#and probably never really had that illusion to begin with

[cr1mson5returns]

Sort of obsessing over the concept of Tim, having been acknowledged canonically as a talented photographer, using these skills for morally gray reasons. This kid doesn't intend to use his fists to win every battle, or even most battles, actually. He's well-connected, fits into unconventional hiding spaces due to being lean and slender and 5'6", and he has a very nice camera. So really, Senator, it's a shame you thought you'd get away with so much. Think of what the Times could do with this evidence. High-definition doesn't lie. So you'll vote to expand funding for public education and Medicaid in the state, is that correct? Of course, you're an upstanding politician, after all. Couldn't have all this getting in the way of your career.

[freedomfireflies]

Five to Go Live*

Summary: The fifth and final part to One for the Money*

Mr. Styles, your boss (and the CEO of the company you work for), offers to help you expand your OnlyFans business.

But maybe you want more.

And maybe he does, too.

Word Count: 11.5k (I have no idea what happened tbh)

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

“Good morning, Mr. Styles.”

The tense frame of the man pacing in front of the window stills when he hears your greeting. 

You’re five minutes early, coffee in hand, ready to begin your workday.

However, he doesn’t turn around as you enter his office. But the slight glimpse of his profile lets you know he’s acutely aware of your presence.

He stays by his desk, offering nothing more than his silence as you set down his drink and move for the couch.

“Good morning,” is his brisk greeting. It’s not any warmer or colder than usual. It’s just him. “Do you have the reports I asked for?”

“Right here.” You drop them onto the coffee table. “Ready for your meeting this afternoon.”

“Good.” He stares out at the city, unwilling to look you in the eye. “And you’ve confirmed with Nadia?”

“Yes. She’s calling for a driver as we speak.”

He nods once, fingers flexing beside his thighs before he finally ventures a glance over his shoulder. “And I suppose you’d like to talk to me about the other day.”

You flip open the laptop and pull up your email, eyebrow raised. “The other day?”

He turns to you, and you feel his heated stare. “I believe I owe you an explanation.”

“Not really,” you respond, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “You agreed to help me with the video, and you did. I didn’t expect you to stay, Sir.”

Your peripheral catches his slight frown. “You didn’t?”

“No.” You open his schedule and begin jotting down a few notes from Nadia’s email. “You’re not exactly the cuddling type. Probably would have been weirder if you had stayed.”

His hands disappear into his pockets as he regards you. “I never meant to upset you.”

“You didn’t.” Another shrug. “I knew what I agreed to, and now we’re done. No harm, no foul.”

The frown deepens. “Still, I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that—”

“Mr. Styles,” you interrupt, turning to face him, “I wasn’t under the illusion that things would change just because we fucked. I didn’t need aftercare, I didn’t need your words of affirmation, and I didn’t need you to stay.”

Something unrecognizable passes over his features.

You lean forward. “We’re good, Sir.”

The office goes quiet. You know him well enough by now to know what it looks like when he’s biting back a response.

And you imagine there are quite a few things he’d like to berate you for, but instead, he merely clamps his jaw shut and nods.

“All right.” He returns to his desk and takes a seat. “Let’s begin.”

The rest of the workweek carries on like usual. Things return to normal. Or at least to the way they were before he admitted to knowing about your outside activities.

And you find that you’re grateful for that. It’s much easier to only imagine him as your boss instead of your…business partner. 

What happened that afternoon in the hotel room was great. Fantastic, even. But it was only ever an act of generosity. A favor, more like. He helped you exactly the way he said he would and now it’s over.

You won’t ever have to think about him like that again.

So…you don’t. 

At least, you try not to. But it proves quite difficult.

After deciding against posting the whole video for your channel, and instead only uploading the part where he comes on your tits, it becomes harder to ignore what you two have done. 

 After all, the response is overwhelming. Positive, excited, and extremely lucrative. Most of the requests are for more of the mysterious man they’ve come to know, and you try not to feel disappointed when you realize there won’t be any more guest appearances. 

You wonder if he’s watched it. Wonder if he remembers that day the way you do.

Sometimes you slip up, and you watch the beginning just to hear him talk to you. You watch the way you undress him. Watch the way he kisses you. Watch the way he drives himself inside of you and begs you to come for him.

But then it hits you. Like a fucking freight train. It won’t ever happen again, and lingering on the one time it did isn’t healthy.

So, you turn it off, and attempt to resume life as normal.

You reach out to Max to apologize yet again for what happened, and he’s incredibly understanding. He asks if you’d like to meet for drinks and go over another scene for the future.

And you agree because you will do anything to put Mr. Styles in your rearview mirror.

You don’t mention the meeting to your boss. You figure it won’t do any good, and even if he disapproved, it’s not like he would tell you.

This is your game now. Not his.

So, with a new lease on life, you head for the bar to meet with Max, eager to find out what he has in store.

He’s happy to see you. Pulling out your chair and refusing any attempts at apologies that you offer.

Which you’re more than appreciative of, although you can’t help feeling a bit guilty that he didn’t get the content he’d been wanting.

“Seriously, don’t even worry about it,” he repeats for the third time since you sat down. “Honestly. I get it, once other people get involved, it gets complicated.”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, sheepishly glancing down at your lap. “But still. He shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have let him run you out like that.”

He smiles. “It’s fine. Listen, your boyfriend has nothing to worry about. Really. And we can proceed however you feel is best—”

“Oh, no, he’s…he’s not my boyfriend,” you interject, head shaking quickly. “No, he was just…nobody. He’s nobody. Anymore.”

Max studies you for a moment, seemingly curious at your insistence. “Oh? Does…he know that?”

You swallow thickly and take hold of your glass. “Yeah. He does.”

A beat before he nods.

“All right.” Max takes a swig himself. “As long as you’re sure this is something you want.”

You nod but can’t help finding yourself hesitating. “Yeah, it’s…yeah. Of course.”

His expression softens. “Boyfriend or not, he still has a hold over you, doesn’t he?”

And you grimace because you hate the way it sounds. Hate how obvious it must be to everyone else. Hate that it’s even a thing at all.

“No, he just…he’s infuriating,” you argue. “I mean, you were there. You saw what he’s like.”

“I was and I did,” he agrees with a smirk. “Infuriating is the nicer way to put it.”

“He’s a dick,” you correct, making you both smile. “But I trusted him. And I trusted his judgment. And him being so…blunt is sometimes a good thing. Because there’s no room for overthinking or questioning what he really wants. He tells you. Exactly how he feels, exactly how he feels it.”

Max nods thoughtfully, urging you to continue.

“And yet there are so many things I feel like he’s keeping from me,” you murmur. “And maybe he doesn’t owe me answers. Maybe it doesn’t even matter, but I just…there was this moment when we were on the same page. When it felt so seamless, and easy, and good. And now…”

Max sighs. “Now he’s nobody.”

You both grow quiet as you let this settle.

“Yeah,” you whisper, taking a sip of your drink. “He’s nobody. And it’s nothing. And it’s over anyway, so…I’m free to do whatever I’d like.”

He laughs. “That’s a great attitude.”

“Why thank you very much.”

“Of course.” He rubs his hands together. “Well, I guess in that case…maybe we should go over—”

“Peach Valentine.”

And almost as if you spoke him into existence, that familiar voice finds you. Cutting right through your conversation as chills fly up the back of your neck.

You almost don’t want to look. Want to pretend that this is merely a subconscious projection of the very last man you want to see.

But you can feel his presence behind you. Can smell his cologne and can see the surprised look on Max’s face.

Of course he’s here.

Slowly, you turn around, letting your eyes find the tall figure looming only a foot or two away.

He’s wearing an expression you know all too well. The one that tells you exactly what he’s thinking without him having to say a single word.

And your stomach sinks.

“Sir,” you whisper, voice oddly timid before you clear your throat and straighten up. “Hello.”

For a moment, he’s quiet. Offering nothing more than a blank stare. Then, he looks at Max. He looks at you. And nobody speaks.

Finally, his jaw sets, and his hands bury themselves deep within his expensive pockets. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m…I’m meeting with Max,” you reply, shooting a smile toward your new friend.

Mr. Styles frowns. “You didn’t tell me you were meeting him.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” you retort, lowering your voice as you send him a pointed look. “Seeing as we’re not partners anymore.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re still my assistant. And your well-being is my concern.”

“Oh? I thought what I did with my personal life didn’t concern you.”

“It does when it has to do with him.”

Your glare begins to mirror his. “Well, since I am in need of a new business partner, I figured Max would be the perfect one to ask.”

Mr. Styles rolls his shoulders back, regarding you carefully. “And since when are you in need of a new business partner?”

“Since my old one walked out on me.”

This does it. His features twist into an unforgiving and rather harsh look of disdain as he steps closer and drops his tone. “I told you, I needed to explain—”

“No, you don’t need to explain,” you correct. “I’m not upset. I’m not bitter. I’m not angry. But that doesn’t change the fact that our agreement is over.”

His teeth grit. “Just because I left doesn’t mean I was ending our deal—”

“It does in my book. I don’t have time to wait for you, Sir.” You sit up, leveling the playing field. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

His fingers suddenly wrap around your upper arm, tugging on you until your feet hit the floor, forcing you to stand. “I need to talk to you.”

A bit surprised, you blink rapidly and attempt to pull yourself free. “Mr. Styles—”

“Now, Peach.”

You want to argue. Want to fight him on this. Want to stay strong, stay with Max. Send the mean man away.

But you know him, no matter how belligerent he’s being. And there’s something in those eyes that you’ve found yourself lost in that persuades you to nod and follow him to the hallway.

The moment you’re alone and the loud music has been dulled to a quiet hum, you step away from him. Put the necessary distance between your bodies as he watches you go.

“You shouldn’t be talking to him,” he says simply, almost as if it were obvious. “In fact, you shouldn’t be here at all.”

You scoff, rearing back to stare at him incredulously. “I’m sorry…you’re joking, right?”

“It’s a work night,” he replies, still infuriatingly cool. “And we agreed you wouldn’t do business with him—”

“We agreed?” Your eyebrow raises. “No, we didn’t agree on anything. You ran him out of the room without so much as checking with me first. And since when are we a we at all?”

He’s far too calm for your liking. “I told you, I’m still your boss. And partner. I want what’s best for you—”

“Really? Is that why you left?”

Once again, he scowls. “I told you, I had things to do—”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you snort. “Look, I don’t care why you left. I don’t even care that you left. But you did leave. So if I want to film with Max, I have every right to do so—”

“You do,” he agrees. “But you’re much smarter than that, Peach. And you know it.”

“Yeah? And what makes me so smart, hm? Sleeping with you?”

His expression twists into something you don’t recognize. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Sleep with you? Or point out that we did?”

“Peach—”

“No, you know what?” You take a brave step forward. “You have no right to come in here and demand that I leave him. Max is a good guy. In fact, of all the people that I’ve messaged on OnlyFans, he’s the only one that hasn’t said something skeevy or inappropriate.”

His expression falls. “Are you being harassed?”

“Not if I don’t respond. The block button exists for a reason. And that’s not even the point. The point is that you told me to do this. You told me it would be good for my channel to collaborate—”

“But not with him.”

“Then who? You?”

The hallway stills as Mr. Styles leans back. “This was never about me.”

“No. It wasn’t. It was about me,” you agree. “That’s what you promised. That this would be about what I wanted to do. And I want to meet with Max.”

The glare returns. “If you’re trying to punish me—”

“Punish you?” You laugh but it’s void of all humor. “Punish you for what? For being exactly who I thought you were?”

“You shouldn’t be here with him,” he says again, and your eyes roll.

“Then where should I be, huh, Sir? Should I be at home? Like a good little girl?” You take another step forward. “Should I be on my knees, waiting for you? Should I be fucking myself with that toy you bought? Pretending it’s you?”

You notice the muscles in his jaw constrict as he steels himself and throws you a look of warning. “Peach—”

“Because if I can’t fuck Max, and I can’t fuck you, then what do you want from me?” Another step. “You’re never happy. I can never make you happy—”

“Peach—”

 “I get that this meant nothing to you. I get that.” You’re only inches away now. “But…you’re so confusing. You’re so goddamn confusing, and I never know what you really want. Sometimes I think I do, and other times…”

His lips purse shut but his eyes are soft.

“I feel like we used to want the same thing,” you admit quietly, heart in your throat as you stare up at the beautiful man before you. Your rage dwindles down to a contemplative annoyance. “And now we don’t. So…excuse me for trying to find somebody who does want me.”

Suddenly, he surges forward. Stepping up to you so quickly, and with so much power that it forces you to stumble back into the wall.

He cages you there, his broad chest brushing against yours as he peers down, features hard and unmoving.

“And you think that somebody is Max?” he sneers, almost as if mocking you. “You think that he wants anything more from you than the money you’ll make him?”

“Who cares?” you argue, but it’s weaker than you’d like. “It’s an investment, you said so yourself—”

“I am your investor. Not him,” Mr. Styles nearly barks, practically chastising you. “How could it ever be him—”

“Because he’s everything you aren’t.”

He doesn’t even flinch, instead cocking his head to the side as he smirks. “So that’s what this is? You’re trying to replace me? Trying to find somebody better?”

“Well it’s not hard.”

The Cheshire-like grin grows. “Fine, Peach. Let me ask you this…do you like who you are with him? Do you like the role he puts you in?”

Your lashes flutter. “I don’t…I don’t know what you mean—”

“Yes, you do.” His head dips until he’s fully in your space, making it impossible to know anything else but him. “Do you like how he treats you as though you’re nothing more than a means to his end?”

A breath catches in your throat. 

“Do you like how it’s never about you? Only him?”

You squirm back into the wall, once again attempting to create a bit of distance, but failing miserably as he places a hand next to your head.

“Do you like how insignificant he is?” His voice has dropped to a dangerous purr, like silk that slips across your cheek. “Or did you like it better with me?”

A question meant to trap you and you can do nothing more than stare at the buttons on his shirt as you will yourself not to gasp.

“Because I think you like yourself better in my reflection,” he murmurs, his other palm now smoothing across your hip, subtly tugging you into his body. “The way I make you beg for me. The way I touch you. Kiss you. Fuck you.”

The words weigh heavy on your chest, making it hard to breathe as his nose softly ghosts against yours. 

“Everything is better with me. And you know it. So why are you wasting your time with him? Hm, Peach? Who are you really trying to punish? Me…or you?”

And you could just slap him. You really could. Could fucking slap the dimples right off his face for being so smug.

“I’m not punishing anybody,” you whisper, nails curling into your palms to brace yourself. “I’m just doing what you told me to.”

“Well now I’m telling you to leave him.”

“Why?”

His eyes flick between yours. “Why do you think?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. I want to hear you say it.”

The frown returns. “Peach—”

“Say it, Mr. Styles,” you repeat. “And maybe I will leave him. Maybe I’ll walk out of this bar, and never look back. I’ll delete his number, I’ll block him, I’ll never think of reaching out to him again. I’ll leave. With you.”

You can see the way he internalizes this. Can feel his grip tighten, can see the muscles in the arm beside your head flex.

“Just say it,” you mumble again, reaching out to brush your fingers down his chest. “Tell me what you really want. Because maybe I want it, too.”

Everything moves around you. The world, time, this moment.

But neither of you move.

And as the seconds pass, you can’t help but silently will him to finally be honest with you. To finally succumb to what he really needs. To make everything that’s happened mean something.

Then, his eyebrows weave together, and his lips turn down. “I want you to go home,” he finally says, and your heart drops so fast, it makes your head spin. “You’re drunk, and you shouldn’t be alone with him.”

“I’m not drunk,” you retort, now shoving on his sternum to create that space you so desperately need. “I’ve had one drink. And I’m not alone. You’re here.”

And maybe it’s too dark in this hallway to be sure, but you’re almost positive you see something painful flash behind his eyes.

“I won’t be for long,” he replies as he pushes off the wall and steps back. “I have other things to do besides babysit you.”

And that is your slap to the face.

Your hands ball into fists by your side. “You are such a fucking asshole. I never asked you to babysit me. I didn’t even want you here—”

“Clearly you need it,” he argues. “Since you aren’t capable of making decisions on your own. Even when you’re sober.”

You scoff so loud, it makes your throat sore. “I was doing just fine without you—”

“You were scraping by,” he corrects. “And you could do so much better if you realized that he’s nothing but a waste of time and sperm.”

Your nose crinkles as you make your way to the end of the hall, ready to rid yourself of him. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t…I can’t argue with you over the same goddamn thing. Okay, Max is nice to me. He tells me what he actually feels, and that’s something you could never understand.”

You think you see the briefest hint of disappointment, but it’s replaced just as quickly by a look of unamused indignation. “Fine. If you’d like your sex life and your career to be as mediocre as his cock…by all means. The choice is yours.”

“It is,” you agree coldly, ready to turn on your heel and run. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Styles.”

With that, you exit the hallway, leaving him behind.

And he lets you.

The following day, things aren’t as awkward as you expected. Mr. Styles doesn’t mention your run-in at the bar, nor does he attempt to restart the conversation about Max.

He treats you the way he did when he first hired you. With nothing but professionalism and distance. 

At first, you’re thankful. There are no more sly comments or lingering stares at your chest. He follows your terms to let you make your own decisions. He lets your business be yours.

And he’s nothing more than your boss.

But as the days progress, you can’t shake the nagging thought that something bigger is afoot. Almost as though something is wrong. Off.

Maybe it’s just in your head. Maybe you want to believe he’s more affected by this little falling out than he pretends to be.

But you’ve known him for over a year. You know what it looks like when he’s upset, and this…this is not it.

However, you decide to push away the inclination altogether, and carry on with your work as usual. Because even if something is wrong, it’s none of your concern anymore.

That is until Nadia mentions it over lunch.

“Listen, he’s a very complicated man,” she says when you comment on his odd behavior, waving her salad fork through the air. “He tries so hard to appear uninterested, but I know it’s just an act. Nobody is that heartless.”

You swirl your French fry around in your ketchup, mulling this over. “I don’t know. He doesn’t…I don’t think he’s heartless. I think that’s just…who he is. He has a one-track mind.”

Nadia snorts. “Please. You should have seen him before…”

Your little lunch corner goes oddly silent as she suddenly presses her lips together and winces.

“Before…?” you repeat curiously, head tilting.

“Nothing,” she’s quick to reply, dismissing the comment with a flutter of her hand. “No, nothing. He just…he was more open when he first started the company, that’s all.”

You know there’s more to that story than she’s letting on, but you don’t push. Instead nodding your head as you return to your burger, letting the inquiry rest.

However, the subject is changed for all of three minutes before she sighs, and finally says, “Okay, look, it’s none of my business. And I don’t even know all of details, but maybe this will help make your job…easier?”

Once again struck with curiosity, you motion for her to continue.

“He had an assistant before you,” she begins. “His first assistant actually. I don’t know too much because I was working the mail room. But I do know that they were really close. Maybe friends, maybe more. I don’t know. But they were close.”

You lean back in your seat, endlessly intrigued as you wait for the rest.

“And everybody loved them together. She made him so happy. He was always smiling, always laughing, always walking around the office talking to everybody. Engaging in chit chat and catching up on everyone’s lives.”

It’s odd to picture your boss so open. So…infatuated. In fact, this fantasy she’s painting doesn’t sound like the man you know at all.

You have to wonder how different things would have been if he were still the same.

“Anyway, I don’t know what happened exactly, but something bad,” Nadia sighs. “The rumor was that she was seeing somebody he didn’t like. He got crazy possessive over her, and it drove them apart. She quit, and he became this sullen, hollow version of himself. And now that’s just who he is, I guess.”

“That’s…so sad,” is about all you can offer, frowning some as she nods.

“Yeah. It was,” she agrees. “After her, he didn’t hire another personal assistant for quite some time. Until you, actually. Which was kind of surprising, and I think we were all a little worried for you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, you seem to be handling him just fine, which is great. But…I don’t know. He just became very…cold. Distant, I guess. Doesn’t really create personal relationships anymore.”

You have to admit that this makes sense, although it doesn’t exactly help make things any clearer for you. “That must have been hard for him.”

“Yeah. And maybe he taught himself not to care, but…I think he hides who he really is because of her,” she admits with a shrug. “Which sucks. ’Cause he’s such a good guy, deep down. He just…he’s afraid, I guess.”

You hate the way your heart breaks for him. Hate the way this humanizes him. Hate the way it makes you second guess every interaction the two of you have ever had.

“Does he ever talk about her?” you ask next.

“No, never. I don’t even remember her name, to be honest. It was forever ago. Five or six years, at least.”

“Wow.”

“Mhm. As far as I know, he doesn’t date, either. I think he fucks around a bit. I mean, he’s a guy, after all,” she teases. “But he doesn’t really do anything…meaningful. Maybe he doesn’t know how anymore.”

Your stomach twists around an invisible knife. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” she hums, digging back into her salad. “I don’t know. If he’s being rude, just tell him to fuck off. That always works for me.”

You laugh as the subject is dropped and the two of you carry on with your lunch.

But you think about it for the rest of the day, the information following you back to his office where you’re quick to find that he’s left for the afternoon. 

So, you sit with this discovery as you go through your tasks. Unable to stray from the thought for very long before your throat constricts, and you feel a wave of disappointment.

You text him as you’re leaving for the evening. A simple, “Finished prepping the presentation. Hope you’re okay,” before you tuck your phone away and head home.

Hours go by without a response. Not that you really expected one, but you can’t help feeling slightly guilty for the role you played in pushing him to open up.

And no matter how out of line he was, or how justified you were in asking for his honesty, you know how hard it must be for him to be honest with you.

Especially if what Nadia said is true.

After messaging Max for a bit about your upcoming video, you decide to run yourself a bath, letting the bubbles fill the tub as you watch the water rise.

You’ve barely slipped out of your socks when your phone vibrates on the porcelain sink, making you jump some at the sudden noise.

The familiar name flashes across the screen, making your heart skip as you hesitantly hit the green button and bring the phone to your ear. “…hello?”

“You did it, didn’t you?” Mr. Styles says, but even through the static, you can hear that there’s something off. 

“Did…what?” you ask hesitantly.

“You fucked him,” comes the reply. Blunt and void of any civility. “Max. You fucked him, didn’t you?”

With narrowed eyes, you turn the water off and step out of the bathroom. “I don’t believe that’s any of your concern—”

“So, yes,” he answers for you. Then, you hear him chuckle to himself. However, there’s something chilling about the way he laughs. Bitter, almost. “You’re very easy to read, Peach.”

You can feel your expression fall into one of annoyance as you lean against the wall in the hallway. “Mr. Styles—”

“Was he good?”

You glower. “Mr. Styles—”

“I already know the answer is no,” he continues. “Even your own fingers would be better, but…maybe I just wanted to hear you say he wasn’t.”

You contemplate this for only a moment before you cautiously ask, “Are you drunk?”

You can hear the subtle slur slip through the speaker, and your eyebrows raise as he snorts.

“No, I’m curious,” he retorts, but it makes your heart pound. “And I’m still a subscriber. So I want to know what to expect.”

Your stomach wrenches. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Why are you avoiding my question?”

“Mr. Styles—”

“You like to torture me, don’t you?” he interrupts, and there’s a hitch in your breath. “You always have. From the first day I met you. You were wearing that really nice dress. And your hair was up in that pretty ponytail. And you walked in like you were trying to walk into my life and ruin me.”

Your head falls back into the wall, eyes fluttering shut. “Sir—”

“And I let you,” he carries on. “I let you ruin me. I let you do the one thing I promised I’d never do, and now what? Now you’ve gone and strutted your way into somebody else’s life.”

And maybe he doesn’t know what he’s saying, but you feel this overwhelming rush of emotion, anyhow. “Mr. Styles, where are you?”

“Where would you like me to be?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Says you.”

You huff. “Mr. Styles—”

“Tell Max I said hello,” he says instead. “And then tell him I don’t mean it.”

“Mr. Styles—”

There’s some sort of loud noise on his end before the line suddenly beeps three times and the call goes dead.

And you can only stand there, flabbergasted, as you stare at your phone. Wondering what the hell just happened.

You’re frozen for a good minute or two, running through your options. He normally doesn’t reach out when he’s drinking, at least not to you, and definitely not this late.

Maybe it’s a silent cry for help or maybe he just wanted to bother you one last time.

Either way, it breeds something unnerving in your gut as you groan to yourself and head back to your room to retrieve your shoes.

You don’t imagine he’s out. He has to be at his apartment, so at least you know he’s probably safe. But you don’t know what he might do. You don’t know what that sound was, and if he’s managed to hurt himself, but you don’t think anyone will be there to help for quite a while.

You grab the key he’d given you a few months ago. It was meant only for emergencies, although you’ve never needed to use it.

Tonight, however, you decide that this is as good an excuse as any.

You call an Uber to take you to his place, the lavish apartment building smack in the middle of downtown, quite a bit away from you.  

Thankfully, the traffic isn’t too bad this late at night, and you’re grateful for the quick trip as you’re brought to a stop just outside the sidewalk in under thirty minutes.

You jump out, greet the doorman, and book it for the elevator before hitting the button for his apartment at the top of the building.

It’s a good three-minute ride before you finally reach his floor, and once those doors open, your heart leaps into your throat.

Even the hallway is exquisite, and your dirty Vans squeak along the newly waxed floors as you approach his apartment, and fumble with the key.

You unlock it as slowly and quietly as you can, hoping not to startle him if he is in fact inside, and the moment the door is cracked, you call, “Mr. Styles? Are you here?”

Everything is dark as you enter. Not a single lamp to be seen, only the soft glow of the city lights outside of his many large windows, and the pale shadow of the moon cascading across the floors.

You see silhouettes of furniture, walls, and a few appliances. Enough that you manage not to trip over anything as you make your way into his living room. 

And then, you see him.

The shape of his body is outlined by the window to your left. He’s sitting on the floor, back against the wall as he stares out at the tall skyscrapers before him. 

Your heart sinks as you pocket the keys and approach slowly. “Mr. Styles?”

He’s still. Deathly still, in fact. As if he hasn’t even heard you. He doesn’t even bother to look over or investigate your presence.

And then, he murmurs, “You shouldn’t be here.”

Your breath hitches.  “Maybe not,” you reply quietly, taking another cautious step. “But I was worried about you.”

He snorts, arms slung over his knees, a crystal glass in one hand that’s only got a few drops left. “How nice.”

“Mr. Styles,” you try again, “are you all right?”

Now close enough to catch a glimpse of his profile, you see the sweaty hair matted to his forehead. The strain in his jaw and the red rim around his eyes. 

“M’fine. You can go,” he calls.

You take another step. “You didn’t sound fine—”

“Well I am, all right?” he suddenly sneers, turning to face you as you lean back. “I don’t need your fucking pity.”

“It’s not pity. It’s concern,” you correct briskly. “You’re drunk, and upset—”

“Yeah? What was your first fucking clue?”

You shoot him a look of warning as you bridge the gap and hesitantly crouch down to his level. “Why are you drinking?”

“Because I fucking can,” is his reply, his normally soft green eyes now as sharp as the edge of a sword. “Is that a problem?”

“Maybe. Do you remember calling me?”

“Of course I fucking do. But I don’t remember asking you to come here.”

“You didn’t,” you agree. “But I wanted to. Because I was worried.”

“Why? Don’t you have better things to worry about now?”

You’ve never heard him sound so insecure, and you’re reminded again of Nadia’s story as you glance over his expression. “I haven’t slept with Max.”

This is the only thing that seems to reach him, his lashes fluttering as he leans back, although his scowl remains put. “Why not?”

“We just haven’t yet. We’re still planning the video.”

“So you’re going to?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“You think so.”

“I plan to.”

He scoffs beneath a quiet breath and looks back out the window. “And you needed to come here to tell me that?”

“I came here because I wanted to make sure you were okay,” you tell him again. “And to set the record straight.”

“Why? You were right, it’s none of my fucking business.”

“It’s not, but you still seem to care.”

He snorts. “I don’t fucking care who you sleep with, Peach.”

“Sure, okay. Is that why you tried to keep me from doing it?”

“I was trying to help.”

“You’d help me a lot more if you were honest.”

“I am honest. I’m always fucking honest.”

“Not about this.”

His eyes return to yours. “I told you, you can do better. That’s my honest opinion.”

“Fine.” You take a moment to study him. “Then why did you offer to help me?”

His head drops back against the wall as he mulls this over, but his gaze never leaves you. “Because you needed the help. I knew you could make more money if you just did things a little differently, and I was right.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“What else would it be?”

Your head tilts. “Why did you agree to be in the video with me?”

“You said you didn’t have anyone else.”

“Why did you get me custom jewelry with your initials?”

His teeth begin to grit, the grasp on his glass tightening some. “What?”

“The peaches would have been fine. My initials would have been fine. But you wanted me to wear your name,” you remind him. “Why?”

“I already told you, I wanted him to know who your real partner was—”

“Yeah? Then why did you leave?”

His lips press together. “I thought you didn’t care—”

“I do now. Why?”

“I had somewhere to be—”

“Where?”

“Where?”

“Yes, where? Where did you have to be?”

He seems to fight himself on the answer before finally admitting, “The gym.”

You lean back, blinking quickly. “I’m sorry, you rushed out of there to go to the gym?”

“Yes.”

Now it’s your turn to scoff as you shake your head. “Wow. No, I should have assumed as much. Makes perfect sense. Clearly that was so much more important than just telling me I made you uncomfortable—”

“You didn’t,” he suddenly interjects, shooting you this look like he’s disappointed in your response. “I left because I knew I couldn’t stay.”

“You couldn’t stay? And why the fuck not?”

“Because—” He stops himself, once again clamping his jaw shut as if wrestling with the truth. Then, he drops his head, eyes finding the floor as he glares at the marble beneath. “Because I couldn’t.”

And you want to scream because you don’t know if he’ll ever be honest with you. Don’t know what to do to reach him.

“You know what I think?” you finally huff, and he looks up. “I think this is about her.”

Confused, he glances over your expression. “Her who?”

“The girl who used to work for you. Your first assistant. The one who left.”

Instantly, the atmosphere changes, his entire demeanor shifting on a dime as he presses his back into the wall and shoots you a venomous look of intimidation. “Oh you do, do you?”

“Yeah.” You hold your ground, keep your shoulders stiff. “I think you loved her. I think you were honest with her. I think you let yourself trust her, and I think…she broke that trust.”

You can tell he’s not quite sure what to do with this, furrowed brows still knitted together. “And where the fuck did you get that?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s true, isn’t it?”

His finger taps the edge of the crystal in thought, but his contemplative expression remains. “Even if it were, what does this have to do with us?”

“Everything,” you say simply. “She broke your trust, and you chose not to get close to anyone again. But then you started helping me. And we got closer. And created a bond—created trust. And the second you realized, you ran for the hills.”

He snorts again, but he doesn’t rush to deny it.

So, you carry on. “Max coming along only made things worse for your fragile little ego. And maybe you were trying to keep it from happening again, but you did a really shitty job of it. And now here we are, sitting on your floor, saying everything but what we really mean.”

He’s angry. He’s so very angry, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly, fighting himself on what he really wants to say.

You scoot closer, gently reaching out to take the crystal glass from his hand so you can place it on the floor. Then, you rest your palm atop his arm, and meet his eye.

“Harry,” you whisper, and he sucks in a sharp breath, tensing beneath your touch. “I’m not her. And maybe that’s a good thing, maybe it’s not. But I have only ever wanted it to be you.”

He’s quiet but you have his full attention. And the intrigue in his features urges you to continue.

“Even before you told me that you watched, I imagined you,” you admit quietly. “I’ve always imagined you. Your voice, and your hands, and your face. And yeah, I didn’t mind keeping things…professional. Strictly about the content and nothing more. But…you have to know I wanted more.”

Once again, the back of his head meets the wall, as if bracing himself from your honesty.

“I wanted more,” you repeat. “And I thought you did, too. Maybe that’s why it’s been so hard, and maybe that’s why I tried to use Max to move on. But I never wanted Max. I only wanted you. I just…I wasn’t sure I could have you.”

He looks down at your hand, gaze softening when he sees the way it looks on his arm. Like he’s mesmerized by your touch.

“And I need you to tell me right now what you want,” you say softly. “I need the truth. I have to know if we’re running around in circles for no reason, or if…maybe we can get off this ride together.”

He’s silent for quite a long stretch, letting himself ponder a response as the apartment fills with a solemn quiet.

You study his face in the soft glow of the moonlight, wonderstruck by the sharp curve of his jaw in contrast to the soft curls near his cheeks.

Even now, he’s breathtaking.

Finally, he clears his throat. “Ellie.”

“What?”

“Her name,” he says, “was Ellie. And you’re right, I did trust her. But I ruined it. Not her.”

Now it’s your turn to listen as he recalls this memory to you, nodding gently for him to continue.

“She didn’t…she loved somebody that wasn’t me. That was her only fault,” he murmurs, once again staring at your hand as your thumb strokes his tan skin. “And it wasn’t even a fault. But I hated it. Because I wanted it to be me. And it was never going to be me. We both knew that.”

Slowly, his arm turns over, allowing your gentle touches to dance along the more sensitive skin.

You smile.

“I crossed so many fucking lines,” he admits quietly. “As her boss, as her friend. I pushed her away only to drag her back and try to keep her close. I suffocated her. I let myself need her in ways I shouldn’t have. She had every right to leave. In fact, she should have left sooner.”

You feel the tips of his fingers brush against you as he subtly grabs on.

“And then you,” he whispers, eyes still locked on where you’re connected. “I’d been doing so good. Didn’t let myself slip again, and then you came along, and everything was fucked. Because I knew I couldn’t do to you what I’d done to her. But I let myself think about you anyway. Even when I shouldn’t have.”

You can feel tears crawling up the back of your throat, and the wounded look on his face is like a fist to the heart.

“And for some fucking reason, I thought offering my advice would allow me to know you without ruining anything,” he sighs, tugging you a bit closer until your knees collide with his. “Which obviously didn’t work. And then I was looking for excuses to be with you. To have you. To touch you. Even though I knew better. Even though I had to know better.”

He takes a deep breath. Holds it. 

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he eventually exhales. “And I got scared that the only reason you felt like you wanted more was because I somehow tricked you into it. I confused you, I manipulated the situation. It wasn’t real. And I wanted it to be real. But then Max, and I got so fucking angry, and I knew I was doing it again. And I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that to you.”

He won’t look up. He won’t meet your eye, and the hard set of his jaw makes you take hold of his other arm and squeeze it tight.

“Harry,” you whisper, but his head shakes quickly.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he barrels on, fingers wrapping around your elbow, keeping you close. “Because I can’t have it. I can’t have you. And you were right, I can’t be your partner anymore. I can only be your boss.”

You frown but it’s sad. “Harry—”

“Mr. Styles,” he corrects, finally shooting you a look of warning that breaks your heart.

But you aren’t deterred. Instead, you release him so you can wedge yourself between his legs and take hold of his face. “Harry,” you repeat, urgent but gentle. “This? It’s not the same.”

He struggles a bit in your grasp, tensing up as he tries to pull away. But it only lasts a second before he’s settling into your embrace, allowing you to guide his attention to you.

“It’s real,” you whisper. “It’s so fucking real. It was real even before you called me poor and badly dressed.”

This earns you your first smirk of the evening, and the butterflies that explode in your gut nearly make you dizzy.

“You’ve tried to push me away over and over. But I’m still sitting here, on your floor, begging you to talk to me.” Your thumbs delicately brush across the bags under his eyes, and he seems to nuzzle into your palms. “It’s not the same. You’re not just my boss or my investor. You’re my partner, Harry. And I can’t do this without you.”

His arms slowly slip around your middle, encouraging you onto his lap as his legs drop.

And you eagerly oblige, straddling his hips with ease as you look down at him.

“I don’t want to do this without you,” you murmur. “So don’t make me. Please.”

For a moment, you aren’t sure what he’ll do. What he’ll say or feel. He’s still somewhat tense, and far too quiet.

Then, he tugs, crashing your lips into his.

And it’s the most honest thing he’s ever done.

“Turn around.”

The strong command leaves no room for argument as you quickly spin on your heel, eager to obey.

Your ass is revealed to the camera. Bright red from the many spanks Mr. Styles has landed to it. It complements the dark black lingerie set he recently purchased for you, something you’re both rather proud of, and perhaps the main feature of this video.

You hear him hum his approval as he approaches, large hands slipping over the curves of your hips. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs before shoving you onto the bed. “Think it’s time we show them what a wet little whore you are, hm?”

You feel his finger hook into the crotch of the panties before he’s ripping them aside, allowing your swollen cunt to glisten for the lens.

You gasp as the cool air hits you, but it quickly melts into a desolate whine when you feel his touch ghost up the back of your thigh.

“Look at you,” he muses, palms pulling on your cheeks to spread you open, giving your audience a firsthand glimpse of your mess. “So fucking pathetic, aren’t you, Peach? And all I’ve done is spank you.”

“Can’t…can’t help it, Sir,” you pant, steadying yourself on your hands and knees as your eyes flutter shut. “Just want you.”

“Oh you do, do you?” He kneads your bruised flesh with admiration. “Do you think you deserve it?”

You squirm a bit as you whimper, desperate to lean back into his touch before he lands another smack to your thigh, reminding you to stay still.

“Yes,” you finally answer, chin meeting your chest. “Wanna deserve it for you.”

You hear him chuckle under his breath as he allows his touch to travel toward your dripping pussy, large digit pushing through your folds just to make you mewl.

“I bet you do,” he replies, running up and down your cunt to collect you. Tease you. “But we have a deal, don’t we, honey?”

You want to kill him and kiss him all at the same time.

“Yes, Sir.”

“We do.” He pats you again, this time gently. “Go on and grab it, all right?”

With a nod, you outstretch your shaky hand for the object sitting on the bed only a few inches in front of you.

Already tender and slightly swollen from the way he played with you earlier (casually and much too cruel), you feel a rush of excitement as you hand him the chain.

After taking hold of it, he moves to sit in front of you, allowing him better access to the front of your body as he motions for you to sit back on your ankles.

“You ready?” he asks quietly, eyes flicking between yours as he looks for your consent.

You nod. “Always.”

With that, he reaches for your exposed tits and begins preparing your nipples for the clamps.

You swallow a dozen whines and whimpers as he works them shut, the subtle ache quickly dissolving into an immeasurable type of pleasure.

And he’s smiling so big, like he’s so proud of you. Proud of the way you look, proud of the way you feel, proud of the way you obey.

It makes the yearning in-between your thighs that much worse as he travels the other end of the chain down to your clit.

Once again, he plays with you. Drags his fingers up, down, and through to make you writhe, and make sure you’re ready.

Then, with great care but devious intent, he slips the clamp along the base of the sensitive nerves and secures it.

You choke on a gasp, body stilling as the sensation becomes a bit more familiar. It’s quite thrilling. Not painful, but prominent. Taunting you with its power as you glance down at the way it holds you.

Harry leans back to study you, carefully observing every pull of your brows or hitch in your breath. “You okay, Peach?”

You nod, lip sliding between your teeth.

He frowns. “Color.”

“Green,” you say quickly, nails digging into your thighs as you release a heavy exhale. “It’s just…new.”

His expression softens as he reaches out to grasp onto your chin and squeeze once. “I know, my love. But you’ll take it for me, won’t you?”

And you say, “Yes,” with so much adoration and excitement that it returns those dimples to you.

His eyes drift toward the computer, checking the status of the livestream you assume before he leans forward and presses his lips to yours. 

You know your faces aren’t in the frame, but it makes your heart pound nonetheless as he offers you a moment of his affection. 

“How’s your ass?” he mumbles between kisses to your bottom lip.

You nod gently and sigh into his mouth. “Good. Sore.”

And he chuckles as he sends you a devious wink. “Good.”

With that, he stands, and begins to undo his belt as he returns to his spot behind you. He doesn’t plan to be gentle today. Not for your first live appearance, and you’re grateful for his punishing hand as it ghosts down your spine, guiding you.

It travels between your thighs, tapping them briskly as a reminder to keep them spread as you bend back over.

And once you’ve braced yourself against the mattress, you feel those long, skilled fingers nudging at you again.

“Sir,” you whisper, desperate for the friction as he keeps his touch light, merely tracing patterns along your folds while humming to himself.

“Yes, Peach?”

You swallow thickly. “Please?”

“Please?” His thumb moves up to brush over your tighter hole, and you gasp again as you await any sort of contact. “Please what?”

“Please…please touch me?”

“Touch you,” he repeats thoughtfully, as if considering it. “I don’t know. Have you disobeyed any of my rules?”

With a quick shake of your head, you glance down at the duvet beneath you, the expensive fabric soft beneath your clenched fists.

“Have you used any naughty language?” he asks, the tip of his middle finger lowering to circle through your arousal. 

“No,” you breathe.

He begins to push in, leaving your other opening alone. At least for today. “Have you called me by the wrong name?”

Not aloud, you think, biting back a smirk as you murmur, “No, Sir.”

The digit travels a bit further, the feeling of him pushing past your tight walls like heroin as you reel.

“Have you taken your punishment like a good girl?” he inquires next, and you chew on the inside of your lip as you nod.

“Yes.”

And you can’t exactly see him, but you can practically hear his smirk as he suddenly adds a second finger in beside the first, just to surprise you.

“Yes,” he agrees. “You have. Been my perfect peach, haven’t you? Guess you’re showing off for them, hm? Letting them think you’re actually an obedient little cock-whore?”

And maybe you are showing off, at least a little, but it’s hard not to obey this man. He just makes it so…worth it.

“Yes,” you call again, desperate to please him. “Only for you, Sir.”

Suddenly, you feel his fist against your scalp, scraping through your roots as he furiously yanks, forcing your head up.

“Only for me,” he nearly seethes, dipping down to press his lips against your ear. “Want you to fucking say it. Every time I touch you. Every time I make you come. Want you to say it. Remind them who you really belong to.”

Apparently, having his initials glimmer from your nipples isn’t enough, but that’s more than all right with you.

You’ll happily vow your life to him as many times as he needs. Because there’s something empowering about having a man beg you to be his.

And for the first time since you’ve met him, you realize…you’re on the same ground. Equal partners. Equal power. 

You and him.

One.

With that instruction, he curls, now stroking and thrusting into you with a fervent need to force you up the mountain. 

“Only you,” you whisper between salacious moans for relief. “Only, Sir.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, smacking his other palm against your ass before groping at the tender skin. Soothing it and stimulating it at the same time.

The pace increases, faster and faster until you feel as though you can’t breathe. Until you’re trying to meet his rhythm by rocking back into his touch, but the hand on your hip holds you steady. Makes you patient. 

“Only you.” It’s almost inaudible, released through quivering lips as you begin to slip into your first. “Only you. Only…”

He plunges in to the knuckle, beckoning you toward your release as it hits you hard. Fireworks go off behind your eyes as you keen, sweat beading around your hairline, and chest heaving.

“God, only you,” you barely manage as you fight for air. “Just you, Sir. Always.”

He takes his fingers out, allowing the world to see your come drip along the insides of your thighs. And the loss of contact makes your chest ache as you whimper and peek over your shoulder for a glimpse of his face.

He’s smug. Because of course he is, endlessly pleased with the way you’ve come undone so quickly.

Wet digits quickly outstretch for your cheeks, pushing on your lips to accentuate your already obvious pout.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he warns darkly. “You know better.”

You glance up at him with remorse and desperation, hoping your tiny hum will be enough to sway him. “M’sorry, Daddy.”

It’s the first time today you’ve used the nickname, and you watch the effect it has on him as he tightens his grip and scrapes his teeth together.

“Peach,” he grumbles, “don’t fucking test me. Not today.”

“I’m not. Promise. Just wanna feel you.”

And that’s the truth. It’s all you ever want. Want his cock, his time, his attention. Anything he’ll give you, and he knows this.

Because he wants you just as bad.

And maybe, if he had the strength, he’d punish you for this little game. He’d waste hours just making you wait for him. Tying you up, leaving you to beg, taunting you with something you can’t have.

But today, that would punish him, too. And you can see that he doesn’t have the capacity to go without you, not even for show.

So, he releases his hold on you only to land a very firm and sharp smack to your cheek. And it stings but it feels so good, forcing another groan as you lean back. 

“And you will,” he finally decides, settling behind you again as he begins to tug his pants down. “Gonna feel me for days, honey. Make sure you can’t fucking sit without thinking of me.”

Just the image of you in one of those boardroom meetings, legs still bruised and clenched tightly together as you sit for hours on end makes you gasp.

He’s gotten braver recently. Normally, he’s tame. Making you rest on his lap in the privacy of his office while he absentmindedly runs circles over your clit. Answering emails as he plays with you. Like it’s just an average workday.

But now he tries to tease you in public. In meetings, at lunch, when you’re apart. Making you sit with a remote-controlled toy deep inside your cunt during a meeting with the board of directors. Changing the tempo over and over again while forcing your silence. Leaving you to squirm in your seat as you silently beg him for mercy.

Sometimes he gives it to you. Most times…he does not.

You imagine this week will be no different. Especially after today. He always gets a bit more insatiable after the two of you have posted a video together. 

He’ll make you watch it in his office. His now favorite tradition. And the comments and response will encourage something in him that makes you giddy. Possessive yet proud. Like he wants to outdo himself next time. Make you come harder, longer, faster. Make everyone watching eat their fucking hearts out.

You feel the tip of his swollen cock brush down your folds, lazily rubbing against you as he alerts you of his presence.

Just the feel of him makes you breathless, back arching as you silently plead with him for more.

He won’t give it to you, at least not yet. Not until he’s had a chance to watch you soak him.

He presses his hand against it, trapping it to your cunt while gliding it through your arousal. Gentle thrusts that have you clenching around nothing until you hear him curse to himself.

“Beg me,” he calls, grasping onto your ass cheek to pull it apart, allowing him a better view. “Beg me to fuck you, Peach. Beg Daddy to make it better.”

“Please,” you comply instantly, a subtle quiver in your voice. “Please, Daddy. Need you. Need to feel you. Hurts.”

“Oh, honey,” he coos, finally circling the rim of your aching hole and pushing in only an inch just to pull back. “Bet it does. Know I’ve been teasing you all day, haven’t I?”

You whine again. “I deserved it. Always love it when you tease me.”

He chuckles under his breath, and you know you’ve made him proud. “That’s right. Know you do, my love. Because you know I just wanna make it better for you, hm?”

“I know.” You attempt to wiggle back into him, but his unrelenting grip keeps you frozen to your spot. “Always do, Sir. Always make it better.”

He slides in again, further this time, allowing your body to stretch for him. Then, he slides out, leaving you to wilt as you swallow a groan.

“And I always will,” he answers, knee knocking into your inner thigh as an instruction to spread your legs a bit further. “Just have to behave for me. Think you can do that, Peach? Think you can be good for me?”

And you’ve never wanted anything more, head nodding quickly before he finally thrusts into you with such power and dominance that it knocks the wind from your lungs.

Truth be told, you never know what you’re going to get with him. What rhythm will drive him. But you’ll take anything he offers. Because hard and slow or fast and eager…it’s perfect. Sets your nerves on fire and leaves you desperate and depraved.

The sounds of him pushing through and pulling out are sure to be captured by the microphone. You can’t see the computer, but you imagine the audience is loving it. They always seem to enjoy sounds as much as you do. And Harry’s sounds are the best.

Your quick breaths intertwine seamlessly with his unforgiving grunts. Like a melody for the soul, and you slowly slide down until your chest meets the mattress, although your ass stays up.

He seems to like this angle, nails scraping down your spine before he lands another smack to your cheek. “There she is.”

Both sets of clamps are stimulated as you’re pushed against the bed, making your eyes roll back every time he drives himself to the hilt.

The pain is delicious. Exactly what you’d needed, and just when you think it can’t get any better…he slips an arm around your stomach and forces you back up.

Instantly, his hand is on your throat, tugging your back into his chest as he settles you down on his cock. 

Dominant fingertips press into the sides of your neck, playing with your airways as you gasp. And for a moment, you are nothing more than his toy. Just a body for him to use, and the idea makes you clamp down on him until he groans and nuzzles his nose into your shoulder.

But you know it’s more to him than that. Know that you’re not just this thing for him to abuse and ruin. He wants to worship you. Treat your body like the divine gift it is, and even though this display of aggression is uncouth…it’s meant for you. To make you feel good. Everything he does is always for you.

“So good, baby,” he whispers, just quiet enough that only you can hear. “Fucking love the way you feel, Peach. Always so warm for me. So wet. My perfect hole.”

You shudder, nails reaching for his arm to scratch down his skin. Desperate to be even closer to him. 

His hand then drops to your chest, finding your breast and groping at it mercilessly as you cry out. The clamps are tugged, stimulating the rings, and forcing your back to arch. So many sensations are being exploited that it’s nearly impossible to think straight. Your mind is mush, focused only on one thing to keep from drowning:

Him.

“Wanna come, don’t you?” he taunts, now louder so the audience can hear. “Wanna come on my cock, so they see what I do to you?”

You nod quickly, unable to vocalize your agreement. But he doesn’t need it. He knows. Can read your body like a book, and it makes him smile into your heated skin.

“Good,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck before reaching down to undo the clamp around your clit. “Go.”

The moment the pressure is released, it hits you. Your toes curl, your eyes roll back, and you make so many noises, you wouldn’t be surprised if the people below Harry’s apartment can hear you.

He works you through each ripple and aftershock, perhaps hoping to send you into a third, but your body needs a moment to recharge. 

And this is more than fine with him because it gives him a bit more time to watch himself disappear into you. His favorite part.

You collapse in his hold, held up only by his strong arm that’s thankfully bare, allowing you to glance down at his tattoos.

He takes his shirt off for almost every video now. He knows that nobody will be able to recognize his tattoos, but he especially knows how much you love them. Love to lick them, trace them, stare at them.

Your perfect pastime, and you think this now as you grip onto his wrist and squeeze. 

He exhales into your shoulder before he’s suddenly cursing and pulling out, the sound of his slick cock slipping from your cunt making you whimper.

With a single pat to your hip, he growls, “On your back.”

You nearly throw yourself down onto the bed, finally able to face him fully as you’re met with the sight of his flushed cheeks.

He’s so beautiful when he’s turned on, and you feel nothing but grateful to be able to witness this sight firsthand. Even your audience is denied such a pleasure, and it makes it feel that much more special to you.

He pushes your legs apart and settles between your thighs, grasping onto his cock before guiding it toward your chest.

He never comes inside you on film. He claimed it was because they don’t deserve to see it, and you didn’t argue. You like the idea. Occasionally he’ll capture a short clip of the way he leaks out of your pussy, but it’s never posted. Instead saved just for the two of you to watch whenever you need.

So while you’ll miss feeling him inside of you today, you know that it’s worth it. You like that you get to keep something for just the two of you. You like this possessive side of him.

Love it, in fact.

Nodding at your breasts, he silently instructs you to grab them, to which you do, pushing them together as he brings his swollen and soaked cock closer.

Slowly, he slides between your tits, disappearing beneath the supple flesh as you both groan your approval.

He’s already seconds away from his own release, but he edges himself by fucking your tits for as long as he can. Staring wordlessly at the way he looks beside his initials on your nipples.

“Fuck, Peach,” he breathes, brows knitted together as his jaw clenches. “Like it like this, don’t you? Like it when I come like this?”

And you do, a soft sough of agreement all you can offer as you look down at the way his tip pokes through the valley you’ve created. The contrast of his pink flesh against your skin is beautiful. Artful, even. And it makes you smile, wider than you have all day.

His pace is slow, allowing you to feel the slickness paint your chest before he’s suddenly tensing, the muscles in his stomach contracting quickly.

You await his offering eagerly, practically panting as you watch him run his palm along his cock before he’s releasing all over your torso and chest. 

He falls forward, bracing himself with a hand beside your head while you throw your arms around his neck to keep him close.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you whisper as he milks the last few drops. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

You feel a shiver roll across his body at your comment before he’s smashing his lips into yours, dancing his relieved sighs across your tongue. 

It takes a good minute or two for you both to find your bearings, but once you have, he reaches toward the nightstand where the remote lies.

Aiming it at the camera, he clicks a couple of buttons, and the red light turns off, signaling that the livestream has ended.

Now alone in his massive bedroom, he grins down at you. “My sweet fucking girl. Did so well for me, honey.”

You bask in his praise, nuzzling your nose against his before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “That was fun. Like it when you fuck my tits.”

“Yeah?” He’s smirking again, palm now smacking against your breast just to watch it jiggle. “Good. ’Cause I don’t plan to stop.”

Your arms snake tighter around his neck until he’s forced to lay his chest against yours. “Think they liked it?”

“I know they did,” he murmurs, face disappearing into your neck as he breathes you in, sweaty or not. “They love you, Peach. You’re so good to them.”

You press your lips into his hair.

“You’re good to me, too,” he adds quietly, sliding his hand across your body until he can hold onto you. “Always so fucking good. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

A sort of flutter happens in your stomach as you squeeze him tighter. “Ditto.”

You stay there for a few minutes at least, teetering on the verge of sleep before Harry declares you need to get clean. 

He scoops you up and carries you to his large bathtub, dipping you into the warm water once it’s ready and settling himself on the other side to face you.

You talk for what feels like hours, until you’re pruned, and the bubbles have disappeared. You go over the scene, go over what you think the comments will be, and even go over his schedule for the upcoming work week.

It’s weird the way you’ve managed to balance the relationship of boss and lover. You’re able to distinguish the two and create the appropriate boundaries. Making it easier to work together without driving each other nuts.

 Something else you’re grateful for.

You stare at his wet abs as he talks, smiling to yourself as you admire every curve of his stomach, and every nipple he has to offer.

He splashes some water at you when he realizes before grabbing hold of your ankles and sliding your closer.

You kiss until you can’t breathe, and life feels really good.

Really fucking good.

Once you’re out and dried, you make your way back to his bedroom to make sure everything from the livestream is in order.

You scroll through a few of the responses together, making mental notes of what to do next time. And once you’re both in agreement that everything looks good, he adds it to your shared profile.

Appropriately titled,

Peaches and Cream.

I have no excuse for this or explanation, I'm just gonna blame it on the sick meds I took 🙃

I already miss them but I'm absolutely going to be doing some extras and maybe that'll make it not hurt so much 😭💞

Thank you to everyone who's read and been so kind and supportive!!! You have my entire heart forever and ever, I cannot tell you how appreciative I am 🥹♥️ This has been so fun!!

Peaches and Cream forever!!

Previous Part:

~ Four to Go*

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @kathb59 @iamjustaholeforyousir @buckyssbestgirl @harrystylesfan2686 @cherryluvhobi @narry-heart @daphnesutton @uniquesexything @amateurduck @ilovec0lbybr0ck @winterrays @milfrrynation @definegirlfriendsx @allthelovehes @amiets2 @likeapplejuicenpeach @nega-omega @sucker-4-angst @hsgucci94 @gills-lounge @kennedy-brooke @avasversion @stylesfever @saturnheartz @finelinesss

[readingswithselene]

Everything you need to know about your future spouse right now

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Hey, thank you so much for choosing my reading.

🕯️As always, take what resonates and leave the rest🕯️

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🤎Pile 1 - the Violine🤎

Cards: Empress, moon, sun, page of pentacles, knight of wands, world, devil, chariot, seven of cups, three of pentacles

Hello Pile, 1, let’s take a look into your reading:

This group must deal with a karmic partner before they meet your future spouse. This is most likely a person you already know and have been in some type of relationship/situationship with.

This person could seem to be like the perfect partner in the beginning. Extrovert, open, charming, and treating you like the empress, practically worshipping the ground you are walking on. But this person has some type of duality to them, switching between the sun and the devil. And you already know about this. You probably have lots of anxiety, sometimes feeling that this person seems too good to be true while you know exactly that something is very off with the person. My mind went extremely foggy as I write this, and it gets really hard to even concentrate.

With this person it can be that you are living in some type of illusion, only trying to see the positive while the devil himself is speaking to you as soon as they open their mouth. This person might be overly obsessed with material goods (some may even be gold diggers?)

So, this is either a person you are currently involved with or someone you have already parted ways with. For most of you I don’t see this to be a person that is coming into your life in the future.

If the first case applies to your situation, you know exactly what you should do, cause this person is not YOUR person. Your person will fit you like a glove in all the best way possible.

If you have already split ways with this person all you need it to be patient and make sure, that this person stays in the past where they belong. To every one of you who thought about calling them up again – this is your sign to definitely not do this!

Pile 1, you basically can do nothing but be patient and believe that everything will be happen at divine timing.

I wish you the very best💕.

Signs that this reading is for you: red car, violins, party in the USA by Miley Cyrus, steven and taylor from TSITP (specifically their dance scene), water parks, thinking about getting your car checked, a football, yellow smileys, savoy cabbage, telephone by lady gaga, Naya Rivera, Kurt Hummel

—————————————————————————————————————

💛Pile 2 - the letters💛

Cards: the fool, knight of cups, knight of pentacles, page of swords, 8 of wands, two of wands, tower, ten of wands, 5 of wands Hello pile 2, let’s dive deep into your reading.

First of all, your future spouse is an entirely new person to you. Might be someone who lives currently at a distance from your and/or someone you might meet on vacation or while moving abroad. With the 8 of wands your person may be come into your life as a huge surprise, fully out of the blue when you least expect it.

I also got the feeling that this might be happen way sooner than you think right now. For the ones of you (this is not for everybody) who are currently manifesting their FS, congratulations your manifestations work out perfectly. But please try to obsess about this person a little less ;) the Universe will deliver your FS on divine timing.

Either you or your future partner (or the both of you) is not very experienced regarding long term relationships, even though I rather feel that this is about your FS. This does not mean that they have never dated someone before you, but simply that they never had a relationship where they were really vulnerable at open with the other party. Your person comes off as someone who seems rather harsh with their words, you may often feel criticized by them even though they did not intend to deliver their words this way. Your Fs may was an equestrian when they were in elementary / middle school.

This person has had their fair share of traumatic experiences which shaped them the way they are, coming of as harsh and rude in order to protect themselves. It’s literally giving “looks like they could kill you, is a cinnamon roll”. Aww, pile 2, your person really is a softie deep down, but you will have to peel them like an onion, to really get to know this layer of your person. This person felt misunderstood in their early years a lot.

I also get kind of prince charming /Disney vibes from them. Like someone who loves to play knight in shining armour and your savior. It will be really important to your person that you make them feel like they are the only one for you. As soon as they have the feeling you might be entertaining someone else, they will be leaving. Really insecure at heart.

They might be having some tattoos, but nothing spontaneous since it feels like your person is not the risky type. Every tattoo they have has some type of meaning for them (but others may not really get it). Most of these tattoos are on their arms and legs. Motive wise they tend to get for animal motives (butterfly, dolphins, tigers are the images that popped up in my head).

There might be an age gap between the two of you but nothing to wild (probably 5 to 10 years at max)

The energy of this reading was by far my most favorite one, since everything felt so calm and kinda set but also really passionate at the same time ;)

Hope you enjoyed your reading, Pile 2, wish you all the best.

Signs that this message is for you: smoothies, plums, random noises, orange, emergency lights, whats app group chats, “papa was a rolling stone”, baby blue cars with a white roof, moustache, travis kelce, caterpillar, rainbow, you could be part of the LGBTQ+ community, cardigan, your sister offering something to you, light car accidents,

————————————————————————————————————

🩶Pile 3- the chess🩶

Cards: the fool, page of cups, tower, ace of wands, 5 of wands, the emperor, justice, 8 of pentacles, 5 of cups, the chariot.

Hello pile 3, let’s start with some basic things about your future spouse before we dive into your relationship dynamic :)

The very first thing I heard about your future spouse is, that this is an entirely new person to you. I don’t know if you have watched pretty little liars, but your future spouse is giving me major Toby Cavanaugh vibes (if you haven’t watched the show, I suggest you look up the character online).

It could also be that your FS is be a Cop or a craftsman (might not apply for everyone). With the emperor card coming out for you, it also seems like your future spouse is someone stable and/or financially well off.

So, let’s get a deeper look in your dynamic as a couple: As written above, your future things are someone with a pleasant amount of money – so get ready to be spoiled ;) gift giving is probably their love language, but I see them rather making you the gifts by themselves than spending money of jewelry or perfume or something like this. It is more like Toby gifting Spencer the chair he has built for her.

Ya’ll are going to be a very happy couple; I saw lots of pink tones which means you could still be wearing your rose-colored glasses after years being of being with each other. You could also love spending time near large water bodies (at the beach, on a boat or you are going to live in a city near the ocean or a famous lake with them).

I did not get that much on your relationship dynamic itself, but I got an important warning for you: with the tower card and the 5 of cups you will need to leave your past completely behind to make your relationship work. Crying and reminiscing about ex-lovers, past situationships or anything of that kind will highly exacerbate your future with your FS.

At some point (could be at the beginning of your Relationship or in the middle if you still are with one foot in the past at that point), there will be a tower moment because of your past, which will lead to you making the choice to fully close these chapters and focus on your new partner (since I did not get any cards that suggest that you will break up, I believe that there won’t be a break up or partially split because of this tower moment) The two of you are each other’s end game, and your future spouse is your promised new opportunity of finding the love and luck you deserve.

I wish you all the best, pile 3. You totally got this.

Signs that this message is for you: black cat, game of thrones (especially the iron throne), the colors green and pink, 999, sunscreen (SPF 50+), color red, dried flowers, circles, “to the stars who listen and the dreams that are answered”, Rhysand from Acotar, Ben Barnes, pumpkin spice late, cheddar cheese, sunflower, compass, chess game

[nyuuronfly]

On Rain World lore and it's implementation within the game.

This is kindof a random ramble I went on in a Discord chat and just feel like sharing elsewhere. (also note this is all primarily in reference to the original game, Survivor's story.)

I honestly think too many miss the forest for the trees a bit with RW, in terms of how important the lore is, if that makes sense. I talked with somebody about first-time experiences with the game and they said they'd watched a number of lore explanation videos on YT before starting, because of some reason along the lines of "I didn't trust the game to deliver its own story properly." To me this is almost saddening to hear because I really feel that misses the point of why the game has it's lore to begin with.

To me, while playing, any tidbits i learned about history or other information contributed to a feeling like the world I was navigating had a very real history that saturated it, yet one that I would be unable to grasp fully. It is an illusory feeling of realness, given how it is experienced. The game is mechanically not designed to incentivize collecting many information pearls, especially when in the original game you can literally just drop them off a cliff and lose them forever. You get the feeling often like you are bound to never be able to get everything, nor would you even probably want to put in the effort, so the illusion actually stays stronger because of that. Your mind wanders speculating about every little detail, whether intention truly existed behind it or not, because it feels like it did. You learned that it might have. Maintaining that illusion while playing I think is the primary reason they were included, not actually the experience of "knowing" the history. Rain World in general seems to have a thematic fixation on the simple idea that individuals have limited perspectives. Joar Jakobsson has said that one of the core ideas behind Rain World was to recreate the life of a "rat in Manhattan." That is to say, a creature that understands how to find food, hide, and live in a complex man-made structure, that cannot understand it's structuring purpose or why it was built. The very core issue of the iterators, is that the solution to the "great problem" intrinsically has to lie with knowledge that could only be obtained from "the other side." They are corporeal beings trying to know something that pertains to something outside corporeal reality. Yet pursuit of knowledge is very important to creatures like ourselves. Collecting any individual pearl is mostly an exercise in doing a lot just for little bits of knowledge. There is a lot of understanding of just how significant wanting to know more is, even something unimportant, when you are left in the dark the way you are in the game. Most information pearls you deliver are literally completely useless to know about, but they feel personally important, especially in how finding them relates to your connection to the iterators. My primary motivation to find pearls in my first play was to spend more time with Moon. On a very real emotional level, Moon felt like my only friend in the world while I played. On a mechanical level, she does literally nothing. But Rain World manages to operate on a very emotional, even instinctual level with how it's designed. I wanted to be in her company and have something to give her. Because I am alone, and lost. So something along those lines is why I felt saddened to hear the sentiment like Rain World somehow "fails" to deliver it's "story." The purpose of the game is not to find pearls and hear about some grand narrative. At it's core, Rain World is a game that's design was inspired by nature, and it's use of history within the world relates to us as a player the way history relates to us as people. It is relayed through people reading from records created by parties with their own perspectives, and connects us abstractly to a sensation that there is more out there than our own lives. That is a feeling you have as a player, and ultimately the true story that Rain World tells is the memories you have playing it. What you did, saw, and felt. The same as how our story is that of our own lives. That is the purpose of the game.

[pap3rcherry]

✮⋆˙ DIGITAL SILENCE ୨୧

YANDERE MR.PUZZLES X READER WHOS IN SMG4'S CREW.

A/N:Yahoo! im back babeyyy,way better now and, btw ik smg4's fandom isnt that famous and this will probably only get 2/3 views, but im doing this anyways.

Type: Headcanons, romantic, fluff/light angst.

Tw/Cw: Yandere topics, he hypnotizes you, obsessive behavior, paranoia, delusion, possessiveness, overprotection, suggestive(?), he literally worships you so much, emotional dependence .

Song recommendation: Creative control - Mr puzzles

୨୧ He got so hooked up on you, and he doesnt know how or why, but he just knew he needed you when he first landed his cameras on you, you were so captivating, he had to understand why.

୨୧ Before he hypnotized everyone, he kept a big eye on you, that were blissfully unaware of his obsession or existence, sometimes he got so excited of looking at you that he almost got to capture you to himself, but he had to control himself, he could do that later.

୨୧ When puzzles finally hypnotized everyone, he needed to see you first than EVERYBODY else and my god, you were so precious and beautiful in person, he couldnt get enough from looking at you, he was so glad he finally got to see your pretty face in person.

୨୧ During the shows, whenever you were on screen, he would display you always as the most perfect character in the story and sometimes he would even insert himself in them just to be more close to you or to be your love interest.

୨୧ He enjoys watching your performances so much, you were just made for the screens! you easily highlighted yourself in every show, even if you were just standing, or staying in the background, he would pay attention to you everytime, every single move you do or word you say, he is paying full attention.

୨୧ He would be extra touchy with you, since he was very lonely when a child, he would take all the years of him wishing there was someone to hug him and etc. On you, he would be soo touch starved.

୨୧ Puzzles would get a bit paranoid and feared when you get your conscience back, he tried to comfort himself with the "they'll never know" mindset, protected by the delusion that he did the right thing of hypnotizing you.

୨୧ Puzzles would panic when you got your conscience and memories back, but relieved that you wouldnt remember the stories where he inserted himself in so he could be creepily more close to you.

୨୧ But when he heard you also wanted to leave, he was furious, how could his own darling try and leave him?! hes the one who can make u a real star, the real deal, and the others are just... second characters, how can you want to stay with such pesky brats?! they were nothing compared to you!

୨୧ But he didnt blame you, you were with those weirdos since the beginning consequently making you not even know half of your potential since you were brainwashed by that pesky crew, so, he had to show you that your place was with him, on the big screens with only him, nobody else.

୨୧ If you wanted to stay with him or not didnt really matter, you were in his reality, he could make you his whenever, he just felt like giving you the illusion of a choice in hopes you would "choose" the right decision. (hes not insane at all! hes just silly!)

୨୧ You were his precious puppet, his puppet, his companion, he couldnt let you leave, no, he couldnt, he needs you and you will need him, he would show you your place, he eventually would.

୨୧ "When i saw you, i instantly knew that you were a natural star, so be good and stay with me, okay?"

[jawllines]

But how could she voice this? Nobody else had made her request it explicitly, so she really wasn’t sure what to request. Any version of her saying it just sounds more and more pathetic, to speak the words aloud would be embarrassing. 

“You want me to stay?” Harry offered, after some time, and she was grateful for it as she nodded, “Just in the room?” 

Her face feels warm as her eyes glance over to the other side of her bed, “It’s. . .it’s a big bed,” she told him, swallowing thickly, “You can lay down if you're tired.” 

Harry’s lips quirk into a tiny, halfway smile, and Y/N had seen that look enough to know some form of a taunt typically follows it, “Oh I see,” he began, lifting himself up onto her bed and crawling over her body to get to the side she offered, “Was this a ploy to get me into your bed? You could have just asked, Sweetheart, but I would have asked for dinner first.” 

or

Y/N finds out a secret and Harry finds a rat 

part 1

part 2

iii.

Y/N has never been so embarrassed.

The hike was her idea; granted, she’s not a big hiker to begin with, and she hardly believes the sneakers she wore were meant for more than casual ambling in a park — but she thought it could be fun. After being cooped up in her flat for a little over a week, she was desperate just to breathe in the fresh air and feel the sun on her skin. It was one thing to be locked away when the weather was bitter and uninhabitable, but it was finally getting warmer, and whispers of Spring were carried in the wind. An open window could only preclude her feelings of claustrophobia for so long before she needed to go outside.  

Since Harry could typically get Thomas to agree to things she’d never thought he might agree to before, he was the one she asked. However, due to the recent attempted kidnapping, even he seemed reluctant to the proposal and Y/N had imagined her plans had fallen through before they’d even truly been constructed. At least she did until Harry sent her a message a little past midnight the following night, with a link that directed her to a trail’s website. Would this be okay? His message read, and Y/N grinned so hard her cheeks were sore as she replied with “Yes!” ten times. 

Y/N is not one who would find joy in exerting herself but she was filled to the brim and gushing with an eagerness she hasn’t felt since being a child, the night before visiting a zoo. She did not for a second consider how sore she’d probably be, especially from the number of hills this trail included along the side of what wasn’t big enough to be a mountain but was certainly large enough to give the illusion. All she could focus on was the thought of the wind kissing her face and the sound of morning birds singing. Aching muscles be damned, she could just take a hot bath when they got back, and maybe she could persuade Harry to massage her feet if it was that bad. 

By the time Y/N woke up Friday morning, Harry was already in her kitchen preparing breakfast but that was hardly shocking. It was her second time witnessing him outside of a pressed suit and she couldn’t say that she was disappointed; Harry looked awfully cute in his hiking clothes. A hoodie that swallowed him up, athletic shorts pulled over black leggings, and a pair of bright red shoes that she could not imagine him plucking out of a store. A beanie was nestled over his head, but he had a hair clip locked around the edge of it, almost like he had it on standby in case he got too warm. 

He turned to face her, smiling warmly as he flipped a pancake, “I didn’t know if you had a water bottle, so I brought an extra one,” he greeted her, “And I bought some of those warm packs you activate by shaking in case it’s chillier than we anticipated.” 

“We need to get a stroller for your kitties so they can come too,” Y/N told him, as she hiked herself up on the barstool beside the counter, Harry working on the side adjacent to her. She rested her face against her fist, watching him putter around putting together the meal. There was something imminently gratifying about putting a man to work in her kitchen while she swung her legs and waited patiently to be fed, so she reveled in that feeling while he answered. 

“I actually do have a stroller,” he told her, “But since this is our first time, I thought it would be better to see the trail before bringing them.” 

With a sigh, Y/N agreed. Harry has brought them over three times since the first and Y/N enjoyed every second of it – he’d explained to her that as long as she doesn’t mind, he’ll bring them over often. This way he gets to spend extra time with them while he’s working and Y/N gets her animal fill as they meander throughout her flat, making it their second home. He’s even left them there overnight once, when he would be returning the following morning but wasn’t necessarily going home (their schedules make no sense to her, not even a little, and she wondered when the hell they ever slept), and Y/N really liked that. She woke up to Gremlin at her feet and Goose nestled against her breast beneath the blankets (and if she hadn’t been so sure that moving would stir them both, she would have taken a picture to send to him). 

They ate breakfast and Y/N pulled on an outfit she hoped would be multifunctional no matter what weather they would face or how much exerting herself would make her sweat. Even the walk to the parking garage lifts her with excitement, happy to finally be leaving the flat. 

“You’re awful chipper,” Harry remarked, following close behind her, his fingers looped around his keys, “Normally for this early in the morning, you’ve grumbled about something by now.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Of course I’m chipper,” she walked around to the passenger seat of the car, “I’m free for a little while! You forget that I’m fucking stuck in there until someone breaks me out, while you can come and go as you see fit, really.” She smiled at the thought of the sun hitting her face, “It’s going to be so nice today too – I can’t wait.” 

“Mm, it is going to be nice,” he agreed mildly, “I’ll keep you out for as long as I can, yeah? But I’m sure Thomas will be blowing my phone up.” He smiled gently, “Things are still. . .fresh.” 

Y/N buckled herself in, brows dipped, “Hm? Did you guys not catch the guy? I thought you did and that’s the only reason I’m being uncaged.” 

“We did,” Harry’s lips straightened out, a dubious glint flickered past his gaze before he snuffs it out, “For the most part.” 

“For the most part?” She repeated with a small sigh – she wasn’t in the mood for twenty questions, she just wanted him to be straightforward.

Harry hummed, “Yes, they found the “mugger” –  it was his son,” Y/N’s brows raised, “Both have been dealt with appropriately for now but of course, everyone is still concerned that this wasn’t just an isolated incident. Things are going to be. . .a little tighter lately, so I was surprised Thomas agreed to this in the first place, but I did push pretty hard.” 

She smiled and nudged his shoulder, “That’s why I like you,” she told him, “Dunno’ what you’re doing to bewitch him but keep doing it, I like doing things.” 

The day had started out so well; Y/N isn’t sure how Harry had found this trail but it was pretty. It started out as a gravel patch of parking lot with a big wooden sign that read Green Haven Trail in big, bold letters, and to the left of it, a small brick building housing a restroom. It had rained last night, so the air smelled of moist earth and morning dew, and it’s a scent that she believes she normally takes for granted. Right now she isn’t though – right now she feels it slip through her nares, down to her lungs. She was more than pleased that it isn’t humid or else each breath would feel wet, and her skin would feel sticky, and she thinks that would have made her sad. Her first time out of the flat in how long, only to be accosted by unpleasant weather? Surely, she’d just lock herself in her room at that point. 

Most of the trail was paved but there were clear sections deeper in, where people had broken off from the designated path and wore down the grass and foliage to create a new route. If she couldn’t see where this off-path trail led, then she wouldn’t have suggested they go near it, but she could make out that it guided them to a mini waterfall from a creak. And after the rain, she knew it would be overflowing and beautiful, so she suggested they go toward it with the best pleading gaze she could give him (though it certainly wasn’t necessary – she believes Harry is a man of strong will typically, but if she asks him for something he typically gives in pretty easy). 

For a moment he seemed hesitant but eventually agreed, so they went toward it, and Y/N marveled at the rocks, the surfaces altering from smooth to rough and jagged, how the water toppled over them dropping down into the large well of the creek. If the weather was just a little warmer she would suggest sticking her feet in but it was still a little too brisk for it. So she made a mental note of this place for mid-June when the hike would undoubtedly be miserable in the summer heat, but the best part of it would be sinking their feet into this well of cold water and kicking them as they cooled down and ate a snack. Y/N assumed she would be with Harry again because. . .well, she usually is with him, isn’t she? 

They stayed there for a while for a short break, since they’d been walking for about thirty minutes uphill at that point. Y/N’s legs were already tired and she was in the middle of trying to find an excuse for them to turn around and start making their way back before she was really tired – but there was no need. No, why would she need a reason for them to turn around when she unwittingly gives them one? 

They had to trek down a small hill to get within closer visual distance of the waterfall and search the creek with their gazes for any potential fish or tadpoles swimming around in the greenish water. Going downhill to get there, meant going uphill to return, and while it wasn’t steep there was a decent-sized slope. Several jutted pieces of stone and rock and root should have made it a relatively easy way back up. Yet somehow, when Y/N tries to balance the sole of her shoe against the curve of a rock, she loses her footing. Her body rocks face first into the dirt, and she knocks her knee against a stone and cuts up her palm from the tree root she’d been gripping onto. Before she could tumble all the way down to the creek, Harry placed his hands on her to keep her steady, one at her hip and the other between her shoulder blades, “Holy shit!” He cried out, his voice echoing in the empty woods, “Are you alright?” 

So now, they definitely had to turn back, because Y/N had dirt smudged on her face, a few leaves in her hair (though Harry did pluck those out for her while they walked), her knee was sore, and her palm was cut up. Y/N doesn’t cry but she wants to, not just because her knee aches, or her hand throbs, or the dirt makes her face feel gross and grimy. All of that she could deal with well enough. 

What she couldn’t deal with, was the fact that she fell in the first place, in front of Harry of all people. How embarrassing – god, she couldn’t stop thinking about it but she wanted to wipe it from her brain entirely and pretend it never happened. But Harry is Harry, there is no way that he would ever let this go without making a sly comment about it every now and then. Especially once she’s all patched up and he knew for sure she was okay. 

She kept replaying the moment in her head: the squawky sound that left her mouth, how dumb she must have looked as she scrambled to stop herself only for Harry to be the one to halt her movement. He probably thought she looked like an idiot – no, she knows he did because why wouldn’t he? If it had happened to anyone but her, Y/N would have found some humor in it, and maybe she was just a bad person but there were compilations of people falling on the internet for a reason. 

Under different circumstances, Y/N would avoid the bathroom at all costs because it seemed like a staff infection waiting to happen but she tried to get into this one, only to find it locked. So not only did she embarrass herself in front of Harry, she had to sit in the car for forty minutes, uncomfortable, her knee aching and her face dirty. At the realization, she felt like she really could cry then, but the only thing that stopped her was the potential for further embarrassment.

“It could have been worse,” Harry tried to soothe her once they were back in the car, “Had I not been there to save your life, you could be in the creek right now.” 

“Shut up, or I’ll shove you in a creek,” she grumbled, brows furrowed at him, “Didn’t you promise to return me unscathed? This is coming out of your paycheck.” He only chuckles at her. 

The drive home was uneventful, and so was the walk up to her flat. As soon as they get through the doors, Harry directs her to the bathroom and says he’d be in there in a moment with a first aid kit, and Y/N has no fight left to argue. She went in, avoided looking at her face, and plopped down right on the toilet seat, waiting patiently for him. Harry appeared, looking a little too cute out of his leggings, now only in shorts that rode up pretty high on his thigh. He’s got nice legs – Y/N’s been thinking about them often lately. 

First, he tends to her palm, flipping it over and pouting at the sight of it, “Your poor hand,” he muttered sympathetically, caressing the flesh just below her thumb, “Does it hurt?” 

Y/N is unsure if he’s mocking her with how sweet his voice was, but she doesn’t fuss over it – honestly, she kind of likes it, “Yeah, a little.” She replied and he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 

“Poor thing,” he reached inside the kit, “We’ll get you sorted.” 

After he cleaned it, then slathered it in the antibiotic ointment, and wrapped it up with gauze and a bandage, he got a washcloth wet. It took her a second to realize what he was about to do, until he was suddenly closer to her face than she expected, tenderly swiping away at the dirt smudged over her face. Y/N has trouble keeping her breathing even then. 

This is the closest she and Harry had been since the night they kissed, and she couldn’t keep her brain from conjuring memories of it. Especially when his lips were looking particularly soft today, and slick from whatever chapstick he was using, almost like they were begging for another mouth to press against them. The gentle curve of his cupid’s bow and the pout of his mouth supplicates for her lips to trap it between them. To relive last week, how eagerly he’d kissed her, how his hands had slid to her waist, how he squeezed her –

Honestly, Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about it. She was skilled at acting indifferent to things like this and she’s certain Harry didn’t notice it was dawdling within her thoughts because he would have brought it up – but that didn’t mean it wasn’t. Every day, a few times a day, Y/N is suddenly accosted with a slew of images, all of which involve Harry's puckered mouth. 

Because she’d like to do it again – she wanted to do it again, but there was no way to just ask for it, was there? Not without being weird about it. At least that night they had been drinking, and if they really wanted to they could blame it on liquid loosening prior inhibitions. If Y/N was asking for it completely sober, then there was no turning back from that – then it was something they had to talk about and that’s difficult. Not to mention, she shouldn’t be canoodling with her bodyguards anyway. The time with Niall was a one-off, and she’d never had the urge or desire to do it again (well, maybe once or twice, but that was neither here nor there) – but she wanted it again with Harry. Honestly, she thinks she wants more than just the kiss with Harry. 

And they hadn’t even really discussed the first one yet! Why would they tack on a second kiss? 

With Niall, it was much easier; she sucked him off, and he came in her mouth, they laughed about it and then tried to finish the movie they were watching before both of them promptly fell asleep. When they woke up there was no awkward tension lingering in the air, she swatted him with a pillow so that he would get off the couch and go with her to a new cookie place as he’d promised. Life settled back in as normal, Y/N barely remembered what his cum tasted like after eating an iced sugar cookie, and that was that. 

But with Harry, the whole night persists in her memories. How he admitted to being jealous thinking about her with Niall, and how he wants to be her favorite guard. The taste of his tongue and the impression of his mouth pushed against hers. How he pressed his thumb into her chin and pulled her lips open wider for himself, how heady the feeling was, the caress of his fingers on her hips, her wrists, her jaw. Her cheeks warm when she thinks about crawling into his lap, how she felt him hard beneath her before he pulled away – before he stopped it from going any further. 

Y/N couldn’t help but wonder just how far it would have gone had he not withdrawn from her. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Harry murmured, and only then does Y/N realize that she’d been staring directly at him as he still carefully wiped away the dirt, “I’m getting shy.” 

Brows pinching toward each other, Y/N frowns at him, “You’re like three centimeters from my face, where the hell else am I supposed to look?” She praises herself for willing the words so quickly from her mouth, instead of floundering how she wanted to when she’d been caught gawking (Harry always teased her that she reverted to her extreme “brat-ish tendencies” once cornered and she continuously proved him right). 

Harry has a knowing smile that Y/N wants to flick off his face like he could read her mind through each of her pores. He always kind of had that look on him though, that would suggest he knew what Y/N was thinking and feeling before maybe even she did. It annoyed her more than anything. 

“You’re being rather rude to someone who saved a clumsy little thing like you from drowning in a creek.” He murmured, standing up from the spot he’d been kneeling before her and tossing the wet cloth into the sink with a wet slap. He holds one finger out to her, a silent command to stay put, and Y/N finds herself listening to him until he returns with a bottle of water. With that in one hand, he pulled open her medicine cabinet and retrieved the paracetamol, popping the cap open and shaking two into his palm, “You need to take these or your knee is going to be sore. Say ahhh,” he held them in his fingers, hovering them over her mouth. 

She scoffed, “My knee is already sore. Give me that, you dick,” she clasps her hands around his, swiping the pills and pushing them past her lips before grabbing for the bottle of water. 

“There you go,” he ignored her insult, “That’s a good girl – y’know, you’re a brat, but you listen well when you want to. Kind of like a fussy cat.” 

A flush of warmth ran from her face, down her throat, and across her chest – the praise, no matter how backhanded, was still praise and Y/N felt her veins twinkle with it. Harry doesn’t seem to notice how it affects her, and if he does, then he is kind enough not to be a pest for once and keep it to himself. He held out his hand for her to take, helping her lift off the seat, “You aren’t limping, which is good, but we’ll still ice it. If you show up to your parent’s house with a bruised knee and scratched-up hand, I’m sure it wouldn’t be appreciated.” 

The reminder makes her grimace – she’d almost forgotten about that. Adam was the first to tell her about it weeks and weeks ago, and then her father reminded her just last week, yet she let it slip her mind again. Willfully she lets it slip from her mind, neglecting the thought – it was always a little awkward meeting with everyone. When she was little, they would coo over her and how cute she was which she had enjoyed at the time, but she had long since passed the age of being cooed at because she was in a pretty dress. And when she was little, she could fuck off and play pretend somewhere with her cousins or by herself and nobody questioned anything because she was like 7 years old and barely knew how to divide numbers. 

Y/N longs for the solace of being little and not needing to be socially present during family events; life was much easier when she could check out and nobody cared. 

“Are you going with me?” Y/N inquired as she followed him out of the bathroom, tugging down the zipper of her jacket and wiggling it off her arms. 

“Hm?” 

“To the family thing,” she dropped the jacket in her hamper, leaving her in a sports bra but she thinks nothing of it while she waits for his response, “Were you the one going with me?” 

Harry pauses, if only for a brief second, and Y/N sees a look she’s never seen before flicker through his face before he’s smiling again, “Aw, cute! You want me to be there with you?” 

She did, for some reason, she felt like it would be better with him there. Adam and Niall always get pulled off at things like this, but Y/N felt like Harry might stay by her side for it. She had nothing to base this feeling on beyond just knowing it in her gut. 

And when she doesn’t grumble or call him an asshole for teasing her, Harry must realize she’s serious, because the gleam in his eyes softens to one that is gentle and pitying, “It won’t be me accompanying you, though I would love to,” he told her, “I’m wanted elsewhere that day.” 

She frowned at him, already feeling the whine bubble in her chest before he could finish his sentence, “Just tell them that you don’t want to do that and you want to do this instead.” 

“As much as the princess’s word is considered –” 

“Eat shit.” 

“ – I believe that request would be denied. Thomas wants me for a more delicate and potentially violent matter, so that’s where I’ll be.” He sighed, thumbing over his eyebrow, “Though you do manage to be delicate and violent as well, maybe I could ask for a trade.” 

Y/N flipped him off before plopping down on the couch, watching as he began to kick off his shoes at the doorway now that they were settling inside. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if the reason Harry wasn’t going was more than him being needed elsewhere but she couldn’t come up with good enough logic to back the claim. Unless he was the Harry from her childhood, and he was desperately trying to avoid a situation where that fact may be found out, but even that doesn’t seem like his speed. He was much too casual and unconcerned for her to think he’d go to that level just to keep up some weird little secret. 

That doesn’t mean she’s a hundred percent convinced, but she just dwells on it a little less. 

“It’ll be okay, you know,” Harry says after a while, as he’s opening up her windows, pulling the curtains open to let sunlight pour into her room; it glitters off her coffee table and places a glare over her tv, and the sweet chirp of birds still singing early in the morning fills her flat (along with the sound of cars driving below them but the morning traffic had slowed considerably by that point), “Just a few hours of family shit, and then you’ll be done. Can come home and take a shower and relax afterward.” Y/N follows him around the room as he goes to her other window, “It won’t be so bad. Maybe you’ll even have a little fun.” 

She doesn’t have it in her to fight him, “Yeah, maybe,” she offered quietly in return, leaning her head back and letting her eyes flutter closed, trying to ignore the throbbing in her knee, “It just feels weird to see them is all, and having nothing to show for the years that have passed since I’ve seen them last. Like. . .I dunno, I have to sit and listen to everyone else and their successes and I’m happy for them but I can’t help but. . .wish that I had something too. But all I’ve got is attempted kidnappings and a hobby that I haven’t perfected when I’ve got nothing but time to perfect it.” Y/N puffs a mirthless laugh. 

“Self-depreciation doesn’t look good on you,” he clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth and he sounds closer than he was before but she keeps her eyes shut, “Why don’t you start selling your art?” 

That does make her peek an eye at him, “Listen, I know I’m having a little pity party, but I don’t need you being mean and adding to it.” 

“I’m not being mean,” he retrieved a package of frozen vegetables from her freezer before he made his way to sit down beside her, body turned so he faced her directly, “I’m giving you an idea. Your art is good, and all the comments people have made on it in class tell you how cute the things you draw are. So yeah, maybe they wouldn’t sell in some smarmy art gallery, but they would definitely make a cute sticker on a water bottle or a laptop case. And what’d you get your degree in, wasn’t it business related? Marketing?” Y/N’s face pinches up. 

“So?” 

“So put two and two together, Darling, you’re smart,” he told her, “You make cute stickers and you have some understanding of marketing – start selling them online!” 

It. . .wasn’t the worst idea she’s ever heard. The people in the class had called her drawings cute, even the instructor had told her they were charming in a cutesy way. If other people liked them – if Harry really thought that other people would like them enough to stick them somewhere they had to look often – that would give her something to do, wouldn’t it? Something to focus on. . .something that could entirely be her own, and didn’t have to be a question of her safety, with no worry about getting her from point A to point B, and her name wouldn’t be out there. She could do it all under a different name! Loads of Etsy shops and the like don’t have the artist’s real name at all. 

It could just be her own little thing, and if it didn’t work, she could scrap the idea and pretend it never happened. But it was something. . .it could be hers. 

“Hm.” That is all she replied, despite the cogs clicking and turning in her brain. 

Harry sighed, plopping down in the space beside her, “I reckon you just like being difficult,” he told her, stretching one long leg out so it was sitting beneath the table, “Hm? I think you like trying to rile me up.” 

“Maybe.” 

                                                           .                                .                            .

Y/N has been having nightmares. 

As a child, she used to get them a lot. Sometimes they could be vivid; feel as real as a memory and Y/N would have trouble separating what was real and what was a dream. It was an unfortunate byproduct of a burdened subconscious, or at least that’s what the child psychologist told Thomas. And he then took a far more strict and tender approach to isolate her from the world of her parent’s work, which Y/N never really understood. Why wait until a child begins to show emotional distress before keeping them from something potentially emotionally distressing? 

They come and go, depending on the current state and status of her life. Times of stress brought them prolonged and heavy, bogging down her brain like waterlogged branches in a typically dry terrain. A monsoon of shadowy figures, hushed low voices, and crimson puddles. Trying to close her eyes but they’re being held open, trying to move through dense air with gelatinous limbs, trying to scream but her voice just barely leaves her throat. It’s nothing but frustration bubbling to her boil through her veins in the worst way, and when she finally does wake up, it lingers for a few minutes as she acclimates to being conscious.  

Once she has one, she’ll have them almost nightly until the problem is addressed or they eventually wither away. She doesn’t bring them up much – Niall and Adam know about them, but Thomas isn’t aware, though she doesn’t think he’d actually care. And she isn’t sure if her parents were even aware of her first round of them when they had concerned the nannies and guards enough to report them to Thomas. If they did know, they never brought it up. 

So she guesses it made sense that nobody alerted Harry to their existence if they were to ever occur while he was there.

They had started happening two weeks ago, shortly after the attempted kidnapping. It was scary, though it didn’t get very far, knowing that someone could find her location so easily was worrisome for future endeavors. And had this guy been more tactful and maybe a touch more forceful, then the situation could have gone horrendously bad – she could have been in a lot of trouble, and when her mind starts wandering to what could have been waiting for her. . .it’s awful. 

For the most part, they had been pretty tame. Y/N wakes up disoriented and groggy around 4 AM, she wanders out to the living room to find whoever was there that night, and if they were awake she’d make them both tea and stay up for a while. Niall was there the first night, and when she suddenly appeared in front of him with her hand stretched out, holding a mug to him, he gave her a knowing look, “Hm? Nightmare?” She nodded, and he made room for her on the couch, moving his computer, his iPad, or whatever he had brought over to keep himself busy for the night, “Do you want to talk about it?” She shook her head, “Fine, then you’re g’na have to listen to me rant about this fucking series I’m watching because. . . .” 

Adam asks fewer questions and most of the time is asleep when she wanders out but when her door clicks open he’s pulled from his sleep with a snort, “You okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Mm,” he would hum, “Go back to bed then, I’m not ready to socialize.” 

“I’ll just be up for a little, you can stay asleep,” she’d assure him, but she didn’t want to be alone, so she would make her tea and then sit on her feather blue recliner (that she was surprised he isn’t inhabiting) with her phone. Adam would say he’d stay up with her but make no move to change his position, so he always ended up back to sleep anyway. 

Bill and Martha were usually asleep too when she wandered out, but they were never ones for much conversation anyway. They would open their eyes, see she is in no imminent danger, then go right back to bed and that was that (nothing and nobody could make her feel more like a little kid than those two, and Thomas when she does see him). She would putter around her kitchen quietly, but take her tea into her room, wrapped up in her blankets and clicking through Youtube videos on her telly, comforted by the knowledge she isn’t alone in the flat. 

Some days there is nobody there with her at night, maybe an extra guard lingering outside the building, but no one inhabits her living room. Those nights Y/N is suddenly confronted with the harsh reminder that she lives in a constant state of fear, gnawing at her lip, jumping at every creak or click that echoed against the walls. It makes her feel like an idiot so she doesn’t bring it up to anybody, that on a regular night being alone can be weird, but on a night she’s had a bad dream it could be weird and long. It was stupid and made her feel like a child.

Tonight, for whatever reason, the dream was a lot rougher than it had been. While the prior nightmares were more nondescript things and hazy situations that she could just tell were bad but did not have comprehensible images of – this was much more lucid. Every touch felt like a burn against her skin, the hand cupped over her mouth and squeezed her nose shut stealing her breath away, the heart racing panic struck her fast, and her fingertips felt numb. She was thrashing, her throat sore from screaming, she needed help – she needed it right then, but there was nobody there. She was alone, she’s always been alone, she’s never safe, never, never, never –

“Y/N!” 

Her eyes split open, the beat of her heart pounding through her chest and ringing through her ears, and her trembling hands stay still at her sides. It took her a few silent, panicked moments before she realized she’d been woken up from a dream, staring at the figure who slowly, but surely, becomes Harry through her bleary gaze. Almost instantaneously relief floods through her, and icy spikes that dotted her vessels are now replaced with warmth, melting them. Y/N isn’t sure if the comfort is brought by the fact that she knows she’s awake so much as it is brought by seeing Harry – he usually showed up in her dream, and dream her was always reassured by his presence. His face usually meant whatever was plaguing her was finished – whatever shadowy, dark figure digging their nails into her arm dissipated. 

It was not until Harry spoke her name again that Y/N finally realized she’d been dreaming but she was awake now. Her eyes burn and her cheeks are wet – she’d been crying? Her bones feel stiff and creaky as she pushes herself from the mattress, pressing her knuckles against her eyes to try and rub the sleep from them. “You were having a bad dream?” Harry’s voice is low, his tone gentle, like he was creeping up on a resting bear and was worried to startle it. 

Y/N nodded wordlessly. The most he gets from her is a small hum as she tries to organize herself and her thoughts; she isn’t used to someone being here as she wakes up, staring at her warily, so she tries to force herself to speed it up. She didn’t want to worry him. And now that she thinks about it, when was the last time he’d spent the night here? He probably didn’t even know she had dreams like this to begin with. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry pressed carefully, and there was a small thud of four feet landing on the bed. She looked over to see Goose pad over to her, rubbing up against her torso and finding a spot in her lap before a low rumble of purrs overcame her. 

“What time is it?” Y/N inquired. 

Harry looks at his watch, “2 AM.” 

“Too late to talk about it,” she murmured, though she still felt shaken up. Her hands tremble as she smoothes them down Goose’s back, searching for more comfort in the soft fur, a wobbly rise and fall of each breath from her chest, “Was I being loud?” 

Harry gave her a small, empathetic smile, “Just a little,” he told her, “We could hear you,” it took her a second to realize we meant him and the cats, “And Goose was sitting outside of your door. At first I thought maybe you were awake, talking on the phone or something but you started yelling for help.” 

Grimacing, she frowns, at the image of Harry clambering to get up and burst through her door, overwrought with worry and his adrenalin spiking. His job – the whole reason he is here – is to keep her safe. So how horrifying is it to hear that one objective may be compromised in the middle of the night, on a floor way too high for someone to have snuck through a window?  “I’m sorry, that was – that’s probably scary.” 

“Yeah, it definitely wasn’t my favorite experience,” he agreed, “But I’m glad I could wake you up from it.” She scratched between Goose’s ears, feeling warm that the cat was concerned enough to sit outside her door once she heard her. She’s sure Gremlin is still blissfully sleeping wherever he was originally. “Well, I’ll let you go back to sleep. Call me if you need anything.” 

Y/N had thought that she was feeling better – she was awake, and she knew she was awake, so there was no reason for the same rimy panic that had been suffocating her to return at the mention of Harry leaving. Nor was there a reason for her to reach out and grab his wrist before he could get too far, a pitiful refusal pulled from her lips that feel sore and dry, she’s sure from her own teeth. Harry was safe – he couldn’t leave this soon after she’d woken up, she still needed a little bit – still wanted to be near him, and to hear him talk or even just sit silently at his side. 

But how could she voice this? Nobody else had made her request it explicitly, so she really wasn’t sure what to request. Any version of her saying it just sounds more and more pathetic, to speak the words aloud would be embarrassing. 

“You want me to stay?” Harry offered, after some time, and she was grateful for it as she nodded, “Just in the room?” 

Her face feels warm as her eyes glance over to the other side of her bed, “It’s. . .it’s a big bed,” she told him, swallowing thickly, “You can lay down if you're tired.” 

Harry’s lips quirk into a tiny, halfway smile, and Y/N had seen that look enough to know some form of a taunt typically follows it, “Oh I see,” he began, lifting himself up onto her bed and crawling over her body to get to the side she offered, “Was this a ploy to get me into your bed? You could have just asked, Sweetheart, but I would have asked for dinner first.” 

“Fuck off,” she grumbled, but it held little spite to it. Y/N wiggles back down beneath her covers, and Goose – disturbed but never grouchy – walks to the side, waits for Y/N to find a position she’s content in, and then returns. Y/N lays on her side so Goose tucks herself along her belly as she likes to, curling her face into her paws. Gremlin, who must have finally roused from his own blissful slumber, appeared on the bed at Harry’s feet before taking a seat, his tail undulating behind himself, waiting patiently for Harry to snuggle beneath the blankets. 

“Had I known you slept on a cloud every night, I would have asked for this sooner,” Harry said quietly, breaking through the silence of the room, only previously broken by the whirring of her fan above them, “It smells good in here too.”

Y/N watches him closely, as his head is against her pillow. Nobody else has ever laid in her bed before, and Y/N only ever sleeps on the left side of it, so she’s sure the right feels just as it did when she bought it. It’s weird to see someone there – but it only feels natural that it would be Harry, for whatever reason. Among the cotton, rosy pink duvet cover, in a long sleeve undershirt, his body having disappeared up to his shoulders snuggled beneath the comforter. He looks cute, especially when he turns to face her, and gives her a big closed-mouth smile that she told him in the past made him look like a pleased frog.

“You’re comfortable?” Y/N inquired and once Harry nodded, she finally closed her eyes again, “That’s good.” 

Some time passes. Y/N is unsure how long, but she’s almost certain that she’s fallen asleep until Harry's voice, syrupy and smooth as it always is, slithers into her ear, “I know you don’t want to talk about it and that’s fine,” he murmured, “But I just want you to know, I would never let anything or anyone hurt you. Never.” . 

She falls asleep easily then. 

                                                               .                           .                       .

Y/N used to have nightmares when she was younger, Harry had vague memories of that.

“I had a nightmare that a bad guy tried to kill me again,” she told him casually one day when they were on the swings, like it was the most normal conversation in the world, “It really sucked. They were super mean.” 

“Did you get away?” Harry remembered being concerned, even as a child. Y/N was younger than him, not by much, but enough that he’d felt a sense of responsibility for her. Harry hated his bad dreams, so he empathized with her plight. Whenever he had a bad dream, his mum usually came into his room and comforted him, but Y/N told him once that her mum didn’t like being woken up in the middle of the night for something not urgent. If she had a bad dream and woke up scared but the sun wasn’t out, she would hug her teddy tight and will herself back to sleep – that’s what she had told him, at least. 

With a shrug of her small shoulders, she kicked her legs back and forth in smooth glides, “Dunno’, I woke up before he could.” 

He was concerned then and he was concerned now. 

When Y/N offered him the spot next to her, Harry didn’t hesitate for even a moment. If she was scared enough to stuff away that prideful, bratty side of her to request it, then Harry wouldn’t make her second guess herself. Instead, he tried to make it as normal as possible, with a small tease as he crawled in beside her. He’d resigned himself to the idea of staying awake until he knew for sure she was fast asleep. It took ten minutes or so, but eventually, her measured, even breaths and sleepy sighs lull him into his own slumber. 

Harry wakes two or three hours later, warm. Warmer than he had been when he fell asleep, which he wouldn’t have questioned if not for how icy cold Y/N typically kept her room. For a brief moment, he thinks that maybe her fan shut off and he made the conscious decision to get up and turn it back on for her, but when he moves, he feels a weight on his arm that stopped him. A weight that is different from that of Goose or Gremlin. 

Once he opened his eyes, Harry found that Y/N was snuggled up against him. 

It wasn’t in a sweet, movie-like way as things like this typically went in stories and movies. It was in a very Y/N-like way though – her left leg thrown across his hip, her body flush against him, her face halfway jammed in his chest and her arm stretched over his neck; she’s about one sleepy shuffle away from smothering him with her bicep if she moved just right. Harry thinks it’s very telling that she does not sleep with someone often because she had somehow rolled herself all the way over to his side when there had been a good distance between them to start. 

Carefully, he began to reshape her, moving her arm from over his throat. Harry had been making a conscious effort to be gentle so she stayed asleep, but a small grumble lifted into the air around them that sounds close to “Stop it.” but when Harry says her name, there is no response. Instead, she wiggles her shoulders, her arm finding a place around his waist instead, and scooted closer.

Tch, he rolled his eyes but he could feel a fond smile pulling at his cheeks, She’s even a brat in her sleep. 

Harry lets himself enjoy it for a little while. The warmth of Y/N pressed to his side, the peach-scented lotion still permeating from her skin, the feel of each rise and fall from her chest as she took a breath. His insides feel cotton-soft and melty, he traces circles in the center of her back and waits patiently for her to fall deeper into her head. Once she does, he tries again to carefully remove her from the glued position she’d been in, because while he likes being cuddled close to her, he knew she would be mortified if she woke up. 

This time she goes easily, letting him lie her arm at her side before sliding his hand beneath her thigh, attentively guiding it off of his hip. Y/N stretches, and turned away from him, her arms sliding around a pillow and hugging her face against it. What a cuddly little thing, Harry thinks, she’s probably searching for something (or someone) to put her arms around the whole night. It makes his heart twist in his chest, a weird mix between an ache and a yearning for her. He wondered if these bad dreams would disappear if she always had someone there to cuddle to her body, like an oversized stuffy. 

The idea of it has a pout forming on his lips. Y/N, in the time he’s known her, is driven heavily by physical affection that she is not receiving often. She may grouse when Adam touches her shoulder when he reaches over her head to get in the cabinet, but she leans into his hand. If Niall is around, chances are Y/N is touching him in some way, either with her legs across his lap, or their hips side by side (which. . .Harry has no right to feel an ugly twinge in his chest any time he sees it but that doesn’t stop it from happening). Martha wasn’t the soft type, but Harry had walked in on Y/N leaning against the pillow Martha held to her body while they watched the telly. When Harry had come to her room in a panic, just to see for himself that she was okay (after Otto’s botched kidnapping attempt), she melted against his knuckles that he couldn’t help but stroke against her cheeks. 

Harry had met her parents several times – they were. . .kind as they could be, with what they do, but they were not the nurturing type. They were cool and distant, and even though Harry knows they love their daughter, and talk sweetly, they just didn’t seem like the type to cuddle and coddle. And instead of growing an aversion to touch, she grew too long for it, even in small doses, even from her bodyguards. Where else could she get it? Harry is certain if she went out with her friends she would be touchy and clingy, flopped over them in some way, shape, or form. 

Gremlin moves relatively little with the change in positions, and Goose lets out an annoyed huff before following Y/N’s body, snuggling up against her back. It was almost disgustingly cute how much Goose enjoyed her girl time with Y/N; even though she was the less fickle of the two, she really didn’t warm up that easily to people but with Y/N, it only took a couple of days before she was sleeping in her lap. Harry thinks that not only are cats a good judge of character, but they seek out people who need healing, like little furry psychotherapists that say nothing but do plenty. Where he would normally be a bit jealous, he was glad that Goose had chosen Y/N to snuggle with and love on her. 

Harry sighs to himself. It’s only a matter of time before Y/N realizes that she’s been right all along about knowing him, he was just holding his breath and waiting for it. In his head, when he’d started this, the idea of keeping it all a secret from her seemed easier. There would be no need to go into the details of why he left, to relive any of it, to divulge what he had done, or to break his promise to Thomas, to his father, to her father. He could go on with her like they were two strangers and his past didn’t matter. And Harry doesn’t know why it is so important to him that she didn’t think the sweet boy he was turned into the man he is today; it felt as though it broke the mirage of normalcy his childhood had there for a little while. If the image Y/N held in her head of him was altered, it would pull at his stomach and tug around his heart. The boy she knew was good, not a drop of blood on his hands – the man she knew now had hands covered in the murk and filth of gang politics, rivalries and wars, drugs and guns. 

To keep the two mutually exclusive brought him more comfort. 

But Y/N is perceptive and she recognized him almost immediately. As smart as she was, and as sneaky as she could be, he had a feeling deep in his gut that she would be seeking answers at her parent’s house. It would be easier if Harry wasn’t there too, so she wouldn’t have to sneak around him to do it. And if she finds out. . .well, Harry has accepted that it might happen and he could only hope that she isn’t too angry with him. In the grand scheme, it has changed very little of their dynamic. Harry is a completely different person than he was when he left this place – when he left her. 

His biggest regret, looking back at it, was leaving her alone. Even before this title, when they were just kids playing, he always kind of felt like her unofficial bodyguard. Or even just a companion for her – she didn’t have many other friends, and for whatever reason, both of their parents (or more so his parents and Thomas) thought it was a fine idea to just have them play with one another. Harry thinks it would have been a one-time thing when his father was first getting heavily involved with them, however from what he had heard at the time, Y/N had requested him. 

Or maybe requested was a strong word. He supposes the better way of phrasing it was when Harry's father told him that the little friend he made the week prior asked, “Where is Harry? Is he coming to play?” Which was a request enough for Thomas to invite him to a park that day. They saw each other pretty much weekly after that, depending on what was happening or the state of affairs the organization was in. Actually, Harry doesn’t even think Y/N remembers that much – he had a slightly bigger involvement in her life than he thinks she realizes. But when he speaks to Y/N about her childhood (or more, when she brings up a random anecdote), he finds that she doesn’t recall quite a few things about it. Like her brain had packed it away in storage boxes and stuffed it up in the attic – he’d once read that memory loss was an intrinsic, almost instinctual survival skill. Anything she deemed emotionally traumatic, she may have just conveniently booted from her head, and that. . .well, that might have been most of her years as a kid. 

If he knows anything about her, he knew that she would be upset with him initially but he could only hope she moved past it. Harry would have loved to go with her to her family event, even if she found out with him there, then they could at least discuss it immediately or on the car ride home instead of her stewing over it. But Thomas and Garrison had pulled him aside for different matters – the ones he had described as much more violent than a dinner with a ton of members in a gang, surprisingly. 

There might be a mole. That’s what Garrison had told him privately, that he didn’t trust Otto was in this alone; that nobody just knows where Y/N’s location is, barely anyone knows where she lives and this was an outlet mall 40-ish minutes away. It was just too convenient that Otto would know where she was without there being someone to tell him or some way of knowing. So everyone was under a microscope: Adam, Niall, Martha, Bill, and even some of the new people – Kai, Charlie, Betty, Rebecca. Harry understood why all of these people were on the list, but – 

“Why not me?” He inquired, brows dipped, “I appreciate that I’m not, but I don’t understand why exactly.” 

“You’ve been around since she was a kid,” he’d reminded Harry like he didn’t know, “There will always be a little more trust between us with you than the others. We know you wouldn’t let anything happen to her and you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your family.” 

So while Y/N was with her family, he would be preoccupied snooping in places he probably doesn’t belong. It feels wrong to spy on the other bodyguards like this, and even the newbies; he feels guilt trickle through his chest when he is flicking through files of them. But he knew it had to be done. . .that Y/N’s safety was the top priority, even if it meant potentially betraying the trust of his colleagues. 

He’s worried about what he might find. He’s worried about how Y/N would react if it was anyone close to her. 

Worry soaks his brain, weighs it heavy, and drags his eyelids closed so he would stop watching the back of her sleeping head. He needed to sleep – maybe he should have kept her tucked against his side, cozy and warm because he’s sure he could have fallen right back to sleep then. He already knew he would spend at least ten more minutes contemplating what the next few weeks could bring them. The last time he’d had a little bit of trouble falling back asleep in her flat was after they kissed. 

That kiss. . .Harry’s cheeks feel hot thinking about it. He could still feel her against his mouth if he focused hard enough; the taste of her tongue, how soft her lips were, the way she felt in his lap. He could also remember how embarrassing he’d been coming into her room saying he was jealous, which is the only part of the night he wants to forget. They probably needed to talk about it – when he’s speaking, and Y/N’s staring at his mouth, he feels like he should bring it up, but the words always stick to the back of his throat like honey. 

It was inappropriate, Harry shouldn’t have agreed to do it but Y/N was so cute asking him and he’s human, after all. She wanted to kiss and Harry loved kisses and how could he deny her of such a simple pleasure in life? Especially when she said she didn’t get to do it often? It would have been criminal for him to refuse her! And Harry may participate heavily in unlawful, corrupt things, but he was no bloody monster – his job (in part) was to make Y/N happy, and if a kiss was what did that then so be it. 

(At least this is what he convinces himself.) 

Thinking about it either does two things for him: makes him hard, or gives him soft, twinkling feelings in his stomach. Thankfully, tonight it was the latter, so he revels in the sentiment and finds himself drowsy once again (he’d worked himself up enough that he felt wide awake which would not do – they still had a few hours to sleep and he wanted to make use of it). There is comfort in knowing that if Y/N starts to have her nightmares again, he’s right beside her – he wondered if he’d ever be able to be at her flat without wanting to be next to her.

What he said before she fell asleep, he meant – he wouldn’t let anyone or anything hurt her, and that includes a shitty dream. 

                                                              .                          .                          .

The gathering comes quicker than Y/N would have liked, but she figured it was better than the worry of it lingering like a gloomy cloud over her. Y/N had woken up that morning with a sort of weird relief tied into her anxiety; a premature peace was brought on by the fact the day was here and she was one step closer to getting it over with. No matter how unpleasant she would find it, most of these people were family, and if not family, then held a deep-seated, often fear-induced respect for her parents. It wasn’t like anyone would be blatantly mean to her or quiz her too hard on what she was doing, why she was doing it, where she was doing it, because. . .well, wouldn’t that make them look a touch suspicious? These sorts of questions would only be acceptable from her grandparents and that’s if they could talk about something other than how hard it is to use the bathroom the older they get. 

Y/N kept reminding herself of this in the hours leading up to the party and it made her feel much better. They were doing this because her grandparents were coming in from Dublin, where they had settled after passing the torch to her parents (neither was from Ireland, but both were drawn to the lush green hills and a seemingly endless supply of Guinness which is all they could wish for in their old age). Everyone would be much more intrigued by them than they would be by her – she felt silly for getting so worked up over going. Was it not a little self-absorbed to think everyone would want to know what she was doing?  Who gave a shit about what was going on with her besides a handful of other people? 

She had told this line of thinking to Niall who would be accompanying her to the party. “That’s awfully pessimistic but if that’s what makes you feel better then yeah, they’ll probably be focused on what your grandparents are chatting about. They’ve got some brutal fucking stories, but your Nan is so cute, you don’t expect her to be telling them.” 

It’s true; her Nan wears bright-colored cardigans and keeps her hair styled neatly in feather white curls. She knits, sews, and bakes cookies. When she was in town while Y/N was a child, she would take her (bodyguard-less, because “If something goes wrong, I’ll take care of it,”) to feed ducks in the park, or to pick out yarn for a blanket. Very normal, Nan-like things, so you really wouldn’t have guessed that she used to shoot people’s feet if they betrayed the family. 

The weather was much warmer today so Y/N wore a dress – her mum and Nan liked her in dresses, and though Y/N had a love-hate relationship with the garment, she’d like to make them both happy. A light blue, patchwork material that came just above her knees, with loose puffy short sleeves and a square neckline. Niall gave her a mocking gasp when she walked out in it, “I was half expecting to see you in sweats and a tank top, I never see you all dressed up.” 

“Because I’ve been on house arrest, dick,” she retorted, pulling her socks over her feet. 

With a snort, he pulled his phone out, “Harry’s g’na be so fucking jealous he didn’t see you in a dress.” 

“Huh?” Y/N slid her left foot into her shoe (the mary jane like shoe but was lacking the buckle that really made it a mary jane), “Why would he care?” 

“Because you look cute and he’s a sucker for you looking cute,” Niall says it like it’s obvious, confusion reworking his face into a confused frown, “He coos over like every cute thing you do.” 

“He’s just teasing.” 

A scoff leaves him, “Whatever you say – now smile for the camera.”  

Y/N smiled nice, big, and pretty, her head tilted dramatically and her middle finger stuck out toward him. It is the opposite of a deterrent for the blonde, who chortles as he takes rapid-fire pictures from varying angles, muttering something about, “See how you like it when this one goes to your Nan.” After the pictures are taken, she stands and smacks his arm lightheartedly. She wondered if Niall had actually sent it to Harry and her suspicions were confirmed just as soon as they got in the car to leave.

I can’t believe you’ve had such a cute dress and never told me or Goose, you know how much she loves dresses. She’s going to be so hurt.

The memory of Goose rolling around in a few of her dresses (and other various items of clothing but mostly her dresses) when Y/N was going through her closet (in a fit of pure boredom), plants itself into her brain. It makes her smile, even though she knew she’d be removing remnants of tortoiseshell fur off the fabric; she just wanted to scent her and all of her things. Harry told her Goose was in the midst of trying to adopt her but the paperwork is hard for a cat so it’d been taking some time. 

Rolling her eyes, she let her thumbs dart around the keyboard. 

Don’t use the cat as an excuse, pervert

The drive isn’t as awful and damning as she thought it might feel; it’s about 30 or so minutes out from where she stays depending on what traffic is like and Niall is on some soapbox about a drama he’s currently watching. She watches as the cityscape changes to suburbia, and from suburbia closer to the countryside. Not the house on stilts beside a river and a boat beside the car countryside, but the smarmy, affluent kind – where it wasn’t really countryside, but there were acres upon acres of land to own. The trees they pass are a blur of brown branches speckling with green as they shift to Spring, and bushes that never lost their green, to begin with.  

Anxiety still bubbles in her belly but more from the prospect of seeing people she hasn’t seen in a while, than it was from being worried they’d ask how she was doing. Because she realized she could A. Always lie, and B. Harry did give her a good idea the other week about opening some form of online shop. She’d started laying the groundwork for it down, so she could at the very least talk out of her ass about what she was doing. That was if anybody asked – she wouldn’t just bring it up on her own. 

Y/N finds that she just needs to tap into that part of herself she uses with her friends when she is able to go out with them. The part of her that completely erases any possibility that she has a life outside of what they were doing at that moment; narrowly avoiding questions that probe too deeply into her day-to-day, steering the conversations toward the person she was talking to and their life. Everyone likes to talk about themselves if you show you’re willing to listen, Y/N found that out relatively quickly. 

Her parents’ house, much like them, is gaudy and extravagant and too big. It’s a pretty place, but she just doesn’t necessarily see the need for columns lining the stairs leading up to the house, or the large brass lion knocker on the front door. The chandelier in the foyer when you first enter is about a thousand crystals that cast glittering shadows along the slate grey walls. From the foyer, directly in front of the door is a bifurcated staircase, and beneath either set of stairs splitting off from the main row, there was an entryway to the kitchen and a sitting area, both just on the side of too big. She could already see people moving around in the kitchen and could tell that most people were in the backyard where the majority of this would be taking place. 

This wasn’t the house she grew up in so there was no personal attachment to the walls, the floors, or the doorways. She doesn’t stop to linger around a spot on the wall she remembered being measured against when she was little, nor does she see little mirages of a small her running around the halls in a moment of nostalgia. Y/N walks through the foyer, her shoes clicking against the hardwood as she makes her way to the backyard. 

There were a lot of people to greet and she was feeling overwhelmed, but nobody noticed (nor seemed to care) about her arrival. It made it easy to slink around, seeking out her grandma who she knew would be sitting beneath one of the tarps they had set up shielding away the blinding son. She was in the middle of speaking to a group of people, so Y/N was going to stand and wait patiently off to the side, but her eyes flickered over, a smile broke out over her face, and she waved her closer, “Is that who I think it is?” Y/N lowered to hug her, “God, you’re looking like an adult! Where the hell is your grandfather, someone call the lazy sod over.” 

It was easy with her like it always was. Y/N spoke to her for a while, and hugged her granddad when he made his way over, (“Is your hair longer? Looks longer – you know, your mother had long hair when she first met your dad, like down to her bum, it was ridiculous! We used to beg her to get it cut, we thought it’d get trapped in a door.”). She spoke to them both briefly, and they told her they wanted to plan a trip where she came to Ireland for a visit, and she agreed immediately. Her Nan cooed and doted over her for a moment, pinching her cheek and murmuring something about her needing to sleep more, “I can tell you’re tired, you get that same look your dad gets. Why aren’t you sleeping? Is your mattress comfortable?” 

Y/N thinks, if her life was slightly different, these questions might annoy her but she revels in them. No matter how old you get, it’s nice to have someone worry over you a bit; to not see Y/N often but to know when she looks tired, to want to know why she isn’t sleeping, to wonder if it is her mattress. This is the kind of normal worry, about her sleeping habits, or how she’s eating, or if she’s happy – not about rivals and strangers to her that feel contempt for her parents but somehow translate that to hurting her. 

“We’ll talk later,” her Nan promised her, swatting her bum and giving her a small push, “Go mingle with your family, they’re missing you. And find your parents, tell them to stop working and come pamper me, I haven’t seen either of them for more than ten minutes.” 

She listens (her grandma is not someone you ignore orders from) and mingles. Y/N feels increasingly stupider for being so worried because really, nobody cares what she’s doing now, they mostly want to chat and reminisce over memories from years ago. She’s happy to listen, to laugh, to avoid any segues that might lead to delving into her life or opening a door where that might be a topic. Even if it was, she wondered if everyone just knew not to interrogate her – everyone is too worried about upsetting her parents to dig too deep into her shit. For all they know she could be doing under-the-cuff shit for them that nobody but she knew about (she isn’t but she could definitely could be – they aren’t above doing shifty things like that). 

Eventually, she did find her parents and it was. . .as it always was. They almost seemed like they were mid-meeting, which she hadn’t known, but all talked among themselves and the several people sitting beneath the stone gazebo (besides the pond they had built, with fish swimming around in it and a small waterfall because of course they had that) once she appeared, “Hi,” she greets unceremoniously, “Nan says stop working and go dote over her.” 

“Of course she did,” her mom smiled brightly, “Come here and hug me – where’d you get this dress? I love it, I’d be wearing that if I was just a few years younger.” 

“Try a decade,” her father teased, reaching over to squeeze her arm, “How’s my girl, huh? You all,” he turned to the others, “Go ahead and socialize, we’ll spend some time with our daughter.” 

They talk for a while, they’re the only ones inquiring about her life, and what she’s doing, and as she speaks it only then settles in her brain that they’ve got no clue. Y/N always imagines Thomas being puppeteer’d by her parents, doing as they say, but she forgets that for the most part, they do give him a fair amount of autonomy. Only relatively big notions (like her going to university) are discussed as a group. They do know that she’s being confined to her flat and they at least have the decency to  appear like they feel bad. 

“Once things settle,” her mum had patted her knee, “Things will be better, and you’ll be able to go out more. There’s. . .something going on right now, it’s better to air on the side of caution. Especially after what happened.” 

“Yeah, I get it,” she doesn’t. . .she tries her best to though, from their perspective, “Figure it out quick though, I want to go loiter at a mall or something soon.” 

She did end up telling them about her plan with art – after she told them about the art classes, which they seemed only vaguely aware of. Y/N went into it, about the cutesy drawings, about an online store, and they nod and say things like, “That sounds nice, Honey,” which is precisely what she expected. Something gentle, slightly dismissive, like they’re listening to a 12-year-old get overly enthused about her hobby. It was nice to talk about it with someone other than Harry though, even if she was certain they were only half listening. 

Her mother is the one to bring Harry up, sipping from her glass of wine, “Hm? He’s your newest guard is he not? How’s it going?” 

“It’s good,” she shrugged her shoulders, “He’s nice,” I kissed him the other week, “And he’s got two really cute cats that he brings over,” he slept in my bed the other night because I’m having horrible nightmares – do I look tired to you? Nan says I look tired, that’s probably why, “Yeah, it’s fine. Has he said anything?” 

Her father cleared his throat, “From what Thomas has said, he does well at all aspects of his job,” he gave a tight-lipped smile, and there’s. . .a look there, in his face, that caught Y/N’s attention, “Which is always good to hear, when we’re trusting someone with you.” 

“He does kind of remind me of someone,” her lips move before she can really think it through, bringing it up, but her dad’s disposition had changed ever so slightly – something that Y/N wouldn’t have noticed had she not been trying to read them the entire conversation, “I used to spend time with someone when I was little, who was named Harry. He just disappeared one day though.” 

As soon as her mother opened her mouth to respond, her father cut her off, with a smooth, almost immediate precision, “Hm, I think I remember him,” he reached for his drink from the table, “But he and his family moved quite a while ago, I believe. There was a company in Australia I believe, that wanted to hire him. That is if I’m remembering correctly.” 

Y/N thinks if her father had answered any other way, or even just slightly differently, she wouldn’t have questioned it. Maybe she would have finally given up, and let it go because even if she did know Harry from when she was younger he clearly didn’t want her to remember him for a reason. If she had anything else to do with her time, she probably wouldn’t have even cared that much to bring it up past asking Harry if she knew him from somewhere. 

But it was weird how he’d answered her. It was too fast – and how do you think you remember somebody, but go on to explain they moved to Australia? Plus, from what Y/N has gathered through bits and pieces she hears from her guards and from what she remembered when she was little, people don’t just stop working for her parents. They don’t just go on their merry way unless they are exiled, and even then, the offense would have to be pretty minor to come out unscathed. 

Once you’re in this world, you’re in it. There’s no dipping a toe in and deciding it’s too cold; the only option is to sink into it, down to the shoulders, and embrace it when the water lapping at your neck is finally warmer than the air blowing around above it. 

“Ohh, okay,” she plays nice and dumb, smiling gently, “Well that settles that then. I was just wondering.” 

The tension that had risen in his shoulders loosened, and he relaxed back in his chair, “Tell us more about this business you’d like to start – I know someone who specializes in marketing for start-ups and. . .” 

It’s brushed under the rug because of course it is, and Y/N keeps chatting with them a healthy amount before excusing herself to the restroom. This is when her parents make their move to visit with her Nan (“What a joy it is to dote on your mother-in-law,” her mother sighed, grabbing her wine), so they split ways. Y/N does have to piss, that much is true, but she’ll also be taking a detour to the library, where the photo albums were kept. Nobody questions where she’s going or why she’s going there, but she does manage to narrowly avoid Thomas who would have definitely not trusted her when she told him she wasn’t doing anything to rouse suspicion. 

The library, in comparison to the rest of the house, is actually one of the smaller rooms. She wondered if it was actually small or if the towering bookcases made it appear more compact than it was. On either side of the room, the walls were bookshelf-beside-bookshelf, filled to the brim with different novels, titles, hardbacks, and paperbacks (she doesn’t even think her parents are that into reading). Adjacent to the door, the wall is a window that reminded her of Edward’s room in Twilight, only this one was composed of bulletproof, thick glass and had large curtains that could be drawn if it was night. In the center of the room was a small couch, a coffee table, and a lamp (which has a very limited purpose when there’s a huge light fixture hanging from the ceiling that lights up the entire room as soon as it’s flicked on). 

It takes her a moment to skim over different bindings until she finds the odd, large bindings of the photobooks. They aren’t labeled but she remembered that her mother, in all her perfectionist glory, had them color coded by years. Y/N knew that vibrant purples, blues, and greens were from a period starting with her birth so that’s where she starts. She pulled out all of them, bundled them in her arms, and went to the couch. Vaguely does Y/N remember a time when she was always posing for pictures whether she wanted to or not, and while it wasn’t necessarily either of her parents taking the picture – someone was. Thomas, any bodyguard, her Nan, uncles, aunts, and cousins if they were all together. So there are plenty of pictures to sift through, almost an annoying amount. She thinks she’ll be in here for hours. 

Three photo albums in, she begins to lose hope. What was she even looking for? Some proof that Harry existed when she was little? Who was to say anyone had even taken a picture of them together in the first place? And for her parents to keep it, when one of them at the very least, was not interested in her knowing that he had existed in her life before a few months ago when he’d entered her flat, following close behind Niall? It was unlikely. 

She nibbles at her thumbnail, heaving a sigh and almost irately flipping through pages now when she sees it. 

When she sees him. 

If Y/N had looked through it any quicker she would have missed it. A picture at the park, two children stood beside the obnoxiously bright blue tunnel slides: one of them was her, in a frilly pink sundress that had large yellow flowers printed all over the front, and jelly shoes she has a vague memory of regretting because the mulch from the ground kept scratching her. She had a big, front toothless grin, her head over-exaggerated in its tilt and one of her hands were held up like she was waving. Her arm was wrapped around a boy, just a little taller than her, who had awful cargo shorts you could only get away with wearing at 9 and a green shirt with a FIFA logo. His hair was brown, cut short, his eyes were light, she could tell, and he had two dimples just as she remembered. Looking at this photo, she knew for sure. 

It was him. 

That fucking liar. 

She carefully slides the delicate paper from the plastic sheet and presses it off to the side, before continuing to flip through. One picture would be enough, she knew, but she wanted to build an arsenal of proof. He could try to explain away one picture, but not several. Not when she could tell the structure of his face, the way one side of his mouth has always pulled up higher when he smiled, the crinkles beside his eye when he grins. 

Y/N is conflicted, about whether to be happy or upset or whatever she was feeling. She was happy that she had been right this whole time. She was irritated because he’d been lying to her and her dad just lied straight to her face, but she wondered for what reason it was important that she didn’t know. And she was confused, because. . .well, where the fuck had he gone? From at least four of the photo albums, she finds around five photos from each of them, up until she was around 10. 

She’d worried a sore into the inside of her bottom lip biting at it with fretted teeth, and her forehead ached from the deep furrow she’d had the entire time she flicked through the albums. Y/N was ready to go home, but she knew she’d have to stay for a while longer. 

Just as she was sliding the pictures into her purse, zipping it closed, the door of the library opened. She tenses until she realizes it’s Niall, who squints his eyes, “What are you doing in here?” 

“Hiding and going down memory lane.” She dismisses him quickly, collecting the albums and walking them back to where she’d found them, “Have they started serving food yet? I’m fucking starving.” 

“Watch your mouth, your Nan could be around any corner. She’s quiet on her feet,” he playfully scolded her, not probing any further into her reasonings for being in here, “That’s why I came to get you, the caterers finally have everything set up and I knew you’d fuss if I ate without you.” 

She scoffed, “Thanks, and for the record, I don’t fuss, I hit.” 

He pouted his mouth, rubbing his arm where she’d swatted him earlier, “Don’t I know it.” 

                                                                    .                     .                   .

Y/N loses her nerve. 

For a while, she was riled up and ready for an argument (though she doubts Harry would actually argue with her); Harry was supposed to come to see her that night, so she had very little time to mentally prepare. But from that little time she did get, she’d prepared to let him walk in, sit down, then slam the pictures down on the table in front of him and demand answers. Like why he lied before, why her father lied today, and why he left in the first place. Does it matter? No, not necessarily, and she doesn’t think it would change how anything is right now, but at the end of the day, Y/N is nosy and confused and wants to know why everyone else is in on this and not her. Just like everything else in her life, she is kept in the dark, and she’d just been praising Harry for being the only one who ever kept her in the know, telling her more than anyone else. 

And she thinks if it had been anyone else, she probably would have. If she had looked through those albums and seen a photo of Niall with her, she would have immediately thrown it at him and asked him what the fuck it was about. 

Yet as soon as she saw Harry, who smiled brightly at her as he walked in, holding two strawberry shakes with a big grin on his face. . .she just couldn’t. 

“I brought you a treat,” he told her, kicking the door shut with his foot, “It’s a celebration shake. Do you feel relieved having done it and gotten it over with?” 

It almost felt silly, to think about doing it how she had planned. To show him the photos, like an I told you so! I’m right, you’re wrong, I did know you – it felt like a petulant way to approach the subject. And if there was a good reason that they didn’t want her to know. . .if there was any reason at all, really, why should she have to force his hand in telling her? To shove proof in his face, catch him off guard, guilt him into telling her. . .it just didn’t feel right. She wanted to know, and part of her felt she deserved to know, but maybe not like this. 

She cleared her throat, and smiled gently, “Yeah,” she told him, “It wasn’t too bad.” 

“See! I told you it’d be just fine,” he handed her the shake, “I’ll admit, I am jealous Niall got to go with you in that dress. It was adorable – you look so pretty when you’re all dressed up. Well, you’re pretty always, actually, but I do love dresses.” 

Y/N feels her face warm, mouth pulled into a frown, “Don’t tease me,” she grumbled, pulling the straw of the shake between her lips, but she moves her legs out of the way for him to sit with her on the couch. 

“I’m not teasing,” he defended himself, “Really, I think you’re pretty in whatever you feel comfortable in.” 

Y/N nudged him with her foot, and let the words, I knew you when I was little, I have pictures – fizzle out in her throat. She wants to know – so badly does she want to know, but she just can’t give a reason why she would need to know. And she guesses part of her is a little scared that it might change things between them. There were a lot of things Y/N wanted but that wasn’t one of them; she’d like to keep getting closer to him, to keep looking at him and feeling safe, for that bubble of warmth and comfort to arise in her belly every time he stepped through the door. 

She liked how things were now, so maybe she was okay not knowing. Not yet, at least. . .for a little while. 

“Where’s your head at, hm?” Harry hums low, sweet, and soft; he’s in the usual attire, though the white button-up was loosened by a few buttons and the cuff links were undone. His suit pants were navy blue today, and he treated them with little care, his foot pulled up onto the couch, rolling the leg of the trousers up. He is turned to face her, the hand on his phone lowering so she had his full attention, “You seem far away.” 

“Nowhere,” she lies easily, “I’m just sleepy.” 

Harry gives her a smile – it’s gentle but still big, and she’s suddenly acutely aware of how her heart races when she witnesses it, dimples and all, “Liarrr,” he sing-songs, but uses his free hand to squeeze her calf over the pajama pants she’s wearing, “You can tell me when you’re ready if you want to talk about it,” his voice sinks into her muscles, melts them, “I’ll wait for you. Until then, I reckon we should watch that show. . .the new one with the zombies everyone is talking about?” He would have a good reason, right? Harry wouldn’t just lie to her. . .Harry doesn’t just lie. 

Y/N nodded, her lips twitching up, “So you finally admit you want to see it,” she puffed a laugh from her chest, “After so vehemently denying that you’re interested in zombie shows at all!” 

“To be fair, a lot of them can be shit!” He whined, “But I’ve seen a lot of good reviews, and I heard it’s about some mind-controlling fungus which is a slight deviation from other versions of the story. And legally, you can’t be mean to me because I’m so sweet and brought you a shake.”  

She grabbed the remote, “You’re whiny.” 

“I reckon I deserve to be the whiny one sometimes, you get to be 24/7.” He retorted and Y/N gasped, mouth falling open. 

“I am not whiny!” 

“Oh? Was that a whine I just heard?” When she huffs at him and starts turning her body away from him, he chuckles low, stopping her from twisting her body completely by laying a hand on her bicep, “C’mon, c’mon, I’m kidding.” He scoots to the other end of the couch, “Here, do you want to stretch out? I’m sure your feet must hurt after being in those shoes all day.” 

Her response is to kick her feet up without hesitation, but she wiggles down so that they lay in his lap, “Will you rub them?” Because if he’s going to lie to her about knowing her and then suddenly return to her life as her bodyguard, she thinks she deserves a foot rub out of it at the very, absolute least. 

“Ah,” he places one of her throw pillows in his lap, before delicately laying her foot on top of it, “You just want me here to dote on you.” 

She nodded her head, “Correct.” 

“Brat,” he digs his thumb into the sole of her foot anyway, just above her heel, “Get the show started or I’ll start tickling.” 

Because it’s easy with Harry – it’s always been easy with Harry and that’s what she liked. 

Why make it difficult? 

Why bring it up? 

                                                                 .                             .                           .

The days go on as normal; eventually, they lessen their stringent rules on where she can and cannot go. It’s only a little bit, but she and Harry can finally return to their art classes, where Y/N found the excuse for their absence was they had taken a trip to Spain (she lies about how amazing the rooftop tour of Santiago de Compostela Cathedral is beautiful knowing full well she didn’t even know you could get tours on the rooftop).  They returned just in time for a color theory lesson that goes from a fun grade school color wheel to something that melted her brain. By the end of it, it had turned into something so complex, even Harry seemed genuinely astonished by how deep into it they went. 

“We’ll have to practice later,” he promised, “‘cos I’m going to forget everything she said after the first hour.” 

Y/N goes to a brunch with her Nan, who – albeit reluctantly – lets Harry attend. Thomas was still hyper-aware of any possible danger (as he always is) and thought it would be dangerous for not only Y/N but her Nan (who has made plenty of enemies in her day) to be alone out and about together. Harry offered to sit at a separate table once he noticed her Nan’s displeasure but she waved the idea away, “Why should you be punished because I disagree with how they’re doing things? You’ll sit with us.” 

If Y/N looked back on it, she thinks that Grandma always had a problem with how they raised Y/N. Very, very, very vaguely she has an indistinct and fuzzy memory of her scolding Y/N’s father, “This is no life to live,” she told him, “To force her in this house! To not even let her attend school? She needs friends outside of her cousins and a life. I didn’t raise you to be so stupid.” And Y/N thinks, relatively close to that, she’d been enrolled in a private school (though she moved around quite a bit following that). 

It was nice to spend time with her, and she thinks – even without trying – Harry had managed to woo her Nan in about five minutes. If she let herself indulge, even just for a second, it was like having her boyfriend meet her family but she wipes the thought away as soon as it arises. 

Because she’s been having a lot of thoughts like that; she’d begun labeling them her “senseless, delusional” moments where she even for a second considered having feelings for Harry. They started out infrequently, only every so often (especially when he did something particularly sweet) but with time they grew more recurrent. It seemed, like some sort of sick twist, that they came on stronger once she realized that she knew him from when they were little. 

Which, Y/N thinks if she were more emotionally sound, the opposite would have occurred. She should be put off and repelled, but instead, she finds herself feeling more and more fond. 

Now she notices things that she hadn’t before. All the little idiosyncrasies of hers that he remembered from childhood: how she liked jelly candies and her favorite flavors, the board games she used to play, the stuffies she always liked, the way she hated the sound of nails on a holographic picture, how she thinks the sandwich just tastes better when it’s cut diagonally. They were things that, for whatever reason, she never questioned why he knew before but now that she thought about it, it would be incredibly odd had he known them without knowing her. 

And over time she just realizes that he brings the kind of comfort that only a childhood friend could bring. Familiarity, a tender warmth, the idea that someone still likes you even as you’ve grown and changed into the person you are today. Fundamentally, their relationship was always somewhat forced she guesses – their parents (or his parents and Thomas) probably arranged the first play date. And Thomas definitely arranged for him to be her bodyguard. They were compelled to be in the same space together, but enjoying their time with each other. . .that was them. Harry laughing at her jokes, the feeling that fizzles in her veins when his cheeks get pink, how excited she is to see him when it’s his night with her, the borderline domestic relationship she’s developed with his cats – all of that wasn’t arranged. 

They were friends, Y/N truly believed that. They had been forever now, she guesses, if the decade-long gap in between was dissolved. 

Y/N thumbs through the photos when she’s in her room at night, gnawing at her bottom lip, a zoetrope of memories flickering through her brain. Some things she recalls, some things she doesn’t, and she recalls feelings more than she does conversations or scenarios. She was always happy, she knew that, and she always felt like a normal kid with him. She could tell him things and they could play and things were good and normal.

She found herself wanting to kiss him more every day, which is a bit of a problem. They still hadn’t spoken about the first, logically they should do that before having a second, but the want for it itches beneath her skin. Y/N’s certain he had caught her staring at his mouth several times, probably more than she would like to admit, but he had never really brought it up before. 

Until a random Thursday, at least, when she’d spent most of the day drawing and perfecting different sketches for the first round of stickers (she does a lot of random original cutesy drawings, then some that involve different tv shows and movies – people like to buy cute versions of characters they like, Y/N knows that because she does it all the time). Harry started talking about. . .something, Y/N couldn’t remember, but what she did remember was how his mouth went from forming around the word “apples” to smirking. 

“You stare at my mouth an awful lot,” he taunted her, and Y/N. . .she was feeling more sensitive that day; less fiery than she usually was, so she tilted her head down and murmured an apology, “No, wait,” he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, “I was only kidding, Sweetheart, you don’t need to apologize for anything.” 

When she hummed and made no move to look back at him, she felt careful fingers on her chin, guiding her face toward him, “C’mon, Darling, don’t hide. It’s okay! You can look at my mouth all you want, lord knows I’m always looking at yours.” 

Her face feels hot and she swallows thickly, “You’re looking at mine?” 

“Mhm,” he hesitated for a moment, before the pad of his thumb grazed over her bottom lip, “More than I’d like to admit.” 

“We could always,” she spoke against his petting thumb, “We could kiss again then if you want.” 

He leaned in, moments from smearing his mouth against hers, but there was a knock at the door. 

The pizza they ordered had come. 

That was the closest they’d been to kissing again, but once Harry went to answer the door and sign for the food the moment had left them. Y/N is flustered, warm in her face, and has zero nerve to return where they had left off so she nudges him with her foot when he sits back beside her and calls him a wimp when he fusses over it. Things go back to normal – the same as they usually were.

(It was only later that night when she was alone in her bed when she felt inconceivably horny, did she remember that her period was coming. The weeks leading up to it always left her insatiable, sensitive in both her feelings and touch, and if she snuck her hand between her thighs to the thought of kissing him again, well that’s her own problem.) 

The nightmares start to fade too, which is nice, though that means Harry spends less time in her room. He’d made a habit of sleeping beside her, or at least laying down near her until she fell asleep, and she’d always wake up the next morning alone. Though without fail, as soon as a dream seemed to sour, Harry was there at her side to wake her from it, always attentive, squeezing the shoulder he’d just been shaking, “S’just a dream, baby, you’re okay.” He’d calm her down, “Go back to bed.” 

“Thank you, nightmare killer,” she would murmur, tongue feeling heavy in her mouth, and Harry would laugh, and she’d fall back asleep. 

Things were nice, starting to feel a little normal again with the additive closeness she felt with Harry despite knowing what she did. She was starting to feel comfortable again, and not stuck inside all of the time, and she felt like she was getting somewhere with her drawings, growing closer and closer to being able to open her shop. 

And then, one night, Harry is waking her up frantically. 

Harry is not a frantic person – he is usually calm, collected, and measured. Y/N has never truly seen him in action but she’s sure he makes decisions with precision and tact that typically comes from years of experience, though she doesn’t think he’s been at this that long. He’s levelheaded and respectful and acts well under pressure – that makes him deadly. 

So to see him urging her awake, moving quickly, telling her to, “Get up, we need to leave.” Makes her adrenalin spike and panic drip from her ears. 

“What?” She was still foggy, disoriented – what time was it? Her clock says it’s three in the morning. 

“We need to go,” he is reaching beneath her bed, dragging out a bag – her “Go” bag, is what she always called it, something Thomas had instructed her to make even when she was little. It was a duffel of clothes, toiletries, and things that would take too long to grab in the event she needed to leave an area quickly. She’d only ever had to grab it once before when she was younger, but she couldn’t remember why. Though now that she thinks about it, it seemed like it might have been close to the time that Harry had disappeared.

She doesn’t check her go bag often, beyond replacing the toiletries that may have lived past their shelf date, so she was also surprised to see Harry pull a gun from it. A gasp leaves her mouth, she’s still moving too slowly, trying to catch up with what’s happening as he’s fitting it into the holster, “Wait, what? What’s wrong? What’s happening?” 

He’s zipping the bag up, “Bill was fired –” 

“What?” 

“- and it got ugly, he shot at Martha. There’s reason to believe he’s on his way here.” 

“But why –” 

“There’s no time to explain everything,” he threw the duffle over his shoulder, “We need to leave.” 

Her head is spinning, she knows she’s probably annoying him, but she can’t help but search for something to say, for a question to ask, to try and understand what was happening, if she was dreaming or not, if this was another nightmare, “What –” 

This time Harry cuts her off by taking her face in his hands – he was still gentle, but she could sense the urgency, “I will explain as soon as we’re safe, I promise you, baby, but right now we need to leave okay? Get your phone but turn off the location. We’ll go down the back stairwell to the parking garage.” She still seems hesitant, confused, but Harry runs a thumb over her cheek, “Do you trust me?” 

And she does. . .she trusts him implicity, more than she should, probably.   

“Yes.” 

“Good,” he replied quickly, “Come on.” 

[jtargaryen18]

His Inheritance ~ Chapter 32

Part 32: The Rising

Series Masterlist

Words: 8k

Pairing: Mobster Steve Rogers x Mobster daughter reader

Warnings: References to mafia, reference to violence and violent acts, references to sexual violence. Strong language. This is a dark fic. Please read responsibly.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but archiveofourown and tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission.

Summary: For @alexakeyloveloki. Your father is the head of one of the most powerful crime families in Boston but he’s protected you from that life. In your quiet home outside the city, you’ve been cared for and protected. When the desires of a more powerful man with the will to dominate bursts into your life, all your illusions are shattered as he comes to claim what is his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing Steve was aware of was the softness of her touch. The delicate stroke of her fingertips dancing nervously over his forearm, his hand. Slowly, the scent of her perfume invaded his senses that were just beginning to return. It was a comfort in the sea of perfect darkness all around him.

Knowing his wife was alive, at his side, was everything to him.

Her teardrop on his skin made his heart squeeze in his chest. The low sound of her crying in the quiet of the room. He tried in vain to open his eyes, to move his hand. To speak. None of his commands were answered so he could comfort her.

But he was here now. That was something, right? That he was awake? Aware?

Steve needed to get back to her and his life in the worst way.

“Steve,” you whispered, leaning closer to him. “I’m so tired… “

Steve knew she probably couldn’t sleep under the circumstances. He had no idea how long he’d been out of the loop. Now he was coming back to life, restless. All he really wanted to do was hold her, watch over her while she slept.

And while he held her safe and sound, he’d begin planning his takedown of fucking Barnes.

The press of her lips against his pulled him out of his thoughts. Another hot tear dotted his cheek. Her sadness had him trying in vain to move, to let her know he was there. He was with her.

She was so strong, his beautiful wife. She’d been wounded and without him, she was alone. Afraid. Did Barnes or the other families know what happened? Were they all in any danger from Barnes? Or Hansen?

She carefully climbed onto the bed to lie next to him. It made him happy to have her so close, warm at his side. All he could do was to be there with her.

“Steve, you have to come back to me,” she said with tears in her voice, a fear he’d never heard from her bleeding onto her tone. “So far, most of them haven’t figured it out… That you’re out of commission.”

No one knew? Had Dyson told her that?

Her fingers danced over his chest, his heart. She was careful to keep her weight off him, but he wanted it. He wanted the warm press of her body against his. It felt so good to have her there, so close.

And she wanted him back. She loved him. She told him she loved him before she left for Hansen’s that fateful day.

“He figured it out,” she said, sniffling. “He knew it wasn’t you who did…”

Who figured it out? Figured what out?

Steve’s sluggish heart sped up at that, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“We haven’t heard anything yet,” she whispered. “I don’t think he’s dead. If he were, I feel like we would have heard something by now.”

Who was dead? Dread pushed him to fight harder to get back to the surface.

A soft sob from her had fear battling heartache in his chest. Why did she sound so broken? What had happened? How long had he been out?

“I couldn’t even do it when the time came,” she whispered. “I’m so ashamed, Steve. I was right there, sitting next to him on the bench. He had no idea who I really was. He had no idea why he was really there.”

Who? Steve would have screamed it if he could have. What couldn’t she do? His fears escalated as he waited for her to continue.

“I really hope we killed him, Steve,” she said quietly. “I don’t think we did though. Yelena said the poison would do damage, could shut down his vital organs… But we would have fucking heard something by now, right? If Barnes really died?”

Steve was trapped in his body, in the darkness, with growing fear. She’d confronted Barnes? Tried to kill him with poison? Poison Belova gave her?

Belova was supposed to be cast out of his household.

Anger pushed against fear then. He’d thrown Belova out because she got in his wife’s head, encouraged her rebellious behavior. She was supposed to protect his wife, not lead her into danger.

“You’ve got to wake up,” she begged him. “Please... We struck back at Barnes. To protect this family. To protect your position… But if he wakes up… He suspects all the things we’ve done were me, not you. He called me an evil bitch…” Her laugh was bitter, choked out by tears. “If he’s still alive, he knows the truth. It’s only a matter of time, Steve, until he comes after us. After me. Please, for the love of God, you’ve got to wake up.”

What did they do? As much of a force as his wife was, particularly with Belova backing her, he couldn’t imagine that whatever danger they’d gotten was done without Dyson knowing about it.

As he understood it, they’d done something to Bucky. Poisoned him. They didn’t know the other man’s status. Was he dead? Alive? If he was still alive, it sounded like he’d be coming for them.

Coming for his wife.

“I knew I’d find you here.” Belova. The sound of a door closing.

His wife didn’t move. If nothing, she snuggled closer to him.

“Have you heard anything?” his wife asked.

“No, there’s no word,” Belova said. “And no news is good news.”

“I can’t take this anymore,” his wife said, her voice breaking. “Steve’s still out and every minute of every day I have to worry… We’re so vulnerable right now.”

“So is Barnes,” Belova told her.

“The other families have to be wondering what the hell is going on,” his wife said.

“There are questions,” Belova said. “There are rumors and stories. Very little of it is anywhere close to the truth.”

“Something’s got to give,” his wife said. “Barnes is either out of it like Steve or he’s biding his time. Waiting for the right moment to finish this.”

“You can’t dwell on this,” Belova’s voice was closer now. “Steve will come back to you.”

“Yes.” She sounded so small, unsure.

“And when he’s back, he’ll take it from there.”

“What do you mean?” his wife asked.

“We hit Barnes on a very personal level,” Belova explained. “That’s the way it’s done. Barnes may be just fine right now and carefully planning his next move. And he needs to think long and hard on whatever action he takes. The Starks are partial to the Rogers family. So are the Wilsons.”

“How many times is Dyson going to be able to hold them off when they call,” his wife wanted to know. “We don’t have much time left. If Steve would just wake up… He’s going to kill me.”

Steve wasn’t going to let it go. That was for damn sure.

Belova laughed softly as his wife fought back tears. “He may be proud of you. I am.”

Sniffling, his wife said, “If he’ll just wake up, I don’t care. He can keep me locked away for a year, whatever. I just need him to be okay. To come back to me.”

Steve couldn’t have heard that right. He was out of it. His wife could make any decision his men would allow. And for her, his men would allow quite a lot. And she was worried about him.

“He will,” Belova told her. “He loves you… But be ready. He’s going to be pissed when he finds out what’s been going on while he was out. Kicking me out again will probably be the first order he gives.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“No,” his wife said. “I won’t allow it. You are my personal protection. He agreed to that. And I can’t think of a time when I’ve needed protection more, right?”

A sigh. “Your husband may not see it that way.”

“I don’t care,” she said petulantly. “He can wake up and bitch at me about it. I’d love that. But you’re not going anywhere, Yelena. I need you.”

Steve again tried in vain to open his eyes, to speak. To move anything. Surely it was only a matter of time before he could, right? Now that he was aware, it wouldn’t be long. He had no idea how long he’d been like this, but it was past time he got back to his life. To his wife.

***

The next time Steve woke up, he was alone. He couldn’t hear anyone else in the room. Steve wished his wife was still there. He missed the warmth of her, the smell of her.

The chiming of his phone on his nightstand played again and he realized it woke him up. On the third chime, Steve reached for the phone and then his eyes flew open when he realized what he’d done. That he’d moved.

His eyes flew open. Tapping the screen, he answered the call, bringing his shaking hand with the device closer to his body so he didn’t drop it. Steve felt so weak.

“Yeah,” he muttered for an answer. His voice sounding as rough as a bad country road.

“There he is,” Tony Stark said with a smile in his voice. “I told Dyson if I didn’t talk to you today, I was coming over there. I asked him if you were too important to talk to me now.”

Steve snorted and it was an uglier sound than he expected from who knew how many days of disuse. “Too busy,” he managed.

“I guess, damn.” Tony laughed. “I have to admit, Barnes came in hot once the crown was on your head. I was getting worried about how you’d handle it all. How you’d handle Barnes.” Tony laughed again. “That was brutal.”

Oh, God. I don’t even know what they did…

“I know you were being… magnanimous before,” Tony went on. “I get that. But when you decide to deal with things, well…”

“Barnes had it coming,” Steve said, his voice a little stronger with each word. No matter what they’d been up to since he’d been out, Barnes deserved it. He had no doubt about that. “He left me no choice.”

“Hey, I’m not questioning you, big guy,” Tony told him. “Really, I’m not. Just curious when we were all going to collectively talk about how this is going to go. What’s going to happen to Barnes, stuff like that.”

Steve’s hand shook so badly, he passed the phone to his left hand. “Soon,” Steve told him. “We had some injuries.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, “about that. How are you? There are rumors flying around that you got shot or Dyson got shot. A couple even said your wife had been hit.”

His wife had been shot. And he’d been more terrified for her than himself in those moments after the shot fired. Steve had been fucking terrified, so terrified he hadn’t felt the bullet strike him at the time. But he was grateful. She hadn’t mentioned a thing about her injury or any effects from it. That was good. Maybe it meant she was on her way to fully healed.

“My wife was hit,” Steve said, fighting to speak as he normally did. “My top lieutenant was threatened. I can’t have that.”

“Absolutely,” Tony said, still sounding supportive. A tone designed to let Steve know where the Stark family stood in everything. Tony Stark had always been proactive. It was appreciated. “You needed to give the bastard something to think about.”

“I did,” Steve told him. “Do. I’ll be in touch very soon to call a meeting.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tony told him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Steve blew out an exhale, feeling tired from just the conversation. But damn it, he was awake now, and he needed to get back up to speed as quickly as possible. They were all likely still in some danger from Barnes, his family.

“I’ll let you know if I think of something,” Steve told him.

Ending the call, he dropped the phone onto the bed. The edges of his vision threatened him, fading to black. He broke out in a cold sweat, very much afraid if he blacked out now, he might get stuck again or worse.

Steve just had to face it. He needed to recover physically and there was nothing he could do to rush that.

And he needed to catch up. He needed to know what was done when. He’d have to accept responsibility for those actions to protect his family, his wife.

It was slow going and took a lot of effort but after several minutes, he was able to sit up, swing his legs over the side of the bed. His vision was dark around the edges, his breath came fast, and he broke out in a cold sweat from his efforts, but damn it, he did it.

***

You spun and moved through the Waltz of the Flowers, focusing on remembering the port de bras, the steps. You saw the ballet in New York during one of your secret trips and came home begging your instructor to help you learn anything from it. In that last year you lived in the home where you grew up, you’d worked hard to learn the small role from one of your favorite ballets. Oh, it wasn’t the Dewdrop Fairy, the leader fairy of the dance that no one seemed to even know existed. You were learning the dance of the supporting flowers from the classic story and that was good enough for you. That was plenty for you at the time.

Today, with everything preying on your mind, you’d gone back and watched the dance on YouTube first to remember all the steps. Anything to keep busy, to occupy your mind.

Was Steve coming back to you? You didn’t care if he really did beat your ass if he did. You’d take it. You just needed him back.

There you were in the studio Dyson helped you set up. There was still pain in your shoulder, but it was better each day. You had on your black leotard and tights. A fresh bandage covered your wound. It was chilly so you pulled an old sweatshirt for warmth before fitting into your pointe shoes.

You started the music with your phone and fell into those simple steps. The slower graceful dance of the flowers. And after the first minute or so, it all came back to you. The gentle spins, releve, plie. You didn’t imagine the dewdrop fairy you were supposed to be dancing around at first, not the other dancers. This dance was for you. A solo flower from a magical Christmas land far away.

A lone black flower from a funeral arrangement?

No. Shaking your head, you fought back tears and started the dance.

It was really the only thing that gave you any peace the last few days. Lost to the dance, the music took your mind off looking out the windows every few seconds to see if Barnes had shown up to kill you all yet. To kill you. Because you knew by now, he must really want to.

It also kept you from sitting by Steve’s bedside and crying for hours.

As much as you could remember, you moved through the steps of the dance. It wasn’t that good at first. But as you visualized it, worked through the dance in your mind, your dance got better, your movements more graceful as you moved. As you swept back to make room for the Dewdrop Fairy in your mind to come dancing back, you saw something in the corner of your eye. But as you came to a stop with the next step, you froze.

It was Steve, awake, looking washed out and weak as he leaned against the wall, watching you. He’d wrapped his bathrobe around himself, his feet were bare. The intensity of that blue-eyed expression took your breath away. He smiled as relief took you to your knees. All you could do was stare to see your husband was awake, finally. And you knew he was going to be pissed at you. So pissed. But you scrambled to your feet and sprinted for him, skidding to a stop when you realized you needed to be careful with him because of the wound, the stitches.

Wrapping your arms around his neck carefully, you couldn’t help but kiss him with tears spilling from the corners of your eyes.

Steve kissed you back with a ferocity that surprised you as weak as he must have been. You let him. You were just so happy he was awake. Alive. Sure, all hell could break loose any minute now within the prominent Boston crime families but Steve coming back to you was the most important thing. The only thing. Everything else, with his lips sliding against yours, seemed less important in that private moment.

Steve shook in your grasp as he kissed you. Concern had you breaking that. As much as you’d like to think it was from that passionate moment, you didn’t want him to pass out on you. Not when you just got him back.

He let you steer him towards one of the folding chairs you kept in the studio, mostly to set your items on. You swept it all out in the floor as you urged him to sit and carefully, he did. But his gaze never left you. The man was staring at you with something like… awe?

“You’re okay?” he asked carefully.

You nodded, pulling the loose neckline of the sweatshirt you wore to show him the bandage. “It doesn’t hurt much now. I’m just fine Steve. Thanks to you.”

“You’ll have a scar,” he warned.

“I don’t care,” you told him, swiping at the tears with your hands. “Steve, you took a bullet for me. Why did you do that? Why were you even there?”

His eyes were suspiciously glossy as he stared at you. “I decided about five minutes after you left that I couldn’t risk losing you. I needed to be there. To protect you. It’s even scarier to think if I hadn’t been there, I would have lost you.”

A chill ran up your spine to consider he was right.

“I think you’re really glad to see me,” he said, his voice rougher than usual. The half smile that formed on his lips had your heart racing in your chest.

“Of course I am,” you told him, not even trying to stop your tears. Your mind spun with what you needed to do. “How are you feeling? I should go get Dyson and have him call doc. Yeah, I—”

“In a minute,” he told you. His hand carefully capturing yours, stopping you before you could flee to do just that. “You told me you loved me before you left that day. Was that real? Or was that in case you didn’t see me again?”

Steve had to be able to hear your heart. It felt like it would pound out of your chest. “It was real.”

He kept looking at you like you were a ghost, an image in his mind. “I’ve never… I’ve never seen you dance before. You look beautiful.”

“You’re always busy,” you said with a smile, melting under that comment.

“Will you dance for me one day?” The softness of his voice when he asked that question had your heart squeezing in your chest. The sincerity threatened to break you.

All you could do was nod.

Tugging your hand, he urged you closer. His hands at your hips guided you to sit on his lap and you were careful.

 “We need to talk,” Steve said. “Just you and me for a moment.”

Oh, shit. Here we go.

You shook your head. “What’s more important than your health?”

“I need to know what’s happening,” Steve said slowly. That look he gave you. How long had he been up? Had he already talked to Dyson?

“Not a lot.” A huge lie. “We’ve all just been watching over you. Hoping you’d come back to us.”

“What’s happening?” he asked again. “What happened while I was out?”

You swallowed hard. Somehow Steve knew.

More tears. “Steve, what am I supposed to do? You just woke up and—”

“And?”

“When I tell you what happened, you’re not going to be happy.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “I’m sure.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you quietly started talking. You started with the aftermath of the shootout at Hansen’s house after the two of you had been shot. You told him Hansen was presumed dead but there was no proof.

Steve shook his head, telling you, “Hansen’s not dead.”

You told him Dyson had been roughed up but not badly harmed. Several of Barnes’ men had died. Clint had killed Banner and Hansen shot Neal in the face. You told him about the young woman who’d been taken from the donut shop on Steve’s turf and how she’d been found in Hansen’s house, kept as a sex slave. Steve had looked disgusted at that.

“What’s happened since that day?” Steve asked after a moment.

“Have you already talked to Dyson?” you asked nervously.

“No, but I heard you and Belova talk,” he admitted.

Shock would have had you jumping off his lap if he hadn’t kept you there. “What? You heard us?”

“I did,” Steve told you. “Not enough to know what’s going on. Enough to know you put yourself in danger with Barnes. Want to tell me about that?”

No.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Dyson exclaimed out of nowhere. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“I needed to get up,” Steve told him with a smile.

Dyson was as careful as you had been in hugging him. The happiness in the older man’s eyes was unmistakable as his gaze moved over him, assessing him.

“We need to get doc here to look at you,” Dyson told them.

“I need to talk to my wife first,” Steve countered, his grip on your firm.

“Yes, you do,” Dyson told him. “But after doc has looked at you. Then we’ll all talk because I think that would be best. There’s a lot you need to know.”

Words couldn’t express how much you loved Dyson at that moment.

Taking your hand and helping you stand, Dyson smiled. “Go call doc,” he bid you.

Nodding, relieved to get the doctor here and to have help in telling Steve that story, you pressed a kiss to your husband’s cheek and scrambled off to do that.

***

Steve watched you flee like you’d escaped the gallows. He let the tears come then. Pure relief ran through his veins. His wife was alive and recovering, crying over him.

Maybe she really does love me.

He hadn’t gotten to watch you dance long before you spotted him, and he regretted that. He could have watched that all day. He recognized the music from The Nutcracker Suite, but he couldn’t say which scene it was from.

But there his wife had been, all in black aside from the light pink shoes she wore. You might have been a shadow dancing, but your movements didn’t echo loneliness or sadness. Your movements were graceful but confident. It had been a stark reminder of so many years you’d been alone. It occurred to him now what you must have done with all that time your father left you in the care of servants.

You had a lot of time to listen and learn.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” Dyson told him, helping him up out of the chair.

To Steve’s dismay, he was weak as a kitten. He allowed Dyson to help him to his feet and walked with him towards his room. He had no intention of getting back in bed, however.

“No, I’m getting dressed,” Steve told him. “I want to have that talk and hear what had happened while I was… out. Soon as possible.”

Everything.

Once he was seated on the side of his bed, watching Dyson gathering a casual outfit for him, his mind took over.

“Why was she anywhere near Bucky Barnes?” Steve wanted to know.

Dyson paused for a beat but went about his tasks, not making eye contact.

“I didn’t like that part either, boss,” Dyson said. “But when we lay it out for you, maybe it will make more sense.”

“You were in on these plans?” Steve asked.

Dyson approached him now with his clothes, his gaze unwavering. “I was.”

“Where does our family stand right now?”

Dyson placed the clothes on the bed and regarded him calmly. “Your family is the head family, and you are its leader. None of that changed while you were out.”

Steve could only imagine what had to happen for Dyson to say that so confidently. “Why was my wife involved?”

Dyson still didn’t react. “Because like it or not, your wife is part of this family, son.”

Dyson hadn’t son’d him in many years.

“What did I say—”

“No, you’ll listen to me now,” Dyson cut him off. “After the situation Hansen put us in, we didn’t have a choice but to react as the lead family and you weren’t available to make decisions, so the task fell to us. Turns out the plan was Barnes’s. Taking me, taking your wife, all of it. Hansen just decided that he was going to take Mrs. Rogers for himself hence the betrayal.”

“I know,” Steve said. He remembered all that.

“And there were all these stories out on the street, see? Some of them were very close to the truth,” Dyson explained. “If you hadn’t fallen into a coma from blood loss, you’d have been calling those shots. Since you were unavailable…”

“You did it?” Steve accused. “And you involved my wife?”

Color darkened Dyson’s face in a rare display of frustration. “No, your wife stepped up. And you need to start paying attention because your marriage, your wife, has been the problem here ever since you took power.”

“You’re blaming my wife?” Steve couldn’t have heard that right.

“No, I’m blaming you.” Dyson was direct. “You married her, you took the crown. You should have flourished. You had everything you needed to rule. Everything you wanted. Her, her father’s backing, your family’s strength. Why do you think it didn’t work out, huh?”

“I wasn’t counting on Barnes to have such a problem with all of this. I knew—”

“No,” Dyson cut him off again. “Forget Barnes. This is all on you.”

“How do you figure?” Steve realized Dyson was pissed at him.

“If you hadn’t been so obsessed with your wife, you would have handled things,” Dyson explained. “You navigated her into this marriage – with her father’s blessing – and that should have been that. You get married to the old boss’s daughter to solidify your claim. She’s a beautiful young woman who will keep you on your toes. But no, that wasn’t good enough…”

“What the fuck are you getting at?” Steve asked. Was it brain fog keeping him from seeing what his mentor was getting at?

“Just what I said,” Dyson told him. “Your obsession with your wife is the fucking problem. It’s your blind spot and it always has been. If you hadn’t been so busy trying to control her, to mold her into what you thought she should be, you wouldn’t have been at odds with each other all these weeks.”

Maybe he had a point.

“If you hadn’t been at odds with your wife and fixated on that, you wouldn’t have come so close to losing that leadership position you wanted so badly. You wouldn’t have come so close to losing it all.”

Dyson got closer. Got in his face.

“You were also too blind or too stupid to realize that your wife has the instincts she does,” Dyson went on, meaning business. “She’s sharp. She reads people well. She’s a lot like her old man.”

Steve nodded. “I’m coming to realize that.”

“Good,” Dyson said. “Because we’re all going to talk about what happened while you were out. And she will be there. She earned her place at the table and you’re going to hear what she has to say.”

Steve nodded his acquiescence. Dyson wasn’t there when Steve brought his wife in to craft the plan to deal with Hansen. He’d been Hansen’s hostage.

No, Steve was very interested in what happened and what part she played in it. But as a husband, he was also slightly terrified of what he might hear. As a man in his position, he needed to figure out how to keep his wife and family out of harm’s way, to protect them.

Steve didn’t have the physical strength, at the moment, to fight any of them.

“Let’s get you in the shower,” Dyson told him, helping him off the bed.  

***

“Maybe I should sit this one out,” Yelena muttered as she walked with you to Steve’s study. “I can’t imagine he’s going to be happy I’m still here.”

You stopped, looking her in the eye. “No, you need to be here for this meeting. You’ve been at my side since I married into this situation and I’m not allowing him to send you away again.”

Slowly, she smiled. A flash of hope lit up her hazel eyes. “You’re ready for this, aren’t you?”

You nodded. Indeed, you were. While your husband had been comatose, you did what you thought was best for the family, guided by Steve’s own council. It was still a dangerous time and as far as you were concerned, all of you needed to be involved until Barnes was dealt with and Steve’s position was solidified once and for all.

“I need to know you have my back,” you told her.

“Always,” she said, meaning it.

“Then let’s get in here,” you told her. The two of you were the last to arrive.

You’d cleaned up, dressed in a simple black dress and cardigan set with silver piping. Maybe it was silly, but you’d always worn it when you were heading into the unknown. Your secret trips to New York City with your governess or those rare meetings with your father before you took care of him in his final days. With the stockings and glossy black heels, it felt like armor.

And as you met your husband’s gaze from where he sat behind his desk, you realized you needed armor. His gaze swept over you appreciatively as you sat in the chair directly in front of him and next to Dyson. He looked you over too. He smirked in what you thought was approval.

“I saved you a seat,” Scott smiled at Yelena, motioning to the chair next to him to your left.

Clint and Luca sat with them behind you. The room was unusually quiet. Steve nodded to Clint who got up to close the door to the office.

Steve’s gaze moved over everyone in the room, he took his time. He wore a crimson sweater with jeans. He looks so tired. Finally, his gaze stayed on Dyson.

“My wife told me most of what happened after we were shot,” Steve started. “I need to know what happened after that.”

Dyson looked to you, and you nodded. It was probably better that he start. Steve cocked a brow at the silent communication.

“It was pretty much Tuesday at the Okay fucking Corral,” Dyson told him. “It was all me and Yelena could do to get the two of you out. But Hansen didn’t wait for that. It was a hell of a shootout. Barnes lost several men, we lost some too. Not as many.”

“Your friends make it out?” Steve asked.

Dyson nodded. “And we were damn lucky they happened to be in town.”

You were indeed. You were especially grateful to Jensen.

“You got the two of us out,” Steve said. “Then?”

“Hansen and Clay faced off,” Dyson explained. “Hansen was hurt but he made it out. He ain’t dead. Barnes gets a hold of him, he might wish he were.”

You couldn’t imagine Hansen being afraid of anyone.

“We got everyone back,” Dyson went on. “Got doc over here… You lost a lot of blood and went to sleep on us. We had a lot to think about, boss. You have to realize that Barnes’ plan that night was meant to knock you off the throne. They set a trap for you. Neal and I were supposed to go confront Hansen and take him out. That was our plan. But Neal was working for Barnes.”

Dyson cut his gaze to you. “You never liked, Neal. You weren’t wrong.”

No, you weren’t. The bastard had been nothing but disrespectful to you and Yelena. He’d put you at odds with your own husband by telling him about the nurse’s visit. How happy he must have been when Steve locked you away as a punishment. Thinking about it now, maybe Neal did it on purpose. The fact that you were stuck there might have made it easier for Hansen or Barnes to get to you.

“Barnes plan was to use me to lure you out, boss,” Dyson said. “The plan was to take you off the board for good. Barnes was confident, all things considered, that Hansen could get it done with Neal’s help.”

You shivered thinking about it. Steve trusted Neal. He’d go to protect Dyson. It might have worked.

“Instead, Hansen decided to lure Mrs. Rogers out and he meant to take off with her,” Dyson explained.

“Where is Neal?” A muscle twitched at Steve’s jaw.

“He’s dead,” you said quietly. “Hansen shot him in the face.”

Steve met your gaze, shaking his head.

“And since then?” Steve asked. “What’s happened?”

Dyson glanced at you, at the others. “We had a situation. Barnes hit us hard, and you were in a coma. If anyone realized you were out of commission, we would be dead in the water. A response was expected. And a response was delivered.”

Steve nodded. “I guess you did. Tony called me and he sounded impressed… So, what happened?”

“We sent Barnes presents,” Dyson told him. “Paulina was the warning shot.”

“Paulina?” Steve asked.

That had your heart lurching and old jealousy rearing its ugly head. Paulina was Kat’s sister. Was Steve afraid Kat had been hurt?

“Yeah,” Dyson said. “She’s still around. We just put her in the hospital.”

Steve looked confused but didn’t say anything.

“Kat appreciated Barnes taking care of the bill,” Dyson said. “She brought him a thank you gift. We sent him a gift too in the same bag. He got a five-finger discount.”

That blue-eyed gaze cut to you and back.

“Neal was his eyes and ears in this house for too long,” Dyson went on. “We took those and made a special treat for him. A tiramisu from his favorite restaurant.”

Your stomach clenched just thinking about that. You couldn’t imagine finding human ears and eyes in your dessert.

“And the grand finale was all heart,” Dyson told Steve, turning to grin at Clint on that one.

Steve blew out an exhale and you just waited for the tirade to begin. You could tell his mind was going a mile a minute and you felt bad for him because his color was off, and he looked so tired.

“Belova was there at Hansen’s when I arrived,” Steve began. “I do remember telling her she’s out.” Scrubbing a hand over his beard, he shook his head. “And you all just let my wife be party to all this? Killing people? Eyes, ears, hearts? I don’t even understand why Paulina was involved in this.”

Had your beautiful bastard of a husband learned nothing from all this?

Dyson shot you a warning look, watching you shift in your seat. “We collectively—”

“Yelena,” you started, “is the only reason we’re all still here.”

A quick glance at her showed her staring at you in surprise.

“When you sent her away,” you went on, “which you had no right to do because if I remember correctly, her being my personal protection was your wedding present to me, Dyson knew the danger she’d be in on the street. His friends were in town, thank God they were, and she stayed with them while they were here. She’s the one who got us the intel on Banner. She called Clint and told him where to find him, hiding on Stark’s turf. I explained all of this to you that day. He didn’t say anything about killing Banner at the time because of Nat and how she’d take it. No one gave him the order to kill Banner, but he did. I’d like to think you’d do that if someone beat my ass the way he beat your sister.”

Steve looked alarmed. He was about to say something, but you beat him to the punch.

“If that chain of events hadn’t happened, that day would have been far worse, Steve,” you went on. “If Dyson’s friends hadn’t been here, the day would have been worse. We can’t ever let this family’s safety depend solely on luck ever again. That was too close.”

Shifting on your chair so you could look around the room at your family and dearest friends, you shook your head.

“Paulina?” you asked. “Yeah, maybe that was stooping to their level. Banner beat Nat more than once and all the while he was spying on us. Betraying you. Beating Paulina was Nat’s call. A sound beating with bruises that wouldn’t show. It’s a good first step in taking back her power.”

Clint met your gaze, nodded his approval.

“Who did it?” Steve asked.

“Oh, I knew you’d ask that,” you told him. “Does it make you feel better that it was Yelena who did the deed?”

You could just tell from the subtle shift in his expression that it did.

“We found the girl who worked in the donut shop locked in a room in Hansen’s house. He was keeping her there because she looks like me. You can’t imagine what that poor thing has been through.”

Now Steve really did look startled.

“And the rest?” You said to your husband. “Dyson didn’t want me to be a party to it either, no. And I didn’t order any hits if that’s what you’re worried about. The fingers in Kat’s shopping bag? They belonged to Hansen’s man who kidnapped that girl. He died in the shooting at Hansen’s house. He didn’t need those fingers anymore.”

Steve just stared at you now.

“The eyes and ears?” you went on. “Neal was already dead. Hansen killed him.”

“Who’s idea was that?” Steve managed to ask. “The tiramisu?”

Luca’s hand shot up. “Mine. I made it.”

That had you grinning.

“The heart was Banner’s,” you explained. “He was already dead too.”

The slightest flush of color darkened Steve’s face. “And what about Barnes? You want to tell me why you were anywhere near him? What were you and Belova doing there?”

There was no going back now.

“The house is being watched,” you explained. “Stark and Wilson called every single day. We were worried that someone was going to figure out what was going on here, that you were potentially done for.”

Dyson’s gaze on you was intense, the hurt still flashing in his eyes from that plan because he’d disagreed with it so vehemently.

“We tried to take Barnes out,” you explained watching disbelief bleed into his expression. “After everything he’s done to all of us, he deserves it, Steve.”

You were speaking forcefully while your husband listened with an expression that you were struggling to read.

“Barnes gave us the idea himself,” you went on. “He called the girl from the donut shop. He wanted to meet with her, to see if she knew anything that would help him find Hansen. We arranged the meeting. I went in her place. I wore a mask because some people still wear them from the pandemic, and he didn’t realize I wasn’t her. Not until the end…”

Steve leaned forward in his chair, angry now. “What the fuck did you do?”

“We poisoned him,” you shot back. “The blade was dipped in poison. If I hadn’t chickened out, Yelena wouldn’t have had to step in. The way it went apparently didn’t kill him, but it did some damage. It bought us some time. And now you’re awake.”

“Barnes will know something is up,” Steve countered. “He knows I’d never send you into a dangerous situation like that.”

“He does know. But he can’t prove it,” you said.

“He’s going to come for you,” Steve said, his ire fading.

“I know,” you said. You’d lived in fear of that each day that Steve was still asleep.

“He can’t tell anyone.” Steve huffed a dry laugh. “A mob boss stabbed by a woman?”

Yelena was trying not to grin at that. You couldn’t help but smile.

“I don’t want you to ever put yourself in a position like that ever again,” Steve said to you with uncharacteristic calm. “I want everyone else in this room to swear to me that you’ll never allow that to happen again. Break your word and you’ll pay for it.”

The other men in the room quickly murmured their agreement. Yelena remained silent, staring at her hands in her lap.

“Belova,” Steve said, drawing her attention. “You’re my wife’s chosen security. So that goes double for you. Where her security is concerned, my word is final. Not hers. You got it?”

Yelena cut her gaze to you before nodding and meeting his gaze. “Yes, boss.”

While you were happy Yelena was being allowed to stay, your concern rose. “Steve, you can’t just keep me locked away to keep me safe. Not now.”

Steve stared at you for a long moment and your heart raced while you waited. You could have heard a pin drop in the posh office.

“I won’t,” Steve told all of you. “You’ll be part of my council from this point on. You all worked together to make decisions to protect the family when I couldn’t. Do you all agree?”

The response to that question was much louder and positive. Dyson looked from Steve to you with so much pride.

“It’s done,” Steve said.

Steve had made you part of his council. Your mind was spinning.

“Thank you all,” Steve said, concluding the meeting. “Rest up today. Tomorrow, we start planning. Dyson, keep security elevated around the house for now.”

Dyson winked at you. “Yes, boss.”

Then Steve’s gaze met yours as you were about to stand. “Stay.”

You did. And it was so quiet when it was just the two of you left in his office.

“Like I told you earlier, I agreed to letting you go to Hansen’s that day, but I regretted it almost immediately. That’s why I came after you and all of it was a mistake. By now I’d like to think you realize that as head of the family, head of all the families, why I have to be careful where I go. I’m not a soldier anymore. Sometimes I forget that.”

When he put it that way, yes, you did understand. “But it was Dyson.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But if I’d had my head on straight, they wouldn’t have been able to get to him. That’s on me.”

Had everything that happened rattled Steve that much? Was this accountability?

“And I get why you felt like you should be able to go meet Barnes after that. I’d allowed you into my business, sent you to Hansen’s. That’s on me too.”

What?

“Steve, we’re married. Doesn’t that make it our business?” you asked carefully.

“Maybe so… It’s just…  I’ll never be able to get the memory of you jumping in front of Dyson out of my head,” Steve said, eyes shiny with tears. “I’m willing to try this, to make you part of my council. I’m not completely sold on the idea but Dyson and the rest of them respect you enough to follow your orders.”

“You doubted it before because I’m a woman?”

“No, I doubted it because I’m selfish,” Steve said. “And afraid. Dyson’s right, you have good instincts. You knew more about what was going on in my house in a few weeks than I ever have... My father was like that, gave me good advice.”

Tears stung the backs of your eyes as you listened to your husband.

“Your father was a mentor to me too the last year of his life,” Steve went on. “He knew more than my old man. Dyson and Luca seem to think you’re a lot like him. Maybe they’re right.”

“Steve—”

“Let me get this out,” Steve told you. “I’m used to having enemies. I’m not used to having enemies that want my wife as much or more than ending my sorry ass. Twice now you’ve been seriously threatened. How am I going to lead the families when I can’t protect my own fucking wife?”

He was blinking back tears and you dashed around it to get to him, to wrap your arms around him. He again pulled you into his lap, holding onto you like you were a rant in the storm. When he finally got himself under control, that blue-eyed gaze was back on you.

“If you want in on this business, I agree,” Steve told you. “Under the condition that you stay out of the action. Is that in any way unclear?”

At least he wasn’t asking you to swear to him. Because that wasn’t something you would swear never to do again. If someone you loved was in danger, of course you’d be in the action. Still, you nodded.

But then you thought of something. “You’re not going to agree to this and take it away from me the moment I get pregnant, are you?”

That pulled the corners of his mouth up. “I will want to. But I doubt I’d have any luck in trying that.”

“You wouldn’t,” you assured him.

“I’ve been thinking about that too,” Steve said, his arms tightening around you. “We probably shouldn’t be in a hurry to start a family… With all this going on? We’ve got time. If and when we both agree we want to start a family, we’ll revisit it then.”

You’d been braced for a fight. You couldn’t have been more astonished by what you were hearing.

“Are you feeling okay?” you finally had to ask.

That had Steve chuckling. “Yes, I’m fine. Just hoping I recover quickly because those heels make your legs look so fucking sexy.”

Okay, that was something he’d say.

His fingers tracing your leg from ankle to thigh made you shiver. Slowly, his touch skimmed up your body, over one breast and up to your jaw. Slowly, he leaned in to kiss your mouth. A slow seeking kiss that promised so much.

“You will make me a better leader,” he whispered against your lips.

“You already are a good leader, Steve,” you told him. “Maybe it was because all we did was fight all the time. Maybe it’s just that your attention was divided.”

You could have laughed at the sliver of hope creeping into his expression. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you told him before kissing him breathless.

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[lunasdreamytreats]

Have a lil spooky hsr thirst to get it out of my head

Warnings: ⚠️ nsfw, fem!reader/jing yuan, spirit!dan feng and spirit!yingxing (together), VERY unrealistic sex (cause, yk, ghosts), a lil bit of exhibitionism at the beginning, multiple instances of double penatration, dan feng has two dicks, petnames (songbird, sweetheart), illusions to dan feng x yingxing, very little plot, slick+precum used as lube, verbal consent given, a literal chain reaction of cum and I think that's it lmk if I missed anything <3

Feedback and support are always appreciated <3

Imagine your having sex with your boyfriend jing yuan like normal, but tonight is Halloween night, and there's a local superstition that ghosts will come back to finish anything left unfinished from their lives. Neither you nor jing yuan ever really believed that, until now.

Jing yuan knew having fu xuan take yanqing trick or treating was a great idea, he'd been pent up ever since the two of you had your normal cuddle session interupted by the aforementioned master diviner. It was both payback, and a perfect opportunity to make love with you ❤️

However what neither of you could've predicted was the spirits of jing yuan's two long dead friends, Yingxing and Dan Feng, paying him a visit..... with his dick still buried inside the warm confides of your slick pussy!

You both saw the ghostly figures out of the corners of your eyes and even though you never met them personally, (jing yuan mentioned that he met you in your past life, so they probably met you too), you could feel the lustful nature in their gazes.... could ghosts have sex with mortals? C-could they even touch your body?!

Aside from jing yuan's, you could feel another pair of hands slowly gliding up your thighs. Cold and calloused, Yingxing's hand traced your bikini line before dipping his hand in between yours and jing yuan's bodies to touch your folds. The featherlight touch made both of you shiver, clenching to add more stimulation to jing yuan's cock.

"Shit.... she's so wet" Yingxing began rubbing slow circles against your clit as you felt dan feng push a claw-like finger into your asshole.

"With a little prep," dan feng began, curling his finger inside you before adding a second finger, making a scissor motion. "she'll be able to take all three of us... just like she used to."

"Think you can take that, songbird?" Jing Yuan whispered before kissing your neck. When you nodded, he lifted your hips slightly, allowing the mixture of his pre and your slick to run down his shaft. Yingxing gathered some of the mixture as it dripped down and brought it up to where dan feng was still fingering you. He rubbed the slippy substance over your hole as dan feng pulled his fingers out, only to push them back in with ease now you were lubed up. It was clear that they've done this before...

"There.... she's ready" dan feng's fingers left you with a loud squelch sound, but don't worry, it was replaced quickly with the feeling of three more cocks. Wait... three!!!

Jing Yuan felt your demeanour change when his friends rubbed their cockheads against you, so he shifted slightly in order to gently rub your back. (which will soon be blown out 🤣) yingxing also noticed this change and gently cupped your chin, guiding your lips to his in a hesitant but passionate kiss.

"She'll be fine yingxing," dan feng's voice sounded from behind you too, "she's taken this before, remember?"

"She was a different person back then, yinyue..." Yingxing reluctantly broke away from your lips, "but i have no doubt it'll come flooding back when we start." Jing Yuan held you up so you were hovering just slightly above the other three cocks, while his tip was still inside you. Yingxing and dan feng were behind you, with dan feng positioning his cocks towards your pussy and asshole, while yingxing was gently rubbing his tip next to dan feng's second one.

"Are you ready, sweetheart?" Dan feng's words were punctuated by the tip of his first cock leaking pre against your opening. You nodded frantically, already drunk off the mind numbing pleasure that was to come.

"You tell us if it's too much, ok sweetheart?" Yingxing questioned again, wanting to make sure you and jing yuan had a safe word in place.

"I will, fuck me.... please" with your verbal consent, the two spirits slid their cocks into your tight walls. The tight squeeze caused the three men to groan deeply, holding still until the pain you felt vanished.

The way your walls clenched around their dicks told them that you were perfectly comfortable, and that they could move. The delicious drag of their dicks against your gummy walls drove them mad, meanwhile their tips kissing against your sweet spot drove you mad as well.

Thanks to the previous stimulation and the foreplay, you quickly came, hard. Jing Yuan wasn't far behind you, jing yuan cumming triggered dan feng's release as well, groaning as you clenched hard on him. Dan feng's warm cum leaking next to him caused yingxing to throw his head back and spill his release inside you as their hips slowed to a halt, sighing heavily.

~

An: god it's been so long since I posted my writing anywhere ToT

[astraltrickster]

I want to introduce a disability concept that I've been calling paradoxical stigma.

What is paradoxical stigma? It's the stigma against:

1) The actually disabling traits of a disability that's in the spotlight for the parts of it that are convenient to accommodate, and/or

2) The diagnosis of such a disability itself,

Due to the assumption that the spotlight renders it "destigmatized" and no longer in need of support.

As of right now, at least around this corner of the internet, the most obvious examples of this are autism and ADHD. It's become disturbingly common for people to treat those like Diet Disabilities That Don't Actually Count. It's been really interesting to watch the popular attitude about these disorders shift from "autism is either a tragedy or an excuse depending on 'severity', and ADHD is just a myth used to drug kids into complicity instead of teaching them actual skills", to "actually these are real disorders that affect people in all aspects of their lives", to "I GUESS they're real disorders but honestly EVERYONE has them can't we worry about more SERIOUS ones?" and...not in a good way.

It comes up...partially as a legitimate backlash to people with these disorders who think that invisible disability and/or neurodivergence begins and ends at their experience, and...yeah, that's a problem all right, in fact if I had a dollar for every asshole who looked at my struggles with things like keeping my space clean or not fucking up my medication doses DUE TO ADHD and went "well I have the same diagnosis and I don't have THAT problem to THAT extent, obviously you're just lazy and careless", or saw me having an AUTISTIC meltdown and called it "bullying" or worse because I get loud and insisted that I NEED to CONTROL that CHOSEN BEHAVIOR if I want to not be a Bad Person, or heard about how AUTISTIC overstimulation defense measures play into my trouble with cleaning and insisted that well THEY'RE autistic too and don't have that specific problem so this is clearly weaponized helplessness because I just don't WANT to learn to do better, I'd...probably have a lot more assistive tech. I also get really, really frustrated and upset when people use RSD to mean "if you ever criticize me that's the height of ableism, no matter how much I'm actually fucking up and hurting you" - especially since it's so often invoked as a defense against being lightly criticized for ACTUALLY harmful behavior and as much as it sucks there IS no substitute to make that more emotional-dysregulation-friendly beyond basic kindness in criticism. That attitude exists. It's bad.

And yet, theoretically, I think we could all agree that the response to that should NEVER be to reinvent the old "ugh, those aren't REAL disabilities, those are just EXCUSES that LAZY PARENTS make for kids being kids, what they need is DISCIPLINE" stereotype of the 90s-2000s, just now aimed at those same kids as adults, in ostensibly supportive spaces - or arguably worse, to revert all our understanding of support needs to the externally judged high-functioning/low-functioning dichotomy.

What really sets this apart as paradoxical stigma, rather than just garden-variety lateral ableism, is that 1) we CAN theoretically all agree that reinventing those stereotypes is a terrible response, yet many people do it anyway, and 2) these stereotypes are invoked not only because of that intracommunity misbehavior, but both within and outside of disabled spaces, because of the illusion that you can bring up those disorders and have them taken seriously because fidget toys and stim videos and weighted blankets are popular now. An event having quiet rooms, or backlash to Autism Speaks being visible outside of autistic spaces, will be taken as "proof" that autism stigma is over forever and anyone who complains about it is just a whiner who doesn't know how good they have it...even when what they're complaining about is, say, being barred from migration. Paradoxical stigma is enacted by people who think that they, alone, are standing up against someone who's throwing others under the bus to continue to progress their own limited agenda...when in fact they're speaking a very popular shitty opinion, that MANY of the people making that claim would disagree with HEAVILY once separated from the "crab bucket reflex".

As a personal example, the result is that when I'm looking for assistance, I'm...hesitant to bring up those diagnoses, because I know I'm going to be written off as "obviously a high-functioning low-support needs scammer who just doesn't WANT to CONTRIBUTE TO SOCIETY and EARN things" - even by people who otherwise agree that people should be allowed to survive even if they truly are the living strawman lazy bum who has nothing wrong with them but just WANTS to lay around eating junk food and doing drugs all day, AND that disability deserves to be respected, isn't black-and-white, and affects everyone differently; somehow when these combine in the context of my diagnoses that have had a very sanitized version of themselves "destigmatized" on TikTok, they cancel out into blatant reactionary sentiment indistinguishable from what I'd hear from my shitty token Republican uncle.

So, that's paradoxical stigma. Feel free to use the term if you find it useful.

[becca-e-barnes]

I think too much in real life to fully let myself enjoy some activities so I'm going to live vicariously through the characters I write 🙃

He's here for pleasure. You're not under any illusion about his intentions. Sure, he'll let you snuggle up beside him afterwards, playing with the little soft curls on his chest. He'll kiss your forehead and smooth your hair and you'll laugh together about the silliest things but it's no secret that it's the sex that keeps him coming back.

Secretly, it's exactly what you need too. It works well for both of you. You get someone who has the confidence and experience to show you things you didn't even think you'd be into and you get to simply enjoy the way he gets off on pleasuring you. There's no need to feel shy around a man who's told you his secret filthy fantasies.

"What's one thing you've always wanted to do but have never had a chance to?" You probe one evening, taking your necklace off and placing it on the bedside table, well aware he's probably wearing more of your lipgloss that you are after the way he greeted you at the hotel room door.

You hop onto the bed to take your shoes off, enjoying how the mattress bounces you slightly.

He doesn't answer right away, pouring two glasses of a sweet, chilled Riesling before handing one to you. You take a sip, trying not to put him under pressure but the time he's taking to consider your question makes you even more curious.

"If I tell you, I'd like you to try it with me. So how badly do you want to know?" He stands in front of you and places the glass to his lips and in that moment, you couldn't want anything more than you want to fulfil a fantasy for him. You want to be something he's never had and offer him opportunities to enjoy your body that he might never have again.

"Tell me. We'll do it." You hardly even have to think about it.

"I'd like to lick you. All of you. Run my tongue all over your body. Find what makes you shiver. Find what makes you moan. Find the places that are so ticklish you need me to stop. I want to lick all the places you've never been licked before. If you'll let me." He really could make anything sound appealing.

Excitement fizzles in your core and a real desperation begins to build. Just being around this man makes you wet so you can't help the fact you're ready for him already.

"If that's what you want to do, I'll let you." If you're honest with yourself, you'd probably agree no matter what he asked for. You trust him enough to know he won't take you further than you're comfortable with.

~~~

You knew what you were signing up for but you didn't think it'd feel like this. Why the hell haven't you tried this before?

He's kneeling at the end of the bed, stroking his cock while his hot, wet, stiff tongue flicks gently against your asshole and there's no denying how much you're enjoying the pressure there. You couldn't hide it if you tried. You're so wet, you're practically dripping and it only spurs him on. It's intimate in a way you don't think you'll ever recover from while being one of the most erotic things you think he's ever done. There's nothing to be embarrassed about it when it's clear he's enjoying it just as much as you are. Maybe more.

The way you're gripping his hair has you wondering whether the strain on his tongue or his neck will overwhelm him first but he shows no signs of relenting. That is until he stands up, already looking delightfully over-pleasured and sinks his cock into your fluttering, neglected cunt without a word.

If he goes too fast it's all over and he knows it but he can't resist holding both of your ankles, watching you while he places open mouthed kisses to the soles of your feet, thrusting into you with slow, calculated strokes.

[vodika-vibes]

I love your follower celebration idea. It's so sweet. I would love to put in a request.

Narcissus and yellow orchid, I'll let you choose any clone, bevause they all deserve love. And it can be that after months of unrequited love, f!reader is trying to move on, and he finds out about it.

I don't know. Something like that.

Please Watch Me

Summary: You've had a crush on Jesse for ages, but he doesn't really know you exist, so you're planning on moving on. Only, when he finds out, he takes issue with it.

Pairing: ARC Trooper Jesse x F!Reader

Word Count: 2592

Prompts: Narcissus - unrequited love, Yellow Orchid - New Beginnings

Warning: Jesse is kind of an idiot in this, but it's not malicious

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: So this was going to be a Fox fic, because I love him so much, but then I made myself sad about Jesse, and this was born instead. I hope this is close to what you want! ❤️

You learned, a long time ago, that life isn’t fair.

And you’ve, mostly, accepted it.

It’s why you agreed to join the GAR at your parents' loud encouragement. It was never your dream. But you’ve come to accept that most people don’t get to live their dreams.

It’s…fine.

You like your job well enough.

Or, well…you like the view, if nothing else.

Your gaze drifts from your datapad, which is running a diagnostic on a malfunctioning alarm, over to the group of men on the other side of the room. Your eyes linger on one man specifically. 

ARC Trooper Jesse of the 501st.

Kind and handsome and charming…and so far out of your reach that he might as well be on Kamino still.

You glance down at your datapad, and sigh softly. As per usual, the diagnostic is moving at the pace of a teenager who has school that day. Nothing for it but to wait until it’s done, you suppose.

You slump against the wall, and allow your gaze to drift back over to the clones on the other side of the room.

It looks like they’re doing hand to hand combat this morning. Which has two perks for one. One, watching them spar is always interesting, though you never have the time to actually watch them. And two, they tend to spar shirtless and you’re something of a simple woman and enjoy the sight of very attractive shirtless men.

All of them. Not just Jesse.

You glance at your datapad again.

30%. You’re going to be here awhile. You should have brought a book.

You slide to the ground and balance your datapad on your knees, splitting your attention between the slowly rinsing number, and Jesse on the other side of the room.

You’ve been completely enamored with him for months now. Ever since the first time he came into your “office”, which is really just a small corner of the hanger sectioned off with crates to give you the illusion of privacy, and asked you for help updating his onboard computer since he was having a hard time with it.

You ended up having to replace the whole system, but he sat with you until you were done, cracking jokes and sharing easy conversation, until you managed to replace the whole system and run the update that he needed.

The crush started out small, just a little thing that you thought could be ignored. 

But it wouldn’t. The more you watched him interact with the world around him, the stronger the feelings grew. Until you were laying in your cot late one night, staring at the ceiling, realizing that you loved him.

And Jesse.

Well, he didn’t know you existed.

Or, if he did, it was in the vague way that all of the men in the 501st knew you existed. As Tech Support.

It. Sucks.

And sure, life isn’t fair, and you’ve come to accept the fact that you’re probably going to get stuck watching the love of your life fall in love with another person, and you’ve promised yourself that you’re going to be happy for him.

Still, it would be nice if life was a little more fair.

Just a little bit?

You glance at your datapad again. 35%.

At least it’s not running backwards, that happened in the med-bay the other day and you just about ripped your hair out…and then verbally tore the entire Medical team a new one for downloading a virus on a military computer.

Rex promised that it would never happen again, when he came to save the medical team from your ire, but you have doubts.

After all, it always happens again.

You fold your legs and absently open a game of solitaire over the diagnostic screen.

Now that you’re thinking about it, maybe it’s time for you to make a change. Not with your career, you signed a contract and you’re stuck for at least 6 years, but with your personal life. 

You can’t keep pining over Jesse, it’s not healthy. And you’re young and reasonably attractive, surely you can snag a date with someone?

Right?

The only problem, of course, being that whenever you consider someone to date, the only face that pops in your mind is Jesse. Which is wholly unhelpful. And you refuse, refuse, to try and get over Jesse by using one of his brothers.

That’s not fair to anyone.

You suppose you can always go to a club when you return to Coruscant. You are paid decently well, so you can afford a proper clubbing outfit, and a hookup might, maybe, help you get over Jesse?

Or, it’ll make everything so much worse.

You consider the idea for a moment as you absently move cards across the screen. It’s not a terrible idea, all things considered. You still have some friends from college who keep in touch, and they have been nagging you to go out with them.

And you have been neglecting your social life, what with the war and being assigned to the Resolute.

And your friends will be thrilled to go dancing with you.

Yes, this is an excellent idea. Maybe.

Eh. Maybe not. But it can’t hurt.

Anything is better than pining over someone who isn’t interested, after all.

“How’s the security system looking?” General Skywalker asks as he looms over you, a look of amusement on his face as he sees the card game.

You switch tabs, “Can’t tell you. The diagnostic is still only at 43%.”

“Slow system,”

“GAR standard,” You reply dryly, “It’ll get sorted, it’s just going to take time.”

Anakin sighs, “Of course. Well, we’re heading back to Coruscant anyway, Snips has some lessons she needs to actually sit for.”

“Do not miss those days.” You quip.

“Amen to that,” He glances at you, “Are you alright? You looked sad.”

“Ah, just…thinking.” You reply. You’re quiet for a moment, “I haven’t been on a date since my ex cheated on me in college, and I’m thinking of maybe putting myself back out there.”

There’s a noise from the other side of the room, and both you and General Skywalker look up to see Jesse laying on his back with Tup standing over him, both of them looking surprised. 

“Well, good luck with that. I have to go…manage.” General Skywalker says with a sigh.

“Sounds like you have the harder job.” You murmur as he walks away. You look at your diagnostic one more time, and then sigh, and go back to your game.

At this rate, you’re going to be working until midnight.

Jesse is having something of a week.

Not a good one, either.

He rubs the back of his neck as he paces in Kix’s office. He is deeply, deeply agitated and he knows why. After all, he was fine until he heard her say those words.

“-I’m thinking of putting myself back out there.”

It had been startling enough that Tup managed to get one up on him and ended up beating him in the spar. And if he’s going to be honest, he’s still a little shell-shocked.

She can’t go out on a date. She just…she can’t.

“Jesse.”

It’s not allowed. Or it shouldn’t be allowed. She needs to stay near the barracks. Where she’ll be safe. Where he can keep her safe from the creeps on Coruscant.

“Jesse!”

Or, if she doesn’t stay near the barracks, she should at least go to places that are safe, like 79s where he can threaten his brothers if they bother her-

“JESSE!”

He jumps when Kix’s shout jerks him out of his increasingly spiraling thoughts. “What?”

“You’re going to pace a hole in my floor.” Kix says, irritably. “Sit. Down.”

Jesse obediently drops into a chair.

Kix glares at him a moment longer, and then he nods, “Good. Now. What is your problem?”

“You have a shit bedside manner, Kix.”

“It’s you. Get over it.” Kix rolls his eyes, “Why are you so anxious?”

Jesse eyes his brother, and then his shoulders slump, and he quietly says her name.

“What, did she yell at you for downloading a virus, because she’s not going to stay angry for long.” Kix says.

“No. She wants to start dating.”

“And? What’s the problem with-” He stops and looks up from his datapad to stare at his brother. “Oh. Oh. Vod, I’m sorry.”

Jesse grimaces, “I was dumb.” He admits.

“Well, at least you know. How were you dumb, though?”

“I got comfortable. She watched me when she thought no one was looking. And I thought…well, I thought she would wait for me.”

“Why the hell would she do that? Have you ever actually spoken to her before?”

“Yes!”

“About something not work related?”

“I…Not really, no.”

“Then why should she put her life on hold for you?” Kix asks reasonably.

“Stop being logical and tell me how to keep her from dating people who aren’t me!”

“Talk to her, you utter idiot.”

“What if she says no?”

“Well then, you’re SOL aren’t you?” Kix says, “Because if you think for a moment that I’m going to let you ruin her life because of jealousy-”

“What! No! I would never!”

“Good.” Kix turns back to his work, “Anyway, you should go talk to her.”

“Uh…”

He turns his glare onto his brother, “You’re not really going to make me do this, are you?”

“...do what?” Jesse asks warily.

“You are. You’re lucky you’re my favorite brother.”

“Wait-”

Kix gets to his feet and drags Jesse to his feet, before he propels him out of the room. He pushes Jesse down the hall, into the lift, down another hall, into the hanger, and then into the small room where she works.

“Wait, Kix-” Jesse hisses.

She turns her wide, confused gaze over the pair of men, “Is something wrong?” She asks cautiously.

“No.” Jesse says quickly.

“Yes.” Kix says at the same time. He pushes Jesse into the only chair in the room, and then claps his brother on the shoulder, “This is for your own good, vod.”

“What are you-?” Jesse doesn’t finish his sentence as Kix cuffs him to the chair, and then leaves the room.

She stares at Jesse wide eyed, her hand pressed over her mouth, “Um…hold on, I’m sure I have a set of lock picks in here-”

“You…why would you have lockpicks?” Jesse asks, so startled at her comment that he can’t even be upset at the situation.

She ducks her head, and Jesse just about melts when he sees the adorably shy look on her face. “I, well…I was bored, and I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to learn how to pick locks.”

“That’s…”

She ducks her head a little more, and Jesse wonders what person told her that she should be ashamed of herself, and he wonders if he can meet them and introduce them to his fist.

“It’s weird, I know-”

“It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” Jesse says determinedly. 

Her head snaps up and she stares at him in surprise, “You…adorable?” She asks with a cute scrunch of her nose.

“Yes. Adorable. In fact, everything about you is adorable. How do you do that?”

“I…I don’t-I mean, I’m not doing anything special-?” She says shyly, “Oh, lockpicks…” She turns and digs through a drawer.

“You don’t have to do anything special. You just are.” Jesse says as he watches her dig through her things. He hesitates a moment, “Any guy would be lucky to have you.” He adds, sounding deeply pained.

“Found it!” She holds up a ring of lockpicks, and then offers him a slight smile, “And…not any guy.”

“Name one.”

“General Skywalker?”

“He doesn’t count seeing as he’s married, try again.”

“Like, all of your brothers who look right through me like I’m invisible?” She offers as she kneels next to him and starts working on the cuff.

“They have bad taste, all of them. Have you seen some of their tattoos?” Jesse asks.

“Says the man with the Republic cog tattooed on his face?”

“I have amazing taste,” Jesse says with a grin, “Have you seen my other tattoos?”

“I…have, yes.”

His grin widens, “Like I said, they all have bad taste, try again.”

She sighs and straightens once he’s free, “Okay. You.”

Jesse rubs his wrist, but keeps his gaze locked on her face, “That’s not true at all.”

She blinks at him once, and then again, “I beg your pardon?”

“Alright, so…I have a confession.” Jesse starts as he leans back in the chair, not wanting to crowd her, “I knew about your crush on me.”

Her face flames, and she presses her hands over her face, “I-”

“Can I finish before you say anything, please?” Jesse asks, his voice gentle, and he waits until she nods before he continues. “I knew about your crush, and I knew about you watching me, and I loved it.”

She lowers her hands to watch him.

“I suppose I got…spoiled. I assumed that you would always be there, and that’s on me, not on you. So…so hearing that you want to start dating again-” He trails off and shakes his head with a wry quirk of his lips. “It was something of a punch to the gut.”

“I…sorry-”

“Hey, no. No, you don’t have to apologize. It was a well needed punch to the gut.” Jesse says, “I never spoke with you, and part of that is because we’re both so busy, but part of it is…well, I’m something of a jerk sometimes.”

She tilts her head, her arms folding in front of her stomach, “Jesse…what are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying,” Jesse pauses, “Begging, pleading…don’t take your eyes off me. Please?”

“Jesse-”

“I want to…to take you dancing and to the movies and out to dinner and…and buy you flowers. And I know that you have every right to tell me to kriff off but I’m really hoping that you won’t.”

She hesitates, “This isn’t just some joke that you’re playing on me, is it?”

“No, never. I wouldn’t do that to anyone, but least of all you.” Jesse says.

There’s quiet for a moment, and then Jesse speaks again, looking both eager and hesitant at the same time, “So…so what do you think? Can you give this idiot one more chance?”

She sighs, gentle and quiet, “Jesse, I didn’t actually have any hope of finding someone else.” She admits, “I’ve been in love with you since the first time you came in here.”

“I know.” Jesse smiles slightly, “I don’t know if I love you. I’ve never been in love before. But I know the idea of you with someone else makes me unbearably sad.”

She ducks her head with a small smile, “I don’t mind waiting until you know for sure.”

“Does that mean you’re willing to be my girlfriend?” Jesse asks.

She glances at him and nods her head slowly, “But…you’re not allowed to ignore me anymore.”

“Never again. This is a new beginning for you and me. A better start.” Jesse stands when he sees the small smile on her face and he reaches out to lightly brush his fingers against her cheek.

And then he leans in and presses his lips against her forehead.

She doesn’t react for a moment, and then, slowly, she wraps her arms around his waist. “Do…do you want to stay and watch a holo with me?” She asks, her voice soft and hesitant.

“Cyare, nothing would make me happier.”

[lily-fics-11]

The Girl Next Door: Chapter 4 (Hazel Callahan, Bottoms)

Fic master post here (feel free to comment to be added to taglist)

The Girl Next Door

You hadn't been close with your neighbor Hazel for years. But you find her beat up in the locker room after fight club and all of that changes

Chapter 4

After getting cleaned up by Hazel and clearing the air, things are beginning to feel the way that they used to. Aside from the romantic tension, of course.

Word count: 3.4k

CW: Profanities, mention of injuries, illusions to violence. Hazel WILL melt your heart. (LMK if I missed anything)

You take out your phone camera to check the damage. A swollen bottom lip with a cut on one side. There’s bruising on your chin that spreads all along the jaw. The cheek gash looks worse than it feels. Eye makeup is smeared around from all of the crying. 

The mess is captured in the click of a picture and Hazel laughs. “Did you seriously just take a picture?”

“Hell yeah. My face hurts right now, but soon enough I’ll be looking back at this and laughing. Come over here with your black eye and take a picture with me.” Hazel shifts closer to you and leans her head on your shoulder. There is a lot of blushing, but also the biggest smiles. This is probably the worst picture you’ve ever taken together, but you have a feeling that it’s going to be your new favorite. 

You sigh. “I look fucking busted!” Hazel moves away, laughing even more. “Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” You wish she would have stayed close to you.

“I look like absolute shit! I can’t go out like this, what are people going to think?”

“I don’t know why you care so much about what other people think. But if it makes you feel any better, everyone's going to think you’re a badass. People even think that Josie and PJ look cool and you are working with a lot more than they are.”

“I look like I got jumped on the way home from school and it's completely unattractive!” You groan.

“That’s not the least bit true,” Hazel reassures with a very serious look on her face. “Don’t lie to me, Hazel.” 

“We both know that I can’t lie to save my life.” Hazel’s reminder is paired with raised eyebrows and a snicker.

“Well don’t just tell me what I want to hear to make me feel better!” The pitch of your voice careening upwards cartoonishly.  

Hazel’s expression softens and she takes your hand. “I’m totally serious. You are too beautiful for some cuts and bruises to change that.” You feel your face turn bright red. You aren’t going to let yourself take what Hazel is saying the wrong way. Even if she is holding your hand. Her words cannot be taken as they are desired, they must be taken as they are intended. It’s all very overwhelming and calls for a change of subject. 

“Looks like I won’t be kissing anyone anytime soon,” you laugh uncomfortably regretting the words the second they leave your mouth. Why bring up kissing? Stupidity, that's why. You pull away, dropping her hand.

Hazel shifts around uncomfortably. “Were you planning on kissing anyone?” She quickly adds: “because you just broke up with your girlfriend. That’s what I meant by that. Not anything else. I would never want you to -ahem- do something you weren’t ready to.” There are clearly two very different trains of thought here, allowing for a sense of safety while admitting “not planning exactly. Just hoping, I guess.” Hazel bites her lip and averts her gaze while continuously taking off and putting back on one of her rings. This conversation needs to be turned in the complete opposite direction. 

The opposite of romance is violence, right? “So PJ, she’s really something, isn’t she,” you throw out with an uncomfortable laugh. Hazel looks a little… upset. Based on your observations it seemed like her and PJ had made a deal before fight club that wasn’t honored. 

“I know right!” she scoffs, “I can’t believe she was flirting with you like that.” Your cheeks had been red but now they are burning hot from embarrassment as another attempt to make normal conversation has been fumbled. 

“Flirting? That’s not what I meant! PJ does that all the time. She used to flirt with me and my ex at the same time. She gets off by fucking with other people’s heads. I’m talking about how she beat the shit out of me. It seemed like you had talked to her and she just disregarded it. Anger aside, I have to say I’m a little impressed. I would have never expected that from her. I heard she had been to juvie, but I had assumed that she had been the one getting fucked up.” 

“I told you that she likes to hurt people,” Hazel sighs. “I’m just as surprised about her not finishing things off as I am about the flirting. How could she flirt with you like that in front of” she huffs and scratches the back of her head, eyes darting around “everyone! When she knows that-” Hazel’s voice breaks and she clears her throat “that you just broke up with your girlfriend!” Hazel had always been protective and PJ is kind of a dick. So it makes some sense why she wouldn’t want you getting involved with her. 

Hazel quickly receives your reassurance, “you don’t have to worry about me going near PJ. At least not like that. I plan on training like a WWE fighter and giving her a taste of her own medicine.”

Hazel laughs in relief. “Good. That’s good. Because I… I um, I think that you could do better. Not just do better. You deserve the best.”

Hazel’s kind words are met with a grateful smile. “I’m gonna find someone, someday, who might actually treat me well.” God did you want, more than anything else in the world, for that to be her. Those feelings get shoved deep down into a box to avoid any misguided hope.

“I promise that it will happen,” she assures and seals it with a signature pinky swear. A silence falls over the room, accompanied by a sudden reservation, coming from the disconnect brought on by years of separation. Before an attempt is made to break the ice there is the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. 

“Fuck! My mom's home! She can’t see me like this!” Your heart rate increases tenfold. Hazel is somehow remaining calm, cool, and collected. “I hate to break it to you, but those cuts and bruises are going to last much longer than you can avoid her for.”

“Right now is not the time to do this, we need to go upstairs. Now!” The demand is made with urgency.

“Like to your bedroom, upstairs?” Her blue eyes are bulging.

“No Hazel, the roof. Of course I mean my bedroom!”

“Ok, sure. Of course. It’s just that I wanted to clarify. That's all.” She nervously laughs, probably in fear of taking a dive into the past.

“Help me get all of this stuff out of here.” You grab your backpack and she picks up the first aid supplies. “Are you going to make it up the stairs ok?” Hazel questions with deep concern.

You just shrug, “I guess we’re going to find out.”

“That’s a terrible idea. But you should go first, and I’ll follow behind in case you fall. I can catch you or whatever.” She gives an encouraging nod.

“That’s a terrible idea, but I don’t have time to convince you otherwise.” The two of you take off and you realize that you are starting to feel a little better. You’ve made it up the stairs and out of sight when you hear the front door open and your mom call your name. 

“Hi mom!” You yell down the stairs. 

“How was your day honey?”

“Good, great. Nothing out of the ordinary, not at all. Just like any other day.” You bite your tongue, in fear of sounding suspicious. 

“I’m not going to keep shouting at you, I’ll talk to you when you come downstairs.”

“Sounds good mom!”

You go into your room and Hazel cautiously follows. She’s not sure what she’s walking into. You have changed a lot, she is probably expecting this once familiar room to have also changed. Your bag is left by the door and Hazel puts everything she is carrying onto the desk. You turn around and flop onto the bed, exhausted and still in a decent amount of pain.

You only look up when Hazel asks “you still have this?” She is pointing at a framed photo of the two of you from 6th grade and it brings on a sudden wave of embarrassment. That only gets worse when she picks up the friendship bracelet that hangs over the picture frame and looks closely at it. It’s a beaded bracelet made up of Hazel’s favorite colors and the letter H in the middle. She has one that matches, but it has your favorite colors and first initial. Those bracelets were worn everyday, with every outfit. She smiles, “I still have mine too, and all of the pictures are still on my wall.” You feel your heart skip a beat. 

“We should wear these again, the bracelets. To remind us of how things used to be. So we don’t forget that we can make it through anything as long as we have each other.” Tears of joy are forced down and masked with a nod of agreement, to avoid revealing any feelings through your tone of voice. Hazel moves closer and sits down next to you on the bed. She takes your hand and slides the bracelet onto your wrist and you hope that she can’t feel your pulse. She is causing major heart palpitations that you can only assume could lead to cardiac arrest. “I’ll put mine on when I get home.” She promises. “We should take them off during fight club though, we wouldn't want to break them.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a shy smile. Your eyes lock for a moment before she breaks it and hurries to get up. Hazel begins fidgeting with her rings as she wanders around the room. She’s looking at everything, her eyes lingering on everything that’s still the same, clearly feeling nostalgic. 

“Your glasses,” she gestures to them with a quiet smile. “I only wear them at night. I switched to contacts freshman year.”

“I know,” she mentions casually, looking at the pair of glasses wistfully. It creates a sense of wonder. Had she been trying just as hard to avoid and ignore? Or had she been paying attention the whole time and you were too busy trying to forget about her to notice. What else, if anything, did she observe? The next stop Hazel makes is in front of the collection of photos that hang on the wall. She points out Isabel and Brittany when she sees them.

“There are some photos missing,” Hazel states, sounding confused. She is referring to the few blank spaces amongst the immaculately aligned array. You take a deep breath before sighing and admitting “arson.”

“Oh my god someone came into your room and committed arson!?” Hazel looks genuinely horrified and that makes you laugh as you explain what happened. “All those empty spots had pictures of my ex-girlfriend. The night we broke up Isabel and Brittany came over and we burned them in the backyard along with all of her clothes. I guess I can add arsonist to my resume, along with street fighter. I’m really making my parents proud.” 

 “Sorry to bring it up,” she apologizes, though she has a smug look on her face. 

“I have a photo I’m going to put up in one of those spots,” you share with her. “Yeah?” Her eyebrows raise with curiosity. 

“The picture we just took.” Bashful feelings come with the disclosed intentions, but Hazel just beams in return. You breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn't seem to connect the dots. You took down those pictures and burned them, along with all the memories. Now you are going to put up pictures of the girl you wish you had never strayed from loving.

“I should put it up too.” Her awkward posture relaxes but she quickly changes the subject. “I should probably give back your sweatshirt. But I can wash it first though. I just have to remember to do that and then remember to actually bring it to you.”

“No it’s fine, you can hold onto it.” There is too much enjoyment in seeing her wear it to even think about taking it back. 

“I’ll give you one of mine then. Make it a fair trade,” she seems pleased by the prospect, though it's impossible for her to be as happy as you are about it. 

“Feel free to borrow any of my clothes, but I don’t think you would want to wear them.” Even though she is being teased, Hazel smiles. 

“Oh really? Now I’m going to have to wear one of your little tank tops to school one day just to prove you wrong. And if I wear your clothes you have to wear mine.” Your cheeks flush at the thought of wearing Hazel’s clothes. Seeing her in your clothes does things to you but this would push you over the edge. And she notices the little tank tops? FUCK!

“I’ll even do your makeup to complete the look,” you joke, hoping that some humor can distract from the way she is making you feel. Hazel wanders over to the vanity where the collection of makeup is located. She picks things up and looks at them, like she is considering the offer. She picks up a lipstick, takes off the cap, and twists it up to see the color. Hazel looks back and grins, “this is the lipstick you had on today. I guess I technically wore it too.” There is a sudden hitch of your breath and you have to remind yourself that she knows the color not because she was paying attention to your mouth, but because it accidentally got on hers.

Hazel puts the lipstick back where she found it. She comes back closer, but she sits on the end of the bed and you wish that she would stop keeping her distance. But that just serves as another reminder not to be misled. Hazel looks down at her rings for a second and then looks back up and crosses her arms. God, why must she keep drawing so much attention to her hands? Does she have any idea what she is doing to you? 

“You know what, I’ll let you do my makeup. Under one condition.” Your head tilts to the side, very interested to find out what kind of offer she is going to make. “I will let you do my makeup. If you let me complete your look too. That means you are going to have to wear some of my rings and one of my chains.”  Your eyes widen, feeling self conscious, unsure of whether or not you are about to pass out. Maybe even drop dead.

An attempt is made to laugh it off without revealing that you are straight up fighting for your life. “You’ve got yourself a deal. But you should be more careful with what you offer. You know I used to steal your clothes all the time, and I’ll do it again” the fond memories cause lots of giggles.

Hazel raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Believe me, I know exactly what I am doing.” There is a sudden realization that you are going to be able to survive. If that statement didn’t kill you, nothing will. The two of you are stuck in a trance, locked eyes and sheepish smiles. Neither party snaps out of it until Hazel’s phone buzzes. You look away, trying to hide your face that must be redder than a tomato at this point.

Looking at Hazel is avoided until she addresses you directly, and you can only pray that your emotions aren’t written all over your face. “Hey, I just looked at the time and I’ve got to get going soon.” There is an attempt to hide the disappointment, which probably fails.

Thinking about how she is about to make an exit, you are suddenly reminded that the girl next door looks like she came from a UFC octagon. “Hmmm…” thoughts of how this could possibly be explained swirl around. “One problem. My mother. You are going to have to walk past her.” Hazel scratches the back of her head and sounds very unconvinced when she wonders out loud “maybe she won’t say anything? My mom hasn’t.” She is met with rolled eyes. But also a smile, at the thought of how much her steadfast optimism has been missed. 

“Haze,” you laugh and her eyes widen when she hears the nickname. Red has become the permanent color of your face at this point. “You know how she is.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “We can go downstairs and explain together. You are definitely going to need some backup” This amazing girl’s unwavering support has been greatly missed. You move closer to Hazel and pull her into a hug. “Thank you, you are the best,” you whisper in her ear. “Anything for you,” she mumbles back.

The stairs are cautiously descended before a hasteful entrance into the kitchen. “Oh my goodness!” Your mother yells after seeing two very bruised faces while peering over a magazine. “I know you two have your issues but I can’t believe you would do this to each other!”

“No, no, no, that's not it!” Hazel swiftly begins to defend. “We are actually friends again!” Your mom looks both pleased and confused. After Hazel explains ‘self defense club’ your mom isn’t sure how she feels about it, but is grateful that it has reunited such great friends. Friends. Oof. Your mom gives Hazel a big hug and tells her “I’ve missed you so much!”

After a bit more chatting you walk Hazel to the front door. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at fight club?” You inquire, feeling a little disheartened. 

“I guess so.” She looks just as disappointed. 

Looking down at your shoes you complain “it sucks that we’ve been avoiding each other for so long that we are kind of stuck like that now. We are on opposite sides of every class we have together. I’m pretty sure the only time we actually got to hang out today, other than fight club, was in the car.”

Hazel is silent for a moment which causes you to look up at her. Her face suddenly brightens like she has a brilliant idea. “Why don’t we just drive to school together again? We are leaving from and going to the same place anyways, right? And it’s good for the environment!”

You bite your lip. “Would this be any everyday thing?” 

“Only if you wanted it to be…” Hazel blushes

“That would be great, that’s a good idea. It just makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“It’s my turn to drive though,” she emphasizes, and is surprised to be met with resistance. “Hazel I’m sorry, but there is no way in hell you are a good driver.”

“I am deeply offended. How would you even know?” She playfully rolls her eyes.

“You can’t even walk in a straight line!” An expression of shock and amusement crosses Hazel’s face when she accuses you of almost killing her this morning.

“I did not!” you fire at her. “Did to!” She shoots right back. As mean as you try to sound, the exchange is very playful. You could enjoy bantering with her like this all day but you decide to compromise. “Fine, we can take turns. If we survive.”

“Same time in the morning?”

“Yeah.” You tell Hazel and she turns to leave

“Wait.” Hazel pivots back around upon hearing your voice, and makes heart melting eye contact. “Before you go, I just wanted to say thank you. For bringing me to fight club and taking care of me.”

“I should be the one thanking you.” A rosiness floods the endearing girl’s cheeks as she makes the confession.

“I guess we can call it even.” You hold out your hand and she shakes it, but then she pulls you into a hug. You are there for a while and it doesn’t seem like either of you want to let go, so you decide to bite the bullet. Even though you really don’t want to. You know that you would stay in her arms forever if you could. But you need to keep your hopes in check. Goodbyes are exchanged and a feeling of dread washes over you when she leaves, afraid of getting left behind once again. 

[loumands]

Something so deeply insidious in the way it’s Claudia coming to Louis and Lestat’s life what leads to escalating abuse and them developing unequal gendered roles in their new family dynamic. Like some of that existed since the beginning (Lestat being the pursuer and proposer and expecting to be the provider too, them moving into his house, Lestat even bridal carrying Louis etc.) but overall in the first episodes you get an impression that although Lestat is inherently more powerful they’re at least trying to have a balanced relationship and perceive each other as equal, and neither of them sees himself or the other as the “man” or the “woman” of the relationship. Whereas later when Claudia disparagingly calls Louis a housewife neither of them even denies it. But Louis wasn’t acting like a housewife before adopting Claudia! In the early years he was very ambitious and had an active life and successful career outside of home and didn’t usually act the least bit submissive with Lestat (at least in their day-to-day interactions). Lestat was always jealous and had a bad temper but wasn’t overtly “patriarchal” and let Louis do what he wanted. Like ep 2 Lestat would probably never tell ep 2 Louis to clean up like in the finale, and if he did Louis would’ve been like what the fuck clean up your own mess. That all changes when Claudia arrives. They become a traditional patriarchal nuclear family astonishingly quickly. Louis quite literally gives up his career to become a nurturing stay-at-home mom for Claudia and becomes increasingly isolated from the outside world and dependent on Lestat. Lestat, who already prided himself on being a good provider clearly starts to see himself as the family’s leader and protector, becomes increasingly entitled and controlling, and assumes the role of paternal disciplinarian that he later extends towards Louis too. Crucially, i don’t think neither Louis or Lestat is really happy with this arrangement but it’s like because of their own patriarchal upbringing they’re incapable of envisioning a family that doesn’t have a husband and wife, mother and father, with all the conventional roles that come with it. It’s actually horrifying how you think you can remove yourself from heterosexuality and humanity but it’s an illusion and there’s no escaping heteronormativity and patriarchy

[mistyfoxxy]

I want to talk about Gus in for the future. I know it seems like it was a breakthrough episode mainly for Luz and Willow, considering what happened to Willow and Luz finally figuring out what she wanted. A breakthrough for Winter being canon now. But I really want to talk about Gus here and his breakthrough in here. While it was small and not so noticeable I think he had his too.

I think the Emerald Trio had their episode here

I’m the beginning we see Gus trying to comfort Willow with his illusions. While with Willow you can see the glassy ready look in her eyes, Gus has this tired look to his.

I think he realizes that she’s in a hard place right now. After all, he knows how much Hunter means to Willow probably more than any of them including Willow herself.(she’s been suppressing her emotions for the last few months) He’s been friends with her longer than any of them (Her and Amity weren’t friends for years so I’m not counting her right here) she knows she’s probably going to suppress her feelings to help others. He’s probably tried before to get her to open up and she wouldn’t listen because “I’m the reliable one, remember”.

So I’m sure he knew she was hurting already, he had to suppress his feelings too. Sure he was very open about him missing his dad and not afraid to cry because he was comfortable. Shoot maybe he lets himself be vulnerable with her to show that it’s ok to be vulnerable with him too. They’re best friends! But he isn’t going to push her. He knows her strength. She’s been holding it in for years so he’s never seen her the way that they did in the end of FtF. Me as an empathetic person myself, I hurt when I know someone else is, especially when they’re trying to pretend it’s alright. But he also knows she hates when people meddle in her affairs, so he was giving distance.

Skipping forward, when Willow goes off by herself in anger, he feels like it’s his fault. The fact that he knew something and was trying to do the right thing but failed in hurting them instead. (Which is not true but you know how Gus is). He tried to go and fix it and somehow ends up in a pit. And you see how terrified he is at first. Don’t tell me he ain’t struggling with PTSD either. He witnessed first hand the darkness and evil of Belos and his mind. Someone he looked up to as a ruler for the longest time in his life. Got thrown into another realm, which yes was awesome cuz he got to learn and see what he wanted too!…. But not by his own choice.

And then he witnesses Willow in the state she is in. And oh just because we didn’t see it, you can’t tell me he wasn’t heartbroken too.

He just didn’t have a way he knew how to help without thinking he was going to make it worse too.

Which is why I think it was such and Emerald trio moment too. Gus needed a window. He needed someone else to help where he felt he couldn’t. And finally he could tell Willow what he had been wanting to forever now.

And just look how happy he is now.

She’s feeling better.

He finally could get the fact that he knew Hunter was a grimwalker off his chest.

Shoot Hunter and Willow holding hands now, Titan he didn’t think he’d get this far!

That’s a load off his chest.

While it was not very noticeable, I think we got a breakthrough in his arch too.

Willow and Gus and Hunter are a team. They’re there for each other. They’re like siblings! (Er not Hunter to Willow or Willow to Hunter) but Gus ties the knot!

I rewatched FtF yesterday and oh I could finally see it. The best boi

[mint-yooxgi]

The Library of Illusion - Prologue

Yandere AU - Based off of This Event hosted by @cultofdionysusnet

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Slight Humour

Pairing: Ateez X Reader - (Focus on Seonghwa to start)

Words: 4,362

Warnings: Mention of losing consciousness, dehydration, and starvation. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Huge thank you to the network for allowing me to participate in this event!! I'm super excited for everyone to see what I have planned, there's a lot of stories heading your way!! I really hope you all enjoy, and please do let me know your theories and what you think so far!! As always, Feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

Gentle reminder that I do not do tag lists.

Mini Masterlist

The heat is unbearable. 

With every step you take, exhaustion creeps closer and closer. Your entire body feels heavy, your eyelids drooping further with every blink. Long since has your blood flowing through your ears drowned out any other sounds of the desert around you, the sun bearing down on you like an iron cross. Each breath is a pain filled dagger into your burning lungs, but still, you carry on.

It has to be around here somewhere.

For four days and four nights, you have been trekking through the red, unforgiving sands of the desert in search of a library. Not just any library. A hidden library that is said to house an indescribable knowledge, and a hidden treasure.

You’ve never been one to care for material treasures, nor seek vast riches in life. In fact, you had been perfectly content with the way your life had been going.

Until the accident.

Now, you desperately seek this Library of Illusion and it’s treasure, for it is foretold that it can grant any wish, and right now, you only have one. You will only ever have one.

The constant drag of your feet through the sand grounds you. Your mouth, which has gone as dry and barren as the desert around you, desperately longs for water. A luxury you ran out of twelve hours ago. Already, you can feel the effects of severe dehydration, your vision blurring at the corners as your body feels as hot as the scorched sands of the earth you traverse.

Only yesterday, you ran out of food, and you can feel those familiar pangs of hunger twisting at your stomach. Yet, nausea builds steadily in your chest. Bile rises in your throat, and each attempt to swallow down the acidity rising within has your chest constricting from the pain.

You should have packed more. You should have been more prepared.

The map you had been following fluttered away in a sudden sandstorm early on, of which delayed you by a whole day. You had managed to find an outcropping of rocks to hide yourself in as the storm passed, but the only thing you had to gather your bearings and reorient yourself with afterwards was the sun. You’re running on pure adrenaline and hope right now, but you don’t know how much longer either will last.

Already, you can feel your movements slowing down, chest feeling heavier and heavier with each inhale you take. You would have called for help some time ago, were it not for the fact that your phone died, and so did the multiple spare wireless charges you brought along with you. Even so, there’s no service in this particular section of the desert, so you’re stranded regardless of if you had been able to garner communication with the outside world or not.

With each blink, your eyes sting from the sand beginning to swirl around you. Dread weighs heavy on your heart, which begins to slow with each languid step forward. Already, you are close to collapsing.

An ominous feeling from behind you has you turning your head to see a looming cloud of smoke approaching from the distance, and you realize with a horrid sense of dread that another sandstorm is on its way. Only this time, there is no shelter you can seek.

You are doomed, and probably have been from the very start. There probably isn’t an actual library out here to begin with, and you’ve just thrown away your life for a chance at something that seemed impossible to begin with.

Rumours are just that. Rumours.

Your feet give out beneath you.

Sand clouds your vision, stinging at your tired eyes as your body refuses to move. So much as coughing to clear your throat feels as if someone has taken sandpaper to your lungs, scraping the tissue raw from the inside out.

You begin to choke on dust, no tears able to form in your dry eyes.

This is it. This is how you die: lost in the desert, alone and starved, dehydrated and exhausted to the point of delirium. All for the hopes of some sacred treasure that may or may not actually be able to grant your wish. A desire so deep, you had been more than eager to throw away your life for, even if it did not actually exist.

Even now, on the bring of death, you cling onto that wish. A flickering flame of hope continues to burn so deeply in your soul, you swear that you can see the embers lighting up behind your very eyelids as they finally fall shut. The only thought in your mind as you succumb to your exhaustion is a desperate plea to whatever is out there in the universe to let you see him one last time.

~~~

It’s dark. 

Dark and cool, despite the feeling of something draped over your body. A body of which feels the lightest it has been in days, that aching feeling no longer buried deep within your bones.

Dark, and cool, and quiet.

A low groan escapes you, turning onto your side form your back as you begin to regain consciousness. Raising your one arm, you bring a hand to your head, wiping at your face lethargically.

A deep chuckle sounds from beside you, “Are you finally awake?”

Immediately, your eyes are flinging open as you tear the covers off of your body. You appear to be in a bed of some sort, dark red curtains, almost maroon, hanging from each of the grand posts rising high from each corner. The sheets are light in material, but dark in colour as your head darts everywhere around the room.

“Where am I?” Your frantic voice, sounding much better than you thought it would after days of no use, echoes around the area.

You seem to be inside of an old building of some sort, the walls the same dusty red as the sands of the desert. It appears as if this chamber has been carved out of stone, a wooden antique desk resting off to the side while shelves upon shelves of books line the walls. The ceiling is high and arched, chandeliers hanging every three rows or so to illuminate the space.

At least this place has electricity… and air conditioning, it seems.

“I think you already know the answer to that.” The same voice replies.

Turning your head, your vision is drawn to a man now leaning against the wooden desk. His arms are crossed over his chest, yet despite his closed off stance, his shoulders appear relaxed. He has somewhat medium length black hair that falls in light waves, parted over his forehead, and wide, dark brown eyes. They appear almost black in colour, for you can see what is supposed to be the whites of his eyes have faded to a sort of aged yellow, almost reminiscent of the few pieces of worn yellow parchment you can see littering the top of the desk.

His clothes are fair. A low collared black shirt adorns his torso, while black pants rest over his legs, reminiscent of jeans. You can even see a silver chain dangling on his hip, attached to the one loop on his waist while the other end disappears around him and into his back pocket. Another chain rests around his neck, thick and just as silver as the other.

How he doesn’t overheat is a mystery to you.

Amusement dances lightly in his eyes as he watches you from across the room. His lips tug upwards in a friendly grin, but the more you stare, the more unnerved your become.

Softly, you place your feet upon the floor, standing cautiously from the bed. Your eyes lock on your personal items - your backpack, canteens, and holster - all sitting beside him on the floor. They seem to be resting against the desk, untouched and in perfect condition.

Inhaling sharply, your one hand rushes to your back.

“Looking for this?” With a quirked brow, the man pulls out your hunting knife from under his arm. “I will say, not as many come as prepared as you do. Desperate, yes, but with weapons?”

A loud clanging echoes throughout the chamber as he tosses the knife onto the top of the desk behind him.

You eye him carefully, guard still high as you prepare to defend yourself using any means necessary. You’re not much of a fighter, but you won’t go down so easily.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” You voice lowly. “This is the afterlife.”

The man begins to laugh, quite boisterously at that.

“No. You’re not dead.”

“I should be.” You counter. “Even I know that there’s no way in hell I could have been rescued from the middle of the desert when there was a sandstorm approaching. I was already suffering from heat stroke, and dehydration. I should be dead.”

“Is it that surprising to learn that you are not?” He tilts his head curiously at you.

“Did you save me, then?” You counter, mirroring his stance by crossing your arms over your chest.

“I did.” Comes his blunt reply. “It was quite easy, too.”

“Then, if your earlier implication is to be believed, this is the library I’ve been looking for.” You state, somewhat skeptically.

“The one and only.” He confirms with a slight grin.

You blink, disbelief painting your features. “Why… is there a bed in the middle of the library?”

“The bookkeeper needs some place to sleep, no?” He chuckles.

“You’re the bookkeeper of the Library of Illusion?” Your head tilts forward slightly, looking at him with a clearly raised brow.

“Well, I am the Keeper of Keys. Bookkeeping is just my hobby.” He shrugs casually, as if this is a conversation he has often.

“So, then, I’m also correct in assuming you know everything there is to know about this library?” You continue.

“That would be correct.” He nods his head once.

“Great.” You mirror his nod. “Where’s the treasure?”

His eyes widen in amused disbelief. “Not even going to ask for the name of your saviour first?”

“Fine.” You heave a tremendous sigh. “What’s your name?”

He smiles, as if he’s been waiting for this opportunity all along, “My name is Seonghwa.”

A firm nod in response in all he receives from you as you begin to look around the space once more.

His smile falls.

“You know, it’s common curtesy to introduce yourself after someone has identified themselves to you.” He states, rather pointedly.

Your brow furrows as you choose to ignore him for now. There doesn’t seem to be any visible entrances or exits in the immediate vicinity, and the entire chamber doesn’t look that grand to begin with.

“How did you manage to save me?” You turn your attention back to him.

“You were passed out, so I brought you inside.” Comes his simple reply.

You hum, clearly not convinced. Only, you decide to leave it at that for now. Instead, you opt to introduce yourself just as he said. It’s better not to get on his bad side, anyways. He may be the only one who knows the ways in and out of this place. Besides, he did save your life.

“So, bookkeep,” you straighten in your spot, “the treasure?”

“And here I was thinking you’d be different,” he sighs.

“Different?” You nose scrunches, dissatisfied with his tone.

Purposely, he ignores your statement. “What is it that you were told the treasure was this time?”

“I was led to believe the treasure is said to fulfill your deepest desire.” You eye him warily, lowing your hands to your sides for the moment. “A wish, if you will.”

“Let me guess? Fame? Fortune? Beauty?” His gaze narrows slightly, disinterest painting his features. “Love?”

You inhale sharply.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.” You reply darkly, tone low and ominous.

“I am the Keeper of Keys, it is my duty to ask questions,” he pushes himself off of the desk. “Especially when the treasure is involved.”

“It’s real, then?” You watch as he begins walking down the open hallway a ways.

“As real as you and me.” He sighs, not even bothering to look back at you.

“Great!” You begin to follow him, that familiar blossom of hope swelling inside of your chest. “Where can I find it?”

Suddenly, Seonghwa makes a sharp right, stopping right before an iron gate. A plaque above the intricately shaped bars of metal reads ‘Restricted Section’ in big, bold letters. 

Wordlessly, he points at the gate.

“Behind there?” You question.

“If you can get to it.” He hums, shifting to lean against the shelf closest to him.

You go to take a step forward before stopping yourself. “What’s the catch?”

“What do you mean?” There’s a certain giddiness shining behind his eyes as he meets your own.

“I’m not stupid enough to believe you would lead me straight to the treasure without there being some kind of test.” Your answer is quite firm, irritation lining your voice. “So, what’s the catch?”

“You’re not even going to try the doors?” His tone is nothing short of mocking as he continues to stare at you.

“You didn’t unlock them.” You reply bluntly.

“Smart girl.” He hums. “You see, I cannot unlock them.”

Your brow quirks. “Can’t or won’t?”

“I cannot unlock them.” He repeats, emphasizing his every word. “I don’t have the keys.”

“Some Keeper of Keys you are.” You exhale a disappointed sigh. “Doesn’t even have the key to the restricted section. Bookkeeping must get so boring for you, not having any of the fun books to go through.”

“It has its moments.” He nods, actually contemplating your words. The way he notices you shooting him a blank look has him chuckling. “No, only you can unlock this door.”

“Me?” Incredulous doesn’t even begin to describe you, your eyes going wide as you look from him to the iron gate.

“If you’re serious about wanting this ‘wish’,” he stands back to his full height, “Then, you are going to have to earn it.”

“Earn it?” You shoot him another incredulous look. “How the hell do you expect me to do that? I can’t knock down a locked iron gate!”

“How do you even know it’s locked in the first place?” Seonghwa replies smartly.

“You just said you can’t unlock them!” You raise your hands exasperatedly in the air in front of yourself.

“Oh, I suppose I did.” He chuckles.

“Spend too much time in the desert you have dust for brains or something?” You mutter, shaking your head.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone you just met.” He pouts.

A moment passes where you consider his words before your entire body is deflating.

“You’re right.” You take a deep breath as you look towards the ground. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a long past few months.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “You’ve been looking for this library for the past few months?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” You shake your head once more.

“Then, what did you mean?” He blinks at you curiously.

“Never mind.” You wave him off. “Forget I said anything.”

“Normally, when people seek out the treasure’s wish, they tend to be down on their luck.” He comments. “Even fewer still who make it inside.”

“Well, I have you to thank for that, don’t I?” You attempt a faint smile, but it does not reach your eyes. “How do I even get into this restricted section, anyways?”

“You need to find the keys.”

“I think we’ve already established that.” You sigh.

“Not just one key. Keys.” He purposely emphasizes his final word, motioning for you to look closer at the door.

Sure enough, glancing intently at the iron gate reveals six different sets of locks, all weaving together intricately to keep the door tightly shut.

You swallow thickly.

“Where do you suppose I start looking for those? You already said you don’t have the key.” You turn back to face him. “Or well, keys.”

Again, Seonghwa motions across the way, and you follow the movement. A moment later, and he’s stepped to the opposite side of the hall where five plaques seem to be placed directly beside five doors. Each plaque is bronze, title corresponding the the name engraved onto the front of the section it resides beside.

“Each of these doors lead to a different section of the library.” He explains.

“I thought everything would be in one place.” You mumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

Looking closer at the wall that houses the doors, you notice each door to be different. One is a steel door with a circular handle that looks quite familiar to you. A few are thick wooden doors. One is intricately carved with what appears to be mini statues of kings. The other simply looks like an old wooden door, the types castles are sure to have. Another door is more modern in shape, but still not up to today’s standards, while the other is a mix between iron and wood with a porthole type window frosted over in the centre of it.

Scanning your head around the area, something to the left draws your attention. There seems to be a metal grate on the floor, the area beneath glowing faintly as if there are burning embers far beneath the surface.

That’s when you realize, that must be the sixth door.

“You will need to find the keys in each of these sections before you can attempt to open the main gate of the restricted section.” Seonghwa continues. “But beware, each of these keys are guarded. These guardians will not be easy to convince to give up their keys, if you can even manage that.”

“We’re talking regular old keys here, right? I don’t want this to be some kind of riddle where the key is, I don’t know, a sacred orb, or something that will only transform into a key when I get back here.” You say, somewhat skeptically.

“No, no,” Seonghwa assures you. “They’re all physical keys.”

“Little concerning that the Keeper of Keys doesn’t have the ones we need.” You shoot him a look out of the corner of your eyes.

“It’s not like I wanted them to have these keys. It’s just the way things are.” Seonghwa shrugs.

“Alright, so, these… sections house individual keys kept safe by these guardians.” You repeat back to him, noticing how he nods along to your words. “Anything I should know before I attempt to look for them?”

“Once you enter a section, you will no longer be able to reach the main chamber, or me, for help.” He adds. “Not until the task is complete.”

“If I’m being honest here, Bookkeep, you haven’t been much of a help to begin with.”

“Need I remind you that I saved your life?” He quirks an amused brow.

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off. “Details, smetails.”

“That’s not a word.”

“Neither is ‘irregardless’, but people still use it, irregardless.” You quirk a small grin, glancing at him out of the corner of your eyes.

“You certainly are very interesting.” He hums.

“I’m going to take that as a complement.” You say, moving closer to each door to inspect the plaques beside them. “Is there a time limit for each section?”

“Not that I am aware of. You can spend as little, or as much time in each section as you desire.” He responds, watching you carefully. “The only way you can come back is if you’ve successfully retrieved the key.”

“So, I could spend years searching for the key inside each section, and still come up empty handed.” You exhale a large sigh. “Great.”

“Not necessarily, but that possibility is not zero.” He replies. “There is no time limit. At all.”

Your brow furrows in thought. “Is there a specific order I have to do this in?”

“No. It is completely up to you to decide the order.”

“Can I take breaks between these so called ‘trials’?” You inquire, tilting your head slightly to the side.

“Yes.” He confirms. “You may stay in the main chamber with me for as long as you desire.”

“Are you allowed to come with me?” You turn to meet his gaze.

“Unfortunately not.” He shakes his head. “This is something you will have to do on your own.”

You purse your lips in response, opting to turn back to the first plaque closest to you. It just so happens to be beside the door which says ‘Adventure’ on the front of it. Stepping in front of it, you begin to read:

“The sea calls us home; a heart to yearn. 

Hoist the colours high; never shall we die.”

Inside your chest, you can feel your own heart pang, eyebrow twitching in tandem as you recognize the saying. No wonder there’s a porthole on the door.

Shifting over to the next door, the one with the carvings of kings, an audible gasp escapes your throat as you read the plaque. You’d recognize that inscription anywhere, the lines of the script as familiar to you as breathing. Subconsciously, you clutch at the necklace that you wear in your hand of a golden ring with the same inscription found on its sides.

How fitting for it to be for the ‘Fantasy’ section.

The next door you look over says ‘Mystery’ in those big, bold letters. It really reminds you heavily of a castle, and once you read the plaque, you find out why.

“Deep within the stone walls, terror lurks. A monstrous creature thirsting for blood. Some call it a beast, while others never get a chance as it steals their last breath. Can you uncover the monster lurking in these walls? Can you survive the cold, dreaded night?”

Your eyebrows raise in contemplation as you move onto the next door. It’s the steel one with the circular handle.

Glancing at the plaque, your heart skips a beat in your chest. Lines of code seem to be engraved upon the bronze to serve as the description. Lines of code which you recognize, especially considering the door proudly reads ‘Sci-fi’ as you walk passed.

The final door in the row reads ‘History’, and it is the only one you actively reach out and touch. It’s cool against the skin of your hand, but you find yourself recoiling quickly at the rumble you feel shake the door. Reading the description, you find out why.

“War-torn and forlorn, a husband desperately longs to see his wife instead of the gruesome sight of the dead and injured littering the battlefield. Never has there been such bloodshed since The Great War, and five years in, the world just longs for it to end. However, Europe isn’t the only battlefield this soldier has to brave, but does he have the courage to fight for and defend what is his?”

A slight hum escapes you as you finish reading the plaque, nodding to yourself as you move over towards the grate to your left. Crouching down, you read the final plaque for ‘Horror’.

“Mother is god in the eyes of a child.”

You seemingly breathe a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god.”

Standing back to your full height, you notice Seonghwa standing a little tense off to the side.

“What?” His inquiry is somewhat short, but curious none-the-less.

“I’m assuming these plaques tell of what each section has in store?” You ask.

“You would be correct.” He confirms. “I still don’t see-“

“I’ve figured out a majority of what resides in each sections.”

Seonghwa frowns. “How?”

“Simple.” You shrug. “My husband and I-“

Immediately, your voice gets caught in your throat. You blink, fresh tears immediately springing to your eyes as you turn away from Seonghwa for the moment.

“I read a lot.” Your voice is strained as you attempt to clear your throat, wiping subtly at the few tears that manage to escape and roll down your cheeks.

Subconsciously, you grasp that ring hanging around your neck tighter. Another, thinner band of the same golden metal glints off of your own finger on your left hand.

“You’re married.” Not a question, but a statement from Seonghwa.

You glance at him from over your shoulder, unable to get a read on his expression. “I was.”

“Divorced?” Seonghwa’s brow furrows. “Many seek the wish to make the one they still love fall back in love with them-“

“He died.” 

A brief silence settles over the both of you.

This time, it’s Seonghwa who clears his throat. “My condolences.”

“I appreciate that.” You reply roughly, tightening your grip on that ring once more.

“I understand your motivations, now.” He replies, beginning to walk back towards where you first woke up. “You may start whenever you’re ready, but I highly recommend eating something first. Take as much time as you need.”

You swallow the sudden dryness in your throat, nodding your head along with his words despite the fact that he’s no longer looking in your direction.

Slowly, you begin to follow him back to the main area, your steps almost as silent as his.

“This wish…” you begin, voice much smaller than before. “Can you guarantee I’ll be able to obtain it if I do this?”

Seonghwa turns around once he reaches his desk, leaning against the front of it as he meets your eyes. “Your greatest desires at the time when you obtain the treasure will be fulfilled.”

Your own gaze narrows ever so slightly, “How do I know that I can trust you?”

“You don’t.” He hums in understanding. “But it’s either that,” his eyes flash to some point in the library off to the side, “or go back.”

“I can’t go back.” You shake your head. “Not now. Not ever. Not without him.”

Seonghwa takes a moment to observe you carefully, before seemingly nodding to himself.

“Then, My Dear,” he grins widely, and you swear his teeth suddenly look a lot more sharper than they should be, “Welcome, to the Library of Illusion.”

[gemini-sensei]

Not What You Think It Is | Tattooist!Hawt x Chubby!Reader Pt. 2

Tattoo Parlor AU ○ Fem!Reader ○ Part One

CW: mentions of/illusions to needles and pain, smut, rough sex, unprotected sex,

Hawk was nervous, but that nervousness soon burst into a million butterflies when the doorbell rang. He'd never had a client come to his home for a tattoo, or any other reason for that matter. This was something he never thought of doing, usually only giving tattoos to friends at his place. Nonetheless, he smiles as he answered the door.

Reader smiled anxiously at him and offered a little wave. "Hey."

"Hey," he said, moving aside to let her in. "I have a seat set up in the backroom, so we're just gonna head down the hall there."

She nodded as she stepped inside. "Cool."

Regardless of the circumstances, he was still excited. "I can't wait to see how you healed up. This is the first thigh tattoo I've done like this."

"It looks really great," she told him. They started walking to the back room, where he had everything set up.

"You just wanted some touch ups, right?" he asked, wanting to clarify what they were doing. He wanted to make sure she wa satisfied with the work she'd gotten done, wanting to put his best foot forward.

She nodded. "Yeah."

He sat down and motioned for her to do her thing. Shyly, she undid the button on her shorts and slipped them off. She was wearing bicycle shorts underneath, of course, but she was she a little shy when it came to these things. Her thighs were sensitive, which was the whole reason she was at his house for today's session to begin with. To say she was a little insecure about them was an understatement, but that was why she got the tattoo to begin with.

She rolled up her bicycle shorts and turned around for him to see. She bit her lip nervously, but let out a small gasp when he touched her leg.

"These look great," he told her, smiling as he ran his fingers over her ink. "I see where I need to shape it up though. That won't be too much work."

"Cool," Reader breathed.

"If you wanna lay down, I'll get my gloves on and we'll get this done."

"Okay," she said with a small smile.

She got on the tattoo bed and laid on there stomach, resting her head on her hands. It wasn't long after that the familiar buzzing of a tattoo gun was filling up the room and Hawk was doing his thing. She took a deep breath before he started, but it only took a few minutes for her to start moaning. She hid her face in her arms as her cheeks grew warm, trying to keep herself somewhat quiet.

Hawk was focused on the touch ups, but he couldn't help listening to her. He couldn't just block her out, the small room they were in amplifying the noise. Her moans were so pretty, too, and he was finding it difficult not to get hard. However, he kept his head down and did what she came here for.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, never wanting to go in heavy handed.

She hummed, shook her head, then let out a loud moan. "No- no, nothing that's not normal!"

He bit his lip and nodded. "Okay."

They were sitting there for about half an hour before he turned off his machine and set everything aside. He wiped down her thighs and finished them up, making sure she was going to heal alright. It was quiet as he wrapped her up, trying to ignore the tension that has permeated the air.

As he stood over her, Hawk had no idea how close his boner - which he'd been ignoring this entire time - was to her leg. That was until he accidentally pressed it against her and she gasped. He let out a low, involuntary groan and pushed it against her leg. She bit her lips, feeling how big he was.

Flustered, she looked over her shoulder at him, seeing the red staining his cheeks. "Did- did I...?"

She couldn't even finish her sentence, but he knew what she was trying to get out. He nodded, sucking in a breath. He pulled away from her but didn't try to hide what she already knew was there. He was hard in his pants for his client, which was never a good thing. She probably thought he was a pervert who had invited her into his home because of this reason because she moaned so pretty while getting tattooed.

So he tried to explain himself. "I'm sorry. I can't control that and you're such a pretty lady and you were moaning so much and I don't know what happened."

She got up, her thighs wrapped and ready to go. She shook her head, trying to think of the words to assure him, but any words fell out of her mouth instead. "No, it's okay. This has just never happened before."

He stopped for a moment, a little stunned by the admission. "Wait, never?"

She shook her head, embarrassed. "Nope. Never. I get it. I'm not that attractive. It was all the noise I was making. I'll just go."

Reader moved to grab her bag, but he stopped her, taking hold of her wrist to catch her attention. His hold isn't hard or firm, but rather gentle and sweet. "You don't have to go."

She looked up at him, shocked that he didn't want her to leave. All she could do was stare as she waited to see what happened neck, but she caught sight of his eyes looking at her lips and she got the idea.

"Are you sure? I mean, me?" she asked.

He nodded. "Only if you want me to."

"I'd be a liar if I said I didn't think about it," she whispered.

He smirked and smashed his lips into her. It was hot and passionate, energized by the moment and their attraction to each other. Lust coursed through their veins as the kiss quickly grew deep and heavy, tongues twisting and moans muffled by their lips. He pulled her close, pressing his hard-on against her hip, and began to lightly grind against her.

Soon, he had her laid out on his tattoo bed once again, this time on her back. He carefully peeled her bicycle shorts off, mindful of her sore thighs and the fresh swelling he'd just caused her. He tossed them aside, soon followed by her panties. She kept her shirt on, still not as confident as she'd like to be in her body. He simply slipped his hands under the fabric and groped her belly and tits, making her moan oh so pretty.

Half naked on his work table, her pussy leaked arousal all over the leather. He loved it, dropping a hand down to play with her pussy lips and spread her wetness all over her, especially all over her clit as he toyed with it.

"Oh, fuck," she whined and bucked her hips up, but he put a stop to that fairly quickly.

He hooked his hands under her knees and pushed them up, putting her legs over his shoulders. He looked down at her as he stood on his knees over her, eyes dark and full of lust. "Fuck, you look so pretty like this. All laid out just for me, wet pussy just begging to get fucked. Who made you this soaking wet?"

"You did, Hawk," she whined. His fingers found her clit again and started rubbing circles into it. She gasped, hips wiggling as he built up her pleasure. "Oh my god!"

"I want you to come for me," he told her, licking his lips. "I want to watch you come all over my fingers."

At that, he slipped two fingers into her hole slowly. She was tight around just two of his long, slender fingers. Once they were knuckle deep, he curled them and pet her spongy walls before pulling them back and fucking them back into her fast and hard. Her back arched off the table as she moaned his name, which made his hard cock throb with need in the confines of his pants.

He kept up his ministrations until she came, squirting hot liquid all over the front of his pants. She squealed, holding onto the edge of the table as she made a mess and didn't even know it. He pulled his fingers out and stuffed them in his mouth, sucking her sweet nectar off of them as he watched her come. He was soaked from his abs down to his knees.

"That was so fucking hot," he said, pressing the front of his soaked sweats against his cock. "Fuuuck!"

He then made headway to push them down and out of the way. They, along with his boxers, got halfway down his thighs before he was gathering up her wetness to slather all over his cock. He ran the tip through her folds, watching it collect her sweet wetness.

She looked at him and his soaked shirt, flustered and hot as she asked herself if she had done that. She didn't get the chance to ask him as she soon saw his fat cock and became distracted by it. "Holy fuck. Is that gonna fit?"

He fisted his thick cock with a smirk. "Yeah, don't worry, baby. It'll fit. This fat pussy of yours is gonna take it all."

He leaned forward, pushing her legs into her some and she moaned. He almost forgot about her tattoos and he leaned back, looking down at her.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, biting her lip. "I've just never... done this before."

"What? Hook up with your hot tattoo artist?"

She shook her head. "This position."

"Oh," he chuckled. "Well, you're gonna love it."

He pushed her legs forward again and moaned again, especially when he grabbed the fronts of her thighs and teased them.

"Fuck, these are the prettiest things I've ever seen. So fucking happy you let me tattoo them," he said, kissing her calf. His hips were rocking against her slowly, cock rubbing over her folds as he talked. It felt so good, but he wanted to get inside of her already and feel her tight walls hug him. "Can I put it in?"

She nodded. "Please! Please put it in, Hawk! Don't tease me anymore!"

He nodded and pulled his hips back. He reached down and positioned his cock at her entrance, then he pushed in and the tip popped in. He groaned with her as it happened, the fog of his mind getting heavier. Then he started feeding her the rest of his length, stretching her around him.

Her nails dug into the leather of his table, head thrown back as she took his cock. It felt so good, opening her up in ways she'd never felt before. He had to have the biggest cock she'd ever had, feeling him reach new depths. Then his hips met her ass and she was feeling dizzy laying under him. "Oh my god, you're so deep!"

It sent a boost to his ego and Hawk bucked his hips, making her yelp. He let her adjust to his size after that, loving how much she was reacting to just having his cock in her. "You haven't had any good dick then."

He pulled his hips back, leaving the tip inside, and pushed them forward. He was easy at first, but not too gentle. He set a moderate pace, keeping her legs up and her ass slightly lifted off the table. His hips constantly met her fat ass, slapping against it and making it jiggle. He watched the spot where their bodies met, grunting deeply as her whole body bounced with the impact. She was absolutely gorgeous.

The room grew heavy with the smell of sex, hot as they grunted and panted into the air. He'd had some low music playing from a small speaker, but it was overpowered by the lovely symphony of moans and groans. It was heady and if anyone were to magically outside the door behind him, they'd know what they were doing in there before they entered the room.

"More! Please!" Reader whined, at his mercy as he fucked into her. All she could do was watch and listen, her view wasn't half bad and was made better once he tore his shirt off. Her pussy clenched as he exposed his toned chest to her and he flashed a smirk.

"You want more?" he teased, gripping her calves. "You sure?"

She nodded to him, needing more of him in whatever way he would provide it. She didn't expect him to push her legs further into her, thick thighs meeting her clothed, hidden stomach. Her knees were closer to her chest but didn't quite meet it, and her breath was stolen away from her. She moaned as there was a slight pain from the backs of her thighs, but it paled in comparison to the pleasure she received as Hawk hit impossibly deeper in her cunt.

Her eyes rolled back as she cried out. "Oh my god! Oh my god! Right there! More! There! There!"

He sped up his pace and continued to hit the spot she so desired him to. He had to bite his lip, so engrossed and focused on his handiwork, that he almost didn't realize his hair was falling in his face. He leaned forward and rested one of her legs on his shoulder so he could push his hair out of his face, wiping some sweat off of his forehead in the meantime. It was so much work, but he loved it.

"Right here?" he asked teasingly. He chuckled as she gargled an answer, too pleasured to answer him properly as she half nodded. He licked his lips, feeling his dick throb. "Fuck, yeah, I know right there. Your fucking cunt is gonna squeeze the life outta me. I make you feel good, don't I?"

"Yesh," she slurred, high on the feeling of getting fucked so well.

"Yeah, well you make me feel great," he told her, grabbing her tit over her shirt and squeezing it. She moaned so heavily, so needily, and he loved it. "This beautiful fucking body of yours, your sweet little moans, make me feel so fucking good. You've got the hottest body I've ever seen and it's driving me crazy. Fuck fuck fuck."

He slowed his thrusts, not wanting to come yet. She had to come first before he could do such a thing. But he could tell she was close, so he gave her tit one last squeeze before moving his hand down her body. Over her belly, where he gave another pinch and she squealed cutely, then finding her clit again in no time and rubbing fast figure eights into it.

It didn't take like for her to come after that, her velvet walls squeezing around his cock tight. He groaned as he fucked into harder, picking up his pace again as she began to tumble over the edge. She threw her head back with a loud moan, coming hard. He fucked her through it, loving the feeling of his throbbing cock wrapped up by her spasming cunt. It was enough to send him over the edge too.

He came with a heavy groan and a few final ruts into her, stilling when he couldn't keep it up anymore. Hot spurts of cum filled her hungry cunt but they were both too high on the feeling to notice.

She whined softly as she started coming down, feeling the last feeble throbs of his cock. The fog began to clear and she looked up at him, panting for breath just the same as he did. Her body was hot all over, warm from the inside out, and starting to grow cool. Sweat stuck her shirt to her body and she felt the soreness beginning to settle in, but she didn't care too much.

When he put her legs down, she sat up carefully and into him. He grabbed her waist and closed the gap between them, sitting in front of her and pulling her to him, still buried deep in her cunt. She whimpered and bucked her hips against his, making him groan from his chest. Then he kissed her heavily, hungry for more of her. She wrapped her arms around him and they sat like that for a while, her legs thrown over his hips as they sat on his tattoo table and made out like it was their last day on earth.

She'd never felt so full in her life and absolutely loved it. His wandering hands feeling up her made her feel like she was up on that cliff of pleasure again. He groped her sides and belly, then her tits. He pulled away from her lips for air but kept his hands on her chest, squeezing her through the fabric of her shirt. He made her moan in the hot atmosphere of the room, watching the way her face twisted up. Her body reacted with small grinding motions against him, rubbing his still-hard cock against her sensitive cunt walls.

"You're so fucking hot," he whispered, dipping his head down to her neck.

She moaned as he bit into her skin and started sucking. "God! I've never had sex this amazing before!"

He chuckled, feeling his ego skyrocket. First, he made her come, now she was admitting this was the best sex she'd ever had? What a day! He continued to suck on her neck until a pretty mark would be left behind, at which point he pulled away and lashed his tongue over the area to soothe her skin.

When he pulled away, he brought his hands up to cup her face. She stared at him, having just caught her breath. Her lips were swollen and glossing, her eyes still a little hazy and lustful. Then he pulled her into another heated kiss and dropped his arms around her waist. He grabbed fistfuls of her ass and pulled her against him, back and forth.

She moaned into his mouth as she practically used her as a toy to get off again. It was dirty and fun, so she wasn't complaining. She was coming again in seconds and shaking on his lap as he moved her on him. Her hands held onto him tightly as she pulled out of the kiss to scream with pleasure, head dropping as she watched the place where they met.

Creamy cum gushed from her cunt and around his base, making a bigger mess of them both as he continued to move her against him. She fell limb against his chest and let him until he was filling her pussy with another hot load. She felt every delicious throb of his cock and she whined softly, hiding her face in his neck.

As he tapered off, he pushed her off of him and laid her down on the table again. He looked down at her frothy folds, watching some of his cum escape her. It was messy and nasty, but he couldn't help to bite his lip at it as he made a mental note to wipe down the table extra well later.

Reader laughed breathlessly. "I don't know if I can' walk after that."

"Feel free to rest up before you go," Hawk laughed with her.

She looked up at him, the realization that she'd have to go had come back to her. She'd only been invited over for a tattoo, an extension of his business, and what they had just done went far beyond that. However, it didn't raise any anxiety in her. She just smiled up at him, feeling far more comfortable with him as her tattoo artist, and then some.

He cleaned her up, ensuring her tattoos weren't bothered by their vigorous activity, then helped her back into her clothes. She lounged around his place a bit, drinking some water and eating some chips as they talked about tattoos and other fun topics of conversation. Then he walked her to her car, where he gave her his personal number if she ever wanted another private session.

On the drive home, she started thinking about what she'd go back for next time, happy to have finally found a tattoo artist who wasn't all that bothered by her moaning during sessions.