another attempt to get through to you; you blink as your brain tries to get you to do something.

jason reaches out a bloody palm, grabbing yours and pulling you closer.

“calm down,” todd says a little louder, “‘m not dying, it’s just-…” he swallows, catching his breath, “just opened wounds. stop the bleeding and bandage me up again.” his words begin to reach you and you reach for the bandages that are already soaked in his blood.

jason sighs heavily as you sit down (practically fall) on the couch next to him and try to relax.

“you alright?” todd turns his head toward you and sees the tears of tension pooling in the corners of your eyes. he doesn’t quite know what he's doing as he pulls you onto his lap.

jason wants to think that he’s just comforting you; the way you nuzzle your nose into his shoulder and murmur softly makes him wince. of course he’s in pain, ready to howl about how uncomfortable you’ve gotten on top of him, but he realizes that he’s been dreaming of this for the past six months-dreaming of feeling you so close that he can feel your heartbeat. “that’s alright,” todd mumbles, awkwardly stroking your hair, “‘m alright. c’mon,” he doesn’t notice the way he himself bumps his nose against the base of your neck and leaves a brief kiss there with his dry lips. it’s an accident, you think on the first kiss. he tries to get comfortable, you think on the second kiss. it feels good, you think on the third kiss and give in, pulling away from his shoulder and exposing more of your neck.

you feel his strong hands on your hips and move you closer; his thumb caresses the skin of your thighs, making you press your breasts closer to his as jason leaves another light kiss on your neck.

todd feels his head spinning as he hears your first moan.

gosh, he feels like a pubescent teenager next to you, because the way you’re pressed against him, your heartbeat and breathing quickening, is too much for him.

your palms gripping his strong shoulders, it’s too much; your open lips that beg to be kissed, it’s too much; your quiet sighs that turn into moans when he bites the skin on your neck, it’s too much; the way you breathe out his name, it’s too much.

he looks up at you, blinking slowly and muttering a quiet “should i stop?” as his palms lightly squeeze your thighs. and you realize you can’t get a word out of your mouth when jason is looking at you so lovingly. it seems like just a second before his pupils become hearts.

“keep going,” you whisper, lifting your head and leaving a brief kiss on his lips, “please.”

todd swallows hard and reaches forward to kiss you again; kissing you slowly and sensually, as if he’s afraid you might run away. but you cling to him, deepening the kiss and causing jason to moan low into your lips.

one of his palms slides up your thigh to your waist, reaching under your t-shirt and helping you pull it off over your head; a surprised sigh escapes his lips as he looks you over. “so pretty,” whispers todd as he continues to cover your neck with kisses. he pinches your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and he hears your moan, which he intercepts with a kiss.

jason trails kisses down your chest, making sure to leave a kiss on the crevice between when you pull away and catch the uncomprehending look in your eyes.

“lemme just…” you stand up, pulling off your pajama pants, and almost immediately sit back down on his lap when you hear a quiet hiss, “did i hurt you? should i get up?” “a little closer,” todd points and wraps his palms around your waist. he helps you move closer, “yeah, there you go.”

he looks into your flushed face and tries to squeeze out a brief smile, but only succeeds in a ragged sigh, pulling you in for another kiss.

his fingers slip under your underwear, quickly finding your clit and pressing gently; you nuzzle your nose into jason’s shoulder again, wiggling your hips in search of more stimulation.

and now, as he inserts his fingers, you moan softly in his ear, biting the soft skin; it seems the way you clench around his fingers is unbearable, because it’s todd is ready to equate that feeling with a sense of satisfaction. he’s ready to moan at the way you feel against his fingers, because the way you're asking him to be faster is just unbearable.

todd looks up at you, and something inside is definitely turning, because you can't look at him like that. look with such desire, while continuing to whisper how well his fingers are stretching you; he just can’t, just fucking can’t, when you look this good. jason finds you so adorable in this moment, when you arch your eyebrows to the bridge of your nose and ask to be faster.

“you're teasing,” you mumble and flinch when he roughly presses his fingertips against the sensitive walls, “c’mon, please…” your hands reach for the waistband of his pants, but he intercepts your wrists faster. “lemme get you ready,” todd quietly parries, kissing your earlobe, “just a little more. m’kay?”

it takes you a couple minutes to start almost begging him to fuck you; the way he takes his time is torture. he just wants to do it right, the right way: with foreplay and tenderness, which doesn't seem to suit him at all. but the way jason soothes you with short kisses on your temple as he inserts the massive head of his cock says otherwise. he's so gentle that you practically melt as you relax into his lap.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, covering your eyes and digging his nails into the skin on your waist, “that’s it, baby.”

for a moment he thinks you’re lovers. he’s so gentle and unhurried, and you're so beautiful and desirable. he wishes you were lovers. that all his tenderness was justified by your beauty.

todd gently pushes deeper as his fingers play with your hair in a soothing gesture; you moan muffledly, squeezing his palm harder. “sorry,” jason responds and stops, “okay?” his voice sounds like he's genuinely worried, and it's almost awkward, “can i keep going?” you nod, snuggling closer to him and your breath hitches as he makes another thrust.

you shouldn’t enjoy it so much. enjoying his tenderness and good sex is wrong, unfair to jason, but in the moment it feels so good that you’re lost in him for the sensations as he’s lost in you for the feelings.

todd gives you half a minute to get used to it, and afterward he pushes in again and again, wrenching sobs from your lips. “so tight,” jason whispers, nestling into your shoulder and biting down lightly. his fingers find your clit again and make a few circular motions, making you clench around his cock, “that’s it. doin’ so well for me.”

his free palm gently squeezes your thigh as he quickens his pace a little; his lips find yours to first lube the corner of your lips before pulling you into a deep kiss. your thighs bump against his as you once again lift up and sit back down with a loud groan.

this is unbearable, jason thinks. holding you so close and fucking you so well, knowing you’re not his, unbearable.

but right now his head is all about you and how you feel around his cock, so he moans as he cums inside, feeling you cumming with him, relaxing in his arms.

you shift from foot to foot as you hand jason the bowl of soup, and he looks up at you and sighs as he takes it. accepting for the first time in a couple days, because you hadn't even talked before.

awkwardness. realizing you slept with someone you have (almost) nothing for is awkward; realizing you can’t be in the same room with him for longer than a couple minutes is awkward; realizing you’re the one who let him do it is awkward; realizing how unfair it is to him is awkward.

“look,” todd starts as you turn around and walk off in the direction of your bedroom, “wait-“ “i’m tired,” you turn back to him over your shoulder and smile weakly, “i’ll talk to you tomorrow. okay?”

and you didn’t know (actually secretly hoped) that jason wouldn’t be in your apartment that morning.

and then you’ve been lying awake for two days since jason left your apartment. it was so fucking awkward that you want to turn back time and not have sex with him, because you don’t even know what to say to him or how to take it. you wanna think that it was just a mistake and you both gave in to the moment, but the way todd looked at you won’t get out of your head. he looked at you like you were his whole world and he looked so in love that it makes your stomach twist to realize what you’re doing to him.

sometimes you wish you weren’t vigilante. and this is that moment, because you can’t just run away from jason. disappear from his life so it’s not awkward, block his number and just… walk away because it’s not fair to him.

it’s not fair to him, you think. you shouldn’t have done that, you think, and you come to the conclusion that things will sort themselves out and go back to the way they were. at least you want to think that the way he looked at you was just a dream, and that all his tenderness was because he’s just… that way.

although deep down you realize you don't know a damn thing about jason todd, who you spent that night with and worked with for so long. maybe know a little bit about red hood, but not about jason todd.

“wanna go out to eat?” jason tries to sound carefree, but he can clearly feel that tension and awkwardness between you after that night. and so he can’t help but catch himself thinking that he shouldn’t have done it. shouldn’t have comforted you, shouldn’t have given in to the moment, shouldn’t have kissed you like you were lovers, shouldn’t have fucked you so tenderly, shouldn’t have looked at you with all the damn love, shouldn’t have… your mumbling makes him distracted from his own thoughts.

“can't tonight,” you parry, turning to him and trying to force a smile, though somewhere in your stomach there’s an uncomfortable feeling of anxiety that you can’t control, “things. lots of things to do, actually.”

and todd just nods back, staring into the darkness of the alleys, into the burning streetlights, looking at the people passing by, looking anywhere but at you. he knows he can’t fix it, so he tries to at least just make contact so it's less awkward.

but you’re not stupid and he’s sure you know what that night meant. you know what his eyes and all that indescribable tenderness towards you meant and that's why you’re avoiding him now. avoiding him just like he avoided you. he didn’t say that stupid “i like you” thing (which would have made him feel like a lovesick teenager), but now jason thinks that’s where he should have started, even if he knows that this (possible) relationship wouldn’t end up being anything good as long as you’re both vigilantes.

it's a matter of time, jason thinks, and casts a glance at you. you nervously run your fingers over it.

and you’re starting to annoy him. really annoy him. you’ve been avoiding any conversation, avoiding any contact even after three weeks since the incident, and it’s so damn annoying.

you probably think that by doing this selfishly, you’re helping you both avoid this awkwardness, but what you don’t know is that jason can’t even sleep well without thinking about you and what he could have done to make things go back to the way they were before. todd thinks about how you should have just said no to him. said that damn “i don't feel anything for you” and he would have gotten over it and you would have worked together and he would have just… not feel like he did something wrong. you think about the fact that keeping out of his sight is helping, but he’s looking for you everywhere you can be.

he can’t even catch you at practice no matter when he comes in. on patrols, you keep such a distance that jason knows you won’t be heard, and yelling across the street to call for you is stupid and irrational.

so he gives you another week in the hope that things will go back to normal.

but when you keep avoiding him even after a week, all todd’s patience comes to naught. you act so childish, he has to catch you on patrol and make you talk to him.

“what the fuck is going on?” jason raises his voice a little, grabbing your arm and turning you to face him. the movement is sharp, but he doesn’t squeeze your arm too hard, so as not to hurt you. you see that pure frustration in his gaze as he looks at you, “you’ve been avoiding me for a month!” he stares into your eyes as if he can read your thoughts, and you try to look away again, “don't you fucking dare! answer my question!” “just-…” you stop talking, averting your gaze. it’s so embarrassing, you wanna run away. “what 'just'? can you tell me what’s going on?” todd steps forward, “if you’re going to say no to me, then say it straight out, not run from me for a month!” he yanks your arm, forcing you to pay attention to him.

it wasn’t supposed to end like this. in your head, it would take you a week to get over this awkwardness and work with jason again like you used to, but then you see him and it’s all over again with anxiety and awkwardness mixed with fear because you never planned on falling in love with him. so you kept avoiding him and the feeling that it was wrong kept growing.

“we're still… working together,” jason mumbles in a semitone, “don't make this any more awkward. just say no to me.” “sorry, i didn’t mean to,” you shift from foot to foot as he releases your hand, “coworkers, red?” you hold out yours to him and smile awkwardly. trying to smooth the moment over.

jason looks at you, at your palm, at you, at your palm… and turns around, shoves his hands in his pockets. just walks away, leaving you standing there. walks away with a broken heart and regret in the balance.

⁉️ m.lists | abt me | inbox 💌 (reqs are open)

[tune-on-in-folks]

Angry Sex with Ex!Vox? They’re both secretly still pining for each other but are too stubborn to admit it so it builds up until one day they’re fighting and it snaps and smut ensues??

BEHOLD, I HAVE RETURNED. Just two weeks late as to when this should have been posted on the 18th of October. For some reason this prompt killed me, and in my brain I wasn't allowed to write anything else until this was done. Well it's done! So, let's all ignore the fact that it's November.

Thank you, anonny, for this prompt, it's a good one, I apologize it took so long. (Also I'm posting this now so I don't try to rewrite this. This version is the fifth rewrite.) Haha! I hope you enjoy~ :D

Tags/Warnings: Smut, P in V sex, fingering, fem!receiving multiple orgasms, angry sex, arguments, sex as punishment kinda?, dub-con for that reason solely, squirting, possessive Vox, jealous Vox. Word Count: 2,988

Vox was insufferable.

It had been two months since the two of you had broken up. You had grown tired of being second best to his company, to the Vees. You were his partner, his lover. Why did you always get overlooked? Why did you always have to fight him just to get him to go on a date with you? It had happened enough that you had started wondering if he actually loved you. Or if you were nothing more than an excuse and a convenient fuck. So you had broken up with him.

He had broken your heart, but you still fucking loved the man. Worse than that, you missed him. It didn’t help that you were surrounded by reminders of him daily. You woke up everyday in your VoxTek issued employee apartment, put on your uniform that had his symbol on it, and had to preach about his products and company day in and day out. You had tried quitting, tried getting another job. But every attempt was moot because he was the one who had the say if you stayed or went. Instead, he had made certain that you would always have to report to him personally. Which you hated. Because he consistently made it a point to argue with you, to try and guilt you because you had left him.

 Vox was hurt. In fact that was an understatement, he had been absolutely gutted when you had broken up with him. You had marched into his office two months ago, told him you were tired of being second to his company and that you were done. He had laughed, because you couldn’t possibly be serious. But you had been, and he realised it that night when he had come home to an empty apartment, all of your belongings gone. He had been a wreck privately for days afterward. Two months later, he missed you and as much as he denied it, he still loved you. He had spent the last month reflecting on why you had left, taking everything you said in your near daily fights, into account. A part of him still wanted you, the part of him that still loved you. But the other part of him, that was angry and hurt, wanted nothing more than for you to suffer. Especially when he caught wind of the fact that you had a date tonight. Which is why he called you up to his office, using your latest report as an excuse.

He sat up when you entered, pushing down the excitement he felt whenever he saw you. You had broken his heart, why it still beat for you, he didn't know.

He says your name softly, before clearing his throat. “Your latest report is absolute garbage.”

It wasn't.

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms as you lean your weight on one leg. Great, he was picking a fight immediately. 

“No the fuck it isn't. That's the same format I always use. The one you said you like.” You sigh, rubbing your face, already expecting a bad argument, “Seriously, Vox, what's the real reason I'm here?”

You were certain he had caught wind of the fact that you had a date tonight. Which was precisely the reason you didn't want to be having a conversation with him. You were trying to move on, that's what you told yourself at least. But the truth was that you had no interest in your poor date. Your heart still beats for Vox and only him, regardless of if you wanted it to or not.

He leans back in his chair, his expression hardening. “I heard you have a date tonight.”

Ah, so he had heard, at the very least he didn’t deny that was the real reason he’d called you up.

“Yes I do, actually-”

“Cancel it.” He cuts you off.

A baffled laugh escapes your lips. “Excuse me?”

“I said cancel. It.” He growls, eyes meeting yours as he leans forward.

You shake your head, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh yeah, sure, let me just cancel my date because my boss said so… Go fuck yourself.”

You turn away from him, intent on leaving. You didn’t have the energy to have another fight, to push down what you truly wanted to say. Vox’s brows furrow, his left eye gaining the black spiral, betraying his rising anger. Sparks of electricity arc off him.

“We’re in the middle of a conversation, so don’t you even think about leaving. What do you see in this guy anyway? He’s undeserving of you.” He hisses, his eyes never leaving you once.

You turn back around scoffing, “So are you! You never deserved me, Vox. So no, I will not ‘cancel’ my date just because you’re pissy I’m moving on.”

You take long strides towards his desk, slamming your hands down against the surface as he grits his teeth. You were in too deep now, the words had already started and you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop until you were completely burnt out.

“I broke up with you, I’m moving on, let me go and stop perpetuating this.” You meet his gaze head-on, steeling yourself against the anger in his eyes. “I. Don’t. Love. You.”

A flicker of hurt flashes in his expression but it’s gone in an instant. “You expect me to believe that? That you don’t love me?”

You break eye-contact. You were angry and hurt, but you’re unable to keep looking him in the eye as you force yourself to lie. “I don’t. Haven’t in months, why do you think I broke up with you?”

He laughs in disbelief, but you can hear the sadness. He considers your words, wondering if they were true. Had you fallen out of love with him months before you even broke up?

“Months?” There’s disbelief in his voice when he finally speaks, but underlying it is a fear that it was true.

“Months.” You confirm ruthlessly, the words spilling from you, “Why would I love a man who makes no time for me? Who lies to me, makes excuses, and gives me empty apologies?”

You begin to pace, ignoring the lights flickering around you both. You were accustomed to his powers messing with the power whenever the two of you bickered. He stands up, approaching you with every word you speak.

“Every missed date, it was another half-assed reason why you couldn’t make it! About why your company was more important than me, why you had to be at work instead.” You rant. “I eventually stopped trying. It was easier than having to feel the sting of disappointment-”

Your voice catches in your throat, the emotion hitting you full force. You hadn’t stopped for a moment in the last two months to sit and process your feelings after you had left Vox.

Swallowing, you force yourself to finish your thought, “As once again, I wasn’t important enough!”

“Not important enough?” He growls, “Of course you were fucking important! You were always more important than my fucking company! But I was working because I wanted you to never have to work another day in your after-life. I was doing it for you! For us!”

You laugh, tears spilling down your cheeks, the warmth of them startling you. “Yeah, real fucking nice of you, Vox. I didn’t want or need that. What I wanted, what I fucking needed, was the man I loved!”

You take another step back as he continues to advance on you. “But what could I expect from a man married to his job? I doubt I was even a thought in your head. Did you ever even love me?-”

Your back hits the wall, expelling the air from your lungs as he slams his hands above your head, boxing you in. There’s genuine anguish on his face at your words.

His voice is low and dangerous, “Don’t you ever question that I loved you, doll. I loved you with all my heart and soul. I still love you.”

He doesn’t give you anytime to respond, crashing his lips down against yours in a bruising kiss. He kisses you like a man starved, desperation evident in every moment. He moves his hands to your waist, dragging you closer to him as he deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You whimper, feeling the walls you had meticulously built around your heart shatter in an instant. With his mouth on yours, his body pressing against you, you could almost forget how hurt you had been. Could almost pretend that everything was okay, that neither of you had hurt each other. But the truth was ugly, forcing you to break the kiss.

“Vox..” You pant, eyes fluttering close as he trails kisses down your jaw and neck, nipping at your skin.

He squeezes your waist, his grip hard enough to hurt. You can feel the anger simmering underneath the surface of his body, can feel it in the way he’s tensed. You can tell with how the lights continue to flicker around you both. He slides a hand to your ass, squeezing hard, his claws bite into your skin, drawing blood. He grinds against you, pressing his growing arousal against your stomach.

“I’m going to make sure you can’t walk tomorrow.” He growls.

It’s a threat that you take seriously even as it sends heat pooling between your legs. He grabs your skirt, tightening his grip around the material and pulling. The sound of it tearing meets your ears before it falls to the floor in tatters, exposing your cyan panties to him. A pair he had gifted you.

His eyes flash with anger, the room suddenly plunging into darkness, save his face. “You were wearing these for that fucker, weren’t you?”

His claws slice through your panties, causing you to gasp.

“Vox, no, I-” You try, a whimper escaping you as he slices through your shirt, exposing the matching bra.

“You thought you could just wear a set I gifted you for someone else?” He shredded the bra in turn. “Well now you can’t.”

You groan, anger flooding you anew. “You asshole! That was my fav-”

His fingers slip between your thighs, rubbing against your clit harshly, cutting you off. He slips two fingers inside your already dripping entrance.

“So wet already.” He mutters, “You really were expecting to get fucked tonight, weren’t you?”

“I wasn’t, actually.” You gasp, rolling your hips down against his hand.

It had been months since he had kissed you, had touched you. His touch on you felt electric, your body responding readily. He curls his fingers up against your g-spot, massaging the spot with barely contained anger. His thumb presses into your clit roughly, each touch against it in time with the increasing speed of his fingers pumping into you. You can feel your pleasure growing, the coil in your gut winding tighter with every passing moment.

“Yeah, right.” He growls, “Look at you, you’re already about to cum.”

You whine, annoyed at the fact that he could read your body so well. Could tell by the way your walls fluttered around his fingers that you were close.

“Oh, fuck-” You cry out, your release slamming over you. “You.”

He chuckles, the sound deep in his chest as he works you through your release, reaching to free his erection. “Oh, I’m going to, babydoll.”

You watch through half-lidded eyes as he frees his cock, stroking it a few times. He groans at his own touch, pulling his fingers from your cunt. He spins you around, pressing your chest against the wall as he lines his cock up with your entrance. He doesn’t wait, slamming his cock into you forcibly. You cry out at the burn of his cock stretching you. Your body tries to pull away from him as he drags you down onto his length. But you can’t deny how good it feels to have him back inside you.

“Fuccck.” He groans, rolling his hips into you, pressing deeper. “So fucking tight. Your pussy was made for me and only me.”

He pulls out slowly only to sharply thrust back into you, setting a bruising pace immediately. Your moans fill the air, mixing with the sounds of skin against skin. The wet slap of his cock pummeling in and out of you is nearly deafening. He tightens one of his hands around your hip, holding you in place as he reaches for your neck. He pulls you from the wall, forcing you to arch your back, his hand squeezing around your neck tightly. He grunts, feeling your walls flex around his cock. You close your eyes, whimpers falling from your mouth as he continues pounding into you. The coil of pleasure was wound tightly in your gut, threatening to snap at any moment.

“Please.” You choke out, tears biting the corners of your eyes.

You were so close and he knew it. He shifts his hips slightly, hitting your g-spot over and over. His mouth brushes against your ear, his hand around your throat tightening.

“Look at you.” He growls, “So desperate for my cock, so desperate to cum.”

You reach for his hand around your throat, clawing at his skin as he cuts off your airways. He loosens his grip slightly, allowing you to catch your breath. His pace never falters, his balls slapping against your clit with every punishing thrust.

“What will your date say when you show up dripping with my seed?” He growls, sliding his hand from your waist to rub your clit.

You whimper, focusing on your pleasure, on the fact that you were right on the precipice of your release. He grunts from the effort of his pace, his cock twitching inside you as his own release grows closer.

“Cum for me, babydoll.” He commands, “Let me feel how much you still need me.”

“Fuck!” You scream, a particularly hard thrust from him sending you off that edge.

Your walls squeeze around his cock, your body quaking as a rush of liquid erupts from your body. Vox moans as you squirt, slamming into you roughly as he fucks you through your release. He grunts, burying himself as deep as he can go. His cock twitches, ropes of hot cum flooding into your womb.

“That’s it,” He groans, “take every drop, you’re mine, all mine.”

His hand squeezes around your neck once more before falling away. He rocks his hips against you, breathing heavily as you both come down. His cock begins to soften, slipping out of your abused hole. His seed mixed with your own release runs down your legs. He steps back, releasing you. Your legs give out from underneath you at the lack of support. Just before you hit the ground, Vox scoops you into his arms, holding you close to him. 

“Damn, I’m sorry, doll.” He apologises, no anger left in his voice, only remorse as he brushes hair out of your face.

His touch is soft, no anger simmering beneath it. You meet his gaze in the low-light of his office, his seed dripping out of you.

“You know,” You whisper, your voice hoarse, “You can’t fuck me and expect everything to be okay.”

“I know.” He mutters, sadness filling his eyes. “I fucked up, I took you for granted, and I hurt you. I’m truly sorry, I never meant to break your heart, doll. I know you probably won’t forgive me, but I can’t live without you. You’re everything to me and I don’t know what I’ll do if I’ve truly lost you. Please tell me, I haven’t.”

Your expression softens, as you search his gaze, finding only sincerity shining in his eyes. His apology was late, and you wished he had said it sooner. Wish he hadn’t fought you so much the last two months, but late was better than never.

“You broke my heart, Vox. My trust.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I know I’m not blameless in this, but… I need you to try. I can’t be second to your company, I won’t wait around for you if all you have to offer me is empty promises.”

His heart skipped a beat, hope filling him, it wasn’t much but it was something. It was enough.

“Let me win you back.” He says quickly, “I swear to you, I will work to win back your heart, to earn your trust again. I will put you above everything else. I love you.” 

He presses a gentle kiss against your lips, pulling back to whisper, “Let me show you that.”

You take a deep breath, wondering if you were about to make a mistake, “One chance, Vox. That’s all you get. No matter how much I love you, I can’t let you break my heart again.”

He smiles, a large genuine smile that has your stomach doing flips. That was the smile you had fallen in love with.

“That’s all I need.” He murmurs, brushing his lips against yours again.

You feel a rush of warmth surround you as he teleports you both through his cameras, coming out in his suite. He carts you towards his bedroom, the bedroom the both of you had once shared. The bedroom you’d share with him again.

“Now,” He smirks, dropping you onto his bed. “I think it’s about time I make love to you.”

You roll your eyes, feeling your heart skip a beat regardless as he crawls over you, nudging your legs apart. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a loving kiss. You didn’t know if you’d regret giving him another chance; To love you, to regain your trust, and to prove to you that you were more important than his company. But you also knew there was nowhere else you’d rather be than in his arms.

So maybe he was worth it.

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Royal Protocol

This has been in my drafts for even and has gone through so many rewrites, I'm finally happy with it.

Contains: Fluff, so much fluff, smut (oral sex F receiving, fingering, P in V)

Masterlist

1.9K

Some rules were made to be broken

You thought your brain was going to melt out of your ears, each second going over protocol for your meeting with the crown was torture. Say this, do that, don't ask about the events they put on while people go without food. Price groaned as he read the next item from the list. "For fucks sake, y/n, make sure you wear stockings."

Simon chuckled beside you, and you elbowed him. "Yeah yeah, laugh, I'm not the one who's going to have to wear dress greens all the time."

He looked down at you and sighed. "I fucking hate this shit."

You shrugged. "I'm just a translator, I don't know why I have to come."

"Because you're a part of the team, now stop whining and go home and get ready." Price sounded like he was going to punch someone or jump out of the window in hopes that a broken leg would get him out of this.

"Sorry sir." Simon shot you a look, you didn't sound sorry at all.

****

The only floor length dress from your wardrobe that the royal liaison deemed acceptable was the most uncomfortable thing you owned, but Simon didn't seem to mind, he had been glancing at you since the second he helped you zip it up. "You ready to go Lovey?"

You nodded. "Sure, I just gotta fix my hair one last time."

He shook his head softly and chuckled. "Don't know why, you look perfect."

"Because if I have one single hair out of place, Price will have a heart attack, and one of those lizards we're meeting will have a conniption." The knock at the door made you both flinch. "That will be them now, I'll be two minutes."

You entered the bathroom and fixed the single hair out of place as your brain filled with everything else you could be doing tonight filled your head. Then a thought came to you, sure, it would go against the rules, and Price would be mad if he found out, but no one would know, so what would the harm be.

****

Curtsy, smile but not too wide, eat at their speed, be agreeable.

The meeting didn't go well. The threat against the crown was real, and the government wanted the 141 to stay with them until it had been dealt with. You were placed between Simon and Soap; the opulent decor of whatever palace you were in was blinding, and the thought of staying here until the threat passed was the last thing you wanted to do. "We set up the couple's room for you and Lieutenant Riley. It's in our beautiful east wing, there's an ensuite with a sunken tub so you can soak before bed."

You smiled. "How kind of you, thank you."

Simon nodded. "Yes, thank you, your majesties."

It was a hollow statement, Simon would be spending most of the night walking the halls of the east side of the house with Konig so you'd be spending your nights in the massive bed alone. Dinner wound down slowly and mercifully, the food was filling and enjoyable. Price followed you as everyone left for their rooms, his neutral expression doing little to hide his displeasure from anyone who knew him. He spoke to you as Simon ready himself for patrol. "We're going to get a car and go around to everyone's home to collect some things for them, because it looks like we'll be here for a while. I've already got a list."

You nodded. "Ok."

He left, and Simon came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your body and resting his head on your shoulder. "Make sure you check the fridge Lovely, I don't want anything to go bad."

You spun in his arms and he pressed you to his chest. "Alright. Do you want me to bring you anything special?"

He shook his head. "You're all I need Lovey."

You sighed. "Don't be silly, you also need socks and boxers and clothes."

He chuckled and squeezed you tightly. "That I do." You could tell by how he was holding you how tired he was and you split from him when you heard Konig's solid knock. "I gotta go."

"I know, me too." You walked towards the door together, Simon with his gun slung over his shoulder, before he opened the door, you tapped him on the arm and lifted your skirt, showing him your stockingless legs and sockless feet.

His face split in a grin and he pressed his hand to his mouth like someone trying not to encourage a dog to misbehave by laughing. "I will deal with you later."

"Oh yes please."

He shook his head and pecked your cheek. "Don't let Price get into trouble and say hello to Mama Gaz for me."

"Will do." He was still grinning like an idiot when he greeted Konig and walked down the hallway.

****

You returned to your room in the very early morning after dropping everyone's luggage at their door. Simon was still on patrol, and you could hear his footfalls pause at the door each time he passed by it. Sometime after you fell asleep, you felt Simon slide into bed next to you, his bare skin warm on your flesh as he wrapped his arms around you. He pressed his lips to your ear and nuzzled into you as he made himself comfortable, seemingly unaware that you were half awake. "I love you y/n."

****

You were awoken by someone dropping the breakfast cart at the door, the sight of Simon wheeling it in wearing nothing but a pair of boxers well and truly waking you up. "What do you want Love?"

He stood there, the fancy plate in one hand and tongs in the other, looking at you expectantly, but you were too busy staring at the hard lines of his body to answer. "If you don't tell me I'm just going to have to give you a little of everything."

You nodded. "Whatever you want."

He began to fill your plate, pausing to taste the baked beans before making a face. "They're a little sweet, you still want them."

You shook your head. "No, but I'll have more fruit."

He smiled and continued, making sure to give you extra golden syrup on your crumpet before fixing himself a plate and bringing everything to the bed on a tray. He passed it to you and lifted the blankets, moving in next to you with a sigh as he took his plate from the tray. He sat with his leg pressed against yours and switched on the large TV attached to the wall, smiling as you linked your hand in his.

You enjoyed your breakfast, talking about the things he saw in the hallways during his patrol until your plates were clean. "About last night." His tone had that crackle at the end that was telling you he was trying to keep his composure.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He looked sideways at you and you giggled. "Oh right, no one got hurt and they didn't find out so there's no harm done."

He snorted, managing to hold back for a moment before bursting into laughter. "If that's your idea of rebellion the anti royalists are in trouble."

You shoved him to no effect and he smiled as he leaned in to kiss you. The empty plate was lifted off your lap and placed on the side table before he rolled on top of you, resting his weight on you as he deepened the kiss. You wrapped your arms around him, throwing your legs over his waist as he ground his half hard cocking against your clothed centre. "Here?"

He paused, resting his forehead against yours as he spoke. "If you want to."

"I do." He smiled and continued to kiss you, taking his hand and sliding his boxers off before removing your underpants.

He rested back on his heels and grabbed the edge of your shirt, licking his lips at your bare skin as he removed it. "You are so pretty." He gestured for you to pop and then lay down on the bed, grinning as he waved you over. "Hop on Lovey."

You blinked. "You want me to…What if I squish you?"

He chuckled. "You won't don't worry." He smirked. "Anyway, if you do, I'll enjoy it."

You exhaled and settled over him, and he ran his hands up and down your thighs as you slowly lowered yourself over his mouth. You flinched at the first brush on his tongue as he gripped your thighs harder and held you to his mouth. You held tight to the fancy headboard as he sealed his lips over your clit, and he let out of moan as you relaxed down so he was supporting you. He moved from sucking your clit to licking you in long, wide stripes, stopping to circle your clit each time before starting his journey again.

He wrapped one arm around your leg as the fingers on his other hand joined his tongue. He found you G-spot like a heat-seeking missile, not hesitating to apply pressure as you began to rock against his mouth. He seemed to be enjoying it as much as you were, moaning and grunting with each movement of his mouth as you began to squeeze his fingers. Your legs locked up as you came, your shoulders curling as the high took over your body. It came in waves, your vision fading as the sensations only seemed to grow.

He didn't stop but he let you pull away from him with a groan of disappointment. "What's wrong my love?"

He sighed. "I wanted to make you cum again."

You moved over his hips, rubbing yourself up and down his cock as his muscles grew tense. "You can but I'd like it if you could too, does that sound good to you?"

He smiled and placed his hands on your hips. "Yeah, it does."

You reached back and grabbed him, sliding down slowly as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. "Fuck Lovey, you feel so fucking good."

His grip only hardened as you picked up the pace, and he watched with lust filled eyes as you slid your hand down your body to rub your clit. He didn't know where to look; part of him wanted to fixate on your face as it filled with pleasure, but his eyes kept drifting to your breast and the point where he kept disappearing inside you. He bucked his hips to meet your pace, and you folded at the waist, resting your free hand on his firm chest. "Come on pretty girl, you gonna cum for me?"

You nodded desperately, your fingers speeding up as each of his thruts joltedyour your hold body. You all but collapsed on top of him when it hit, and he grasped your flesh like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the planet as each contraction on your core around him pulled him into bliss with you.

You relaxed on top of him as you both caught your breath, and he wrapped his around you as he pressed his cheek to yours. "You know that wasn't a reward for your poor behaviour."

You sighed. "Really, because it sure felt like one."

He chuckled and slipped out of you, pecking your lips hard as he brushed your hair from your face. "Well it wasn't."

You propped yourself up on your elbows, smiling as his loved filled eyes gazed into yours. "Going forward, I promise I'll be on my best behaviour."

He smiled. "I'll love you even if you're not."

Fin

@chaos-4baby @candy616 @avidread3r

[moonandst4rs]

"And they called it puppy love"

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Masterlist

WILL GRAHAM X GN!READER

WC: 557

Summary: You look after Will's dogs as a favour, he insists on thanking you properly

Warnings / Content: Inspired by Puppy Love - Paul Anka. Fluff, no use of y/n, gn!reader x Will Graham,

A/N: This song always reminds me of Will. I don't know how i feel about this one, i might rewrite this in the future. As always any feedback and requests are welcome !! Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated <3

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Will Graham stood at the edge of his driveway, his seven dogs swirling around him in excitement. You had offered to take care of them while Will went on a difficult case, and though he hesitated, he was grateful. He glanced at you, his voice quiet as he said, "Thanks. I owe you one."

"Don’t worry about it," you reassured him. "They’re in good hands."

Will gave a brief smile before driving off, leaving you with the dogs, who quickly turned their curious, expectant eyes toward their new caretaker.

The first few hours were easy. You fed the dogs, one by one, their tails wagging with excitement. Winston, Will’s oldest dog, seemed to immediately attach himself to you, following you around the house. The others warmed up quickly, Buster’s playful energy and Zoe’s shy peeking from under the couch added to the lively atmosphere.

By afternoon, you settled into the rhythm of Will’s household. The dogs were affectionate, although they had bursts of energy, they also knew how to relax. As sunlight streamed through the windows, they lounged around the living room, and you found comfort in their presence. It almost felt like home.

As evening fell, the house grew quiet, and you couldn’t help but think of Will, dealing with unimaginable things. The dogs sensed something too, pacing as though waiting for him. Despite your attempts to soothe them, the tension lingered, a reminder that your time together was temporary.

You took them on walks through the woods. Their enthusiasm was contagious, lifting the mood. There were small moments of chaos, Winston knocking over a lamp, Ellie getting stuck under the kitchen table, but mostly, it was peaceful. You found yourself growing fond of the dogs and their distinct personalities.

That evening, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, you heard the familiar sound of Will’s truck pulling into the driveway. The dogs erupted into joyous barking. You opened the door just as Will walked in, exhausted.

Will’s tired eyes softened as he looked at you, a grateful smile forming. "They didn’t give you too much trouble, did they?"

You shook your head. "No, they’re a good bunch. Kept me busy, but it was nice. I think they missed you though." You laughed softly as Winston trotted up to Will, tail wagging.

Will crouched down to pat Winston before meeting your gaze. There was a brief, unspoken pause. Tonight, he seemed different, warmer.

"Thank you," he said, his voice softer than usual. "I really appreciate you doing this. It means a lot."

You smiled, feeling content. "You don’t need to thank me. I’m happy to help."

Will hesitated, then stepped closer. "I’d like to thank you properly. Maybe grab a coffee sometime? Or dinner?"

The invitation made your heart race. Will asking you out was unexpected but made perfect sense, he was always kind, thoughtful.

"I’d like that," you said, smiling.

Will’s shy smile showed relief. "Great. I’ll figure out when I’m not on a case and make it happen."

"Take your time," you replied, feeling a flutter.

With a final glance at the dogs, who were tangled up together, Will turned to leave. "Thanks again for everything. I’ll see you soon."

As he drove away, a warmth settled over you. You went inside feeling lighter, excited for the next time you'd see him, soon.

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[oceansarepink]

ppl point out Blitzo literally apologized to Stolas in Ozzie's (when he shouldn't have had to) when Stolas accused him of never feeling sorry but I just noticed

that wasn't the only time

Blitzo literally says 'I'm sorry' when he says he can't go rescue Stolas from Striker because he's busy.

so that's twice he apologized and Stolas somehow forgot

and if you count non-Stolas related apologies he also apologizes very loudly and sincerely to Loona at the end of Seeing Stars.

Stolas acting like Blitzo is this prideful guy who never apologizes and it's a major flaw of his is just him rewriting reality, yet again. it comes off like he only believes it because Blitzo wouldn't cave immediately and apologize a second time for expressing how Stolas made him feel (or in Stolas' head, for refusing to believe Stolas genuinely liked him despite it being entirely Stolas' fault that Blitzo has no good reason to believe that)

honestly it really feels like the classic abuser strategy of projection where the perp accuses the victim of doing something they literally just did to their victim

the perfect moment for Stolas to apologize would have been at the end of full moon - a genuine apology, not that weaselly-words 'I'll do everything but say it's my fault for making the deal' speech he did earlier. but he doesn't and in the very next episode accuses Blitzo of being the one who is incapable of apologizing

yucky abuse dynamics asides, idk why we're expected to believe Stol1tz will last longer than five minutes when one party is comically incapable of self-reflection or sincere regret and the other party is being manipulated into apologizing just for expressing their feelings

🤕 except it’s the writer herself who keeps altering past events to make her favourite character look better. So she creates a new character flaw in Blitzø who has actually apologised more than any in the character in the show. 7 times in the series.

1. Sorry I (x) your husband - to Stella (weird but it counts)

2. In truth seekers when he vowed to be a better friend to moxxie and reminded him his value, and to use his actual name. I count that.

3. I can’t do it tonight alright, I’m sorry. - to stolas

4. Loona my sweet baby girl I’m so sorry I’ll never replace you no matter what.

5. Aw shit stolas i cant today alright I’m sorry I’m literally on my way to take Loona for her very important S.H.O.T.

6. I’m sorry Fizz. I’m so sorry you got so hurt, I’m sorry for what you’ve lost and I know I can never make that right. But You have no idea what I lost in that fire. I mean it’s all my fault, I’d hate me too. I do hate me.

7. Stolas, wait, I’m sorry. - stolas kicked him out

8. Him berating himself and verbally lifting stolas up as amazing, so that he stops crying and stops drinking. Shows remorse also. None of which stolas deserved.

Stolas has once. To via. Unless you count a polite ones in those simpering texts of his. In seeing stars via doesn’t let him because she blames herself entirely due to Loonas words. I struggle to count the “sorry it’s a bad time yet again Blitzy but I’m in a sitch” because he’s asking for something. So if you stretch, that’s maybe 3.

The sad part is Blitzø internalises all of stolas’ cruelty and insults and believes them to be true. Blitzø already has an internal voice of hate and criticism; stolas is his externalised self hatred. Because why wouldn’t he believe the prince, stolas is the one dressed so nicely, singing so nicely with pretty props, crying and surrounded by people crying with him, who all hate Blitzø, so stolas must be right.

Idc, Blitzø knew stolas was in trouble and reacted accurately. He had other things to do and Millie offered to help him. He was going to go over there. It’s weird that Viv wrote him to say “he can get hurt?” “I didnt think he was capable of-” and this was all she could come up with to make stolas all wounded and all betrayed. I’m tired of Blitzø throwing himself in the line of fire all the time. Stolas encourages his worst instincts. It’s not his job to protect stolas. But he did anyway. Even if he had saved him Viv would say “but it’s his fault striker even came back at all because reasons” I think it’s Stella’s fault actually but maybe that’s just me? He’s angrier at blitzø than Stella because he didn’t fulfil his damsel fantasy?

I think vivzie doesn’t account for fans who aren’t knee deep in stolitz Twitter, Instagram, ao3, r34, tiktok etc. Those fans have the romance in their heads the show doesn’t need to even write it. I’m guessing their dynamic will end up as Stolas replacing Loona. Blitzø allows him to abuse him because he feels guilt and sympathy, he wants there to be love between them. The relationship is based on this feeling of remorse and self hate, and pity for how lonely and hurt stolas is.

[sc0tters]

In The Alley | Mark Estapa, Ethan Edwards, Luca Fantilli, Rutger Mcgoarty

summary: when you are left on the closing shift that the bowling alley the guys who are left on the final lane invite you to join the most memorable game of your life.

request: sort of?

warnings: sexual themes, p in v, oral (m receiving), fingering, slight degradation (whore or slut are mentioned once or twice), swearing

word count: 3.17k

authors note: my brain is sore after writing this one but it was fun. That Luca plot was choppy because I literally had written 1000 words and rather than pressing copy I pressed delete. I’m tired rn too so I can’t be bothered to rewrite that part… with that being said I hope you enjoy what I wrote today!

You seemed to be the only one in the alley that didn’t care for the boys bowling games.

They had been there for hours and it meant that you had gotten through the majority of the book you were reading “can we get another game?” Mark asked pulling your attention from between those pages.

Quickly you shut the book as your cheeks grew flushed looking up at the boy “huh?” You furrowed eyebrows.

Mark smirked as your thighs squeezed together “another game princess?” He repeated his words as he rubbed his hand against his jaw “could join us if you want.” The hockey player added as he shrugged.

As you were on closing tonight you were the only worker left as the alley was meant to close in the next twenty minutes “wouldn’t want to impose.” You shook your head as you sighed running your fingers through your hair.

The hockey player leaned forward to snatch the book from your lap “Mark!” You groaned getting up in an attempt to get you book back “play and you get it.” There were only four of the players left counting Mark.

You sent him a pout as he matched your stance “fine,” the book was something you didn’t exactly want him to see as your bookmark was in the middle of a sex scene “add your name to our list!” Mark cheered seeing you the some things onto a screen before you followed him out.

Mark wrapped his hand around your shoulder as he smiled “you’ll enjoy it I promise.” he spoke into your ear sending shivers down your spine. Things had been weird between the two of you as you were in most of his classes on campus “nice to see you finally join us.” Ethan smirked realising that Mark’s effort to get you to join worked.

The boys had to say that they were surprised that by the fifth set you had yet to score anything less than a spare “I think you’re cheating princess.” Mark crossed his arms as he stared down at you.

You smiled as you shook your head “warned you that I could do this.” A string of confidence seemed to shoot through you as you took the spoon from his ice cream letting your lips wrap around it as you swallowed the cold vanilla goodness.

Rutger watched on as he let out a groan causing you to grin “you’re up freshie.” You motioned to him to take the space. You comfortably slotted into the seat next to Luca who hadn’t taken his eyes off of you “somethin’ on my face Fantilli?” You furrowed your eyebrows as you waited for his answer “nope.” The boys cheeks grew red as he realised he had been caught.

The game went on as Mark looked at you with a grin when you got your first 6 on a set “not as good as we all thought you were huh?” Mark smirked running his hands along his pants “uh uh baby.” He added tapping his thigh when you were about to sit in your own chair.

You listened comfortably situating yourself on his thigh “you want s’more?” The hockey player asked pointing to his new serving of ice cream “yeah,” you nodded letting your teeth sink into your lower lip as you looked down to see the bulge in his shorts that was quickly forming.

A smirk formed on your face as he scooped up some of the ice cream from his cup bringing the spoon to your mouth “open up,” the boy smiled at hop responsive you were to him “keep that in there until I’m back.” Mark mumbled as you wrapped your lips around his spoon.

The hockey player left you sat by yourself as he got up to complete his turn. As saliva built up in your mouth mixing with the quickly melting ice cream you were tempted to swallow and just get more ice cream “don’t even think about it baby.” Ethan warned as he sat across from you legs spread on his couch.

Your eyes went wide locking with his “be a good girl and we will reward you.” The Canadians words caused your thighs to close as your cheeks turned red “you listen to me?” Mark asked as he walked back to you seemingly happy about the eight pins that he had knocked over.

Your jaw grew loose as you showed him your mouth “good girl,” the boy smiled running his thumb over your lower lip “you can swallow it now.” He added watching your throat as you let the sweet goodness slide down into your stomach.

Luca cleared his throat watching the interaction “don’t keep her all to yourself Estapa.” The sophomore grumbled as he watched you stare up at Mark like he was the only man in the world.

You turned to the boy with a smile “there is enough of me to go around Lu.” In that moment they all thought you didn’t know the gravity of your words “don’t mind being shared.” Your confession made your cheeks hot as you stared at the floor “oh shit.” Mark had a groan that got caught in his throat “she’s a dirty little whore.” He blurted out leaning over you to grab your book that he had placed on the table.

Before you could try to stop him the page flipped open as his eyes traveled over the line you didn’t want him to read.

Elijah’s hands ran down my bare body “please.” I cried out needing more “be a good girl for me before James hears you.” He warned knowing that his roommate was in the room next door “bit late for that.”

Ethan had walked over to see what his teammate read “you want to be a good girl for us?” The hockey player asked smirking as you looked up to him with big eyes “all of you.��� You croaked out the words as the bowling game now seemed a mere distance thought.

Within a couple of minutes your throat felt raw as it took in Luca’s cock “you enjoying sucking Luca off whilst Ethan fingers you baby?” Rutger cooed watching your hips grind against Ethan’s fingers “yeah.” Your words were muffled as his cock hit the back of your throat.

The Fantilli boy locked his fingers into your hair making a makeshift ponytail to hold it up “shit I’m gonna come.” Luca announced gasping as his vision grew blurry.

You weren’t far behind as you moaned “she’s not far either.” Ethan mumbled bringing his thumb up to play with your clit causing you to be pushed over the edge.

It was hot as Luca’s come shot onto your tongue “swallow it baby.” The sophomore ordered making you nod as you listened to him following those actions as you swallowed his come before you stuck your tongue out “good girl.” Luca smiled bringing your lips up to kiss his.

You huffed out trying to recover from your orgasm as your hips still jerked on the older boys fingers that hadn’t let up “greedy little whore huh?” Ethan smirked as you finally stopped your hips movements “shit Ethan!” You nodded blinking as you tried to focus.

His fingers slid out of your cunt giving your clit a soft tap “go easy on her.” Mark joked helping you up onto a couch “you good?” He asked brushing your hair out of your face.

It made your heart warm how he cared for you like that “yeah.” You nodded pulling him by his jacket “go win the game and I’ll make sure you come next.” You mumbled into his ear as you pressed a kiss on his earlobe.

Mark grunted looking at you “what do we say we get a competition between all of us?” He asked turning his attention to the boys who nodded “winner gets her pussy and runner up gets her mouth.” The hockey player licked his lips as he watched your bare pussy glisten up at him.

You nodded giving the boys the green light that you were comfortable with the idea “I’ll come back for this pussy soon enough baby.” Mark mumbled into your ear before his lips moved to hover over yours “gonna take this for now though.” He mumbled letting out a groan as your tongue slipped into his mouth.

Before Mark could get too comfortable he remembered that he was around the other boys causing him to pull away from you as he smirked Rutger had been watching you as his cock grew even harder than it already was “c’mere Rut.” You croaked letting your eyes go up to his face “want to give you some attention too.” You intended on tasting his cock as the mere sight of it in his boxers made your mouth water.

Rutger shook his head as he smiled “think you deserve another orgasm.” The sophomore shifted around you on the couch as he sat you on his thigh “such a pretty little girl.” He cooed as he leaned forward to capture your lips in a kiss. It was surprisingly more forward than Marks as the Jets draftee took the initiative to be in control “you like that?” It didn’t take Rutger long to feel the wetness of your core as it soaked up his shorts “yeah.” You gasped as your sensitive clit rubbed against the sewing marks of his pants “want to ride my thigh?” He smirked hearing the little jumps your breath made as it got used to what was going on between your thighs.

When you stayed still for too long Rutger let his hands land on your hips guiding you through the motions “it’s just us baby.” Ethan called out smirking at how your head dropped to Rutger’s shoulder “let us all hear and see you.” He added causing all of the boys to stop and watch as they waited for you to listen.

However the sensations that shot through body causing your nipples to ache and your mind to grow foggy “look at me princess.” Rutger ordered as you continued to ignore him.

To say that it pissed him off that you were totally focusing on your own orgasm as you were in your little world was an understatement “listen to me when I talk.” The sophomore barked as his hand slid from your hip to throat “sorry Rut,” your lips formed a pout as you melted into the pleasure that he made you feel.

Your hand wrapped around his as you began to focus to focus your hips on helping you ride his thigh as it occasionally tensed beneath you making you moan each time you hit your clit at a different angle “I wanna come.” You begged feeling the sensitivity from your first orgasm as you never fully came off of that ride.

Rutger’s jaw clenched at the thought “beg,” his tone was serious, fingers squeezing at the vein in the sides of your neck “please Ru-” your whine echoed off of the walls.

Someone’s hand locked into your hair making you gasp as he pulled your head back “he said beg, not act like a brat.” Luca scoffed as your chin titled towards him “please let me be your good girl tonight boys.” Your plea was like music to their ears as Rutger nodded.

Your orgasm made the boys smile as your moan was swallowed by Luca’s mouth as he forced it onto your lips “who could have thought that she could be such a slut?” Mark let out a grunt with his ego fully blown after getting his third strike in a row “it’s always the quiet ones.” You had two classes where you had both boys and you sat in the back corner for both of them, not letting out a peep usually.

Rutger smiled at you as your hips began to slow “I gotta go pretty girl,” his thumb massaged on the skin on your neck before he released your neck placing you on the arm of your chair.

It was attractive watching the boys continue to play through the game letting their competitive sides shine through “how do you want your prize?” You smiled as the game drew to a closing point since the results had been determined.

Mark thought to himself as he nodded “I want you bent over.” His confession made you clench your thighs together.

With tension in the room at an all time high you five practically blacked out and before you knew it, Mark was behind you teasing your clit as he drove his cock over it. Ethan was in front of you watching on as you continued to kitten lick his cock “want you to fuck my face E.” You announced before you let your lips wrap around the boys boner. On either side of you then to top it all off Rutger and Luca were stood with their cocks in their hands waiting for the heads up of how you wanted to deal with them.

Mark smirked taking the opportunity to thrust his cock into your soaked cunt “think she has thought about this before?” Ethan asked directing his attention to his teammates like you weren’t even there “of course she has.” Mark laughed digging his hands into your hips as your pussy clenched around his cock at the boys words.

You took the moment to hold your hands out to the younger boys quickly replacing their own hands that had wrapped around their cocks “fuck she’s good.” Rutger groaned as it felt like he was getting fucked by your pussy or your mouth rather than your hand.

Luca couldn’t help but feel a little bit jealous as he would have preferred to be back in his original position that he had earlier on when your mouth was taking his cock instead giving him the chance to choke you with his thighs. The Fantilli boy knew that he was going to have to use that material as he thought about something to replace your hand with.

But another part of him wondered if he would get the chance to have you again, alone. Where your moans that you were letting Ethan’s cock swallow could have been heard echoing off of the walls. Sure this probably wasn’t going to be the best thing for team dynamics in the long run, but it wasn’t clear if any of them truly cared about that “god this pussy is perfect!” Mark blurted out as if it wasn’t for his need to keep you standing then he would have melted.

Mark had to admit that he had been eyeing you up since the third month of sophomore year, so if you were telling him from back then that he’d be fucking you in a bowling alley with three of his teammates Mark would have had an early death.

Your pussy squelched as the boy had his way with you “you feel me in there baby?” Mark asked pressing his hand on your stomach where his cock hit “fuck yeah!” Your words were muffled as Ethan’s cock but your throat.

It was a hot sight to watch as the four men used the girl with the oldest two getting off from your warm wet holes with Mark grunting at the way your pussy perfectly wrapped around his throbbing cock and Ethan was stood forcing his cock further into your mouth with each thrust of his hips. Rutger and Luca were both also taken care of by your hands that worked effortlessly to get them off as you seemed to focus more on the boy’s orgasms than you did your own “she’s close,” Mark announced feeling your cunt clench around his cock.

The hockey player’s hand went to your clit as he felt like he was close behind “we gonna make her beg for it again?” Ethan let out this laugh that was enough to almost terrify you as you truly didn’t think that you had it in you to form a coherent sentence “huh what do you think about that?” Mark applied more pressure to your clit to make you respond.

All you were able to do was shake your head as your knees began to buckle under the force of Mark’s thrusts “we can be good to her this time.” The boy proposed making your soaked cunt squeeze his cock.

Luca and Rutger were the first two to come as they swore you had done enough to show them the stars causing both boys to move to couches were they got to watch the climax of the main show “keep doing that baby.” Ethan groaned locking his fingers into your hair as the boy smirked seeing you look up at him with hooded eyes.

You hollowed your cheeks letting the boys cock find its perfect home in your mouth as you swirled your tongue around his cock “shit, shit, fuck!” Ethan repeated clenching his thighs together as his hands forced your head to swallow his entire cock as his warm sticky release coat your throat.

As his cock slid out of your mouth giving him the chance to pull your face up so that he could kiss at it “you want Mark to make you come?” Ethan asked squeezing your cheeks between his thumb as his pointer finger forcing you to look at him.

A cry left you lips “p-p-please Mark.” You nodded wanting nothing more than to come at that very moment “okay baby fuck!” Mark’s eyes screwed shut as he wished he had you in his bed so he could watch as you came.

You had already been so vocal but Mark’s mind wondered how you looked as your eyes rolled back in your head “right there oh-” your hands handed on Ethan’s shoulders in an attempt to steady yourself. If you thought that the American was going to slow down as you came then you were horribly wrong, in fact his thrusts probably sped up as he began to adjust to the way your cunt suffocated his cock “shit baby!” Mark threw his head back as his orgasm came shortly after yours.

He was careful pulling his cock from your cunt that not a drop of his come left with it as he was quick to use his fingers to scoop up any of it before he shoved it back into your pussy “what do you say we help her close up before heading back to campus?” Mark spoke reaching down to grab your panties so that he could help you back into them.

The boys nodded in agreement getting themselves all dressed. Your attempt at closing tonight was half assed but as you left the alley with Mark’s arm wrapped around your waist helping you walk back to his car the memory of that night was only going to live on in your brains.

Because whilst the alley would live on to remember this night as a one of a kind event, it wasn’t the place to reveal your secrets to anyone.

[flowerchild28]

Can you please write a Louis imagine based on the song "Midnight Rain" by Taylor Swift?

sure love i hope you like it :)

Midnight rain

Louis Tomlinson imagine

Warnings: none

1.2k

The rain tapped softly against the window, a gentle rhythm that matched the beat of your restless thoughts. It was past midnight, the world outside cloaked in a moody darkness only broken by flickering streetlights. You sat on the edge of your bed, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the small shoebox in front of you. It was filled with memories—concert tickets, Polaroid photos, a wristband from that music festival. Each piece was a fragment of a story you had lived with Louis.

You hadn’t thought of him in a long time. Well, not like this. The kind of thinking that twisted your heart, made you question the choices you’d made all those years ago. But tonight, something in the air—maybe the rain or the silence—had drawn you back to him.

It was Louis’ laugh you remembered first, that warm, raspy sound that could fill a room and make you feel like you belonged. He had been your sunshine, lighting up the dim corners of your life with his effortless charm and relentless optimism. You loved him fiercely, but you were different people, with different dreams. That was what had led to the goodbye that still lingered in the back of your mind like an unfinished melody.

Back then, you were all ambition and plans. You had a career mapped out, a city in your sights, and a hunger to become something bigger than the small-town life you’d both grown up in. Louis, on the other hand, had wanted stability. He craved a quiet life away from the spotlight, a home filled with love and laughter where the two of you could grow old together.

“I’ll wait for you,” he had said that night, his blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “But I won’t hold you back. If you need to chase this dream, I get it, love. I just hope... I hope you know what you’re giving up.”

You had cried too, your heart shattering even as you forced yourself to walk away. You told yourself it was the right decision, that you couldn’t stay in a place where you felt like you were shrinking. But no matter how many miles you put between yourself and that small town, Louis was a constant echo, his voice a ghost that haunted the quiet moments.

Now, years later, the shoebox was evidence of a love you’d once known but tried to leave behind. You reached for a photo on top of the pile—a candid shot of Louis, grinning at you from across a picnic blanket. His messy hair caught the golden light of sunset, and his laugh seemed to leap out of the frame, pulling you back to that summer day.

A knock at your door startled you out of your reverie. You frowned. It was late, and you weren’t expecting anyone. Hesitantly, you padded to the door, the chill of the wooden floor grounding you. When you opened it, your breath caught in your throat.

“Louis?”

There he was, standing on your doorstep, his hoodie soaked from the rain. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and his expression was a mixture of uncertainty and hope. The years had added a maturity to his face, but his eyes—those familiar, stormy blue eyes—were the same.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, his voice soft but tinged with the accent that had once made your heart flutter. “I, uh... I didn’t mean to show up unannounced. I just... I was in town, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You blinked, struggling to find your voice. “It’s been years, Louis. Why now?”

He chuckled, though it lacked his usual confidence. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the rain, or maybe I’m just tired of wondering what could’ve been.”

Your heart clenched. He was standing there, offering you the chance to rewrite the ending you’d once been so sure of. But was it that simple? Could you undo the pain of the past?

“Do you want to come in?” you asked after a moment, stepping aside. He nodded, brushing past you with a damp chill that made the room feel smaller.

Louis looked around, his gaze landing on the shoebox on your bed. His lips quirked into a small smile. “Still have this, huh?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “I guess I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.”

He walked over, picking up one of the Polaroids. It was a picture of the two of you at the festival, your arms around each other, your faces flushed with happiness. “We had something good, didn’t we?” he murmured.

“We did,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Louis turned to you, his eyes searching yours. “Do you ever regret it? Leaving?”

You hesitated. “Sometimes. But I needed to find myself, Louis. And I think you did too.”

He nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I get that. But I’ve never stopped missing you, Y/N. Not for a second.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “I miss you too,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of the rain. Then Louis reached for your hand, his touch grounding you like it always had. “What if we tried again?” he asked, his voice barely audible. “No expectations, no pressure. Just... see where it goes?”

Your heart ached with the weight of possibilities. Maybe the timing had been wrong before, but now, standing here in the quiet hum of midnight, you wondered if the universe was giving you a second chance.

You didn’t let go of his hand as you both sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the shoebox together. You laughed softly as you picked up the scruffy wristband from that festival. “Remember this? We were stuck in the rain for hours.”

“And you were furious because your hair got ruined,” Louis said, his voice filled with a teasing warmth. “But you still danced with me in the mud.”

“Because you wouldn’t shut up until I did,” you replied, shaking your head but smiling.

“That’s because I knew you’d regret it if you didn’t. Dancing in the rain with you—yeah, that’s one of my favorite memories.”

His words hung in the air, and you turned to look at him. There was something about the way he was looking at you now, as if no time had passed, as if the years of distance and heartbreak hadn’t dimmed the way he felt.

“You know,” you began, your voice faltering slightly, “I always thought about coming back. I’d get as far as packing a bag, and then I’d stop myself. I was scared it was too late.”

“It’s not too late,” Louis said firmly, his hand tightening around yours. “We can take this slow, Y/N. I’m not asking for promises, just... a chance.”

The rain outside slowed to a soft drizzle, the rhythm mirroring the gentle hope growing between you. You leaned your head against Louis’ shoulder, and for the first time in years, the ache in your chest began to ease.

“Okay,” you said softly. “Let’s see where it goes.”

Louis pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his voice low and full of relief. “I missed you, love. More than you’ll ever know.”

[moonchildstyles]

ephemere

élan part three: when the night comes crashing down harry is the only one there for y/n.

wordcount: 22k+

cw: descriptions of a panic attack, unwanted advances against our y/n (nothing too intense), and her dad is veryyyy mean in this one

—————

"Good morning!" Dom—(Y/N)'s stylist, and the most important person of the day—sung as he swept through her apartment, a team of people following behind, "We have so much to do today, are you ready?" 

(Y/N) sleepily shut the door behind the last person that trickled in. "Yeah," she yawned, forcing herself to keep her eyes open after the lingering blink she gave. 

Today was early enough already with the fact Harry had come over an hour prior, and now her apartment was full of half a dozen others that were way too happy for the early hour. (To be fair, it was just before ten a.m., but she didn't love to get up any earlier than that when it wasn't a pilates day). 

Tonight was finally the night of the 132 Gala. She'd prepped as much as she could this week—an esthetician visit the other day, waxing studio visit the day before, a touch-up and trial run appointment with her hair stylist earlier in the week—but so much of the process had to be left to the day of. 

"Just yeah?" Dom teased, imitating her sleepy voice, "I thought you'd be excited to see me today." 

"I am, I am," (Y/N) argued, trudging towards him with her sleep shorts rustling against her thighs, "I didn't sleep well last night, but I promise I'm excited. Just a little tired." 

She wasn't lying about her late night, the small hours of the morning having been the only time she managed to sleep. A letter had been sent to her apartment the night before, plaguing her mind a little too deeply. 

It had only been a matter of time, she knew when she saw the official publications posting about her secret rendezvous with Harry at the country club. (Her favorite was the subline on one article, saying that (Y/N) was insisting he was only a bodyguard but how could she resist a body like that? As invasive as it was, it was still rather clever). Now that less real drama was circulating about her, rumors had taken the helm and that seemed to draw her admirer out much more often; less concrete answers seemed to draw them out. They seemed to feel a need to rewrite them to fit a specific mold they had for her, one (Y/N) never really understood the parameters of. It gave her a spike of anxiety in the pit of her stomach now whenever she picked up her mail, worrying that something too heavy to be friendly would be slipped between the bills and other pieces. 

"Well," Dom chirped, clapping his hands together, "We'll just have to make sure no one can tell!" 

With that, the day turned into a bit of a whirlwind. Many of these big events deteriorated into such, too much going on for (Y/N) to properly focus on one thing at a time. 

At least there was a photographer Dom brought along to take photos of the whole process. One more person running around her apartment. 

Her hair was the first thing to be started on, the one thing that was going to take the longest. Ensuring everything was perfect, a wash was made to start the day, plenty of products and serums applied before everything was dried and brushed. The natural texture of her strands was altered, her stylist wrapping them around hot and heavy curlers. Earlier in the week at the trial, extensions were added to her hair, adding to the weight on the top of her head. Though she loved the look it would achieve in the end, everything looking effortlessly glamorous with big curls and draping strands, she almost erupted into a migraine from the tension. 

At least once the rollers were in, though, she caught a break from her hair stylist. Done was all the tugging and pulling from the various hot tools and hairbrushes, now she could just sit there and concentrate on ensuring her scalp didn't throb before she had a chance to feel pretty. 

While the curlers cooled enough to truly curl her hair, her nail tech pulled up a seat beside her. Carlotta was her usual warm self, pleasantly chatting with (Y/N) until a light silence settled between them. Applying and filing her nails were comforting motions, knowing that her set was coming together. It didn't take long for the paint to come out, sparkling pearls to be added to the pastel pink French manicure to match that of her dress. Her fingernails looked every bit like the princess set they had been calling it before Carlotta made her exit for the day, her job done in one go compared to the others that would stick around for final touches.

After a quick break for snacks, her hair was ready to be unraveled and her makeup ready to be applied. The photographer began her closeups then, the camera shuttering as her hair fell in large curls around her face, her makeup artist prepping her skin. Dom periodically checked in, ensuring things were going according to their plan all the while he was coordinating garments and creating problems just to fix them a moment later. Around her, members of the glam team began to pull out their phones, their own cameras trained around the space to document their own experience getting her ready. 

(Y/N) sat quietly in the middle of it all, eyes closing when instructed, head tilting when needed, body still in her silken robe. 

For hours on end, Harry was like a statue in the corner of the room—silent and stoic. When things began to get hectic, Dom tried to kick him out, only for Harry to ignore the attempts and stay right where he was. He wouldn't be going anywhere no matter how hard Dom tried. 

—————

"Everyone out! She needs to get dressed! Everyone out!" 

(Y/N) could see Dom was moments away from ripping his hair out, the time making him more than stressed. Styling her hair took longer than expected, draining an additional half an hour from their prep time. Dom timed things meticulously, the schedule written down to the minute to leave her to be on the carpet at a fashionable time—not too early, not too late. This was going to through everything off, and Dom was already feeling it. 

The second her hair was finally pinned into place, a layer of hairspray going across the strands to keep anything from moving in any direction, he pulled her into her bedroom where she was to be dressed. Everyone was to be shooed out of her space then, Dom directing them with an agitated tone. 

On their way out of the previously quiet room, (Y/N) slipped away from Dom and offered her thanks, hoping they didn't take her stylist's tone too personally. They would still be needed for finishing touches, and she didn't want them stepping out on account of her stylist. Especially since she loved them for their regular services, anyway. 

Quietly padding back to her bedroom before Dom became more agitated, Harry became her ghost once more. 

"I'll wait outside here for you, okay?" Harry murmured, looking at her with a clear gaze as he stopped in the threshold of her bedroom. 

"You don't have to," she told him, lingering in the doorway. She could promise she would be on her best behavior if he needed her to. 

Harry shook his head, a curl falling over his forehead. "I'll be here." 

With that, she was pulled into her bedroom with the help of Dom's assistant, her grip much more delicate than that of the stylist. 

The process of squeezing her into her garments began then. Shapewear and the proper undergarments pulled over her body, her form smoothing with rounded curves. (Y/N) held her breath with every swath of fabric wrapped around her body, more and more of the look piecing together the closer they got. 

"Careful," Dom told her, helping her step into the molten pearl of the Vivienne Westwood dress of her dreams. His assistant held the gown with utmost care, ensuring there was no way there could be a rogue crease or an unwanted footstep on the hem. 

(Y/N) stayed stagnant, allowing them to zip her into the corset. Dom took over as his assistant began to shoot photos, documenting the way the tight corset adhered to her body. The top was tighter than the original fitting, alterations stiffening the boning and pushing her breasts up high on her chest. Her cleavage was deeper than she ever thought it could be, the swells pushed up and almost spilling over the neckline. The body makeup her artist applied sparkled in the lighting, highlighting the soft parts of her body in a sunny glow. The draping of pearls as her sleeves dripped down her biceps, strategically broken strands having been added during alterations to allow another string to hang down the length of her arms. The high slit was just as scandalous as she remembered, a breeze settling over her bare skin. 

She felt gorgeous. 

Glancing in the mirror bolted to the wall across from her, she saw the vision come together. Her hair was perfect, bouncy and full, tickling her collarbones with soft brushes. Her dress glimmered like molten pearl on her body, clinging to every curve and edge. Her makeup glittered in the gentle light, delicate sparkles on her eyelids with soft pinks airbrushed across her cheeks and lips. Everything was dewy and light—she looked like a cross between a celestial body and a mermaid inhabiting the waters of a moonlit lagoon. 

There was a level of giddiness rising in her knowing that there were going to be countless photos of herself dressed this way. For the first time in a really long time, she looked forward to the torrent of cameras and flashes that would be pointed her way on the Gala carpet. 

That serenity didn't last for very long, though, before Dom found another detail to begin to worry over. 

"Where is the purse?" he muttered, voice sharp as he rifled through the bag he brought along with him. 

"The purse?" his assistant, chirped, stepping back once the proper photographer had rejoined them, his camera flashing to catch (Y/N) in a candid moment. 

"Her purse. The purse. The one (Y/N) is supposed to be carrying on the carpet in less than an hour." Dom was seething now. 

"It's not in there?" 

"If it was, I'd have it already," Dom snapped back, his arms almost elbow deep into his endless bag of everything.

The level of chaos in her apartment ratcheted up a notch in that moment. Now was not the time for something like that to go wrong. Not when—as Dom listed out—finishing adjustments to her makeup needed to be made, final touches to her hair, and someone needed to help her put her shoes on so she didn't bend and crease the dress. Not to mention the photoshoot Dom planned on having (Y/N) partake in before she left for the event, photos to be taken for his portfolio. 

"Dom—I can—" 

(Y/N) was quickly cut off as he shook his head, his long hair flying around his face. "No, you are not doing anything! Where is everyone?! We don't have time for this."

His assistant scuttled away then, gathering each of the members of her prep group to accomplish each of the things Dom was beginning to fret over. 

"Henry—Harris—Whatever your name is, can you please help instead of just standing around?!" Dom shouted through the now cracked door of (Y/N)'s bedroom. 

A beat passed before everyone—including Harry—stepped into her room. Carlotta had an extra file in hand, her hair stylist a comb and a bottle of hair spray in his apron pocket, and makeup artist with a gloss in hand. Harry held nothing but a raised brow over the way Dom spoke to him. 

Each of the artists and techs descended upon her then, each quietly assessing what needed to be perfected before they were off. (Y/N) didn't have a chance to see what Dom was commissioning Harry to help with before she had to blink her eyes shut, her makeup artist fluffing a brush of glitter on her eyelids. 

"Find her bag, and someone put her shoes on, please! We won't have time for pictures if we keep this up!" Dom rattled off, "The event is almost over at this point! Where the fuck is her bag?" 

As much as (Y/N) loved Dom, it was moments like these she wondered if the stress of preparing for events was worth it. 

Murmured voices of his assistant and a deep voice (Y/N) thought could be Harry, adding to the chatter of the room. The sound of her door creaking happened before the dull roar finally settled. 

"(Y/N)?" 

Chancing a blink of her eyes open, (Y/N) saw Harry standing before her, just behind her makeup artist, with the box of her Manolo Blahniks in hand. 

He met her gaze over the shoulder of the artist swiping more gloss over her lips, his eyes dropping imperceptibly down to her mouth before ringing back up once more. 

Before he had a chance to say anything, Dom traipsed back in, his cheeks decidedly redder than before. "Help her with her shoes, we need to go!" he shouted, Harry not even bothering to look back. 

He was hesitating—waiting for her permission. There was an unspoken line they'd put in the sand, one that kept each other at arm's length; (Y/N)'s aloofness, and Harry's professionalism the key administers. He wouldn't come any closer if she didn't want him to.

"It's okay," she told him, her makeup artist pausing as her lips moved.

With that, box in hand, Harry wormed his way in-between the various artists and stylists warmed around her. Bending to one knee, he knelt before her with the pristine white box just off to the side. She could feel his eyes on her when he made the first touch, a hand on her ankle. Unwilling to disturb the makeup artist tending to her face, and the stylist primping her hair, (Y/N) wasn't able to meet his eyes despite feeling them trace her face.

The photographer's camera shuttered at a rapid rate, but (Y/N) knew these photos were going to be the kind that stayed in the archive with her. 

His thumb grazed the bone in her ankle as she shifted her weight, helping him slip the first cream colored pump onto her foot. The custom pump had a ring of pearls that were to be attached around her ankle. (Y/N) could feel the brush of Harry's fingers over her skin as he latched the stones around her leg, his touch decidedly more gentle than she could have expected from someone who's entire job centered around the rough use of them. 

"Let me go grab a setting spray, hold on," her makeup artist murmured, dropping her hands from where they were separating her fluffed lashes and diffusing the color on her eyelids. With that, the woman scurried away, leaving (Y/N) the freedom to finally shift her eyes. 

Glancing down, she saw Harry on his knees, a furrow in his brow as he concentrated on helping her balance on the teetering heels. It was like he knew she was watching with the way he peeked up, the fan of his lashes a frame around the green of his eyes. His hand faltered for a split second when she met his gaze. 

The rest of the noise melted away for that moment, (Y/N) only taking in just how delicate the shoes looked in comparison to Harry, how gently he was treating her. How pretty he was. She wondered if Dom had ever considered taking Harry on, prepping him for this event instead; he'd fit right in with the models and celebrities that would be on the carpet. 

Despite her eyes following his movements, (Y/N) hadn't been paying attention when he had finished slipping her shoe on, the pearls latched around her ankle. She teetered where she stood, a slight gasp leaving her lips. 

In an instant, Harry was there, standing to the full of his height in front of her. He steadied her, his grip on her arms firm in his hold but gentle in his touch. 

"Alright?" he asked, gaze skipping down her features for just a moment. 

(Y/N) almost thought he sounded breathless. 

"Yeah," she answered, the word low between the two of them as if there weren't a handful of others around. "Thank you." 

Harry only nodded, his hands lingering for a split second longer before they fell away from where he had them on her biceps. 

In the back of her mind, she could hear the way the photographer seemed to be capturing every second of the interaction. Camera flashes and the lens shuttering added to the chaos. 

The same time Harry was backing away, her makeup artist returned with a glimmering bottle in hand. She was flustered, immediately stepping back into place in front of (Y/N), leaving only a sliver of a view of Harry over her shoulder. 

(Y/N) had her eyes glued to him as he approached the entrance to her bedroom, his previous post having been just outside. She saw as he lingered, his head down as he shifted his weight as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to step forward or step back. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. 

"Close your eyes for me," her artist instructed. 

Hesitating before doing so, (Y/N) just barely caught the way Harry seemed to look back at her. 

A loud commotion burst into the room then, (Y/N) flinching where she stood with her eyes closed.

"I found the purse!" 

It took a moment for Dom's voice to register. (Y/N) had completely forgotten about the purse.

—————

(Y/N)'s fingers skipped over the pearls dripping down her arms, keeping her gaze forward as they rushed through the New York streets. Beside her, Harry had changed into an all black suit while she was commandeered for photographs at Dom's request. He kept his gaze solely stretched out the window. He hadn't looked at her since that moment in her bedroom, the space between them on the bench seat just a hair larger. 

"When would you like me to come for you?" Sully asked, breaking (Y/N) from her over-analysis of how many inches of space was supposed between two people in a working relationship that had also shared a somewhat intimate moment just an hour earlier. At least, (Y/N) thought it was intimate. 

She recrossed her legs, shifting in her seat. "Um, I'm not sure," she murmured, noting the way Harry didn't break his staring contest with the window even at this disturbance, "I don't want to say too long, but Francesca will probably want to go to an afterparty." 

"Okay, just give me a call about thirty minutes before you're ready. I'll make it as soon as possible, but you know how these places can be." 

A smile stretched across her glossy lips as she nodded her head. "Got it. Thank you." 

She wondered if Harry knew how many shades of green were in his eyes, if he saw the same tiny blonde hairs threaded through his dark curls that she did. She wondered if he knew how gorgeous he was. She hoped he didn't know that she was still thinking about the way he looked up at her when he was on his knees before.

Despite the sun having set and sunk below the horizon, the city was still bright outside the windows. (Y/N) wondered how many of the other vehicles passing around them were also heading to the Gala. 

Peering through the front windscreen, the gallery came into view. The large building that was usually splashed in black and white with 132 on the front in primary colors, had been transformed to allow a tent to be set up up front, shielding the public from the massive red carpet laid out underneath. From here, she could spot the overflow of people, bright lights shining from under the white tent. At least a fourth of that light had to be from the crowd of photographers and publications that had made it inside the event. 

Coming to a smooth stop in front of the event, Sully put them in park but didn't make any move to usher her out. From the curb, she could see those set up along the carpet, ready for interviews or photos. She could even see Francesca towards the end, nearest to the entrance. 

Her fiddling with the pearls of her dress resumed, anxiety spiking. Her crossed leg swung. 

For the first time since leaving her apartment, Harry turned to look at her. His eyes stayed fixed to her face, not daring to skate anywhere else on her body. 

"Ready?" 

A faux-natural smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Mhm," she hummed, glancing at Sully through the rearview. It was too crowded for him to help her out of the car as usual, she knew that. She would have to settle for a smile through the rearview to settle her through the night. "See you soon?" 

"See you soon, sweetheart," he confirmed, his eyes gentle as he met them through the glass. 

With that, Harry took his leave first, scooting out of the car with her small purse in tow before reaching back inside to offer her a helping hand out. It felt like a movie the way she could hear the snapping of cameras and dull roar from the event. The shadows around him lengthened, backlit by the fluorescent bulbs. 

Rubbing her glossy lips together, she put her hand in his and followed him out onto the sidewalk. 

Harry was dropped into his element then second they were faced with the budding crowd waiting to be herded onto the carpet. He had to have been familiar with events like these as he let go of her hand only to place his palm on her upper back, ushering her through the bodies. It was a form of a greenroom that was waiting at the entrance of the carpet, another tent with event coordinators ensuring pacing out the carpet. He didn't let her stop even as some familiar faces gave her small greetings. 

Dipping his head down, (Y/N) could feel the tip of his nose brush the draping strands of hair by her ear. "'M going to stay a step behind you the whole time, okay? If at any point you want to be done, jus' look at me and we'll go. I'll be with you." 

Drawing away just enough to match his gaze, there was that earnest intensity she'd seen only once before at the pilates studio. 

"Okay," she said, giving her head a minute no, unwilling to remove her gaze from his. 

With one final push towards the head of the line, (Y/N) could spot the event coordinators clustered around the entrance, earpieces in and tablets at their chests. She watched as they ushered someone onto the carpet—a model she remembered from a trip to Milan, but couldn't place his name—cameras flashing the second he made it to the first pose point. 

Harry's hand was a warm weight on her back, grounding her as she forced herself not to pick at her nails or fiddle with her dress as she attempted to sike herself up for her own upcoming turn. From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the familiar coordinators perk up when he spotted her, one of the ones that had been assisting the event for the last handful of years. The coordinator—Monty—brought the lapel of his blazer to his mouth, muttering something into the covert microphone, before (Y/N) felt extra eyes on her. 

With a bright smile on his face, Monty pushed their way through the clusters of people, stopping right by she and Harry. 

"Ms. (Y/N), how are you this evening? You look gorgeous," Monty greeted her, his eyes obviously shifting from her gown to the petite pearl bag in Harry's hands. His brow raised just that much more at the sight. 

"Thank you so much, Monty," she bubbled, knowing the version of herself he would be expecting and slipping into that role, "How are you? Busy, I'm sure." 

"You have no idea," he exaggerated, the words ending with a boisterous laugh (Y/N) joined in on. "Are you ready to walk?" 

"As ready as I can be," (Y/N) offered, shaking her head as she gestured down to her shoes, "Didn't get a chance to break in my shoes at all, and you know how the Vivienne corsets can be." 

"We'll get you through as fast as possible, then," Monty laughed, smiling a little too bright, "You know, when we got your RSVP, we made sure to stock the bar extra just for you." 

It was meant to be a joke, she knew that, a rib at the way she was apparently always drunk whenever she went out. She was sure it was supposed to be something meant to entice her into being that much more excited to get the carpet over. Nonetheless, she couldn't help the way she wanted to roll her eyes and huff a sigh. 

Still, she laughed along, leaning forward as if she were doubling over in laughter. The photographers ate it up. "You know me so well," she told Monty, taking in a deep breath, "Thank you." 

Casting a look towards the carpet, Monty double checked his tablet before he looked at her with a mild smile. "Ready to go?" 

Following his gaze, the patrons in front of her had dwindled down to none, leaving her the next on the chopping block.

Feeling a tad bit stiff after the last interaction, (Y/N) still nodded her head. "Of course." 

Harry was a silent pillar beside her as they followed after Monty. She wished she knew what he was thinking. 

A beat passed, Monty waiting for a cue, then he looked to (Y/N) with that practiced smile. "Go ahead, Ms. (Y/N). I'll see you in there." 

(Y/N) waved her goodbye, stepping carefully into the mouth of the event, the carpet shifting under her feet into something luxurious and soft. At her back, Harry stepped up.

"I'll be right behind you," he murmured, a quiet reminder, before the chaos erupted. 

No doubt the media recognized who was at her back, cameras fluttering with flashes burning her gaze. She smiled effortlessly, stopping to pose and look in whatever direction she was called. She stood out against the stark white and deep black of the carpet, the attendees meant to be the color in the gallery for the night. Around her, others were posted up giving their own poses to the cameras facing them, some having brought friends or dates to chat with in between. 

(Y/N) hoped she would see Francesca or Emma soon. 

Traipsing through the carpet, (Y/N) stopped and pose at ever juncture instructed, blowing kisses and showing off her gown at every stop. As nervous as she was to have so many eyes on her—many wanting some kind of slip up to be able to report on—it couldn't knock how excited she was to have herself immortalized in a look like this. That couldn't take away how pretty she felt. 

Harry was a silent soldier behind her, never wavering as the hall had shouting photographers, shuttering cameras, and chatter from the various attendees. He followed her carefully, a delicate pink bag hanging from his hands that were clasped at his front. He stayed far enough away to ensure every shot only captured her, but close enough she could turn to face him and give him whatever signal was needed to get out of there. 

Going down the carpet, (Y/N) grew used to the feel of eyes all over her, beginning to revel in the way her body and look was being appreciated by the attendees. While she didn't love the sound of her name being shouted across the carpet, she didn't mind when it meant she was going to be posing for a photo that she would be happy to see floating around the internet. 

Scaling the plush staircase trailing further down the carpet, the mass of the photographers thinned leaving only a few here and there to snap the final photos before guests were led into the gallery, with a few publications waiting for a moment to catch an interview. Scanning the few, (Y/N) tried to spot the one interview she was scheduled to make for the night. 

Catching sight of a bright blonde head of hair, (Y/N) inched towards her hoping the woman was who she thought it was. It took a moment for the interviewer to turn around, the strands of ultra straight blonde hair fanned around her familiar face. Relief hit (Y/N), then—she didn't have to stand in the middle of everything hoping someone noticed her and gave direction.

"Hi, (Y/N), how are you?" The interviewer, Gwen, greeted her with a bright smile, leaning over to give her a light hug around their immaculate gowns. 

Noting the camera that was definitely still recording, (Y/N) ensured her own tabloid smile was fixed to her face, her voice pitched and pleasant. "I'm doing well, thank you! You look amazing, Gwen," (Y/N) bubbled, stepping back to admire the embellishments on the gown. 

She wasn't surprised, really. Gwen was the yearly reporter for the major fashion magazine that sponsored half of the attendees at the event. They were one of the few legitimate publications that printed stories about her and reached out for articles about her looks or to be featured in segments on their website—even if there were hate comments flooded on her features. 

Starting off like the rest of the interviews that had been conducted that night, Gwen asked who she was wearing and rattled off questions about the inspiration behind her gown. (Y/N) answered pleasantly, attributing everything to the collaborative effort with her stylist and the handful of others that helped her prep for the night. Standing just off camera, Harry stayed back but she could feel his eyes on her as she spoke with Gwen. 

More than once did Gwen's eyes shift from where (Y/N) stood, peeking over her shoulder to find her bodyguard. (Y/N) hated to think what she might be assuming at that moment, the kinds of questions that might be swirling. Tomorrow, when all of the analyses of this moment were circulated through the public, she was sure people would assume that there was something more going on in the moment, that Harry was doing something just off screen that would somehow confirm that he was her affair partner and secret boyfriend. 

"But, yeah, we wanted something classic for the hair, but it definitely took a lot more time to get there than it looks," (Y/N) ended, brushing those stray strands out of her face. 

Waiting for the next question to come, (Y/N) saw the way Gwen tossed a glance towards the producer that was standing behind the camera. Something was exchanged in that look.

Keeping the energy up, Gwen turned back to (Y/N) with her practiced smile. "While I have you here, (Y/N), we do have to ask," she said, lowering her head with a glint in her eye as if she were just a girl friend gossiping over brunch, "We see you've brought a guest with you tonight, can you share with us who that is?" 

She was definitely fishing, trying to glean something out of the interaction. Even magazines like this couldn't be completely free from rumors and gossip, she guessed. 

Staying in character, bubbly and bright, (Y/N) looked behind her with a giggle. (Another scene that was going to be overanalyzed, edited and clipped to show the "truth"). Waving to him to step forward, she hoped Harry would play along for just a couple of minutes. Hesitant, Harry took a careful step forward, inching into the view of the camera with her purse swinging in his grip. 

"This is Harry," she bubbled off, gesturing to him as he gave a reserved smile to the camera before tipping his head down so as to not garner any more attention, "I know he's been pictured with me a lot recently, but he's just my bodyguard. I think there's been a few different stories floating around, but that's the truth."

Gwen paused for a second, certainly rattled by the soft denial she was given for details. In an attempt to recover from the fishing, she joked, "And, is that your purse or his he's got?" 

"His, but he let me borrow it for the night," (Y/N) played along, hoping Harry wouldn't mind taking ownership over the mini beaded bag in his grip. 

Gwen joined in her laughter, sounding a little more than exaggerated with the way she reached out to grab (Y/N)'s arm as if to steady herself. 

"Well," she started once recovering, "it was so much fun talking with you, (Y/N). We'll see you inside." 

"I'll see you inside, Gwen," (Y/N) reciprocated, giving another small hug as a goodbye. 

"Hopefully, we'll both be at the same afterparty—I'd love a chance to see you let loose," Gwen laughed.

"Right," (Y/N) answered with a peal of laughter, stepping out with a wave as Gwen's next interviewee was set to step up to the plate. 

Taking in a deep breath and shaking out her hands, (Y/N) was grateful to be out of view of any cameras. Only a stitch remained off the carpet before she would be ushered into the event, but there was a moment of reprieve in this moment.

Close behind, Harry stepped up beside her, his eyes clear when he matched hers. "Alright?" 

"Yeah," she breathed, fluttering her lashes with a shake of her head to get the stray hairs from her updo out of her face, "I didn't expect anyone to ask about that. Sorry." 

"'S okay," he murmured, scanning over her features, "Want to wait a second before we go in?"

(Y/N) nodded her head with a mumbled yeah. Harry didn't push her as she lingered in that space in-between, allowing her space as she calmed her rattled nerves. It wasn't until she heard the sound of others approaching, more people to clock her with her shaking hands and stressed demeanor, that she decided she was ready to move on. 

"Let's go," she murmured, eyes downcast as she spared a few more moments before she was to be on again. 

"Y'sure?" Harry checked, reaching his hand out to hover between her shoulder blades. All he needed was the reaffirming nod from her before he was helping to usher her inside. 

The hosts of the event were the first to greet her as they stepped into the gallery, familiar faces (Y/N) had seen year after year. Harry's hand on her back was warm and weighty, keeping her on track as he took the blame to usher her through the interactions as soon as she received their seating tickets and were wished a good evening. She was grateful for him getting her through, still feeling a little bit too exposed after that interview. 

Entering into the gallery space that had been renovated for the event to feature round dinner tables and a stage for the hosts and donors to be honored for the night. Matching the carpet out front, everything was left as black and white, the guests being the splashes of color as if they were the artworks for the night. The decor came in the same monotone hues only the cocktails and drinks breaking up the greys on the table. 

"Did they seat you with me?" (Y/N) asked, passing Harry his ticket for the night. 

Giving the paper a small glance, Harry kept most of his attention on getting her through the clusters of people standing about. "Think so," he murmured, a furrow on his brow. 

Peering over the large curls on her head, Harry guided her through, finding their table. Lucky for her, despite being a bit later than she had scheduled, her father and his associates hadn't arrived yet. That allowed her to peek at the seating chart, lips thinning when she saw she'd be at her father's side through the night. 

"Can I have my bag?" (Y/N) asked, looking at Harry just a step behind her. He didn't hesitate to pass off her tiny purse. Still embarrassed by what happened on the carpet and thinking about the dull way he confirmed he'd been seated next to her, (Y/N) bit at her bottom lip before turning towards him. "It's okay if you don't want to stay tonight. I know this stuff is really boring, so if you'd rather—" 

"No. We've been over this," Harry said, his voice stern as he matched her gaze, "Wherever you are, I am." 

While she knew this was all a part of his job—his following of her, his determination—there was something that bubbled behind her ribs. Even if there was no other reason he would spend time with her, at least there was someone always at her side; she wasn't going to be alone in these moments as long as Harry was there. 

"Okay," she nodded, biting back a smile. Peeking over his shoulder, (Y/N) spotted Emma and Francesca settled around their own table, chatting away while others breezed past their table with small greetings. "I think I'm going to go talk to my friends before my dad gets here, but you can go get a drink or something if you want. If anyone asks for any payment or anything, just say it's on me." 

While she knew there was a high possibility that he wasn't going to take her up on the offer, he only nodded at her before she was sending off towards the girls. 

Growing closer to their court, (Y/N) could see Stavros at Emma's side, with Francesca thankfully alone—it was always a good day when she didn't bring some billionaire or to come hang out in hopes of commandeering his yacht for the weekend. They had leaned close together, chatting over the table while Stavros absently stroked his hand up and down Emma's arm, his gaze shimmering as he gazed at her profile. 

Franny was the first to spot her approach, her gaze lifting and posture straightening. "(Y/N)!" she cheered, Emma turning in her seat with a matching smile, "You finally made it!" 

"You look gorgeous," Emma gushed, her own glimmering dress surely a Stavros original.

"Thank you," (Y/N) smiled, taking a free chair at Emma's side to slip into the conversation, "You guys look so pretty, too." 

At that, Emma couldn't seem to help herself before launching into the origin story of her dress, introducing Stavros and his genius mind as the one behind her high couture sheath dress. Francesca had clearly already heard this tale, her gaze checked out as she pulled her phone from her purse. 

"Did you bring anyone, (Y/N)?" Emma pressed, no doubt having already seen Harry at her table and fishing for more information. 

Shaking her head, (Y/N) felt the ends of her hair tickling her collarbones. "No, just Harry." 

"Just Harry?" 

A smile spread across her cheeks at Emma's prodding. "Just Harry," she parroted, unwavering despite Emma's tease. Turning to Francesca, (Y/N) shifted the conversation, "Has your mom called again since she visited?" 

It only took a roll of Fran's eyes to tell (Y/N) everything she needed to know. "It's not if she's called, it's how many times." 

With that Francesca started on the epic that was the amount of phone calls, FaceTimes, and voicemails left on her phone with her mom still insistent that being a gallery owner is all her daughter could ever want. Following along and allowing her laughter to flow freely, (Y/N) slipped into herself as she sat with her friends. Seeing the event photographer fluttering about the tables, she was grateful that this moment could be forever immortalized—a time she felt like herself with her best friends. 

Unfortunately, also from her peripheral, she could spot her father and his friends having seated themselves at their table. His showmanship in terms of his boisterous laughter that had to be at a volume just higher than the rest of the crowd was what gave him away. Harry was also seated though he was decidedly less interested in the conversation than the rest of the table, his gaze shifting to where she sat more often than not. 

(Y/N) couldn't help but to scoot in further to her borrowed table, despite knowing that she was only pushing off the inevitable. She was going to have to speak to her father anyway, especially with her place setting residing next to him. Nonetheless, she preferred to put it off as long as possible. She was having a good time at this point, no reason to cut it short.

Being spared only a handful more minutes, (Y/N) knew she couldn't steal this spot forever when she saw one of the hosts start making rounds before edging towards the stage. She was sure the rightful owner of this spot was waiting for her to leave, anyway.

Finding a pause in the conversation, she began to stand with a careful hand ensuring the slit in her dress didn't open too wide. "I'd better go sit down, guys. I think everything's starting soon."

Francesca gave her a pout. "You'll come see us after dinner?" 

"Of course; you think I'm going to stay over there all night?" 

Both Fran and Emma let out a laugh, Stavros awkwardly joining in despite most likely needing a translation of what she said from his girlfriend. 

Sharing quiet goodbyes, (Y/N) pasted a smile on her face as she made her way back to her own table. At some point she must not have caught, Harry had gotten up and was now returning with a couple of glasses of water in his hands. She watched as he placed them beside their individual plates then took the spot beside her father. A pinch took her brow. 

Their table was full of exclusively her father's friends: two men she recognized from the country club, one of their wives, and Harry. The rearrangement would leave her to sit between Harry and the man's wife, a step removed from her father. Not that she was complaining, though. 

Without missing a step, (Y/N) approached the round table with her hands folded in front of her, tiny bag on her wrist. The sound of her heels clacking over the floor was muffled under the dull roar of the chattering ballroom. 

Silently, she took her rearranged spot. Scooting in, no one acknowledged her, her father instead holding court as usual. At least here, he was one of many important fish, so she didn't have to deal with people fawning over his facade. 

Peering at the name cards she had spotted before, (Y/N) saw her's and Harry's cards had been swapped. Harry had been stationed at the table the whole time, she couldn't imagine anyone had a moment—even her father—to move the places around without him noticing.

Eventually, just as she was about to pull out her phone and do anything to entertain herself, she heard her name come from her father's mouth. "You look nice, sweetie" he complimented, his investor meeting smile lighting up his features. 

"Thank you," she answered, her own features arranged in a practiced expression, "You look nice, too." 

Just like that, he moved on, replacing his attention to now land on Harry. It was a replay of the day at the country club, another round of praises being offered to her "handler" and all the amazing work he's done for (Y/N). Tuning it all out, she instead focused on the ice in her water glass, smiling when she heard a laugh around the table and zoning out otherwise. 

It wasn't until there was another joke made at (Y/N)'s expense, that she was brought back to the surface with a discreet brush of a hand against her knee. Blinking back into the moment, she saw Harry looking at her, ignoring whatever else was going on.

"Alright?" he murmured, eyes flittering about her features, "Do y'want me to get you a drink?" 

The beginnings of a smile touched at the corner of her lips, her mouth going lopsided with her lipgloss glittering in the light. "I'm okay, but thank you," she muttered. 

If she was being honest, she was on the brighter side of okay in that second. It was nice seeing someone ignore her dad for once and offer her some attention. 

Harry only gave her a quiet nod before seamlessly slipping back into the conversation. Her attention followed him, watching the way he interacted very differently than only a couple weeks prior at the country club. 

He was stiff in where he sat, features closer to a flat mask than the more languid expressions she was used to seeing him give her father. His jaw was tight, his forearms coming to rest on the lip of the table, his hands an inflexible bundle over the fine china of his plate. He was taking up space, shoulders broad and eyes solid. Following his line of sight, she saw him fixed on the man sitting at her father's other side. 

(Y/N) only recognized him from the country club, specifically during her last visit a couple of weeks back. He wasn't notable by any means, but he was one of the couple that spared her a lingering glance even when her father was promoting Harry to the rest of the table. 

Maybe, he was the reason Harry was in such a rotten mood when he met her in the maze. One of the few times she wished she had stuck around her father's drinking table, if only to know why Harry was insistent on shooting this man daggers. 

"Right, Harry?" her father jested, most likely looking for Harry's confirmation to a deprecating joke at (Y/N)'s expense. 

Blinking in the direction of the man, Harry barely spared a glance to her father. 

"Right," he deadpanned. 

It was the expression on her father's face, obviously thrown off by the lack of enthusiasm on Harry's part, that had her hiding her smile behind a sip from her glass of ice water.

Perhaps this dinner wouldn't be so bad.

—————

With dinner plates cleared and trays of mini desserts being distributed throughout the room, (Y/N) took her first chance at escape. 

Others had started milling about, socializing with drinks in hand before the afterparties that would no doubt last well into the night. It was easy to slip within the masses, the wife of one of her father's friends being one of the only that could have spotted her disappearance. The men at the table were too distracted to even acknowledge her mumbled excusal to go to the restroom—including Harry, even if half of his attention was still placed on the sharp looks he was giving to the man across from him.

Emma and Francesca happily welcomed her back to their table, a couple of other girls they occasionally clubbed with also having pulled up a chair. From where she sat, she could still spot her father's table, his back facing her. She was able to relax then, feeling comfortable around her friends, even when she spotted the photographer from earlier meandering through the tables once more with the camera to his eye. 

They bubbled over the surprise performance over dinner, an impromptu concert from one of the celebrities in attendance, with (Y/N) hoping they ended up at the same afterparty as her so she could get a chance to ask who designed her gown. Francesca shared the person she now had her eyes on, a man she recognized from touring galleries with her mom who was now seated only a few tables away. He was an artist, she decided, way more romantic than any guy with a yacht. Emma and Stavros were very much ready to head to the afterparties with the way they could barely finish a sentence before sealing their lips together. 

"I'm going to go get a drink, do you guys want anything?" (Y/N) asked, standing from her spot with her tiny purse hanging from her wrist. 

Chatters of denial spread over the table, many of the girls having their own drinks or refraining until the afterparties. (Y/N) shot them a smile before turning on her heel and making her way towards the bar. 

The bartender was busy lacing together elaborate themed cocktails for the string of other patrons waiting, leaving (Y/N) to lean against the counter, arms folded on the bartop. She watched the show, enthralled with the mixing of ingredients while in wait. 

Suddenly, she felt a hand touch the small of her back, the boning of her corset stiffening against her skin. (Y/N) jumped where she stood, her breath coming up short. Turning to face whoever spooked her, she recoiled when she saw it was the man that Harry had been shooting daggers at across the table. 

He didn't even look at her as he flagged down the bartender, raising his voice to call across the long bar. (Y/N) stood there, her brain a little too muddled as she watched him speak over her to order a duo of drinks. 

All of her father's friends sucked, but never once has any of them so blatantly disrespected her in public like this. He couldn't wait a few more minutes to get his whiskey and gin and tonic? 

(Y/N) started to pull away then, shaking off his hand as she slunk away from his hovering body. He didn't let her get very far, his hand flexing on her back as he stepped along with her. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he said, a megawatt smile on his face, "I saw you standing here alone and figured it was my chance to finally talk to you." 

"Oh," she sounded, unsure of what to say. More than anything at the moment, she was now annoyed that there was another order before hers, just wanting her cranberry juice-heavy cosmo in her hand. 

"I'm Barron," he told her, dipping his head down as if it was loud enough he needed to whisper in her ear. 

"Nice to meet you," she smiled, her expression practiced, "I'm (Y/N)." 

"I know," he flirted. (Y/N) swore her eye could have twitched.

Just in time, the bartender reached over with a whiskey on the rocks and a crystalline gin and tonic. "Here you are, sir," the bartender smiled, placing both drinks on coasters in front of Barron.

Thankfully, he removed his hand from her back to lean across the bar, relaying the tab information, his voice a little too boastful when spelling out his last name. (Y/N) felt she could breathe easier almost as soon as his hand left her form. Now was her chance: order her drink, and get back to her girls as soon as possible. 

Instead, she saw as the bartender stepped away, relaying back to his previous customers as Barron passed the gin and tonic towards (Y/N). "Here you go, sweetheart." 

Though she was startled, (Y/N) kept her practiced smile on as she stepped back just enough. "No, thank you. I was actu—" 

"I insist," he cut her off, speaking above her with another push of the drink and coaster towards her. His hand returned to her back, caging her in with her front still against the bar. This time, he pressed his palm against the bare skin of her back, his fingers dipping low underneath the scoop of her corset. Unpleasant goosebumps erupted over her skin. "Your dad said you would need someone to keep an eye on you tonight, and I can see your bodyguard is a little busy at the moment. I can take care of this for you instead." 

Her jaw felt tight. Peering over his shoulder, she was able to spot Harry sat with his back facing the bar, just as she left him with her father. 

"Well," she started, chest expanding as she pulled in a deep breath, "Thank you for the drink. My friends are waiting for me, but it was nice to actually meet you." 

Expecting his hand to fall from her, (Y/N) attempted to make her exit. Instead she was offered a stronger grip, his arm a bar across her back. "At least let me talk to you," he laughed, as if he couldn't believe she was trying to slip away, "I got you a drink, I think that's only fair, right?" 

"Oh, I mean," she floundered, reciprocating with a polite laugh, "I should probably get back, though. After I got a drink we were planning on leaving for some afterparties, so." 

He barked out a laugh, bringing his whiskey to his lips as he took in a deep sip. The ice clinked within the glass as she shook his head. "You know, your dad did say you were a bit feisty, but I didn't think you'd be like this." 

Shifting her weight, (Y/N) would have done next to anything to crawl away from this moment. She didn't like the idea of him asking about her to her father; she dreaded to think what kind of stories were told or publications discussed that could have brought up the topic of her being "feisty". 

From the corner of her eye, she spotted the photographer meandering close by. All it would take was a slight struggle, a slight raising of voices, and that camera would no doubt be up to his eye with a high definition photo of the moment splashed across the internet by the end of the night. That wasn't even taking into account the amount of cell phones around the room that could be trained in their direction in a moment's notice. 

As annoying as this man was and how much she was itching to leave her skin over his touch, fighting him further wasn't going to be worth the scene it would cause. Especially not with her father right there; it would be too easy for this man—his friend—to turn this whole thing around on her without any argument from her father. 

All she could do was hope Francesca or any of the other girls noticed she was missing for longer than it could possibly take to grab a drink. 

"Come sit with me," Barron commanded, urging her to roll underneath his arm so he could guide her to a nearby table with vacant chairs. Swallowing, (Y/N) followed along, her smile tight. "Don't forget your drink." 

Her smile grew that much tighter over his words. 

The chilled glass was slick against her palm. 

Barron pushed her into a seat, his hand finally leaving her skin and leaving an overly hot point on her body. Sinking into her chair, (Y/N) tried to create as much space as she could between them, even with the way he leant across the space to enter her bubble. Her hand clenched around the gin and tonic glass. 

"See, not so bad, is it?" Barron teased, taking another sip of his quickly draining glass. 

"Right," (Y/N) let out a humorless laugh, "So, how do you know my dad?" 

This was a trick she learned to get these men off her back. They loved nothing more than to talk about themselves and the things they thought deemed them important. Barron seemed all too excited to talk about his business prowess that led him to her father's "inner circle", surely exaggerating the amount of acquisitions he headed to get him where he was. 

"But, I can't lie," he said, lowering his voice and smirking at her, "I told him I wanted to meet you a month ago, and we've started talking a lot more since. He told me you were having some troubles, and I had a feeling I might be able to help you." 

Reaching across, Barron settled his too warm hand on her knee, his fingertips denting into the soft flesh of her thigh. 

(Y/N) felt her chest tighten at the touch, the way he looked at her over the rim of his glass, as if he were doing her a favor. She was sure he thought she should be grateful to feel his hand on her skin, like this was the first step to getting her through her troubles. 

Her grip around her glass tightened. 

What was she supposed to do now?

She felt trapped. He scooted closer to her over the floor, his hand sliding over her thigh. He even stuck his foot out, playing footsie as if she looked open to flirting. 

Swallowing, she let out a strained laugh, bringing her glass to her lips for no other reason than to buy herself a moment's reprieve. 

She couldn't decipher what would be worse: staying in this situation or causing a scene that would no doubt have her father locking her down in a remote cabin for the winter? 

With the amount of cameras in the room, if she flipped the way her bubbling anxiety urged her to, there was no doubt the last vestiges of her reputation would be burned to the ground. Everything was bad enough already, but there would be no recovery from a documented outburst like the one she could feel brewing. 

A forced laugh fell from her lips, "I guess you could say that." Glancing through the room, she tried to spot Harry. Maybe, he had miraculously turned around and could see what was happening. If she caught his eye, he could put a stop to this. 

He told her all she needed was to look at him, and he would be right there. He could take her away from this. He told her—promised her.

Suddenly, she felt that overly-hot hand that had been on her leg pinch her chin. Barron redirected her strayed attention, forcing her to look right at his smug face. 

"Eyes on me when I'm speaking, babygirl. It's respectful." 

If not for the fact she was close to having an anxiety attack, (Y/N) could only imagine the amount of rage she would feel at his condescending words. 

Instead, all she could feel was his hand too close to her throat, the absolute view of his eyes he was forcing on her. Her skin felt too hot, though she swore goosebumps were rising. Her stomach churned, the corset feeling way too tight around her lungs. 

"Sorry," she swallowed, almost choking around the word though she could tell he didn't even notice. 

In as casual of a way as she could muster, she pushed his hand off of her chin, disguising it as a move to flip her hair over her shoulder. Barron instead settles his hand on her shoulder, fingering the pearls draping over her skin. 

"Good," he said, seemingly pleased with her feigned obedience, "I want to hear about you, though." 

"What do you want to know?" she forced out through a high smile. 

Her heart jumped into her throat, clogging her airways with every brush of his fingers over her skin. She was on the verge of a panic attack. 

One of the only times she ever would have wanted a bodyguard and he's not even here. If her father could shut up for two seconds, Harry could have done the job he was hired for. 

Instead, (Y/N) was left with a pit in her stomach, something that she swore could eat through her dress and absorb her as if it were nothing. How was she supposed to breathe when her organs had to make way for the blackhole in her stomach? How was she supposed to think clearly when her instincts urged her to move along, with nothing else managing to make an impression on her brain? 

This man was pushing her too far. He was touching her too much, looking at her too closely, talking too loudly. 

She needed him to stop. She could barely feel her hands, her toes, her lips. No amount of air in her lungs was enough. 

(Y/N) hadn't even realized Barron was talking until his voice was cut off. A decidedly gentler hand settled on her opposing shoulder. 

"There you are!" Francesca greeted, bending down to (Y/N)'s level with her eyes widening just enough when she made eye contact, "I'm about to head to the bathroom, could you come with me?" 

Without a second thought, (Y/N) released her chokehold grip on the gin and tonic, looking Barron in the eye as she took in the first semi-normal breath in the last handful of minutes. "Sorry, I'll be right back." 

Francesca took (Y/N)'s hand in her own, scurrying to the bathroom in record time. Stepping over the tile floor of the single stall restroom, (Y/N) felt a tingle in her hands, her gaze unable to focus while Francesca locked the door behind them. 

"Hey, what's going on?" Fran questioned, stepping behind her with a cautious hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?" 

All it took was a flutter of (Y/N)'s lashes and a stuttered breath before everything she was holding back spilled over. A whimper sliced from her throat, her vision blurring. 

"(Y/N)?" 

Spinning on her heel, she couldn't help the way she braced herself against her best friend, Francesca collecting her into a hug as if she might collapse at a moment's notice. 

"I-I don't know," (Y/N) cried, tears slipping down her cheeks, "I—Fran—I'm—Thank you." 

Nothing falling from her lips made much sense, everything too mushy and half-baked as she sputtered. She didn't know how to articulate how uncomfortable Barron was making her feel; how much she wanted to crawl out of her skin, how she felt trapped, how she knew what he did wasn't all that bad—even compared to her own experiences—but she swore she hadn't felt so unsafe since that night with Damien Moore. How was she supposed to get all of that out between gasping breaths and tingling lips? 

Francesca was her pillar at the moment, keeping (Y/N) upright as she held her. "Okay, it's okay," she tried to soothe her, despite her own voice wavering, "I didn't even know, (Y/N). I'm sorry. I would have helped you sooner, if I had." 

"It's okay, it's okay," (Y/N) parroted, sniffling, "I-I think my dad told him to talk to me." 

Francesca muttered something under her breath, which sounded a lot like a string of curse words though (Y/N) hoped it was actually a hex against her father. 

After tightening her hug, Francesca began to pull away from (Y/N)'s melting form. "I'm going to be right back," she told her earnestly, "I'm going to grab my bag and call my driver, and we're going to leave, okay? Your dad isn't even going to know." 

"Okay, okay," (Y/N) repeated in a broken voice, nodding her head, "Thank you." 

Francesca left with a concerned look over her shoulder. 

Circling the drain, (Y/N) couldn't stop pacing around the bathroom, the clack of her heels echoing in her ears. Her mind was running way too fast to keep up. There was no focus she could give to anything when she swore her corset was strangling her. The spots that Barron's slimy hands touched her dirty, gross and sticky in a way only the longest shower could hope to erase. Her head was too muddy, swimming too far away, for anything to make sense.

Striking through it all, she remembered her father was out there. 

God, she was going to be in so much trouble. There was no way she could talk herself out of this one, and with how fragile she felt at the moment, she couldn't imagine making it through a scolding of his like she usually did. Not like this. 

What if he blamed Harry, even? What if Harry was roped into her orbit of trouble, being blamed for the fact she had a breakdown in one of the most inconvenient places? Her father would no doubt reject the fact that he was the reason behind Harry's distraction.

The idea made (Y/N) crumble that much more. These were her problems, and now Harry might be held accountable for the fact she couldn't suck it up over a couple of lingering touches and condescending words. As if she didn't know how to handle it already. 

Memories of this man's hands on her body—along with a quick montage of others in his place before, including Damien Moore—were a thick ocean in (Y/N)'s head. The illusions were only cut with the scolds of her father, lists of things she'd done wrong and could never recover from. 

Through the depths, she could hear distant voices. They were having a muffled argument on the other side of the door, that much she could collect. Every other detail was lost at sea, (Y/N) too busy crumbling by the sink with her breathing too short to be good for her health. 

Suddenly, the voices were much closer, a firm tone telling their partner that "I need to see her, let me in!" She knew she recognized that voice, that firm tone and grumbling accent. (Y/N) knew who was on the other side of the door, but nothing could properly register in her head. 

The door burst open a second later (or it could have been a handful of minutes, time wasn't real in the moment to her). Both Harry and Francesca tumbled through, Harry's brow furrowed and eyes hard while Fran's were boiling in anger. 

"(Y/N), I tried to tell him to—" 

Francesca's voice filtered through the bathroom, though (Y/N) only saw the way Harry assessed the situation. His cool demeanor never wavered as he catalogued the crumbling mess that made her up. The only thing that gave away the fact that this was out of the norm of his routine was the furrow to his brows and determination setting his jaw. 

Taking broad steps over the tile, Harry met her by the sink, his hands gathering hers from where they were fumbling and picking at her middle. 

"Hey, hey," he murmured, his voice somehow louder to her than Francesca's in the background of the moment, "Why aren't y'breathing, (Y/N)? What's going on?" 

"I-I want to leave, Harry, I don't want to be here anymore," she rushed out, her tongue tripping over itself with salty tears traced the shape of her lips. "I don't w-want him to touch me again, I want to go home." 

A tick appeared in Harry's jaw. "Okay," he nodded, features composed as he slipped his hands out from hers to settle them on the curve of her waist. Before (Y/N) could have any kind of reaction to the touch, Harry was lifting her to sit on the edge of the sink, the slit in her dress splitting to reveal one full leg with the other still draped in the silken material. "Before we can do that, I need you to breathe with me. Okay?" 

"I-I can't," she whined, the tenor of her voice echoing in the otherwise silent room. From the corner of her eye, she could see the silhouette of Francesca paces away, quietly watching on. 

"Okay," Harry soothed, his hands taking hers once more, "But I need you to try. We can't go anywhere until you try." 

The idea that she would have to stay here even a moment longer made (Y/N) choke up even more. How could he ask her to do the impossible like this? She just wanted to leave and Harry was making her stay here, pressuring her to breathe as if he thought she could actually manage that. 

"Harry," she cried, her voice broken. 

He shook his head, a stray curl falling from his tousled head of hair. "Just for a minute, yeah? Then we'll leave, I promise." 

When he didn't dare to break the eye contact he was making with her, (Y/N) couldn't do anything but nod her head to his wishes.

"Copy me," he instructed, taking in a deep through his nose, holding, then exhaling through his nose. When he didn't see (Y/N) doing the same, he repeated, "Gotta copy me, (Y/N)." A pulse of his hands around hers gained her attention. 

"Okay," she peeped, nodding with jerky movements. 

Another round of structured breathing came from Harry, his chest expanding with his perfect lips forming an "o" when exhaling. (Y/N) copied him as best she could, her chest straining against her corset and her lips feeling sticky with tears when she blew out. Harry stuck with her even when her lungs stuttered and she sobbed through the exercise. It wasn't until she was able to make five full breaths in a row that Harry relented in his pressing. 

"Feel a little better?" he asked, eyes searching her face. 

(Y/N) took stock of her state, noting the tingling in her fingers and toes had relented, leaving only the aches of a panic lingering in her body. Her head felt a little bloated and her chest tight, but she was doing world's better than she was only a handful of minutes earlier—even if that wasn't a necessarily hard bar to cross. 

She nodded. 

Using his gentle grip on her hands, Harry guided her off the counter, steadying her back onto her heels. (Y/N) had her eyes on her feet, watching the sparkling of her shoes against the immaculate tile of the floor. She really, really, really hoped tonight wouldn't ruin these shoes for her. 

Stepping back into (Y/N)'s line of sight, Francesca looked just as concerned as when she had left the first time. Her purse was now in hand with her phone clutched between her fingers. "Let's go back to my place, okay? I can make sure my driver can be here in five minutes, then we'll leave and we don't have to talk to anyone else." 

Francesca reached out a friendly hand, intending to take her from Harry's hold and back to her like they planned before he tumbled into the bathroom. (Y/N) didn't even realize that she was shying away from her best friend until she felt Harry's hand settle on the top of her back with his arm curling around her. 

"Fran—I—," she floundered, unsure of where her voice went but not trying to find it, "I want to stay with him, I'm sorry." 

Though (Y/N) expected hurt to touch Fran's features, she instead only saw a look of surprise raise her brows and widen her eyes. "That's okay," Francesca reassured her, "Don't be sorry. Just text me when you get home, okay?" 

"Okay," (Y/N) nodded, her hair tickling her bare skin.

Taking a tentative step forward, Francesca held her arms out. "Can I hug you before you leave?" 

(Y/N) didn't say anything before she collected her friend in a clumsy hug, cheek against her shoulder with their hair creating a mess. 

"I'm sorry, Fran," (Y/N) repeated in a hoarse whisper.

"Why are you sorry, don't be sorry," Francesca reminded her, "I just want you to feel safe, that's all." Pulling away, Fran matched her gaze, a soft smile falling on her mocha lined lips. "You look so hot tonight, so you better still post pics." 

It was the way Francesca looked at her so earnestly as if what she was saying was just as important as solidifying her plans to make it home, that had (Y/N) spilling with a huff of laughter. "I will," she sniffled, her cry-swollen mouth, "Love you." 

"Love you, too." 

Francesca parted with her after another squeezing hug, (Y/N) turning to find Harry with his eyes on the ground waiting for her. He peeked at her through the fan of his lashes, noticing her eye on him once more. 

"Ready?" 

All it took was (Y/N) nodding her head before she was reaching for Harry once more, allowing him to take her under his arm and bundle her to his side. 

"We're going to have to fast, okay?" he murmured to her as he pushed the door to the bathroom open, Francesca lingering in the restroom. 

"Okay," (Y/N) repeated, staying still as he peered around the secluded hallway in search of anyone else lurking around the space. 

Once he determined everything was clear, he started her in the direction of the ballroom. (Y/N) stiffened under his arm. Her father was out there. So was Barron. And over a hundred cell phone cameras and a trained photographer with a high quality camera for moments just like these. 

"I know," he crooned to her, the tip of his nose brushing her hair from where she had her eyes trained on the ground, "But 's the only way to get out. There's a back way, we jus' need to get through by the bar, then we'll be alone again. I promise." 

As much as she wanted to stop in her tracks, hide a little while longer, she allowed Harry to guide her steps down the hall. If this was the only way out, she was going to have to endure. 

The dull roar of the Gala filled every space in her body the second they stepped back under the chandelier light of the ballroom. (Y/N) kept her head down, hoping that if she caught anyone's eye, she could at least spare herself the humility of them catching her ruined makeup and swollen eyes. She clutched Harry's hand cupped around her waist. Her anchor. 

Harry guided them through the space, dodging most of the crowd as he took a swift turn, (Y/N) doing her best to stay steady on her feet. His steps didn't falter once. Until they did. 

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks when Harry skidded to a stop, something in their path that she was trying not to panic over. She kept her eyes trained on the pearly hue of her shoes as if she could pinpoint every hue that glimmered off of the expensive fabric.

"Harry, what's going on?" 

Almost jumping out of her skin, (Y/N) whipped her head up to find her father and Barron standing in their way. Her father spoke through gritted teeth, Barron's cheeks too red and eyes too glazed as he didn't even try to hide the way his gaze clung to her form. It's as if he forgot everything that led up to her fleeing from him and now returning with ruined mascara. 

(Y/N) flinched back on instinct. His eyes were almost as bad as his touch. 

Harry was a firm cage around her, keeping her steady as he ignored her father. He dismissed them as he tried to get around them, finding a path between a pair of tables. Her breathing caught in her throat when she saw her father try to reach for her, his hand like a wolven claw meant to drag her away. 

In a moment, Harry had twirled her away, putting her out of range while he acted as a solid wall between them to her. 

"Do not touch her," he gritted out, an undertone to his voice she'd never heard before. He was looking her father right in the eye as he spat out his command, taking him on without a wavering second. 

Her father, taken aback, almost stumbled on his feet. "Excuse me?" he let out. 

Ignoring him once more, Harry shot a sharp look at Barron. The man recoiled as if he had been struck. 

Harry didn't linger a second longer as he took through the tables, getting them back on track as soon as possible. (Y/N) could feel eyes on her, no doubt cameras following suit. This was a moment publication and gossip blogs would rather die than leave out. Tomorrow was going to be a shitshow with the notifications that would blow up her phone, but she couldn't find it in her to care at the moment. 

She only focused on Harry, keeping up with him and keeping her hand in his on her waist. 

Eventually, they stepped into the back hallway. (Y/N) recognized it from the times she'd visited 132 during a regular exhibition; it was the best way to sneak in and out when she didn't want to be spotted. 

Pushing open the heavy door after the hallway forked off into two different directions, Harry pulled (Y/N) into the fresh night air. Though the sky was clear, not a single star could be seen above their heads, the lights too bright to see anything in the heavens. The alley behind the gallery was big enough to allow protected trucks full of art pieces large enough to be considered murals to make through, the space clean enough. Cigarette butts were on the ground, and a dumpster resided on the other side. Still it was enough to please that of the higher clientele that visited the 132 Gallery, though (Y/N) wasn't sure she would care if she were stepping through piles of garbage at the moment. 

She was out. The gallery, her father, Barron, the cameras were all behind her. 

That knowledge alone allowed her lungs to open just a hair more, the rush of oxygen almost choking her. 

"Sully's on his way, okay?" Harry told her, his grip on her lessening now that they were alone, "I told him it was an emergency and he said he'd make it as soon as possible." 

"Okay," she gasped, nodding her head as best she could through her muddied mind. 

"Yeah," she breathed out, her lungs shaky but nothing like before. She just needed to think about every intake, which was a feat in its own, but whatever helped. 

A beat passed, Harry surely keeping track of her breathing. "Thought we stopped crying?" he murmured after a moment, closing in around her with his hands settling on her biceps.

Raising her hand to her cheek, (Y/N) swiped away a stream of tears she hadn't even been aware were leaking out. 

"Me too," she whispered, her voice watery with a pinch to her brows. 

Through the vignette of her tear-clumped lashes, (Y/N) could see the barely there smile on his features. "You've got all that pretty makeup on, remember? Can't keep crying like that when Sully gets here," he crooned, his voice more gentle than she ever thought he could manage. 

He thought her makeup looked pretty. Maybe he wasn't saying that she looked pretty, but it was still enough to loosen her muscles just enough. 

A watery smile fixed itself on her lips. "Yeah," she let out, the word floating on a delicate huff of laughter. 

From behind Harry, a bright beam of light outlined his silhouette. The sound of tires popping over the pavement and the purring rumble of a car engine filled the alleyway. Harry looked over his shoulder, leaving (Y/N) with only a view of the cut and hinge of his jaw, looping curls on the back of his neck. 

The car stopped beside them, Harry not wasting a second before he was gathering (Y/N) in his arms and pulling her into the back of the SUV. She was first in, with Harry following behind her over the leather bench seat. 

(Y/N) couldn't look at Sully when she settled, avoiding the reflection of his gaze in the rearview mirror she was sure that was pointed in her direction. As soon as the pair of them were buckled in—Harry having done hers—Sully was off. They were seamlessly incorporated into the city's traffic, the route back to her apartment, one he knew well and (Y/N) hoped he could quick work of. 

Harry, having forgone the usual buffer he placed between them, shifted in his seat with his thigh pressed against hers. In the back of her mind, (Y/N) knew this should feel like it was too much for her, that she should be shying away from his touch after the gross feeling Barron left her with, but she didn't feel that instinct to revolt. Instead, he was like an anchor, the steadying pillar that followed her about and ensured there was no way she could drift away from shore. 

"Alright?" he whispered, ducking down to peek into her line of sight, "Almost back home." 

She nodded, her brain feeling numb though she was sure there were still tears dripping off her cheeks. Now that the initial wave of panic passed, exhaustion was moving in. She would find out soon if there was going to be an aftershock, a tremor that would wrack through her when the night rushed back to her clear mind. 

Sinking into her seat, (Y/N) tossed her watery gaze out the window. Only a couple of hours prior she was in this same spot, though with perfected makeup and her skin buzzing from anticipation and excitement. Now she only buzzed with the feeling of oxygen reentering her bloodstream. 

God, she couldn't wait to get out of her clothes, and get the pins out of her hair. 

No longer caring, she got a head start and began shakily unraveling her shoes from her feet. Her fingertips fumbled over the latch on the string of pearls around her ankles, but it didn't take long for her to kick off her pumps and curl her knees to her chest. Harry silently reached down and took the Manolo's from the floor, his fingers hooked in the top straps.

When (Y/N)'s building came into view, Sully rolled to a stop just outside the entrance. (Y/N) finally chanced a look at the rearview mirror, her driver's soft eyes matching hers through the glass. 

"Thank you," she peeped, voice broken. 

Sully simply smiled and nodded at her. 

Behind her, Harry urged her out onto the sidewalk with a careful hand on her back. She didn't think twice about her bare feet landing on the burgundy carpet rolled out on the sidewalk before her building, keeping her mind focused on getting up to her apartment. Harry lingered for a moment, the rumble of his voice saying something to Sully, before he was joining her. 

"C'mon," he murmured, grabbing her hand in his. 

Much like he had at the Gala, Harry directed her through the lobby, her hand in one of his with her shoes in the other. He didn't let her linger on what the doormen could be thinking, seeing her with tear stained cheeks and bare feet with her designer gown. He took her straight to the elevator and input the code to her floor. 

For the first time since landing in the bathroom with panic in her chest, (Y/N) noticed the small detail of elevator music. 

Following after him, Harry took her to her apartment, using the key she'd given him weeks ago to let them in. He let go of her hand once they crossed the threshold as he lingered back to lock the door behind them. Looking around her apartment, the rug under her feet, (Y/N) couldn't pinpoint what triggered her, but the sprinkling of tears leaving her eyes elevated to a full downpour.

Her breathing came out in a stuttered pace, a whimper swirling from her chest. There was that aftershock. 

Oh, how this night was derailed. 

In an instant, Harry is there. His arms looped around her, his instincts taking over as she was pulled to his chest. 

"Hey, hey," he crooned to her, "What's going on, what happened?" 

(Y/N) only shook her head against his black suit-covered shoulder. She didn't have a real answer to that, and wasn't interested in digging through the events of the night to give him a full picture at the moment. 

Instead, she focused on his hold. She could feel the bump of her heels on the small of her back, but that didn't keep him from keeping her in a grounding hold. Though he was touching her in the same places that Barron had—her back, her arms, her leg, her chin—Harry's touch didn't feel the same at all. She didn't recoil or expect a film to be left on her pores. 

She all but melted into him, her muscles liquifying like the tears from her eyes. Harry held her up without a second thought, just as he had the rest of the night. 

A pinch took knitted her brows together at the thought, her eyes squeezing shut as more tears fled from her ducts. 

Never did she picture herself needing him the way she did tonight. He was so calm and strong, keeping her from falling to pieces on the bathroom floor. (Y/N) loved Francesca with her whole heart and knew she owed her a phone call before the night was over, but she didn't think her best friend could have controlled the situation and her breakdown like Harry had. 

He stopped her father from touching her, Barron from talking to her. He knew the precise way to make it out with the least amount of disturbance possible. Even letting Sully know to pick them up as soon as possible wasn't something that had even crossed her mind, but that had to have been one of the first things he did when he realized her state. 

She hugged him tighter, her arms around his middle. 

Drawing away just enough to look down at her, Harry scanned her with sparkling green eyes. "Do y'need to breathe with me again?" he asked her, the suggestion gentle and quiet as if there were people around to overhear. 

"N-No," she said, shaking her head, "I just—... Can you stay with me f-for a second?" 

In response, Harry homed her back into his chest. "I've got you," his voice rumbled his chest under her cheek. 

Though it was more than clumsy with missteps and stilted movements, Harry led her to the staircase that ran up to her room. From there, he sat her on the bottom step, with him following closely after. She huddled up to him, Harry's arms curling around her as she sat with her dress splayed around her. 

She didn't know how long she sat there, one of Harry's hands on her shin with his thumb moving in a soothing circuit over the bone, her face in his neck, but no time seemed long enough. The only reason she even dared to begin to pull back was the itching feeling of her clothes wrapped around her body. 

"What do you need?" he asked instantly, ducking down into her space. From this view, she saw a collection of freckles across his nose, faint. 

Swallowing, (Y/N) felt her hair sticking to her wet cheeks, the chunks of desecrated mascara surely mixing with the strands on her skin. 

"I don't want to be in my dress anymore," she said, her voice as loud as she could manage without breaking. "It's too much." 

"Okay," he murmured, giving a small nod, "Okay. I'll help you up to your room, and then y'can change into your pajamas." 

The idea of him leaving her being in her bedroom had the lump in her throat thickening. She could barely keep her hands steady and he wanted her to be by herself?

"I-I can't do it by myself," she whimpered, too far gone to feel embarrassed about asking her bodyguard for help like this. 

"Y'need my help?" he pressed, looking for verification though his gaze didn't waver from her own. 

(Y/N) simply nodded her head. 

His lips thinned but he gave her a confirming dip of his chin before he started helping her stand. He kept his hand wrapped around hers as he pulled her up the steps, (Y/N) following pliantly into her bedroom. 

With a toss, Harry left her shoes in a heap somewhere in her room, but his attention was firmly laced on her. He kept her bedroom door open, the light from the hallway seeping through. 

"(Y/N)?" he voiced, his voice firm, "Can y'look at me?" 

Turning her gaze, she found him looking directly at her as his hand slipped away from hers. She almost wanted to reach for it back, unwilling to let go of that tether. 

"You're okay with me helping y'undress?" he prodded, reiterating the same question she thought she already answered at the bottom of the stairs, "I need you to tell me if you're sure. I'm not going to help unless y'mean it." 

"I-I can't do it by myself, please," she told him. Not once had she made it in or out of this dress by herself, and she couldn't fathom doing that now when her eyes were swollen with tears and her hands fighting off tremors. "I don't want to wear this anymore." 

he looked at her for a beat longer, gaze matching her own. Whatever he saw in there must have been enough for him to give her a small nod. "Okay. Tell me what to do." 

"Just get the zipper," she told him, facing her back towards him where the scooping line of her dress made it that much harder for her to reach the tiny mechanism. 

Silently, Harry stepped behind her, her hair already up and pulled away when she reached towards her. The hook at the top of the form was the first to go, his fingertips brushing the same swatch of skin Barron had violated. Taking the zipper down, every tooth that was pulled apart allowed her lungs to fill deeper with air. (Y/N)'s eyes fluttered closed at the feeling, her dress loosening around her shoulders. 

Pressing her hands to her chest, she kept the bodice of her dress up once Harry reached the bottom of the line. 

"Can y'breathe better?" Harry murmured behind her, his words fanning across her skin. His breath felt cool against her skin. 

"Uh-huh," she exhaled, her shoulders relaxing into a gentle slope, "Thank you." 

She heard him murmur a good in response though he hesitated where he stood. "Do y'need any more of m'help? Or do y'want to be alone now?" 

The idea of Harry leaving her, setting her to be alone in the dark of her room, the city skyline dusky out the window. She feared his hands were the only things keeping her from falling apart. 

"Help," she answered simply. 

Wordlessly, Harry assisted her in pulling down her dress, her back facing him as it became an ethereal puddle at her feet. Dom was going to kill her when he found out she let the gown touch the floor. 

The nude forms of her shapewear and barely there bra was all that was left on her body as she kicked away her dress, the corset now structureless and folded with pearls a mess around. 

(Y/N) didn't even think before she was pulling down her shapewear, the compression just another layer too much. 

"I—" Harry coughed from behind her, his voice cutting short, "I'm going to get y'some clothes." 

Her skin heated when she realized the way she had so carelessly began undressing in front of him. She was so used to having a team be there when she prepped and redressed from this, the shyness accompanying undressing and pulling layers off her body no longer lingered in moments like these. But, Harry wasn't a member of those teams, and this obviously wasn't the kind of thing he had anticipated when he obliged to stay and help her. She hoped she hadn't scarred him with the way she was almost completely nude in front of him. 

At the same time, she couldn't curb the urge to get these pieces off of her body. She wanted to be rid of the night, the touches, the layers of herself that fell victim to her father's pressures to stay perfect at all times. The sooner that could happen, the sooner she would feel like herself again. 

By the time Harry returned from her closet, an oversized shirt and a pair of her pilates shorts in hand, she was down to her thong with her hands holding up the push-up cups of her bra. She almost jumped out of her skin when she saw him move out of the corner of her eye, his steps faltering before he trained his gaze on the ground. 

"I'll leave these here for you," he mumbled, the set of clothing being dropped on the edge of her mattress. He brought his knuckle up to brush against the tip of his nose, "I'll be outside your door. Come find me when you're done." 

When the door shut behind him, (Y/N) was sealed away by herself. Her room became a vacuum, the air sucked out in a way that only felt calm. 

Left in only her underwear, she allowed her bra to drop to the floor as she fell back on her mattress. She stared up at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling with the light of the city filtering through her balcony in hazy beams. 

This is her apartment. She's in her bed. She was in her skin. Her clothing was waiting at the end of her bed. 

(Y/N) eyes fell closed as relief flooded through herself at the mantra. Everything around her was hers. No one could take any of this from her. This peace was hers to hold. 

Tomorrow she would be worried about the stories that would be spun, her father's reaction to everything that had transpired, what consequences would follow this breakdown. But that was for tomorrow. Tonight, she was going to relish the sense of safety, that for a second she worried she would never experience again (that panic in her tummy was rooted deep). 

She needed to text Francesca.

While she would have preferred to give her a call, there wasn't enough energy in her body for something like that. 

Instead, (Y/N) lethargically redressed into her pajamas. Her top slouched around her form, the neckline wide and sleeves draping. Her shorts were well worn and stretchy from the many pilates sessions they accompanied her to. Taking her phone after she was settled into her skin, she typed out a text to Francesca. 

    thank you for helping tonight. harry got me home a little bit ago so I'm alright. I love u so much fran thank you thank you thank you

The second she pressed send, the confirmation that the message was delivered popping up, (Y/N) dropped the device among the folds in her duvet to find Harry. 

Whipping the door open, she found Harry just outside her bedroom door. His suit jacket had been discarded somewhere in her apartment, his tie missing as well. Now he was left with the top couple of buttons undone of his shirt and his shirt sleeves now loose around his forearms. The tattoos she spotted the first day they met were back on display, roses and mermaids and bugs and script. 

That peace she found in her bedroom strengthened at the sight of him. 

"Y'alright?" Harry asked, his posture straightening from where he had leant against the wall. 

"Yeah," she murmured, stepping over the threshold, "I-I can breathe, finally." She swallowed, taking in the state of his messed hair and flush to his cheeks. She knew what the night looked like from her end, but she could only imagine the kind of trouble he went through. "I'm sorry." 

Harry shook his head, lips thinning at her apology. "Don't be sorry," he affirmed, reaching a careful hand out, "C'mon." 

Laying her palm in his, (Y/N) was ready to follow wherever Harry wanted to take her. She padded after him as he escorted her to her bathroom, the space littered with beauty products and a bay window showing off the light of the city through the frosted glass. 

"Let's get your makeup off and hair down, yeah?" he asked her, meeting her eyes through the glass of her mirror as he flicked on the overhead lights. 

"Yes, please," she nodded, her voice heavy with fatigue now that the come down was beginning to settle in. "I'll start with my makeup if you'll get my hair?" 

"Sounds like a plan," Harry murmured, a shadow of a smile touching the corners of his lips. 

A comforting silence settled in the air, Harry concentrating on breaking the hold of the can of hairspray that was used on her styled hair. A furrow appeared in his brow from where she spied him in the mirror. 

"Let me know if I hurt you," he mumbled, picking bobby pins out of her strands. He only worked with gentle hands, fingertips brushing her scalp. 

Now it was her turn to feel a curling grin tease the corners of her mouth. "Okay." 

Pulling her removal balm from her drawer, she spread the oil across her fingertips and began shedding the layers of ruined makeup from her skin. In the back of her mind, she wanted to care about Harry seeing her with raccoon eyes and greasy skin, but she was sure he'd already seen her much worse earlier in the night. Nothing could scare him away at this point, even if she knew it was more for job security than anything that had to do with her. Besides, she didn't mind showing him this part of herself; he was her safety net tonight. 

More and more of her strands broke free while (Y/N) peeled her lashes off, a damp cloth being used to get the removal balm off of her skin. Her pores and blemishes were on display once more, her skin breathing after being caked under powders and rivers of tears. Her scalp felt sore with every bobby pin Harry took out, a pile accruing on the counter. 

"Can I ask what happened back there?" Harry piped up, breaking the silence that had settled like a fog over the room. His usual deadpan tone softened into something malleable and soft, gentle to her ears. 

(Y/N)'s lips thinned at the question. She knew how to answer the question, but it was more of a matter of if she wanted to hear the answer after already living it. She bought herself time as she swiped her face with an extra cleansing water, her reusable cotton pad soft against her skin. 

From her view in the mirror, she saw as he kept his eyes trained on her hair, fingers tracing through the strands comb out the twirled mess made earlier in the night. 

"I know y'might not want to tell me because we aren't... friends, but even as someone who's meant to look after you, it would help to know just so I can protect you better next time," he mused, his voice gentle. 

"Franny didn't tell you?" 

A beat passed. "I want to hear it from you, (Y/N)." 

Harry kept her steady when her weight shifted on her feet. His hands in her hair dropped to settle on her biceps, his eyes returning hers in the mirror. She felt his eyes scanning over her face. Whatever he found there had his jaw hardening, his resolve strengthening from where he stood behind her. "You're not there anymore, (Y/N). It's all over, don't forget." 

She nodded her head, taking in a wavering breath through her nose. "Right, um," she started, her fingers fiddling with the sewn edge of her cotton pad, "It was that guy, at our table. The one sitting on my dad's other side. He found me at the bar when I was getting a drink, and he just didn't really listen. He bought me a drink and kept wanting to talk to me even when I was saying I wanted to go back to Emma and Francesca." 

With his hands resuming in her hair, Harry listened along. "Right," he murmured, his voice now holding an edge that had previously been melted away. She had a feeling he knew bits and pieces of this story, and it only made it that much harder to hear it from her mouth. 

"He kept touching me, and talking to me like I was stupid. It wasn't that bad, it just felt wrong—it made me feel gross." She swallowed around her dry throat, grateful for the lack of makeup on her face, her tears now welling over clean lashes. "I tried to leave, but I knew people were around and my dad would have been so mad if I made a scene. I tried to find you but I think my dad was talking to you so you couldn't see me, and the girls were busy, and there was a camera guy going around and taking photos. I couldn't... I let him keep touching me, but I was getting so nervous and it was all too much." 

With her hair finally down and free from the style it was put in, Harry noticed the shine of her tears falling down her cheeks once more. He didn't hesitate before he was spinning her around, looping his arms around her to collect her to his chest. 

"I know, I know," he murmured to her, her own hands curling in the fabric of his black shirt, "'S over now, though, right?"? 

"Right," she breathed, voice a bit hoarse.

His hand petted her hair, the strands fluffy now that the hairspray was broken but still holding the heat style she was given. She couldn't wait to wash her hair when she had the energy, already missing the natural texture. 

"Y'said it was the man sitting beside your dad? Barron?" 

"Mhm," (Y/N) whimpered at the sound of his name. "I guess my dad had told him I needed to be taken care of, and I think he told him other m-mean things about me." 

Her words dissolved into a string of sobs, Harry going tense against her. She couldn't help herself, sniffling and crying against his chest, her breathing coming in erratic puffs. She felt guilty, feeling him tense around her. She didn't mean to upset him. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she babbled, pulling away to look at him with a crinkling sniffle of her nose, "To-Tonight has been a lot. Thank you for helping me." 

(Y/N) attempted to unravel herself from his hold, only to be stopped by his arms caging around her middle. "It's okay, don't apologize to me," he told her earnestly, matching his gaze to her blurry one, "Thank you for telling me, but I want to make something very clear right now." 

Nodding, she looked up at him, watching as he ducked down into her space, crowding around her with intensity in his eyes. 

"If y'ever feel uncomfortable or like you're in danger, for whatever reason—I don't care if you think it's not that bad, or your father will be upset, or whatever reason you think is good enough to stay in that moment—you are going to leave." His words were a command hiding behind a gentle tone. He was unwavering in his stance, that much she could glean. "I don't care what you have to do, what kind of 'scene' y'have to make, come find me if 'm not right there. Whatever will make you feel safest, that's what I want you to do. Don't ever feel like you have to put up with anything that upsets you for whatever reason.

"You matter more than whatever cover story or photos someone could make up. Okay? Don't ever think it's the other way around." 

(Y/N) couldn't hold back the tears that fell down her cheeks, her skin stained and chin dripping with every drop.  Her father had never said or even made her feel like putting herself first was an option, that she was the one variable in these stories that deserved a bit of protection. There was even a brief period of time when she had a publicist, and he never said anything close to what was coming out of Harry's mouth. 

Everyone else around her had always shared the importance of what those around her thought, what could be said about her, the kind of stories that could be splashed across the pages. Her feelings, her safety, herself was always at the bottom of that list. 

"Okay?" Harry prodded, his hands on her back flexing with fingertips denting the planes of her back, "Do y'understand what 'm saying?" 

"I do," she choked out,  lips quivering. Even blurry through her tears, dressed in all black and exhaustion on his features, Harry was the most gorgeous person she'd ever seen. An angel in the frosty light of her bathroom. "Thank you." 

Harry only tugged her closer to his chest, cupping her back of her head where she snuggled in and allowed tears to run from her eyes. 

(Y/N) clung to him tighter. 

—————

Waking in her bed, duvet in folds around her with her pilates shorts chucked on the floor beside her discarded gown, (Y/N) blinked her stiff eyelids open. She couldn't be sure what time it was when she stalked to her bedroom, only remembering the ache in her muscles and stuffy nose. Harry had stayed with her all night, soothing her through the bouts of tears and being there when all she needed was to not be alone. 

Stretching out of her bed with her feet hitting the floor, she couldn't remember if Harry had stayed after she fell asleep. She was barely aware of her own body when she shed her shorts and flopped into her bed, too exhausted to even crawl under the covers. 

Stepping over her cold floor, (Y/N) crept out into the hallway, peering down the bend. Just barely, she could see a folded suit jacket and the first strands of curling brown hair from where she could spot the end of her couch. The closer she came to the living room, the closer she came to letting a smile settle on her features. 

How he could manage it, she didn't know, but it was very much in his character to sleep with his brows pinched and arms crossed over his chest. He didn't look like he was resting particularly well, his suit jacket acting as his pillow as he threw himself into an odd shape to lay on her couch.

He stayed. 

A heat bubbled under her skin at the thought. Despite the wringer she put him through the night before, he stayed here. Though she wasn't exactly sure how she would navigate the conversation that would have to occur when he woke, how she would handle knowing that he saw those most vulnerable parts of her, at least she knew she wasn't alone. 

Letting him stay where he was, (Y/N) silently moved past him to her kitchen. She could start to say thank you by making him breakfast, she decided. If anything, it might be a good enough distraction to push off the conversation a bit longer when he woke. 

She fell into her element as she pulled out the ingredients, feeling her muscles relax and joints loosen. Trying to be as quiet as she could so as to not disturb the sleeping beauty on her couch, she pulled the dish together as she went. Slices of toast were warming in a butter skimmed pan while she raided her spice rack. From her fridge she pulled eggs and chorizo, cheese and hashbrowns until she came up with a scramble. A rich and lemony hollandaise started on her stove, her apartment filling with toasted spices and the sizzling pop of the chorizo looking. She hoped he would appreciate the extra shred of manchego she stirred in.

With her mind running around the kitchen, timing and anticipating everything, she felt okay. She knew there had to be more than a handful of notifications on her phone, too many articles with her name tagged, and her father scheming her punishment, but, right now, she was content in living in this moment. She could wash her hair later, answer her phone calls, and explain to Dom that she didn't mean to let the Vivienne gown wrinkle on the floor. Before then, she would allow her only consequences to be the ache in her bones and the crust in the corners of her eyes. 

Adding the final seasonings and beginning to plate everything, (Y/N) shifted her attention to the other consequence laying on her couch. She really hoped he liked what she made. 

Adding the hollandaise over the hashbrown bowl, (Y/N) finished up with adding the slices of crusty toast to the rim of the bowl. She placed them on her rarely used dining table, hesitating at the chair beside where she determined Harry would sit before backtracking and placing her own serving in the seat across. 

Now was the hard part. 

Padding over the rug, she made her way to the couch, Harry's restless form still stiff where he laid. With the top buttons of his top undone, the tan skin of his chest was on display, the necklace she had noticed time and time again, the pendants finally on display. The faces of a duo of birds inked on his chest peeked out, matching the dark black of his outfit. He even fell asleep with his shoes on. 

He did all that work to make sure she was comfortable—getting her out of her dress, helping her take her hair down, reminding her to wash her makeup off—only to fall asleep with his suit jacket as a pillow and his event clothes wrapped too tight around him. 

Crouching beside him, she sat on her folded knees. His profile was on display this way, the line of his nose and curl of his lashes highlighted through the sunny window. 

Using a gentle hand, she cautiously settled her palm on his tensed shoulder. "Harry," she murmured. She gave a minute shake to his shoulder. 

Harry woke up with a start, his reaction much quicker and more drastic than she had expected. He sucked in a big breath, his eyes flying open as he sat up, his hands reaching behind to prop himself up. She could see the recognition settle over his features, his eyes frantically searching over her face with his mouth in a soft gape. 

"(Y/N)," he breathed out. 

Having sat back some when he startled, her hands in a bundle in her lap, she blinked up at him. "Sorry," she started, "I just... I made you breakfast, if you were hungry." 

Disoriented, he ran a heavy hand through his hair as he shifted where he sat. The suede cushions fluffed up, the fibers mimicking waves around him. "Yeah?" he asked, moving to sit properly with his feet on the ground and knees wide apart.

Still on her knees, she looked up at him, his hair a mess and chest heaving as he caught his stressed breath. She opened her mouth to say something, but every thought was ripped from her head when her front door was flung open. 

Whipping around, she almost jumped out of her skin when she saw her father stepping inside. His face was twisted in anger, wearing a suit too nice for this early in the morning, and his eyes as daggers trained right on her. 

He stomped over the threshold, coming towards where she was still folded on the floor. 

"Dad!" 

Ignoring her voice, she saw him finally take in the scene. For the first time he seemed to realize Harry was there. With (Y/N) on her knees in front of him. His clothes were a rumpled mess, the same ones from the night before. His chest rising and falling from his startled good morning, hair a stressed mess. 

(Y/N) could practically see his blood pressure rising through his body, his hair standing on end when he returned his gaze to hers. He was seething, taking his assumptions from the scene before him. 

"Are you fucking kidding me, (Y/N)?" he hissed, his hands practically shaking at his sides. He towered over her, even from where she sat feet away. "What do you think you're trying to do to him!?" 

Scrambling to stand up, she was already shaking her head in denial. This wasn't the kind of scolding she was going to be able to sit through. 

"What? I'm—No, that's not—" 

He shook his head, his jaw stiff. He seemed to bite his own tongue, stopping himself from saying anything more. "We will have to talk about that later," he cemented, "Because you need to tell me what the hell you were thinking last night." 

While she knew this was coming, she honestly expected more of a phone call. She thought he would be too angry to even look at her. He'd never been angry enough to burst into her home and yell at her there. He much preferred his home turf, where he controlled all the power. 

Swallowing, she tried to calm her racing heartbeat. "I know it looks bad, but I promise I didn't mean—" 

"I don't want excuses!" he shouted, cutting her off despite the fact he was the one that invited her to talk in the first place. "I'm tired of you embarrassing me every chance you get! I always knew you'd be crazy like your mother, but I didn't think it would be this fucking bad." 

(Y/N) recoiled at the mention of her mother. He rarely talked about her unless in punishment, but he hadn't said anything so blatantly evil about her. 

She didn't know what to say. This is why he never told her about the racing in her heart and the stress that filled her without permission. She didn't want him to think of her as crazy, something that needed to be medicated and put away. But, she supposed now, he didn't need to know that information to say that about her. 

Her father took a menacing step towards her, his expression that much more angry after her silence. 

In an instant, Harry was sliding between them, his back facing (Y/N) with his height obscuring her view of her father. "Sir," Harry started, a warning to his tone that had to come from years of dealing with pests. 

It was her father's turn to take a step back, (Y/N) just barely catching the way he rolled his eyes. Harry's interference only set him off further, it appeared. 

Speaking around the wall that was Harry, he yelled to (Y/N), "How am I supposed to trust him now, after I saw what you were trying to do to him. What did you do last night that convinced him that you needed protecting from me when you're the problem!" 

Harry took a step towards him, a hand out as if to soothe a vicious animal while barring him from coming any closer should he attempt. "Sir, I think it's best if you step outside for a moment." 

Ignoring Harry's plea, he only craned his neck to ensure (Y/N) could see him when he yelled again. "I always knew you'd end up a whore," her father seethed, "But you only seem to like it best when it's a way to get back at me." 

With that, Harry didn't hesitate before grabbing her father by the arms and twisting him away. He escorted him out the door of her apartment, pushing him over the threshold with a slam of the door behind them. 

Muffled shouts started on the other side of the door, her father's voice the one that was raised. She couldn't pick out individual words, but she figured that was probably for the best. She didn't need to hear any more of what he thought of her. 

Staving off a replay of last night's breakdown, she sunk to the floor, her legs a tangled puddle underneath her. Her hands shook in her lap, matching the cadence of her lungs as she fought to keep her breathing even. 

Suddenly, a loud bang against her door rang through her empty apartment. Tears filled her eyes. 

The blaring noise was compounded with a stretch of silence. The low timber of Harry's voice rose then, though his was layered with the typical composure he always had, even in the face of someone as unreasonable as her father. 

The silence gave too much room for her thoughts to grow, her head bloated and heavy. 

In an odd way, she was grateful he was as angry as he was. He was too upset, his vision too red, to say anything properly damaging. If he had been thinking any clearer, she worried she would have a plane ticket to Sweden in hand and all credit cards in her name shredded. 

While this morning was bad, it definitely could have been worse, she decided. 

She couldn't be sure how long she sat on the floor, waiting for whatever would emerge back into her apartment, but soon enough the doorknob twisted with the hinges gliding open. Harry was the only one to step inside, her father missing from the hallway when she glanced around. 

His cheeks were red, hair in an even sorrier state than before, but he kept that same calculated set to his irises. He didn't hesitate to crouch to her level, his brows pinching as he met (Y/N)'s eyes. 

"Are you okay?" he asked, intensity laced through his voice. 

(Y/N) nodded her head, stray hairs curtaining around her face. "Sorry about everything he said. I-I don't know where he—why he—" 

Harry shook his head, his jaw ticking. He dropped his gaze from hers as he shuttered them in a lingering blink. When he dared to glance up at her once more, he said, "No, don't apologize for him. I jus'... (Y/N), I think 's best if I go home, now." 

Instinctively, she wanted to question him. She wanted to investigate his reasoning and attempt to make him stay. He was her solid pillar, the buoy keeping her afloat. She worried what she would do without him for the first time in twenty-four hours. 

But, she couldn't blame him. Her father just accused her of trying to seduce him to wriggle into his head, with whatever else he shared behind that closed door. She could only imagine just how uncomfortable he was now in her presence, both his employer and client having varying breakdowns in front of him. 

"Okay," she settled, dropping her eyes to her hands. At least the tremor stopped. "Thank you for staying with me last night." 

Giving a curt nod, Harry stood to his full height. He moved silently around him, stoic as ever as he collected his suit jacket and cell phone. His footsteps seemingly echoed in the otherwise silence of her home. 

She wasn't even sure if he looked at her again before he slipped out the front door, leaving her alone. 

—————

Dad

    I have a flight scheduled to take you to Paris in a week. You can't be trusted here to stay out of trouble, even with Harry's help. You will be staying through to the winter, and I hope you take this time to reflect on what you've done and how you plan on fixing your attitude. 

     Harry will be accompanying you, but I expect you to keep your relationship strictly professional with him. Don't squander this time away, (Y/N).

     I will check in soon to ensure things are going well. 

(Y/N) felt heavy reading her father's string of texts. 

Today had been enough of an obstacle already, and now she had to plan to be out of the country well after Summer had ended. 

She didn't bother to type a response, only reacting to the top message with a thumbs up. 

Falling back on her bed, the mattress bouncing under her spine, she stared up at the ceiling. 

She was going to have to call Francesca. 

—————

"Is there anything I can grab for you, Ms. (Y/N)?" 

A pleasant smile curled over (Y/N)'s lips, the bags under her eyes shielded by the heavy pair of sunglasses perched on her nose. "No, thank you." 

The flight attendant scurried away at her dismissal, all too eager to practically sprint away. While this crew wasn't especially friendly with her, always seeming a little too scared of her, there was definitely a difference in how attentive they'd started for this flight. They'd no doubt seen the articles that had been swirling for the last week. 

She couldn't blame them, honestly. Reviewing the articles herself, she was painted as an out of touch socialite, a woman who flipped out after a perceived slight. There were photos of her speaking to Barron, the moment having been described as the final moments before the blowup. The drink clutched in her hand was blown out of proportion, insiders and onlookers dishing out how she'd been drinking the whole night despite those two sips of the gin and tonic being the only alcohol she partook in the entire Gala. 

The men around her were painted as heroes, including Harry. Her father and Barron were trying to talk her down from her drunken antics, urging her to calm and remind her of the cameras watching. Harry was doing the chivalrous thing and helping her out of the event before she stumbled around and humiliated herself more than she already had. Some sources even became so bold as to claim that the reason she snuck away to the bathroom for so long, others checking on her, was because of a drug problem she was hiding behind closed doors. 

All of it was her fault. She was being unreasonable, and rude. Untamable and embarrassing. Crazy, even. 

The webs were spun so well, including the official photographs along with blurry photographs posted by anonymous social media accounts. Every story looked worse than the last. 

Even knowing the truth, seeing those photos gave (Y/N) a deep sense of humiliation she couldn't shake. 

Seeing an outsider's perspective, the way she clung to Harry with messy hair and swollen eyes, crying over him and using him like some kind of shield. She couldn't believe he had stayed with her after the way she acted—and those were only the things that occurred in public. 

If that wasn't bad enough, after the fashion magazine's interview was posted along with the event's photos and stories, Harry was now having articles written about him. People were digging into his private life, hunting down any kind of hint of who he was, what he meant to (Y/N). Most likely, some were even hoping to get into contact with him and earn and exclusive. She couldn't blame him if he took someone up on the offer. 

It was all her fault. 

Maybe that was why this past week, she hadn't heard from him at all. To be fair, she hadn't gone anywhere, preferring to keep out of the public eye while the gossip circulated. Francesca met her at her apartment instead, helping her with everything; they packed a small bag to get her through her traveling, cried, bitched about her dad, and had a two day sleepover before (Y/N)'s exile began. She was the only one (Y/N) told, knowing it would get to the rest of the girls in a matter of time, only after she had disappeared for a good few weeks. 

That left (Y/N) with a small go-bag, a full wardrobe and duplicates of her favorite things already waiting at the French penthouse, sweats on her form and embarrassment too deep to coax Harry into interacting with her. 

She felt stiff where she sat, imagining what the stew crew was whispering about her just out of earshot, imagining what Harry was thinking about her as he refused to even glance at her despite the orientation of their chairs. She couldn't relax in her skin. She was too in her head to manage something like that. 

Though (Y/N) was happy to get out of New York, these circumstances were killing any joy she could tie to the change in scenery. Paris was one of her favorite places in the world, her penthouse securing a special spot in her heart, but her father wanted to turn it into a prison. he wanted to ruin another safe place for her. It sucked. 

And, the one person she was too embarrassed to even properly look at, was the one person accompanying her through it all. Her new roommate was the same guy that she was being accused of sleeping with out of anger at her father, out of her rampant sexual desire that kept her from staying with any one person for too long, or a cute decoration that was placed around her to give her clout. At least that's what the rumors swirling around were.

Heaving a sigh and crossing her legs, (Y/N) wanted to be surprised that Harry didn't even flinch in her direction, instead she felt just a sting of hurt behind her ribs. 

—————

"You know where the house is?" 

"Yes," Harry answered, his response curt as he shifted the car into drive. 

(Y/N) couldn't blame his short reply, she wasn't being particularly warm either. 

Instead, she silently settled into her seat, conflicted on how to feel. She'd never really travelled without a driver. Even if it wasn't Sully since he stayed in the city with his family, there was always someone else that took care of her wherever she went. This time, it appeared Harry would be in charge of that. 

Most likely at her father's request, she figured. Now there was no reason for her to be away from him for even ten minutes. Her babysitter extraordinaire. 

Shifting her gaze out the windscreen, she took in the emerging city. It had been a while since she was away from the lights and the skyscrapers, the crowds of tourists. While Paris wasn't quite as quant as the movies made it out to be, it was definitely different from that of New York. There was more breathing room. 

Her dad always thought it was too slow, too boring, a place to spend a single day in before moving on to something much newer and exciting. Maybe that was why it became one of her favorite places, her first request when she was old enough being that she could find a penthouse in Paris. She knew he wouldn't want to follow her here. 

Harry drove like an expert through the winding streets, a GPS screen hooked up to show him the way to her penthouse, though she doubted he needed it. He kept his gaze shifting through the cycle of peering out the window, checking his mirrors, and glancing in the rearview. He didn't waver in his routine, as if (Y/N) wasn't even there. 

The familiar lead up to the neighbourhood of Saint-Germain had (Y/N) sitting up. She couldn't wait to lock herself away in that top floor penthouse. 

Taking advantage of the free space not too far from the entrance to the building, Harry pulled in in one smooth motion. The click of the gear shifter settled them into park. He pulled the key after a beat, finally shooting her a fleeing glance. 

"I'll grab the bags and follow you," he directed, not waiting before he was pushing open his door and stepping out onto the street. 

She followed suit, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head. 

Upon her first deep breath in, (Y/N) wondered if she had been away for long enough to convince herself the air really did smell like butter and wine the way poets always described.

There were still a good amount of tourists given the neighborhood's proximity to various landmarks, but this place was worlds different in comparison to the city. She hoped her father knew she was enjoying her punishment. 

Harry, with their bags in hand, waited for her to take the lead. She gave him a careful smile before she breezed past him, leading them to the entrance of her building. This place was much different than that in the city, no doorpeople around and only a small bank of two elevators beside the various mailboxes. 

Once in the lift, she entered them in to be taken to the top floor. Harry was a silent pillar beside her, his luggage and her duffle bag in hand. She swallowed around the silence. 

The top floor was all for her, the space being bought by her father by the time she was twenty. Knocking down the walls, the three separate apartments were turned into one big space that was gutted and turned into an immaculate penthouse. (Y/N) fought to keep as many of the original features as she could. 

Stepping inside the space, her efforts were rewarded with the sight of the off-white walls, texture embedded in the slabs. Wrought-iron fixtures were littered throughout, the original doors and biggest kitchen left as it was. Everything held the air of romance, the space a lot more intimate than small than what she had in New York. A trio of different balconies were stationed on the outside, those terraces offering views of the Eiffel Tower. 

It was lovely. That was the only way she could describe it. The kind of place that deserved to be draped in roses and lit exclusively in candlelight. Late nights and Burgundy wine with silk dresses. 

Harry followed her as she stepped towards a plane of French doors, the glass frosted to keep prying eyes out. "This is my room," she told him, voice detached, "But down that hall are a couple of spare bedrooms and bathrooms, so you can pick whatever one you want." 

Dropping her duffle on the floor, he gave her a single nod. "Okay." 

With that, he turned on his heel. She watched as he started down the hall, leaving her with a single syllable. 

She needed to say something. As distant as she was acting because of her embarrassment, she couldn't not acknowledge what happened. Every time she looked at him, she saw  those photos of her clinging and crying on him, her mascara a mess while he looked at her with sympathy. She saw the way he tended to her hair in the mirror, using his fingers to break the hold of the hairspray and gently pick out the bobby pins holding the style in. She saw him defending her against her father. 

"Harry?" she peeped, eyes fixed to his back. 

"Hm?" He stopped, looking at her over his shoulder. 

Taking a step towards him, her hands a fumbling mess behind her back, she swallowed. "I wanted to say thank you again for last week. Especially after everything. And for defending me," she started, her gaze dropping to the middle of his back, "I'm sorry I acted that way, and how I have been acting. I know I can be unreasonable, so it means a lot that you stayed with me and still came here with me. I hope this isn't too bad of a place to be exiled." 

She tried to go lighthearted, ending with a breathy laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes. 

Harry only looked at her with a pinched brow, his arm dropping the bag he had slung over his shoulder. "I... I don't think I understand." 

Clamming up, (Y/N) felt too exposed. She waved him off, shaking her head in hopes of dismissing all that she shared. "Don't worry about it," she said, "Just thank you for looking out for me, and I promise I'm going to make your job as easy as possible while we're here. Hopefully, I'll be able to get you home before the holidays." 

A silence settled between them. Harry didn't offer any kind of response, only his eyes following her. She shifted her weight where she stood, her fingers knotting behind her back. 

She inched towards her room, the space feeling too heavy as her words hung in the air. 

"I think I'm going to unpack and take a nap," she murmured, offering a barely there smile, "We can order food later if you want, but I don't plan on doing anything, so the rest of the day is yours." 

With that, she slipped between her open French doors, the warmth of her room enveloping her once she sealed the rest of the penthouse out. She didn't want to see if Harry was still standing there, watching her with eyes that were too observant. 

She took in a deep breath, shifting her gaze through her bedroom. Her eyes landed on the open drapes to her balcony. Outside, the Eiffel Tower shimmered.

—————

ephemere is the French words for a fleeting beauty; a summer love, a shooting star, greatness gone too soon

this part is def one of the longer ones of the series so thank you so much for getting through it! sorry for any mistakes and if you have any ideas or thoughts please send them in!

[0cta9on]

Hey Bro✌️, I really love your snippet of minji on previous reply, from her cute reaction during make-out session and her cuddle habit🤭. Your style of going for a vanilla approach on her was the best ever.

Have you seen the clip of her wearing this bro?🫣 A freaking one piece clothing 🫢. I'm like " Put some clothes on Miss"😂. Just imagine...

"One special night where she surprised you, the side of her you have never seen before, she hesitated at first but she thinks you deserve it"

Hello mikeylo!

AGHHHHH THE GLASSES AND THE DRESS!!! SHE'S SO CUTE, IM SCREAMING!!!

I HAVE to write something about this...

It's been a long, tiring day for you. You got yelled at by a customer at work for something you had no control over, and in turn your manager yelled at you despite, again, not having ANY control over it. You wanted to bring your girlfriend out to a nice dinner after work, but some rich asshole decided to reserve the entire restaurant for some party, and it was too late to make a reservation at any other place. Thankfully, Minji was more than understanding, completely content with a movie night at her place.

You knock on her door, your shoulders slumped and your expression downtrodden. Nothing is going right today and you feel bad that your date with Minji ended up getting caught in the crossfire.

The door swings open. "Hi oppa, are you ready for our date~?"

"Hey Minj- Oh wow." Your jaw drops to the floor in awe. Since the two of you are staying in tonight, you assumed that she would be wearing comfortable clothes, but instead, she comes out wearing a pretty brown dress and her cute nerdy glasses that you love.

"Oh my god, you're beautiful."

Minji blushes in response. "Hurry up and come inside, I have everything set up already." She takes your hand and pulls you into her apartment, shutting the door behind you. Before she can even take another step, you pull her into a tight embrace. A long, heavy breath leaves you, all the stress melting from your body in seconds.

"Tough day at work?" Minji asks, gently playing with your hair.

"Ugh, I don't even wanna think about work." The scent of her sweet perfume fills your nostrils, flipping a switch inside your head. You pull away slightly to see her face and caress the soft skin of her cheek with your thumb. Despite all your shortcomings, she's been with you through everything, always being a constant source of comfort and warmth.

"I love you, Minji." You take her lips into a gentle kiss, both of you melting into each other's embrace. Not even the softest marshmallow could compare to the feeling of her lips. Nothing else matters to you except her. And you're determined to show her just how much she means to you.

"I love you too- Mmf!" Minji whimpers, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught of kisses on her neck and shoulders. You wrap your arms around her waist, catching her after her legs almost give out. Everything about her is so beautiful - her face, her soul, her body. Nibble her ear, nip at her clavicle, anything to show your love beyond mere words.

"O-oppa... Hmph! W-what's gotten into you today- Ah~!"

You stop momentarily to catch your breath. "Sorry baby, did you not want to...?"

"I-I mean, I didn't say that..." Her gaze nervously falls to the ground, her cheeks burning bright pink. So cute. You can't get enough of her.

You suddenly pick her up, carrying her bridal style. "If it's okay with you, maybe we can skip the movie tonight?"

Minji giggles, bubbling with giddiness. "What did you have in mind?"

You carry her to her bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

"Maybe it's better if I show you rather than tell you~"

______________________________________________________________

Just a little teaser :] Will I rewrite this into a full story? Who knows ;]

[riddles-n-games]

Let It Hurt

Pairing: Avery and Jameson Summary: A rewrite of Ch. 54 in the first book. Alternate take post first kiss at the Wayback Cottage where Avery is more angsty and doesn't let Jameson go that easy. Length: Moderate Story Type: Rewrite

ANNOUCEMENT: I'm starting a tag list. If you want to be included, comment down below! Also, to access my TIG master list of fics, here's the link to the expanded view of my blog: riddles-n-games.tumblr.com. Click the icon Hawthorne Vault, that's where you'll find hidden treasure.

A/N: Hi guys! I'm sooo excited to be posting this one. It's been a long time in drafts and I was lost with how to continue it but I just know I really wanted Avery to be hurt but accidentally didn't try hard enough to make Jameson stop kissing her again. This gets deeper in their feelings and so it kinda makes Jameson sound like he's his THL self but still in line with his TIG self as well. Enjoy!

Kissing him felt like fire. He wasn't soft or sweet, the way he had been while washing away the blood and dirt. I didn't need soft or sweet. This was exactly what I needed.

    Maybe I could be what he needed, too. Maybe this didn’t have to be a bad idea. Maybe the complications were worth it.

    He pulled back from the kiss, his lips only an inch away from mine. “I always knew you were special.”

    I felt his breath on my face. I felt every last one of those words. I’d never thought of myself as special. I’d been invisible for so long. Wallpaper. Even after I’d become the biggest story in the world, it had never really felt like anyone was paying attention to me. The real me.

    “We’re so close now,” Jameson murmured. “I can feel it.” There was an energy in his voice, like the buzzing of a neon light. “Someone obviously didn’t want us looking at that tree.”

    What? 

    He went to kiss me again, cupping my cheek in his hand and with my heart sinking, I sadly wasn’t fast enough to turn my head away as his mouth connected with mine. I couldn't stop the lone tear that slid down my face. The shock of his words only started to hit me then and I wished it didn’t hurt so much but it did, even as I subconsciously reciprocated the kiss. 

    For a moment, I tried to will the hurt away, to pretend that this was what it was like to get kissed by a boy that liked me. I hated that his body felt snug against me and how it felt right. We didn’t actually like each other in that way, he just needed me to solve his grandfather’s last mystery and then I’d be discarded. I was no Emily but then, I never would want to be her anyway. 

    She was a life lesson of what not to be; a spoiled little girl who was more trouble than she was worth, got everything she wanted and got away with anything. Even if something was most definitely her fault, somehow everyone else was responsible. Well, the princess fell from the tower at some point. But even though I was tired of being associated with a dead girl that was six feet below the ground in a grave, I was continuously being dealt that card to no avail.

    The biggest irony of all was that I was in the house where her presence was most felt, like the ghost of her was overhead, hovering behind me, following my every move. 

    When he pulled away, I pushed at his chest and turned on my heel, trying to put as much distance between us. Hearing him grunt in surprise was only the tiniest bit satisfying as I made my way back to the room. There was some muffled mumbling that sounded an awful lot like “deserved that” but even so I didn’t care.

    I stopped at the beds and looked from one to the other. Which was hers? As I took in every fine detail of the quilt, my hand subconsciously went to my chest, ghosting over the pattern of the wound. I was in a dead girl’s room. I was almost killed tonight. There had been wood in my chest, there could have been a bullet buried there instead. Jameson could have been hurt or killed; if the bullet had ricocheted, it easily could have hit him. 

    Both of us could have come out of this very differently if it weren’t for those “hadn’t beens”. But Jameson didn’t seem to see it that way. No, because he was busy thinking about a tree. Anger flared inside me at the reminder. I understood he had laser focus but I thought he had room for a little bit of empathy and logic. 

    My mind shot to alertness when I heard nearby shuffling until I realized it was coming from the bathroom and heard him step into the bedroom. I crossed my arms and kept my eyes trained on the bedpost in front of me, not letting myself look up when I knew he was right behind me. He sighed softly. 

    “Heiress?” I didn’t reply. Another sigh. “Look, I know I came off as in-

    “I could’ve been shot.” 

    “Pardon? I didn’t-”

    “I said I could’ve been shot.” I spun around, catching him blink in surprise. “Shot, Jameson. Do you know what that means?” I stared at him sharply for a long moment before he looked aside, something like guilt or shame evident on his face. “I just inherited your family’s stupidly big fortune which made me a target of basically everyone related to you and anyone else in the world that made me their problem. I could have been killed. You could have been. Don’t you get that?”

    He looked up again and tilted his head, giving me a small wry smile. “Don’t worry about me, Heiress. A bullet still wouldn’t stop me.” My jaw dropped; he was still attempting humor. 

     “A-Are you being serious right now? Do you hear yourself?” He stayed silent. “Oren just pulled a chunk of wood out of my chest and if things had worked out a little differently, he could have been pulling out a bullet. Same goes for you. And meanwhile you’re over here thinking about a damn tree? This mystery, us running around acting like we’re Mystery Inc, you figuring out why your grandfather chose me, it’s all meaningless to you if I die. And if you got shot, your family would be out for me, we both know that much. And then what? Not everything is a game, Hawthorne.”

    “Perhaps you’re right but that’s just it, MG. If Emily taught me anything, it’s that everything is a game. Even this.” I was about ready to throttle him. But I withheld and rolled my eyes, laughing anxiously instead. “Jameson, get real. Emily’s dead, I almost died, your grandfather is dead, you’re not one of the heirs, your family hates me, the inheritance is not in the rightful hands, and now someone is after me. This is reality for me and you right now. This isn’t in your head. Life comes with risk, I know, but this isn’t a game.” 

    That elicited a reaction. His jaw got tight and his eyes narrowed. “You don’t think I know that Heiress? Unfortunately, my grandfather raised us treating everything like a damn game from the moment we could talk and think. Don’t pretend you even know the beginning of my life story, we’d be here all day.”

    “And I’m not. But you are acting like what just happened is something to push aside. Newsflash, it can’t be. I can get you pretending that covering me with yourself in the woods, cleaning my wound, our kiss doesn’t matter but not my life or yours being on the line for some stupid mystery. That’s all I ask.” That’s when it hit me. “Why do you act like that? Like you don’t matter?”

    I caught the panic in his eyes when they widened for a brief second as he turned away from me and ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. He’d been doing that a lot. After a long pause he spoke. “Because I’ve done worse. There’s a lot of things from my past that I’m not proud of. Things with Gray, things with Emily, things with Xan and Nash, the old man…” I put a hand on his shoulder. He side-eyed me and smirked knowingly. “If you’re expecting for this to turn into a confession, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.” 

    This time I sighed and shook my head. “No, I don’t. I don’t expect you to say anything you’re not comfortable sharing. But Jameson? We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, don’t be so hard on yourself for that.” 

    He turned his head toward me fully and the smirk turned into his signature crooked grin. “Don’t pity me, Heiress. Self loathing is a very good look for me.” But I saw the sadness in his eyes and something about it gave me a hollow feeling, like he’d been holding it in for so long. Yet that didn’t last either. “I know what you’re thinking and contrary to what you believe, I deserve it. Call it my role in the family.” 

    My hand slid from his shoulder and swiped at the mussy hairs stuck to my forehead. Then, I sidestepped him to pace around the room. I wasn’t sure how much more beating around the bush I could take.

    “I thought that was my thing,” he said. I glared at him in passing. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

    “Can you just let me think in silence for a second? I mean, would it kill you to stop making everything a joke?”

    “Hey, this wasn’t ever going to be a pity party, Heiress. Not my style. I’ve been honest about that mu-”

    “Stop it! Just… stop.” I walked over to him and took his hands in mine. “Look at me, Jameson.” He did, surprisingly. I lowered my voice and spoke gently. “I know you’re not okay. I know you’re sad. You have been for a long time. It’s caused you deep pain, I’ve felt that way, too.” I felt him go very still and for a long minute, he was quiet. 

    He exhaled shakily and his eyes were averted. There was the rawness again. “I’m not very good at this, Avery. I’m terrible at hurting.”

    Avery. He said my name; that’s when I knew he meant it. I let go of his hands and cupped his face in mine which made him meet my gaze. I felt like crying just seeing his misery. “I know you are. You can take all the time you need. But you can’t fix the issue by avoiding it.”

    Jameson inhaled sharply and rose to his full height, shaking his head again and went to stand against the wall. “I can’t. I’m sorry but I can’t.” His voice had gone so quiet, I could barely hear him. I followed after him and while I stopped just far enough that he had some space, I still reached an arm out and placed my hand on his back. He flinched slightly but didn’t tell me to move it and I didn’t retract either.

    “Look, I’m sorry that this might be pushing you too far.” He didn’t say anything. “You can be mad at me like I am at you for tonight but in truth, I think you’re just mad at yourself.” His head tilted to my side and I saw his mouth open but I plowed on. “You don’t have to tell me anything about your past. You don’t have to clarify. We can pretend everything else is a game. But not this. You matter Jameson and hate me for telling you that but that’s something you’ll have to eventually admit to yourself. It doesn’t have to be out loud with anyone around. It just has to be you admitting to yourself that you matter because you do.”

    “I-”

    “And I know this sounds worse but there are people who care about you: your brothers, your Nan, your aunt, I think, and you know, I’d even say me. You matter to me, Jameson. I may not know too much about you but I know a bleeding heart when I see one, especially one who hates themselves. I’ve been there myself, Libby too.” That’s when I heard the broken laugh. 

    “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

    I shook my head. “Nope, why do you think I’m still here?” He turned around and leaned on the wall, eyes red and hair covering his right eye but he was smiling that crooked smile. It was raw and edgy but it looked good on him.

    My stomach did a little flip flop. Stop it, now’s not the time. I stepped closer to him, swiping at the forelock but when I pulled my arm back, he gently wrapped his fingers around my wrist and tugged me to him. I shuffled forward a little more till I was practically leaning on him and his other hand went to my hip. The hand that was entwined with his was resting on his chest and it seemed like he was mindlessly rubbing circles into the back of my hand, as if distracting himself. We stayed in silence for a few minutes which seemed to stretch into an hour. Finally, Jameson spoke up.

    “Listen, Heiress, I owe you an-”

    “I forgive you.” 

    He shook his head. “Nuh-uh-uh. Not so fast. You got to give your little speech without interruptions. Now that I am in the mood to talk, you want to interrupt? Tsk-tsk.” I arched an eyebrow at him and he simply winked. His voice lowered, “I’m warning you though, this might be a shitty apology.” Oh, I’m prepared for that. But I didn’t say that out loud, just nodded and waited for him to continue. 

    “Hmmm-ahh. Hah, I’m already failing this. I’m sorry for what happened back there and here. I know it was serious and could’ve been bad news for both of us.” He looked to my wound and brought a thumb over it, air tracing it but hovered so close to my skin that I could practically feel his touch. “I was worried about you, still am.” Then through his teeth I heard him mutter something more softly. It sounded something along the lines of “Maybe-something-always.” but I couldn’t be sure.

    “That wound could have been fatal and I am angry we didn’t spare that but it doesn’t change the fact you’re still here kicking. Avery, if there’s anything I can give you full credit for, it’s your tenacity. I admire that a lot.” I felt a smile tugging at my lips. “About the tree thing, um, that’s how I learned to push away all the bad stuff, by focusing on the next clue. Those Saturday games helped me learn to focus on one thing even when there was something in the back of my mind. And to your final point; you are right. If I got shot or died, Nash would find a way to bring me back just so he could whoop my ass.”

    I smirked at the last bit. “I’m sure he would. I could try to protect you, though.”

    “Heh, you can try. But I wasn’t wrong when I said this was a game.”

    “Jameson…”

    “Hear me out. This is a game, a dangerous one and because of the risks and stakes, this,” he pointed to my wound, “is exactly what can happen. People will be out for you, more now than ever. But, if you still want to find out why my grandfather chose you, then the reward is considered higher than the risk. However, that’s up to you. And I can go back myself because I know these grounds.” He stared at me intently and I knew what he implied with the unspoken words. He wants me safe. The feeling warmed me but turned to ice shards because I knew he still wanted to risk himself.

    I shook my head. “Jameson, you were with me. I don’t know if that person was potentially after you too. I don’t want you to risk yourself.” What if the bullet strikes its mark this time? I leaned my head against his chest but he didn’t let me be that way for long. He cupped the back of my head and made me look up at him.

    “Do you trust me?”

    “No.” He smiled.

    “Good. But do you trust that we’re a good team?” I bit my lip but nodded in the end. “I can take worse risks, Heiress, and I found ways out of shadier spots. I’ll look through the security logs to find a safe path to the tree, I can promise you that much. Also, tell Oren to block that fireplace entrance in your room.” I nodded frantically. Then, he whispered the quietest I ever heard him. “I know you don’t have reason to trust any of us but me and my brothers don’t have anything against you even though Gray was acting like you’re a conwom-,” I snorted while he briefly smirked but quickly turned serious again, “If there’s anything good the old man taught us it was loyalty to each other no matter the circumstance.”

    I nodded again for what felt like the hundredth time. Then, I carefully wrapped my arms around his upper torso and hugged him, burying my head into his shoulder. His went to the small of my back and I felt him rubbing circles into my shirt like earlier. “Thank you, that means a lot. I still think you’re an idiot for wanting to do this but I won’t stop you. I’ll even distract Oren.” 

    “Great, does that mean I can kiss you again?” I pulled away from him immediately and raised an eyebrow in question. He was smiling cheekily and winked. But his eyes held that same intensity when he was focused and were tempting me. Well? Will you? Before I could think twice, I pulled him down by his hoodie strings and pressed my lips to his hard. Jameson had no trouble catching on and he lifted me up by the thighs, letting me wrap my legs around his waist before readjusting his arms to my back. I also curled my arm around his shoulder and clutched the fabric of his hoodie at his shoulder blade. It was a deep kiss but it was sweet. Ok, so a bit sweet isn’t bad. 

    When we parted, I was panting but he wasn’t. What a shocker. Instead, he was observing my face and I could imagine what he saw; the cuts, raw and red, scratches from the bark. Before I could ask anything, he leaned close and pressed soft kisses to each one. I closed my eyes. When he kissed my forehead last and he pulled back, I opened them again to find him smiling softly at me. It made me smile too and I didn’t hesitate to lean forward again to give him a light kiss in thanks. 

    Unfortunately, at that same moment a hushed gasp came from the hall.

A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed that. See you next time. Also, I'm updating my master list of fics so the last few including this one will be there for you.

[dizscreams]

Could do a tara carpenter x fem reader

Tara keeps unknowingly friend-zoning r. R can’t take it anymore

*she feels her heart breaking every time tara is flirting with chad despite it being playful and them not having feeling for each other. R is being petty toward them and it makes tara wonder why her “friend” is mad about.*

She decide to move on and go on a date with someone *she is tired of trying and failing at giving hints to tara that she likes her* tara notice her on date with a person and gets a weird feeling even though she doesn’t know why she feeling like this since she assume r has feeling for chad

Mindy helps/spells it out to her very oblivious friends that r loves her *which make tara have a “oh s**t” moment* and have Mindy be her wingwoman to get the girl

Idk why I feel like tara has a naive side to her and I just see her not noticing that r has been giving hints and she doesn’t get until Mindy just blurts it out and she just like “oh? Oh. OH!😳”

I wanna ruin our friendship PT. 1 — Tara Carpenter ★

part two here!

PAIRING: Tara Carpenter x Fem!reader

SUMMARY: Tara can’t get a hint fr, reader gets hurt and Tara gets hurt, this fic is long I’m so sorry. BUT ITS FLUFF DONT WORRY And I suggest looking at the request I’m too lazy to rewrite a really summary

A/N: i love this idea sm 🤭

You sat across from Tara while she sat next to Chad. They were flirting again like they always were and you glared at Mindy and Anika from where you sat for giving you the confidence to come tonight.

The whole group had planned a dinner at a nice restaurant, and Danny was paying. The reason you hadn’t wanted to go was because you’ve had this enormous crush on your best friend, Tara, for ages now, but she never seemed to reciprocate your feelings. Her and Chad were always flirting when you guys were hanging out.

You had tried flirting with Tara like your friends told you but Tara just brushed you off! She was always friend zoning you, maybe you should get the hint. They like each other, right? They’ve got to. But then why was Tara always flirting with you when you guys were alone? It didn’t make any sense but you pushed your thoughts away and messed with the food in front of you as you listened to Tara and Chad’s conversation.

“You’re pretty cute, you know that?”

“Yeah? You think so?”

“Mhm”

That mixed with the laugh Tara let out, you wanted to puke. It wasn’t fair. Sometimes you thought Tara liked you but when Chad was there it was a different story, you just didn’t understand it. But you knew it was making you upset. Flirty comment after flirty comment you felt the grip on your fork get stronger.

How could she not know you liked her? You tried “putting yourself out there” like Mindy said, you tried giving her hints but nothing worked.

“Hey y/n, you okay?”

Snapping you out of your thoughts was Tara’s voice and that’s when you felt her hand on yours, trying to soothe you. “Yeah, I’m perfect,” you said giving her a sarcastic smile to which she furrowed her eyebrows at.

“What’s wrong? You don’t normally act like this.”

You scoff and what you wanted to say was, “Yeah sorry I’m not in the best mood when I’m seeing my crush and my best friends brother flirt with each other right in front of me” but you didn’t of course.

So you settled with, “I’m just not hungry, I guess.”

She wasn’t satisfied with that answer though.

“Cmon let’s talk outside.”

Before you could come up with an excuse Tara had made it to your side of the table and grabbed your hand, pulling you outside.

The cool air hit your face and Tara wasted no time in interrogating you. “What’s gotten into you?” She asked sounding concerned. “Nothing has gotten into me, I’m just tired. It’s been a long day,” you lied, “Why don’t you just go back to Chad?”

Tara was even more confused now. Why was one of her best friends upset with her? “Did I do something?” she asked. You shook your head, “No, I’m just gonna go home.”

You walked away, leaving Tara puzzled and a little hurt. She didn’t understand but you didn’t blame her, you didn’t understand yourself either. why were you pushing her away? why wont you just tell her? why are you so frustrated? Your thoughts raced as you walked back to your shared dorm you had with Mindy and Anika that luckily wasn’t too far of a walk and immediately jump on your bed. You begin to cry into your pillow as you thought of Tara and all the times you’ve tried flirting with her.

You two have always been close so physical touch wasn’t uncommon. You’d always hold hands or when you would have a movie night she’d lay on your shoulder and you’d have your arms around her. In high school when you guys had sleepovers you used to cuddle. One time when the group was hanging out for the night you two were alone and you almost kissed her, but Chad walked in.

You always compliment her, calling her cute or gorgeous. Pet names weren’t uncommon either, sometimes she’d greet you like, “y/n my love, you made it!”

The tears kept coming but you sat up and hugged your pillow and weakly attempted to wipe them away. Maybe it was time to move on, she was clearly interested in Chad more than you. It would hurt trying to move on, you feel like you’ve liked her forever, maybe you even loved her. But if the feelings weren’t reciprocated there was no point in trying anymore.

You looked at your phone and answered some texts from Anika before falling asleep.

It’s been a few days since the dinner and you’ve been avoiding Tara. You honestly didn’t really notice until Mindy told you Tara was worried about you. However, you didn’t want to worry about her right now since you were getting ready for a date. You picked a simple outfit, a cute black shirt with some lace on it and jeans that fit you good. This was going to get your mind off of everything.

You had met your date at a cute little restaurant and you were enjoying yourself. The person was kind and funny but you felt off at the same time. They were sweet sure but there was something missing. You knew you wanted Tara to be the one you were one a date with, but you couldn’t help how things turned out. This was supposed to be good for you, so you pushed your true feelings down.

Tara was out with Quinn walking down the streets of New York. Tara always preferred the city when it was dark, the lights were much prettier. “Hey can we go in here real quick? I just wanna grab a coffee then we can head home,” Quinn said pointing to a cutely lit restaurant with roses out front. Tara nodded, “Sure, I’ll get one too.”

They went inside and took in their surroundings, it was quite a pretty place. Tara figured it was new since she hadn’t seen it before. Tara told Quinn her order and headed to a little bar by a window while Quinn went in line. Tara looked at all the couples passing by the window and she started fantasizing about being in a cutesy romantic relationship like that.

She was about to put her headphones on until she heard something, or someone. She heard you, she heard your laugh and she quickly turned around only to have her heart slightly break at the sight. She saw you with someone else, on a date clearly. They were attractive and you looked happy. You looked beautiful too, you always did. She wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much but it did. It hurt, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away.

Quinn managed to get Tara out of her gaze by tapping her on the shoulder, “Tara, you there?”

She quipped her head to the red head, “Huh? Yeah, I’m fine,” she gave a sad smile and Quinn tilted her head unconvinced. “What were you looking at?” Quinn asks, concerned for her friend. “Uh, Y/n’s here. It just caught me off guard you know? Lets go,” Tara jumped out of her seat and walked out the door and Quinn quickly followed her but not before getting a good look at you and your date.

When they got to their apartment Mindy, Anika, Ethan, and Chad were already there along with Sam and Danny. Tara had given them a small wave when she walked in but immediately went to her room and shut the door. “What’s up with her?” Sam was the first to ask. Quinn sighed, “She saw y/n on a date at a cafe we went to. She’s pretty upset about it and I’m not sure why. I thought she liked Chad,” she said shrugging.

Chad had a confused expression and muttered a ‘What? Me?’ And Mindy rolled her eyes, “She doesn’t like Chad! God, nobody around here can catch a hint, I’ll talk to her,” she said and got up from her seat with Anika, while Anika let out a small snicker.

Mindy softly knocked on the door, “T? You in there?” She heard nothing but a muffled ‘Yeah!’ on the other side of the door allowing her to open it. “Quinn told me,” Mindy said sitting down on the mattress while Tara sat up groaning, “I don’t get it. I kinda thought she liked Chad-“

“Chad!” Mindy yelled at the girl, “What do you mean Chad?! What is it with everyone and Chad today?!”

“Well, at dinner the other night she was upset and she said something about me going back to Chad or something,” Tara mumbled.

Now it was Mindy’s turn to groan, “Tara, oh my god! She likes you, you big idiot! She’s like in love with you and she’s been sending all these signals and she’s been calling me nonstop about how you don’t get any of them! You’re always flirting with Chad!” Mindy rambled and Tara’s jaw was on the floor. You liked her? No, you loved her?! Since when? She’s liked you for so long and you thought she liked Chad? She can’t blame you cause she thought you liked Chad.

Tara looked at Mindy wide eyed and processed everything that was just said to her. “Wait y/n thought I liked Chad? I flirt with him as a joke.”

Mindy sighed, “Well tell y/n that. Do you like her back?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then tell her!” Mindy said standing and Tara shot up from her seat on the bed and grabbed her phone. She shooed Mindy out of her room and called you and prayed you’d answer. Lucky for her, you did, cause you missed her more then she knew. “Hello? Y/n? I’m coming to your dorm right now can you meet me there, it’s important.”

IM SORRY IT FEELS SO MEAN NOT ADDING THE CONFESSION BUT THIS SEEMED SO LONG I DIDNT THINK ANYONE WOULD WANT TO READ THAT MUCH 😭😭😭

[holdinggrudges]

the chain — time after time

start from the beginning

pairing: sam winchester x reader

content: supernatural rewrite; canon-typical violence. rated MA

word count: 25k

summary: Following Jessica's death, the three of you head out to Blackwater Ridge, chasing John with the coordinates he had left for Dean in Jericho. Sam's grief comes in flashes of anger and belligerence, his sleep plagued by nightmares. Your sleep is plagued by strange dreams of your own.

notes: the note on ao3 is extremely long and i am not going to copy paste the entire thing here, but the important thing is that the preview here does NOT encompass the entire first section on ao3, only about half of it. ALSO, i made an edit to the first chapter that is very much plot relevant that i thought i had added in when i first wrote it, but apparently not. so if you read the chapter the day i posted it and maybe up to a week afterwards, or if you read the preview here and skipped it on ao3, you probably missed it. it's been a while since it was posted, so if you want to reread it, i'd encourage it, BUT if you just want to get into this chapter ASAP, here's the section with the line that was added in bold: You’re almost surprised when you wake, head pounding and body aching. You thought for sure you’d died when you hit the wall, but instead, you open your eyes to the metallic smell of blood. Your hand comes up to your neck, and you feel the puckered skin of a scar spanning the width of your throat—a scar you didn't have when you went to bed.

Read chapter two, time after time, on AO3!

PREVIEW

“If you fall, I will catch you, I’ll be waiting time after time.” — Time After Time, Cyndi Lauper

Dallas, Texas—2002

You’re 19 years old and fresh off a grueling werewolf hunt in Shreveport when you stumble into a grimy, 24 hour diner on the outskirts of Dallas, just barely stashed in the city limits outside Mesquite. The hunt in Louisiana was long and dead boring; half the two weeks you spent there was just staking out the pack, making sure you wouldn’t miss any when the time came. But in case of the off chance you did, you got the hell out of Dodge before the last body even hit the floor. 

Of course, that means you’re hungry, and tired, and probably a little gross, too, by the time you roll into a dimly lit parking lot at nearly one in the morning. You check yourself in the visor mirror to confirm you’re not visibly covered in blood or any other sort of incriminating grime before climbing out of your car and locking it behind you. 

It’s late, so the diner is relatively empty when you walk in. There’s a few stragglers at the tables—most likely people like you, looking for a place to stop while they’re passing through. Or they’re high. Actually, that one’s probably more likely. 

The older woman at the counter is the only one who looks up when the bell above the door signals your entrance, and she offers you a warm smile. “Welcome in, sugar. Take a seat wherever you like; I’ll have someone come take your order in a minute.” Her voice is warm and southern and nostalgic and your heart pangs with it, just a twinge of grief.  

You shoot her a tired smile of your own before plopping down at the closest booth and pillowing your head on your arms. You’re going to have to stop somewhere tonight and sleep that hunt off, but you think you could make it a couple more hours, maybe pop by Waco on your way to Austin. Bobby had sent you a tip about some cattle mutilations down that way, mostly just because he knew Ellen had sent you down to Shreveport. Still, you don’t exactly have anything better to do than check it out. 

“Darrell, I got it—I swear to God, Darrell, I called dibs. Take your break or something, damn.” There’s a scuffle somewhere off to your right. You lift your head mostly just to make sure no one is pulling a gun, but you’re frozen in your tracks by the sight of the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in your life. She looks to be around your age, maybe a year or two older, with curly hair tied up in a bun on the top of her head. The apron tied around her waist tells you that she works here, and the indignant teenager she’s arguing with tells you she’s the one causing the scuffle you’d heard. “Go. Go! I’m serious, go.” You don’t want to get your hopes up, but it doesn’t seem like she’s just angling for a good tip. 

Your eyes follow her as she makes her way over to your table, and you hope your staring is at least a little subtle, though you’re too tired to do much about it either way. 

“Howdy, stranger,” she greets, one hand on her hip. “Haven’t seen you around here before.” 

You glance around at the tired patrons, maybe three in total aside from you. “You remember everyone who comes in?” you ask her. 

She shrugs. “Most everyone who comes in are regulars, yeah. Besides, I’d have remembered you.” Oh, so it’s like that, huh? “I’m Lydia. I can take your order, if you’re ready.” 

You don’t have to introduce yourself. Normally, you wouldn’t. “____. Just a coffee, thanks.” You’re pretty sure she’s flirting with you. But maybe you’re so tired you’re hallucinating. It’s hard to tell. 

Lydia’s brows raise. “You know it’s one in the morning, stranger?” She knows your name, but she still uses the one she gave you. Point one for flirting. “You sure I can’t get you an omelet or something?” 

You shake your head. “No, I’ve, uh—I’ve got some more driving to do tonight. Just popped by for a pick me up. And a break.” It’s not a lie. The monotony of I-20 and your exhaustion had really not mixed well. You’d been fighting to keep your eyes open for 30 minutes by the time you stopped. 

“I see,” she says, tapping her pen against her notepad. “So…you’re just passing through, then?” You don’t think you’re imagining the disappointment in her voice. Point one and a half for flirting. 

“Yeah. Just passing through on my way to Austin.” 

She nods, her lips pursing in a rueful little twist. “Pity. I’d have loved to get to know you.” Okay, you may be sleep deprived and delusional but there’s no way you’re reading that one wrong. “I’ll get you that coffee, then.” 

True to her word, she disappears into the kitchen. You flick your phone open to read over the text Bobby had sent you a couple days ago. ‘Cattle mutilations near Austin. Maybe check it out while you’re down south. Be safe.’ Normally, you’d let him know you were on your way there. Your eyes flick to the kitchen door. 

‘Left Shreveport a couple hours ago, stopped in Dallas. Thx, you be safe too’ 

‘I’m not the one hunting wolves, kid. Let me know when you touch down.’

The soft clunk of a mug on the table draws your attention to Lydia, setting down a cup of coffee and a plate of pancakes in front of you. You eye them, and, despite your confusion, a smile starts to make its way onto your face. “I didn’t order those,” you tell her. 

She grins. “Oh, come on. You think you’re gonna leave a Texas diner without getting fed?” She crosses her arms over her chest, her hip cocked, and she looks so much like a scolding mother that you have to laugh. “It’s on the house. Eat ‘em, you look like you haven’t had a good meal in days.” 

You shake your head, amused, but it’s not like she’s wrong. It’s easy to get hyper focused on the hunt, forget to eat or sleep; at least when you were riding with the Winchesters, you had someone there to remind you. Still, you’re better off alone than you were with John, and you remind yourself of that everytime you linger on Dean’s contact. “Thanks.” 

Lydia turns to leave, but hesitates at the last second. “You know, my, uh…my shift ends in about ten minutes. If you wanted some company.” She extends the offer like a proffered hand, and you know you really shouldn’t take it. You should say no. You should finish your coffee and eat your pretty privilege pancakes and leave. Nothing good ever comes from making connections like this; you’ve learned that lesson a million times before. But Lydia is standing there, smiling at you sweet and shy, and for the first time in a long time, you want to stay. Maybe that feeling is worth the inevitable heartbreak. 

“Is Darrell gonna be taking over, then?” you ask, reaching your metaphorical hand across the metaphorical gap to take hers. Metaphorically. 

She laughs, surprised, like she hadn’t known you’d been listening to that argument. It lights up her face and then your stomach in turn, waking up fluttering wings that had spent a year or so gathering dust. “He should be off his break by then, yeah.” 

“Okay.” You bite back a grin, ducking your head to avoid the full force of the smile on her face. “I guess I have time to sit a while.”

Read the chain on AO3!

[badkitty3000]

You Can't Go Home Again

Chapters 3 and 4

Link to Chapters 1 and 2

Link to Chapter 5

All Five wants to do is rest. But when yet another apocalypse threatens to doom them all, he doesn't have that luxury. This time, the only solution for the Hargreeves to try and save the world is to unite Five with another, alternate version of himself.

Five starts to spiral when he is faced with the alternate life that he could have had, if only he hadn't gone and ruined everything. But maybe, just maybe, there's still time for him to obtain the happy ending he deserves.

An alternate season three rewrite for a request I received.

Warnings: None

More chapters will be posted as I continue writing this multi-chapter fic. Enjoy!

Chapter 3: Family

“Damn it!”

Five threw his pen onto the table in frustration, resting his head in his hands while aggressively raking his fingers through his hair. They had been working for hours, and he was starting to feel that familiar brain fatigue creeping in. With his suit coat and vest discarded on a nearby chair, and his tie hanging loosely down over his wrinkled shirt, Five could have really used another drink. He thought about telling his other self that, or even just going to help himself from the bottle stashed in the desk drawer, but he thought better of it.

“What’s the problem now?” the other him grumbled from the other side of the table. He had the briefcase torn apart, inspecting its inner workings and trying to apply his own research to rebuilding it.

“The problem is that none of this makes any god damn sense!” Five spat out. “The only way to make the closed timeline curve even possible is to have a temporally orientable spacetime. And with these numbers, that’s not happening.”

“The numbers are fine. You’re just not utilizing them correctly. Non-temporal orientability is not an obstacle for the CTC if a given general relativistic spacetime is not temporally orientable…” the other Five started to say.

Five, aggravated with being lectured to by his technically younger self, finished his sentence, “…in a spacetime that is everywhere locally the same as the given spacetime and is itself temporally orientable. You think I don’t know that? I’ve been working on this theory longer than you’ve been alive, shit-for-brains.”

“Well, considering you couldn’t even calculate your correct physical age, I’d say you still need to keep working on it.”

Five stood up and leaned across the table, his teeth gnashing together. “At least I’ve been able to actually do something with my powers. Instead of this…” he gestured at the room around him. “Theoretical nonsense! You egotistical moron!”

The other pointed a finger in his face, which Five promptly swatted out of the way. “Listen, you little jerk off, I have no qualms about kicking your ass into the ground right now.”

“Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try, fetus-brain.”

With a blink, the other Five was across the table, ready to strangle his smaller doppelganger. Anticipating himself doing that, Five created his own portal, appearing on the other side of the room. As both versions stood there with clenched fists, staring one another down, Five rolled his eyes and relaxed his posture. Apparently, you don’t have to be in full psychosis mode to want to kill your other self.

“Fuck, I’m too tired to do this again,” he said out loud, tipping his head back with a sigh. He faced his other self again. “Just sit down, ok? We don’t have time for this.”

“Look, it’s late and I’m tired as hell. I’m going to bed; I’ll work more on this in the morning.”

Five scoffed and attempted a strained smile. “Fine. Do you mind if I continue down here?”

The other him shrugged before heading for the stairs. “Just don’t mess up any of my shit.”

As he watched him trudge up the stairs, Five plopped down onto a chair again. He was exhausted, and he knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere tonight, either. But his siblings were all camped out in the living room up there, after Marie had insisted they stay, and Five had no desire to answer any of their questions at the moment. Let the other jackass deal with them. He just wanted peace and quiet and to let his mind clear for a moment. And to maybe have one more drink.

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

“Jesus Fucking Christ, what happened to you?”

Five’s eyelids slowly peeled back, feeling like they were permanently fused to his eyeballs. The light was piercing and he groaned loudly before closing them again. His head was splitting open with the world’s worst headache, which was not helped by the fact that he was apparently lying on a very hard surface. His mouth filled with saliva as his stomach churned. As a few more seconds passed, he remembered where he was. And who was talking to him. Fuck, can’t this guy give me a break?

Slowly, Five lifted his head, the movement making the acid in his stomach roil dangerously. With another groan, he sat upright and peered through bleary eyes at the face staring down at him with equal parts concern and disgust. His own face.

“Shit,” his other self murmured with a shake of his head. Reaching out to pick up the empty whiskey bottle that was lying on its side next to Five, he replaced it with a mug of steaming hot coffee. “Here.”

Five gave a short snort of appreciation before picking the mug up and taking a small sip. It was rich and flavorful and he sighed with relief at having finally found a decent cup of coffee. It was more than decent, actually. It tasted like heaven.

The alternate version must have noticed the look that had crossed his smaller self’s face and he chuckled softly. “Yeah, Marie makes the best coffee. One of the reasons I married her.”

Five nodded before wiping a hand down his face in an attempt to wake up. He had passed out while sitting at the desk after polishing off the last of the whiskey. The framed picture of his alternate universe family was lying face down next to where his head had been resting. He remembered staring at it while working his way through several glasses, until finally he had turned it over, unable to torture himself anymore. He quickly righted the frame, hoping that the him that was now sitting in a chair on the other side of the small room hadn’t noticed.

As he peered over at the older-looking face of himself, Five noted the morning stubble that had grown overnight. He passed a hand over his own chin, feeling nothing but baby-smooth skin. With another heavy sigh, he took a sip of coffee to hide the frustration he felt at being stuck in his current body. Look on the bright side. You didn’t wake up with a boner this time, which is a small miracle. Probably too drunk for a boner. Can you get whiskey dick at thirteen?

“So, if I had known you were going to polish off my best booze in the course of a few hours, I wouldn’t have left you unsupervised.”

Five gave another sarcastic snort. “Well, if we end up saving the world, I’ll buy you a new one.”

“I don’t really care about the whiskey; I’m more concerned about the teenager that looks they just got back from a three-day bender in Vegas that is currently sitting in my basement.”

“Not a teenager,” Five mumbled into his coffee.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re an old man and much wiser to the ways of the world than myself. Which you have so clearly demonstrated.”

“So, now what? You going to give me some long heart to heart lecture on the error of my ways?”

The other Five shook his head. “Nope. I figure whatever you’ve gone through has been hellish enough to warrant all of this. I could be right there with you if it weren’t for my family.”

Five’s head was pounding and he closed his eyes again. He didn’t really need to hear from this asshole about how wonderful his life could have been.

“Well, we can’t all be as lucky as you,” Five murmured while rubbing his temples.

“I’m lucky now, I’ll admit it. I have my wife and my kids. But it wasn’t always like that. Remember, I started out the same as you. I was part of the Umbrella Academy and Reginald Hargreeves was my father.”

Five had actually forgotten that part. He nodded. “Did Dad give you the same stupid acorn lecture that I got?”

The other man smiled. “Sure did. Unfortunately, the old bastard ended up being right about that. We weren’t ready.”

“Yeah, that’s an understatement.”

“So, what happened to you?” the alt Five asked with genuine concern.

Five had not been anticipating having to get into all the gritty details, but he also felt trapped and his body was not in any shape to be blinking or even walking away at the moment. He sighed.

“I jumped, same as you. Thought I was a hotshot, too. Until my last jump landed me seventeen years in the future, with the world destroyed and me as the only inhabitant.”

“Shit,” the other Five whispered. “And you couldn’t get back?”

“Nope. I tried everything, but I was stuck. So, after burying the bodies of our siblings, I vowed I’d figure out a way to get back and warn them all about the end of the world. Dad always said that was our destiny. To save the world. I figured he must have been right, and the only ones to fix it were the Umbrella Academy.” He gave a short sarcastic laugh. “Turns out, we’re the ones that caused it.”

The other Five paused for a bit, thinking. “But you did make it back?”

“Forty-some odd years later, yeah, I made it back. In this wonderful body you see here. Just had to do a few side jobs involving conspiracy and multiple murders before being pumped full of bullets by my ex-boss, rewinding time, saving these assholes again, and ending up here. Where, as you can see, things are going great.”

“I see,” the other said. “I’m sorry.”

Five looked up in surprise before staring back down at his coffee. “Yeah.”

“You know, it wasn’t all great for me, either. Not that it was as bad as what happened to you, but it took a while to get where I’m at today.”

Five resisted the urge to roll his eyes. What happened? You stubbed your toe once? “Oh yeah?”

“When I jumped, the same thing happened. It was going great until my last jump that I thought was the same day and time as when I left. I was so cocky and sure of myself. I was so excited to get home and show Reggie how wrong he was that I didn’t even notice the bird on the door where the umbrella should have been. When I burst into family dinner time, that’s when the horrible realization set in. My home wasn’t my home anymore. My entire family was gone and their replacements were sitting there looking like they wanted to kill me. When I saw Ben, though, I was so relieved. For about two seconds, until he called for Dad and Reggie came strolling in.”

Five waited for him to continue. When he did, Five noticed his voice was a little shakier and his eyes looked far away.

“You should have seen how he looked at me. Not that he was ever known for giving any affection, but this was worse. Like I was a bug he wanted to crush beneath his foot. Like he had never seen me before; which of course, he hadn’t.” He swallowed hard. “I tried to explain; to plead my case. But he refused to listen. That was the only home I’d ever known. My siblings were gone and my own father didn’t recognize me.”

“So, what did the old man do?” Five asked, genuinely curious.

“Threw me out. He didn’t even ask if I had a place to go or people I knew that could help. Just…kicked me to the curb like I was some piece of garbage he couldn’t be bothered to deal with. I was thirteen.”

Five nodded sympathetically. “Then what?”

The other version sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. “Then I spent a couple days and nights on the street, trying to avoid some unsavory people and stay hidden. But eventually the cops caught me loitering around the back alley of a restaurant and they took me in. They didn’t believe my story, of course, even though I had the last name Hargreeves. They also didn’t try real hard to figure out where I came from, so I ended up in the foster care system.”

“And that’s when you were adopted?”

“After about a year of being bounced around to different homes, some of which were not great, I ended up with my current parents. They were kind and they had never had any kids of their own. They were patient with me when I wasn’t very nice to them, and they weren’t freaked out about my powers. After a while, they decided it should be official and they legally adopted me.” He paused. “Because I was already a teen, they asked if I wanted to keep the Hargreeves name. I said yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted the reminder of where I came from and what my first adoptive father put me through.” His voice hardened as Five stared back at his own familiar, cold eyes. “I have been tracking Reginald since that day he threw me out. I know he’s more than just an eccentric billionaire that adopted super heroes for the greater good. I know he’s going to do something horrible. Because he’s an evil man that is only interested in his own self gain.”

Five cleared his throat, not sure what to say. He understood, because of course, he was him, but he was able to look at it from a different point of view.

“You know, that’s not the same Reginald that raised either of us.”

The other Five narrowed his eyes for a moment before nodding slowly. “I’m aware. Doesn’t change the fact that he’s an evil, self-serving bastard that could very well be at the bottom of this kugelblitz stuff.”

“Well, I’ll give you the self-serving bastard part. I’m not sure he has anything to do with the kugelblitz, though. I’m fairly certain we’re the cause alone.”

When he didn’t receive a reply, Five looked into his empty coffee mug and felt his stomach rumble again. He was also starting to realize he probably was not smelling so great.

“Do you mind if I use your shower?” he asked his other self.

“Yeah, sure. Upstairs at the end of the hall, past the kitchen.”

Five nodded. “Thanks.”

Five managed to blink directly into the hallway he needed to be in, effectively avoiding his family that he could hear arguing and laughing in the other room. He needed to sober up just a little more to deal with them. As he headed for the bathroom at the end of the hall, Five noticed the walls on either side were lined in framed pictures. He slowed to look at them as he passed.

Most of them were of the kids. Baby pictures, toddler pictures, first day of school pictures. The boy looked like his mother and the girl was a spitting image of himself. He shook his head, not quite believing how that happened. He stopped when he came to a large portrait near one of the bedrooms. It was a wedding photo, taken during what must have been the bride and groom’s first dance. The version of himself in the photo held his new bride in his arms on the dancefloor. The newlyweds’ foreheads were touching and their eyes were closed, but they were both smiling. The love between them was obvious.

Five swallowed back an emotion he wasn’t sure what to call. Longing maybe? He wasn’t sure, but his chest tightened and he found it difficult to breathe again. Out of habit, he reached to loosen his tie, but found it had been discarded at some point and his shirt collar was already unbuttoned. He took in a gulp of air and tore his eyes from the picture.

“That one’s my favorite,” a voice said behind him and Five jumped.

It was Marie, and Five hastily tried to compose himself, coughing and shoving his hands into his pants pockets. He looked at the floor. “It’s nice.”

Marie came nearer, standing a few inches taller than him. She was holding a plastic shopping bag in one hand. After smiling at the picture on the wall, she looked down at Five. “I just can’t believe how much you look like him.”

“Well, I am him.”

She laughed and Five liked the way it sounded. “Yeah, you’re right. This whole thing is so weird.”

Five chuckled. “That’s for damn sure.”

“I’m sorry for everything that you’ve been through,” she said, her eyes full of concern. When Five’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, she explained, “Your family filled me in.”

“Ah,” he said with a nod, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing nervously around. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he probably smelled like a distillery. “Thanks.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.

“With what?”

“I don’t know, anything.”

“Letting us into your home is more than enough. Hopefully I can get my half-wit siblings out of your hair shortly.”

Marie laughed and shook her head. “I like having them here. Five always talks about them, from his other life, and it’s so nice to put faces to names now.”

Five paused for a moment. “He talks about them?”

“Of course! He really missed everyone after he left. He said he never realized it at the time, but he was lucky to have a family like yours. Even if you did all drive each other crazy. He said he knew deep down that if he ever needed anything, they were there for him.”

Five scoffed and looked away for a moment. “I highly doubt that. We aren’t a real family. Just a bunch of people thrown in a house together and bonded by trauma.”

“Well, sometimes that’s all you need to be a family. From what I’ve seen, they love you very much. And I think you love them, too. At least…I know my Five does, so I assume you’re the same.”

Five didn’t know how to respond to that, so he stayed silent. After a minute, he cleared his throat and pointed toward the bathroom. “Mind if I wash up?”

“Oh, not at all. There are clean towels in the cupboard in there. And here,” she held out the bag she had been holding.

“What’s this?”

“Our neighbor has a teenage son, so I asked to borrow some clothes for you. I figured you probably wanted to get out of that suit. Although you do look very handsome in it.”

Ignoring the fact that Marie’s comment was something you’d say to a child that had dressed up for Sunday church, he took the bag she offered. Inside were some jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and clean underwear and socks. He gave her a small smile. “Thank you, Marie. That’s very nice.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, before turning around and walking away.

Five stared after her for a moment, before making his way to the bathroom again. He tried to imagine meeting Marie as a young adult and whether or not he would have ended up dating and then eventually marrying her just like his other self. It was hard to think about since he barely knew her. She seemed nice enough, and was pretty with her light blue eyes and petite frame. But there was no instant connection or swooning feeling that pointed towards the concept of soul mates. He didn’t feel anything towards her except being grateful for her hospitality. Which thank god for that, because the last thing Five needed was to be lusting after his alternate self’s wife while stuck in a teenage body.

After showering, Five stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his pale, hairless body. He knew he should be a little happy that he hadn’t ended up an infant or a ninety year old man when he screwed up the math. Being young did have its advantages and he hadn’t had this much energy in years. But somewhere closer to nineteen or twenty would have been preferable.

The jeans and black t-shirt that Marie had given him fit surprisingly well, and after changing he went to the kitchen, where his siblings were gathered. Diego was at the stove, a dish towel slung over his shoulder, looking like a short-order cook while taking breakfast orders from everyone.

“One at a time! Damn, you people are animals!” he yelled, while whisking a bowl of scrambled eggs and pouring them into a hot skillet. On another burner was a frying pan with sizzling bacon, and another filled with bubbling pancakes that looked like they were about ready to be flipped.

Five strolled over to the coffee maker, trying to hide his amused smile. He actually had no idea Diego knew how to cook. He realized he didn’t know a lot about any of them. As he poured himself a cup, he took in the mass chaos surrounding him. The kitchen table was filled with his siblings, all talking over one another.

“But I don’t like blueberries,” Klaus whined.

“Too bad, Viktor wanted blueberry pancakes, so that’s what I made. You can have eggs if you don’t want any,” Diego huffed while turning the bacon.

Klaus glared at Viktor, who just gave him a smirk in return. Allison sighed loudly and dramatically.

“You guys, Diego cannot possibly make all of our requests, he’s just one person.”

“Thank you, Allison,” Diego said with a smile.

“Now, if you don’t mind, can I just have some egg whites with a tiny piece of bacon on the side, but make sure it doesn’t have too much fat?” she said in her sweetest actress voice.

“Oh! If you’re going to make egg whites, can I have some too? Maybe with some avocado toast? Thanks, babe,” Lila said, coming over to give Diego a small slap on the butt.

“Don’t worry about me, bro. You know I’ll eat whatever. Just make sure the portion is big enough,” Luther added.

Diego growled. “I can’t believe Mom did this all those years without ripping all her wiring out. You guys are unbelievable.”

As Five observed everything, he smiled into his coffee mug, trying to hold in a laugh. What a bunch of assholes, he thought affectionately. Maybe I really did miss them.

“So, Fivey…did you get the time thingy straightened out yet?” Klaus asked, leaning back so that his chair balanced on two legs. Luther stuck out his hand to lower it back to the ground with a stern look. Klaus rolled his eyes.

“No, not yet,” Five replied. “We’ll make some headway today, though, I’m sure.”

“He’s pretty great though, right?” Klaus said.

“Who?”

“You! I mean, the other you. He seems pretty chill.”

“Chill?” Five asked, feeling his jaw tighten.

“Yeah,” Luther added, “Once the psychosis resolved, he seemed like a pleasant guy.”

“And?” Five asked, gesturing in the air with his coffee cup. “Your point?”

“Well, you know…it’s just surprising because…” Luther stammered.

Diego spoke up after flipping a pancake in the air and catching it expertly in the pan. “What the big boy over here means is that this other you isn’t a dick. Which, I think we can all agree, is a bit of a shock.”

Five glanced around the kitchen at his family that just a few seconds ago had actually been giving Five a good feeling. Now, just like always, they went and ruined it.

“Well, if he’s so goddamn amazing, why don’t you ask him to take my place in this family, because quite honestly, I could use the break.” Five gave a sarcastic chuckle and shook his head. “It’s never enough with you people, is it? I am working my ass off to try and get us back home AGAIN, but once more I seem to be the bad guy here.”

“Five…that’s not…” Viktor started to say before Five cut him off.

“No, really, let me apologize. While I am running on no sleep, inside a body that is smaller than one of Luther’s turds, having to deal with another version of myself that, let me tell you, is not as great as you think he is, all while trying to figure out the complexities of time travel, I will be sure and work on my manners so as not to offend anyone.”

The others glanced around nervously, but remained silent. Five waited to see if anyone had any smart-ass comments for him, but seeing as how they all looked like he would disappear from their sight, he would happily oblige.

Angrily topping off his coffee and swiping a few pancakes off a stack that Diego had just plated, he shoved one of them in his mouth before turning to walk out.

“Fuh-ing uh-gra-ful,” he mumbled with his mouth full as he stalked away to the basement again.

Chapter Four: A Different Angle

“I think I’m making some progress here,” Five said as he stood a few feet back from the white board and crossed his arms while reviewing his work. “What do you think?”

The other him glanced up from the miscellaneous parts that were strewn about the table in front of him. After looking the proofs over, he nodded. “Yeah, that looks right.”

From above, Marie’s voice called down to them. “Five?”

“Yeah?” they both answered in unison before looking back at one another.

“I think she means me,” the other Five said with a slight smile.

Five blushed, turning away. “Right.”

“Yeah?” he called up to his wife.

“The garbage disposal is doing that thing again. Can you come look at it?”

“Be right there!” He turned to Five. “I’ll be right back. Meanwhile, take a look at this over here; tell me what you think.”

As the other man left, Five began looking over the instruments and mechanisms on the table. Some were from the briefcase and some were of the other Five’s design. To the average person, it looked like a bunch of coils, wires, and dials, mixed with other things that looked like tiny spark plugs and fuses. Five started to play with a few of them when he heard small footsteps coming down the stairs. When he looked up, the little boy he’d seen from the pictures was standing at the bottom.

“Hello,” Five said.

“Hi,” the boy replied. After they regarded one another for a few moments, he spoke again. “You look like my dad from the pictures at my Grandma’s house.”

The boy was about seven or eight years-old, with blonde hair and blue eyes that matched his mother’s. He was small and skinny for his age, though, which Five could relate to.

“Yes, I’m sure I do,” Five answered.

“Are you my dad?”

“Uh, well, it’s complicated.” When the boy continued looking at him, as if expecting a better answer than that, Five continued. “I’m not your dad, no. But rather I’m a different permutation of him from another timeline. We are the same person, but yet not.”

The boy nodded, pursing his lips together in thought. “That makes sense.”

Five smiled. The boy appeared older and wiser than his age. Which, again, Five was familiar with.

Just then, a flash of blue appeared out of nowhere, revealing the little girl from the pictures, as she blinked directly in front of her brother. She was younger, maybe by about two years or so, and she stuck out her tongue at her older sibling.

“Haha! I didn’t use the stairs!” she gleefully sneered at him.

“Good for you. No one cares, Maddie,” the boy retorted, although Five could see he looked embarrassed.

“You can blink?” Five asked, surprised.

“Yep!” Maddie said with a proud smile. “Jack can, too, but he’s bad at it.”

“That’s not true!” the older boy shot back.

“Ok, then blink. I dare you,” she taunted.

Her older brother’s face turned red and Five was afraid he might start crying. Instead, he clenched his fists, emitting a small glow of blue around them, before relaxing them again. Letting out a loud exhale of air, he looked defeated.

“See?” Maddie laughed. “Told ya!” Then she stuck out her tongue again and blinked away.

“She’s so annoying!” Jack complained, stomping his foot and crossing his arms over his chest. “She thinks she’s so cool.”

Five nodded. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to get involved in this matter. But he was fascinated that his power was passed on to another generation.

“So, what’s the problem? Why couldn’t you blink just now?” Five asked, not sugar coating anything.

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. I can do it, but then sometimes if I start thinking too hard, my head gets all messed up. It’s like all the numbers get scrambled up in my head and then I can’t do it. My dad says I just need to concentrate and try harder.”

“Does that work?”

“Not really. I don’t know, maybe?” Jack scratched at his arm and looked at the floor. “I mean, I try to concentrate, but then either nothing happens or I end up blinking to the wrong place. My dumb sister has always been able to do it good, even though she’s younger than me.”

“Well,” Five corrected.

“Well what?”

“Your dumb sister has always been able to do it well.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “You sound just like my dad.”

Five let out a small laugh. “Sorry, force of habit. I’m sure you don’t need two dads telling you what to do.”

Jack shook his head with a smile and then cocked his head to the side. “How old are you?”

“Fifty Eight. How old are you?”

“Seven. How come you don’t look old?”

“It’s a long story, but let’s just say I understand numbers getting scrambled in your head and blinking to the wrong place. It must be genetic.”

When Jack just nodded, remaining silent, Five continued to look at him thoughtfully. There wasn’t much physical resemblance between them, but Five felt a small kinship with this boy. Annoying sibling, failed blinks, a father that tells you to try harder…Five could sympathize.

“Have you tried concentrating less?” Five asked.

Jack slowly shook his head. “Less?”

Five sat down in one of the chairs and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “If I tell you a secret about blinking, will you promise not to tell my family up there? I have a reputation to uphold.”

Jack nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I promise.”

“It’s not always about the math or how smart you are. A lot of it is feeling, and just allowing your mind to relax. Don’t think so hard about it. Rely on your instincts.”

“What’s an instinct?”

“It’s like listening to your body when it tells you to do something.”

“Ok…” Jack said, looking at the floor again.

“Do you want to try again?” Five asked.

Jack shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets, which Five noted with amusement. “I don’t know, I guess. I probably can’t do it, though.”

“Well, just try. I promise I won’t even look.”

The boy nodded. “Yeah, ok.”

Five turned his chair around, so he was facing away from Jack. “Now, pick a spot that’s fairly easy, like the other side of the room. Run a few quick numbers and then clear your head. Relax and let your body do the rest.”

Five waited for a few minutes. He kept his promise and didn’t turn around, letting the boy have his space. He could hear him breathing loudly and muttering under his breath. After a while, Five was beginning to think he had put too much pressure on the kid and he wasn’t going to be able to do it. Until he heard the familiar sound of the air warping near him and Jack appeared on the other side of the room, facing Five.

The small boy’s face was still screwed up in concentration, his eyes shut tight and his hands clenched into fists. When he opened his eyes, though, and realized where he was, his face broke into a huge grin.

“I did it!”

Five nodded and gestured to him with his hand. “I told you. You just needed to look at it from a different angle, that’s all.”

Jack laughed before balling up his fists and ripping open another portal; appearing near the stairs again. He squealed and pumped his fists in the air.

“Yes! I can’t wait to rub this in Maddie’s face!”

“Alright, big shot, don’t get ahead of yourself. Blinking across a room is one thing. Don’t be thinking you’re hot shit with these puny little jumps you just did. You need a lot more practice before you try anything big. Otherwise you might find yourself on the roof in your underpants and no one wants that.”

“Did that happen to you?” Jack asked with big eyes.

“Maybe once or twice. But remember, you promised you wouldn’t tell my family.”

Jack laughed again, just as his dad came down the stairs. “Oh, I see you met Jack.”

Five nodded. “We were just having a little lesson in blinking.”

The other Five’s eyebrows knitted together as he looked down at his son who was grinning up at him.

Five gestured to the boy. “Go ahead, show him. But remember, keep it small.”

Jack nodded before closing his eyes and biting his lip in concentration. Then his shoulders relaxed as he opened his eyes, at the same time disappearing in a flash of blue. When he popped up a few feet away, he looked up at his dad, waiting for his reaction.

His father’s mouth dropped open and then his face broke into a giant smile. “Holy shit, Jack! That was amazing!”

Jack laughed, right before reversing his new skill and jumping back to where he had been standing. His dad scooped him up and hugged him. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, dad! Now I can blink just like you and Maddie and she can’t make fun of me anymore.”

“Now, just remember, don’t try anything big yet…” the other Five started to warn him.

“Oh yeah, I know. I need to practice more so that I don’t end up on the roof in my underwear.”

“Uh..yeah…” Five’s other self agreed in confusion before setting his son down.

“Can I try to the top of the stairs?” Jack asked eagerly.

“I suppose so.”

In a flash, Jack was gone from their sight and the two Fives could hear his excited voice and the sound of his feet as he hopped up and down excitedly on the floor above them. “I did it! Hey mom, look!”

Both men regarded one another and Five was wondering if he’d overstepped his boundaries. But his other self just smiled and shook his head. “I’ve been trying to work with him on that for months. How did you do that?”

Five shrugged. “I just gave him a different way of looking at things. Sometimes that’s all it takes.”

The other him nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you for that.”

Five was caught off guard by his sincerity and he looked away, uncomfortable. “No big deal. Seems like a good kid.”

“He is. He’s the best.”

Five nodded again, staring at the table of weird electrical parts in front of him. Suddenly, he jumped up, knocking his chair over in the process. “Holy fuck! I see it! I see what we’ve been missing! God, we’re so stupid!”

“Speak for yourself. What do you see?”

Five took two gears off the table and held them up. “We’ve been looking at time dilation all wrong. Instead of trying to produce special relativity, we should be producing—”

“General relativity,” the other him finished. “Shit, you’re right.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t we see that earlier?”

“I don’t know, but this makes so much more sense now. Do you see it?”

“Yeah,” his alternate nodded, a smile starting to form on his face. “Yeah, I see it.” He chuckled. “If we can get this up and running, then maybe I can finally figure out what our old man has been up to.”

Five frowned, a little concerned that he seemed to be so focused on Reginald. “Let’s just start with stopping the world from imploding, ok?” He looked back down at the table full of tiny, metal pieces. “Alright, we’re going to need more of your wife’s coffee, because this is going to take a while.”

Thanks for reading and if you want to be tagged for future chapters, let me know!

@kaybreezy3000