#fmc I hate | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zarameraki · 4 months

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˖°🦇 ࣪𖤐 𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝 ˖°🦇ִ ࣪𖤐

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mention of suicide 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 unprotected sex 𖥔 bodyguard x senator’s daughter 𖥔 porn with plot 𖥔 banter 𖥔 sarcastic mmc x fmc who’s tired of his bs 𖥔 neck kissing 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 praise 𖥔 soft toji 𖥔 biting 𖥔 nipple play 𖥔 toji’s not an ass for the first time 𖥔 close proximity 𖥔 dirty talking 𖥔 bathtub sex 𖥔 small pillow talk 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 5.9k

: ̗̀➛ notes: this is my first one-shot and of course it had to be about my favourite unhinged man. i promise it’s good, y’all. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

You hated being the senator’s daughter—burdened by the title you never chose. Despite the grandeur that surrounded you, you despised the life you were born into. The opulent dinners, the endless social events, and the constant scrutiny from the public were chains that bound your spirit.

If you had any spirit left to spare.

You yearned for a life of your own, away from the suffocating expectations that came with your father's political stature. You resented the polished façade you had to maintain, the carefully crafted image that hid your true self. The constant presence of the media felt like an unrelenting spotlight, casting darkness over your desire for anonymity.

The large ballroom was ablaze with sparkling lights and the murmur of conversations mingled with the soft strains of a live jazz band. You found herself at the center of attention, a reluctant participant in the grand social affair, unwillingly cornered by a persistent suitor your mother had chosen from the roster. Apparently, his family wealth and business ventures were the most fascinating topics he could think of.

You wore a forced smile and desperately sought a way out of the conversation. Your eyes darted across the room, searching for an escape route.

". . . you see, our corporation has been at the forefront of innovation for decades," the suitor boasted, gesturing expansively with his hands. "We practically built this city. My great-grandfather was a visionary, and my father has expanded our influence globally. I'm destined to take it to even greater heights."

“How wonderful,” you muttered. The suffocating aura of the suitor’s self-importance lingered in the air. Just as he reached out to place a possessive hand on your arm, a deep, graveling voice cut through the conversation.

“Careful,” warned Toji. His eyes, sharp and vigilant, locked onto your suitor’s hand, which froze in mid-air. “Take a step back, and we won’t have a problem.”

The suitor, momentarily taken aback, withdrew his hand with an affected chuckle. "Ah, my apologies. I was only admiring your bracelet. It's exquisite, really."

You shot Toji a glare as you replied, "Thank you for your compliment. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be returning home now. Senatorial matters to attend to, you understand."

His eyes narrowed, and he attempted to regain control of the situation. "But surely, darling, you wouldn't want to miss the grand finale of the evening. There's a surprise performance that my connections secured."

Before you could respond, Toji stepped forward, a stern expression on his face. "The evening is over, Mr. Mahito. She has other obligations to fulfill."

Mr. Mahito, a name you’d forgotten at his ‘hello,’ glared at Toji but wisely chose not to challenge the imposing figure. With a forced smile, he nodded and said, "Of course, I understand. Until next time."

As if.

Toji couldn't help but scoff under his breath, earning a side glance from you. "Does he ever run out of compliments for himself?"

You sighed. "He's harmless, Mr. Zenin. Just trying to impress, that’s all."

"Harmless, maybe, but annoying as fuck."

You eyed Toji with curiosity. "Why the sudden interest in my love life, Mr. Zenin? Jealousy, perhaps?"

He smirked, a rare hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "Jealousy? Princess, I guarantee you, I'm far too professional for such bullshit.”

You shot him a playful glance. "You know, if you were a little less broody and a bit more charming, you might have a chance."

His facade cracked, and a genuine smile played on his lips, that scar stealing your attention again. "Charm has its time and place.” He opened the back door of the limousine and nudged you inside. “I prefer to keep you safe."

Toji was insufferable just as he was tall. Dressed in a compressed black t-shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and chiseled torso, he exuded an air of quiet intensity. The long, dark tendrils of his hair poked his half-hooded eyes that always carried a mist of amusement. He was a silent guardian who navigated seamlessly between your shadows and the limelight.

You remember the first day your father had introduced your newly assigned bodyguard. All you could do was ogle the devilishly handsome man and pray your father and his security detail didn’t hear you swallow too hard or sit with your legs clenched together.

You appreciated the fact that he was fantastic at his job. At least in the first couple of months. But after you’d started your fourth year at university, Toji practically glued himself to you.

It was like he was your shadow, and you couldn’t escape. You get it, Dad was a senator, and security is essential, but did they have to assign you the clingiest bodyguard on the planet?

You’d gone on a blind date a few weeks back with yet another pretentious finance head, and Toji had himself stationed on the table adjacent to yours. When your date had stepped out to use the bathroom, Toji leaned over the table, and you remember how his biceps had flexed and that infuriating smirk played at his lips.

"Princess," he drawled, using that irritating nickname he's given you. As if being the daughter of a senator automatically made you royalty. "You should smile more. It might help with those lines forming on your forehead."

You hoped he choked on his own smugness.

But then there were those moments when the loneliness crept in, and the isolation became too much to bear. In those moments, his sarcastic banter was a lifeline, a distraction from the weight of your responsibilities. You found yourself craving the very company you claimed to detest.

You caught him smirking as you glanced in the rearview mirror, and for a moment, you forgot about the suffocating expectations, the political games, and the constant surveillance.

It's just you and Toji.

The soft hum of the elevator filled the air as you and Toji stepped into the sleek, mirrored enclosure leading up to your apartment. You looked like you had just stepped out of a battle with a jungle cat. Your eyes, once vibrant, were now shadowed with fatigue, and your normally impeccable hair fell in disarray around your shoulders.

You sighed, the weariness evident. "I can't believe this day. Non-stop meetings, interviews, endless parties, and galas. I feel like I've been running a marathon in heels."

"Well, at least you made it out in one piece, Princess."

You fired him a tired glare. "Don't call me that. You know I hate it."

"Sure thing, Your Highness," he replied, a teasing edge in his voice.

As the elevator smoothly ascended, your legs wobbled, and you swayed slightly. Without thinking, you reached out for support, your hand landing on Toji’s muscular arm. He felt the sudden weight and turned to look at you, eyebrows raised to the roof.

"Whoa there, easy," he said, his voice softer than before.

You blushed an outlandish shade of red. "I'm sorry. I'm just so exhausted. I didn't mean to—"

Toji cut you with a grin, his tone filled with mock concern. "Princess, if you're going to faint, at least do it gracefully. No need to ruin my reputation as the best bodyguard in town."

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile played on your lips. "I'm not going to faint. Just a moment of weakness. That’s possible for even women like me, you know."

He chuckled. "Well, weak moments can be dangerous, especially in this line of work. You never know who might take advantage."

The elevator pinged, announcing their arrival at your floor. You straightened up, a renewed sense of determination in your eyes. "Thanks for the concern, tough guy, but I'll manage." You punched in the key code of your apartment door, the security light flashing green. "You can head home now. I’ll be fine from here."

"Oh, absolutely, Princess. But you know the drill—protocol and all. Can't leave the precious cargo unattended until it's safely delivered to its destination."

Your patience was wearing thin as you turned and brushed chests with the jester in black. “Mr. Zenin, for the hundredth time, I don't need an escort to my front door. I can handle myself."

Toji chuckled, the sound low and teasing. "Sure, sure. But what if a rogue pigeon attacks you on your way in? Or a gust of wind blows too hard, and you lose your balance? It's a treacherous world out there."

“We are indoors. There’s no rogue pigeons or a windstorm.”

Toji wore his stubbornness alongside his pride. “Just doin’ my job.”

You sighed, realizing arguing with him was futile. "Fine, come in if it makes you feel better, but then you're leaving."

"Sure," he said, holding the door open with a flourish as you entered the sterile, monochromatic apartment. From the high ceilings to the marble flooring, it was all your mother’s idea. For God’s sake, it was your apartment. You wanted earthly tones, Persian rugs, and a cat. A European tabby. You have wanted it since the day you were born because being an only child was like living in a house full of ghosts.

Your heels hit the floor with a muted thud, and your shawl cascaded down in a haphazard swirl as you brushed it off your shoulders. You sunk into the plush armrest of the couch, sighing deeply as you closed your eyes, attempting to shake off the fatigue that clung to you like a second skin. You were beginning to regret the three glasses of champagne to tune out tonight’s event.

"So, I’m guessing you’ve got another glamorous night in the political arena tomorrow, huh?" Toji asked.

You opened your eyes, your gaze meeting his, and managed a weak smile. "You have no idea. Sometimes, I feel like I'm caught in a never-ending dance of smiles and handshakes."

He pushed himself off the doorframe and strolled toward you. "Well, lucky for you, I'm a decent dance partner. Just not sure about my smile and handshake skills."

You wanted to tell him he had a nice smile, that the scar really added a touch of mystery to him—a mystery that kept you on your toes. He also had really large hands that you found yourself staring at during meetings or drives.

You ran a hand through your hair, loosening a few strands that framed your face. Toji’s eyes lingered on you, a subtle appreciation in his stare. Without thinking, he stepped in front of you, his fingers gently tucking the stray hair behind your ear.

"You've got a talent for getting yourself into these messes, Princess," he remarked, his voice low and intimate. His touch lingered, brushing against your cheek and then down to your neck. Unintentionally, his fingers traced the soft skin.

Your breath caught, the unexpected contact sending a shiver down your spine. You met his eyes, finding a silver of vulnerability in his usually cheeky behavior. For a moment, the air crackled with an unspoken tension. Toji, realizing the accidental breach of boundaries, withdrew his hand, mumbling, "Got a bit carried away there."

Your tired eyes softened with a mix of surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. "It's okay, Mr. Zenin. Just . . . let's just chalk it up to exhaustion.”

He straightened up. "Yeah, exhaustion. That's exactly it."

Nodding, you stood from your spot and awkwardly patted his shoulder. “You can see yourself out."

He raised a fascinated brow at the gesture, the scar curling up in a half-smile.

As you made your way upstairs to the bedroom, you couldn't shake the feeling of Toji’s calloused fingertips circling from your ear, knuckles softly brushing your cheekbone and down to your neck. The sensation lingered, sending shivers down your spine.

You entered the bathroom, the cool tiles beneath your feet a stark contrast to the warmth building within you, turning on your bathtub’s faucet. The running water drowned out your racing thoughts as you undressed. Your fingers traced the curves of your body, and your eyes, filled with self-doubt, studied your reflection in the bathroom mirror. The image staring back at you was proof of years of dieting imposed by your mother's relentless pursuit of the perfect political image.

You sighed, shoulders slumping, yet the boulders of burden settled upon them refused to fall. As you raised your head, you caught a glimpse of someone in the reflection behind you. “What the f—” A chill ran down your spine as you turned around, heart pounding.

There, in the doorway, stood Toji, his green gaze fixed on your face.

“What the hell are you doing here?" you demanded, wrapping your arms protectively around your breasts, hand covering your lower region.

Toji’s eyes softened, his usual sarcasm substituted by concern. "I heard you talking to yourself. Thought you might need some company."

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "That's not an invitation to barge in!"

“I'm your bodyguard, and part of my job is to make sure you're secure, even if it means guarding you in your own bathroom.”

“I'm perfectly safe in my own bathroom. Besides, you're not my babysitter."

Obviously, he ignored you and took a step closer to the tub, his eyes never leaving yours. He turned off the faucet just as the water was at the perfect level. His hand dipped in the steaming water. “Hot.”

“Oh my god, get out!”

“Get in.”

“What?”

“Get your ass in the tub.”

You rolled your eyes but didn't back down. "I'm not getting into that bathtub with you hovering over me like a hawk."

Toji sighed exasperatedly.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by a crack in his patience. "What's so urgent that you can't leave me alone for five minutes?"

He hesitated for a moment before smirking. "I want to wash your hair."

"Wash my hair?" you echoed.

"Yeah. I heard it's the latest trend in personal security."

You shouldn’t have chuckled, but you did anyway. Everything about this situation had blown out of proportion, escalated from zero to a million, and put an interesting mark on your otherwise professional relationship with your bodyguard.

Toji extended his hand, a silent invitation. You were at his beck and call in five seconds, lowering your hands from your bare body, and not once did he check you out. However, the tick in his jaw and the subtle flare of his nostrils easily gave him away. You accepted his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours—his touch was firm yet gentle. You gingerly stepped into the embrace of the steaming water, sinking low until it covered your shoulders.

Toji wet your hair before squeezing a handful of shampoo into his palm, his hands strong yet gentle as he began to work the lather into your hair. His fingers moved in rhythmic circles, massaging your scalp with a skill that spoke of experience. The sensation of his touch, combined with the warm water, created a cocoon of comfort. The tension in your shoulders seemed to melt away, replaced by a strange but welcome calm.

"Seriously, though, why are you doing this?” you asked. “Bodyguards aren't typically known for their hairdressing skills."

Toji flashed a wry grin. "Rumor has it that a well-groomed princess is a happy princess. Plus, it's in the fine print of the bodyguard handbook—section 37, subsection B: 'Haircare Duties.'"

“But I’m not a princess.”

“Not to me,” he murmured.

As the water streamed down your back, you closed your eyes, surrendering to the tranquility of his caretaking. "Mr. Zenin," you whispered, your voice a gentle hum, "this is a side of you I never knew existed."

He chuckled softly, continuing to pour water over your hair. "I wear many hats, Princess. Tonight, I'm just Toji."

Your eyes opened, meeting his gaze. “Toji.”

He paused for a moment, his hands still in your hair. The only sound was the rhythmic patter of lingering water droplets leaving the faucet. You could feel the shift in his demeanor, a subtle tenseness that hadn't been there before. It was as if the temperature in the room had dropped a few degrees.

He cleared his throat, a nervous habit you had never noticed before. “First time you’ve said my name.”

Oh.

In a daring move, Toji let his fingers linger on your neck, his touch feather-light. Your breath hitched in your throat, or maybe it was his hand curling around your trachea that stopped it. He leaned down, his nose brushing against yours. If he kissed you now, you would never look at your bathtub as a source of taking your own life again. If he kissed you now, you would never look at him the same again. If he kissed you now, you’d drown in it. It would be the only time you willingly would without coming back up for air at the last minute.

Your hand reached up and cupped the back of his head as a green sign. Toji leaned down, his lips brushing against yours. The world seemed to hold its breath as he lingered there for a moment. Then, with a slow and deliberate motion, he parted your mouth with his tongue, seeking permission, and you welcomed him wholeheartedly.

But as quick as the kiss happened, the quicker he pulled back.

“Fuck.”

Your heart sunk.

Fuck, indeed.

Confusion and hurt flickered across your face as you struggled to comprehend the sudden twist in your actions. You hadn't considered the consequences, the potential risks that a romantic entanglement could pose to both of you. The weight of your privilege and his responsibility pressed heavily on both of your shoulders. "Toji, I thought . . .”

He suddenly stood, and you reached out with your hand, grazing his arm, frightened that he was going to walk away and leave you wallowing alone in your guilt. "Well, well," he drawled, the corners of his mouth lifting in a sardonic smile. Slowly, he tilted your chin up with a gentle touch. "I never thought I'd see the day when the senator's daughter would be so desperate for her bodyguard's attention."

A flush of embarrassment crept up on your cheeks, and you tried to pull away, but Toji’s grip on your chin remained firm.

“Desperation suits you, Princess," he continued, his tone light but with an undercurrent of something you couldn't quite place. "But remember, we're playing with fire here."

"You're one to talk, Mr. Zenin. Who kissed who first?"

His laughter echoed throughout the bathroom. "Touché, sweetheart. Touché."

You lowered your eyes, hugging your knees to your chest. “Whatever. You can leave now.”

“Leave? Not a fucking chance.” Toji’s boisterous laugh made you jump. He started taking off his shirt and tossing it aside. “It’s your turn to wash my hair.”

“W-What?”

He responded by unbuckling his belt and lowering his trousers, leaving him in his boxer briefs. Your hands covered your eyes when he was completely naked and incredibly erect. “What, you’ve never seen a naked man before, Princess?”

“Once,” you mumbled. You weren’t a virgin, a secret only you knew. It was during the first-year of university when you’d hooked up with one of your mother’s best friend’s son. Both your families had high hopes of an engagement, but you were against the idea. Thank goodness for that. He’d lasted about five minutes into the sex before collapsing on top of you. It was a painful disaster.

“You just signed a man’s death wish,” Toji said, settling into the tub with you. The water sloshed around him, cascading over the edges of the tub and creating small puddles on the marble floor.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” you whisper breathlessly.

"Taking a bath? Now, now, sweetheart. Don’t be mean." He reclined against the tub's porcelain edge, the water clinging to the contours of his muscular frame. “Why are you so far away? Come here.”

Your body defied your intentions as it glided away from the corner, moving towards him. His left leg extended while the right one bent, with the cap of his knee emerging from the water. Your small hand cradled it, guiding you closer until you were seated just inches away from his erection.

Toji splashed water over your face, causing you to yelp in surprise.

“Toji!”

“Eyes up here, sweetheart.” He tilted his head back, accentuating the chiseled contours of his jaw. His chest resonated with laughter. “You’re so pretty when you blush for me.” His large hand slithered to your nape and tugged you forward, claiming your lips in a feverish, powerful kiss, where his teeth pulled your bottom lip and sucked on it. It frustrated you that, once again, he broke away first, leaving you to whimper. “Turn around. On all fours.”

The questions fizzled out on your tongue. “Are you going to . . .”

“Fuck you?” He arched an eyebrow, the damp strands of his hair swaying in sync with the tilt of his head. “Fuck yes.” His lashes lowered, giving his eyes a dangerously dark glint. “Unless you don’t want me—”

“No!” The words slipped out before you could stop them. “No, I never . . . I want you to.”

“To what?”

Oh, he was really a dick. “I . . . want you to fuck . . me.”

He wet his bottom lip. “How do you want me to fuck you, sweet girl?”

Your chest rose and fell in synchrony with the ebb and flow of the situation. “I don’t know. I’ve only had sex once.”

“Baby, there’s a major difference between having sex and being fucked.”

On cue, your legs instinctively clenched in an attempt to find relief. “Are you clean?”

Toji raked his fingers through his hair and made a spinning gesture with his finger. Your body followed the motion, turning away from him and gripping the tub’s edge. “Wanna know a secret, Princess?”

“Uh, sure.”

The heat emanating from his chest pressed against your back. “I got a check-up the day I was assigned to you.” A sentence that visibly made you shudder. Of course, the insufferable bastard had planned this circumstance ahead. “I knew that sooner or later, I’ll have the senator’s daughter naked and needy underneath me. That I’ll have my cock buried deep within the tight walls of her sweet, sweet pussy, as she milks every last bit of my come. That I’ll watch as it drips out her hole and down her soft thighs.” He extended his arm and delicately lifted the drain plug with his fingers, allowing the water to gracefully swirl away from the bathtub. “I jerked off to the thought almost every night.”

“So, you accepted this job just to get a chance to sleep with me?” Your confidence tanked, and your body prepared itself to leave the tub. “Go to hell—”

Toji wrapped his palm around your hair three times, pulling it taut as he drew you back, pressing you firmly against his chest. “I wasn’t finished talking.”

“Let me go!”

“Know what I do when I escort you to your apartment, Princess?” He wasn’t gentle with cuffing his hands around your neck, immediately silencing you. “I wait like a fucking dog outside until you’re asleep. Then, I walk back in, clean up around your kitchen and living room because you’re too tired to do your chores, and after playing your maid, I tuck you into bed. I watch you sleep, even letting you hold onto my hand, until the moon exchanges for the sun. And I’ve been doing this for the past six fucking months.” He jerks your head to the side, his glare cold and cutting. “So, no, Princess, I didn’t accept this damn job to fuck you. This was just a side perk.”

"Oh," was all you could manage to say. The mystery behind the polished kitchen sink, the mugs and dishes neatly stowed away, the meticulously organized closet, and the unexpected peaceful nights of sleep settling within you finally unraveled. The source of your newfound stability, one that encouraged you to gradually wean off your anti-anxiety medication, was none other than your bodyguard who, unbeknownst to you, had been quietly tending to your well-being in the shadows.

Toji's gruff voice murmured near your ear, interrupting your contemplation. "You're mine, not only in body but in soul, sweet girl. No one—absolutely no-fucking-one—gets to lay a finger on you when I'm around. I won't let you out of my sight, not even for a moment."

You nod, curving your cheek and giving him a simple, soft kiss. “Will you wash me afterward?”

“Every time.”

“Will you sleep alongside me?”

“Every night.”

“And day?”

“Every day.”

“You promise?”

Toji didn’t answer, and you didn’t want to push the fantasy any further given your roles.

You’d made up your mind and rested your head back on his shoulder, a smile naturally splaying at your lips. “Don’t hold back, big guy.”

Toji kissed the side of you neck and nudged you forward so you were gripping the tub’s edge once again. His calloused, rough hand ran down your spine and settled on one-half of your ass. “So soft here.” He delivered a forceful slap, firmly grasping the flesh between his nails, stretching your skin taut, then spanking you again and again and again until your pussy was practically salivating for his fingers. “Fuck, you’re so wet already, baby.” He spat on his fingers and slipped through the slit of your soaking pussy, circling your swollen clit in fast motions. “When’s the last time anyone’s fucked this neglected pussy? Made you spread your legs and rubbed your pretty, puffy clit?” You moaned and broke into choppy gasps, pushing your ass closer to his fingers. “Your private tutor didn’t teach you a lesson on patience?”

“Toji, please.”

“Shh. I know, I know.” He mocked your desperation, gathering your hair in his fist. “Let’s see how many fingers my sweet girl can take.” Toji drove in two digits before you could blink, a maniacal chuckle escaping him as he skillfully moved them in and out, savoring the sounds of your pleasure-filled cries. “Yes, baby. Oh, yes. One more, okay?” His ring finger forced itself in, eliciting a groan from both of you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He rested his thick fingers inside your warmth for a minute, feeling you clench and suck him in.

“Toji— Too much—”

“Not enough, sweet girl.” He began moving, easily hitting the spot that had your toes curling inwards. “You can take it, baby. I know you can take it.” You proved him by grinding back on his palm. “That’s it, sweetheart. Fuck yourself on my fingers. Such a good girl.” The squelching sounds crowded the bathroom, your release seeping out of you without you knowing. You cried out as he relentlessly thrusted his digits, gathering your sticky mess on his fingers and bringing it to your lips. “Taste how sweet you are.”

Your mouth covered his slick, white-coated fingers, tongue wrapping around them and suckling them deep towards the recesses of your throat. The sounds of you gagging made him grunt and sink his fingers ever further before pulling them out abruptly, strings of your saliva and release bridging the space in between.

Toji, with a sly grin, licked his fingers clean, shooting a playful wink at your flushed and flustered demeanor. “Delicious.”

Arm around your waist, Toji easily carried you back and turned you around so you were facing him, straddling his sturdy thighs. A rugged exhale escaped his lips, akin to someone who had endured a grueling day of manual labor. With muscles flexed, he extended his arms on either side, creating a protective barrier around the edge of the tub.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, drinking in your figure.

“Thank you.”

“No, baby. You don’t say “thank you” to me if I compliment you. You say “I know,” and move the fuck on.” He rubbed his hand up and down your thigh, cupping the side of your waist. You jumped when he flicked at your stone-hard nipple. “You’re sensitive there, huh?”

You mumbled, “Everywhere.”

“Speak up, sweetheart.”

“Everywhere,” you said with a volume that made him tip his head back and study you through the hooded slit of his eyes. “What you did, with your fingers, it felt good. Really good.”

“I know,” he replied, winking. “Want me to make you feel fucking fantastic, sweet girl?”

You nod, anticipating his next—

“Sit on it,” he said languidly.

“What?”

“Sit on my cock, Princess.”

He truly had a way with his words.

And you had grown accustomed to them.

Rising on your knees, you stumbled forward and aligned yourself on his ramrod erection, white beads of pre-cum leaking from the pink tip. He gripped the base of it, allowing you to sink down on his long, girthy length.

“Shit,” he breathed out, head lulling back.

“You’re—You’re too big.” The words strained out of you as you sought a comfortable position to move in. “Oh, God. Toji, I don’t think—”

He swallows your following words with his lips, cradling your flushed face in his hands. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck. “It’s okay, sweet girl. Get yourself comfortable because, in a minute, I’ll make you forget the word ever existed.”

“Oh, God.”

“Toji, baby. The name’s Toji. Fucking say it.”

“T-Toji . . . ”

He lowered his head and grasped your left breast, fondling it like a stress ball as if his stress levels were beyond the roof. You mewled when he pinched your nipple and stretched it out, heating it between his fingers. His lips latched onto your right breast, cheeks concaving as he sucked hard.

You were a lost cause at that point, watching him nibble the swollen bud between his teeth, giving you that devilish smirk. “Fuck, baby. Your nipple tastes so sweet.” His tongue circled around it, pulling it taught in his mouth. “Maybe I should make you a mother just so I get to taste the milk that’ll leak from them.”

“You’re so dirty,” you whispered, ignoring the sudden film reel of you and Toji and your children gathered around a Christmas tree in an apartment smaller than this, in a life quieter and more private than yours. You needed clinical help.

“I know you’re thinking it.” He released your nipple with a pop and kissed your lips. “Soon, sweetheart.”

Soon?

Toji didn’t allow you to overthink anymore before grappling your ass and raising it high off his cock, until only his tip remained in you. “Hold on tight.”

He pounded you down.

You yelped and stabbed your nails into his shoulders, shouting out, “Fucking hell!” which, obviously, made him burst out laughing, all while ramming you down on his cock, burying himself to the hilt.

“Toji—ah!”

Tears streaked down your cheeks, which he quickly wiped away with his tongue, kissing each eye as if it were your mouth. He thrusted up into you in a staccato rhythm, gripping your nape to keep you steady in place. Your high-pitched whines and empty complaints fueled him to push both of your limits.

“Don’t let this get to your head,” Toji gritted out, a layer of cockiness in his voice, “but I’ve never once fucked anyone in this position.”

Well, that made you feel special, you supposed.

Actually, it made you want to try harder to please him. If you did well tonight, you could try every position in his book. So, you pressed your hands against his pecs and swirled your hips in circles, slowing his thrusts so you could take control. He was fascinated by your body, by your sudden superiority, settling his hands on your waist while you rode him insistently.

“Look at you riding my cock, baby,” Toji muses. “Look at you go. Just like that, come on. I know you can move faster.” He admired the movement of your breasts, the sweat-beads that crystallized on your skin, how your drowsy eyes rolled to the back of your head. You felt his cock twitch uncontrollably within your hot, sticky walls, felt the thick tip of it penetrate the spot that pushed you to the precise of your orgasm.

But your exhaustion caught up to you faster than your climax, causing your body to grow limp and slump against his chest. Toji embraced you, settling one hand on the back of your head and the other on your ass.

“You did well, baby,” he whispered into your hair.

“Don’t lie to me. You didn’t come.”

“Neither did you.”

You nuzzled your nose in the crook of his neck, circling your shaky arm around his strong neck. “I’m close, Toji. I’m almost there. I promise.”

That’s all it took for him to drive back up into you, grunting expletives and praises in your ear—fuck, oh, fuck, ah, fuck, such a good girl, my sweet fucking girl, oh, your pussy is so tight, so pretty, made just for my cock—while holding you flush against his sweaty chest. You kissed his temple and clutched his hair, breathing in the scent of your lavender-honey shampoo and his natural musk. He continuously mumbled, “Come on, baby, come on. Come for me. Come on my cock, sweet girl.”

And you did. With a cry that hitched in your throat, with your nails dragging down his shoulder blades, with his teeth sunk into your neck, with your bodies sweat-struck and panting like wild horses.

Toji drew you back and ran a hand on your cheek, brushing away the damp strands sticking to your cheek. “Good?”

You breathed out through your open mouth, the organ inside your chest hammering to break out. “Fan . . . tastic.”

He smiled warmly, not the arrogant-cocky kind you were used to receiving, and pressed his lips to yours. No tongue, nothing. Just a simple, chaste kiss. “Time to wash up, Princess.”

Switching from the tub to the shower stall, you began to wash Toji’s hair with your lavender-honey shampoo. You anticipated his complaints, but all he did was sit silently on the seat, using a loofa to clean your body. He complimented the curves of your figure, even taking a sneaky nip at your breast, then chuckling at your reaction. Like a gentleman, he dried off your wet body, combed through your wet hair as he blow-dried it, and then it was his turn, but of course, he forced you onto his lap while you did.

“How’d you get this scar?” you asked as you two lay in your bed, naked with your limbs tangled with each other. For the past hour, all you’ve done is trace your finger over his brows, his sharp, pointed nose, and his lips. “You don’t have to tell me—”

“Family. That’s all.”

“Okay,” you whispered, snuggling your face under his jaw and wrapping your arm around his torso as far as you can.

“You’re clingy, aren’t ya’?” he teased, hooking your leg over his hip.

“Was I too out of character for you, Mr. Zenin?”

You felt his smile on your crown accompanied. “You’re not a character, Princess. You’re a real person.” His hug around your sore body tightens as if you’re about to escape any minute. “It’s overwhelming how real you are, Y/N.”

“Did you just call me by name?”

He raised a brow, voice laced with charming sarcasm. “Was I too out of character for you, Y/N?”

Your hand cupped his cheek, stroking the scar by his lip. “You’re perfect, Toji.” You kissed the wound, the middle of his lips, and the tip of his nose for a good measure.

“Stop acting cute and sleep, Princess. You’ve got a tea party in the morning.”

Groaning, you decompress in his hold. “Goodnight, Toji.”

“Night, sweet girl. Dream of me.”

“You, too.”

“Always.”

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huntathalarstits · 2 years

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humbly begging all artists to please draw bryce as not skinny. Please. Begging you. MY GIRL HAS MEAT ON HER BONES

#please lord.... shes the only even SLIGHTLY fat fmc character #and shes still badass #pls #one fat girl to everyone #this isnt a hate post bc i WILL take any art of her but i just. please. i bed ?#anna talks

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magerightsmagefights · 3 months

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I know people tend to forget Wyll a lot in this fandom (I wonder why. What Could Possibly Be Different. Can you spot the difference?/s) but I'm genuinely surprised at the lack of Durge x Wyll content. Especially if you're going Redeemed, there's that inherent flavor of "My lover cannot know the truth, I am horrible and they would hate me, they would be correct to hate me." And with Wyll it's just... so juicy, he's so pure and shining, and Durge is so filled with filth and misery that there's barely a person left underneath.

Idk, as a femme romance reader I've spent so many years reading the "love redeems" arc where a FMC plays beauty to an MMC beast, in every genre, medium, budget, etc. I'm not here to yuck anyone's yum, but beauty and the beast as a story structure has never done it for me.

until it's reversed, apparently, because Wyll as the beauty to Durge's beast needs to be injected directly into my veins like yesterday. All the other companions are good and sweet, don't get me wrong, but their reactions are coded like 'i accept you,' where Wyll to me comes off much more as 'we will heal you.' He doesn't have any funny little quips about you trying to bite him, no innuendos, no "I Will Put You Down" a la Laezel, he's just... so good, and he believes in your inherent goodness, he so easily sees "you" and "your urges" as wholly seperate entities he would step between if he could.

Speaking of which!! The coronation scene, when everyone finds out you're Bhaalspawn? I never see anyone talking about Wyll's reaction compared to other companions getting angry (even Dark Shadowheart will yell at you) because Wyll seems to be the ONLY PERSON who immediately separates you(the person he knows) from you(the person you used to be). Astarion isn't angry, he even appreciates your scheme freeing him from Cazador, but he also kinda falls into the whole "I will talk to you as if you are the exact same person who did these things, this is Your True Nature and I feel positive about it."

Wyll's reaction feels like the only one saying "You WERE that," instead of "You ARE that." It also feels like the only one that kinda-sorta acknowledges Durge's actual amnesia, because he doesn't treat this revelation like a betrayal the way the other "good" companions do. They be saying "The real evil was hiding within our ranks all along" like wym hiding? Durge didn't know either, how tf they supposed to tell you?

Wyll doesn't even blink. Once he knows what you are, his No.1 priority is reassuring YOU about it. The fact you're Bhaalspawn isn't a betrayal; it's a Horrible Burden and he's sorry you have to bear it, but there have been others like you who were good, who overcame, and your blood isn't who you are. His first instinct is to offer hope, to reassure you that there's a way out, he believes so hard that your urges are a defeatable enemy and he's ready to fight them with you.

(I also fall into the Durge And Gortash Fucked camp, and I cannot overstate the tastiness of Durge waltzing into the coronation of their ex, the Worst Man Alive, while bringing along their new boyfriend, the Best Man Alive)

Idk, I've just never engaged in a romance where I played the part of the Beast. As much as people rag on pure, princely archetypes, I don't actually see them that often. I genuinely don't remember the last time I read/saw a male lead behave like Wyll, but I've seen plenty of Astarions, Fenrises, Rhysands, etc. Romance loves a fixable MMC, but so rarely an MMC who wants to do the fixing.

Anyway. Justice for Wyll or whatever. I can only cross my fingers that future DLC will include more romance content, because we all deserve to have a Beauty for our Beast sometimes.

#bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate spoilers #the dark urge #bg3 durge #durge bg3 #wyll ravengard #wyll x durge #bg3 wyll #baldurs gate wyll #durgewyll

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wrongplacerighttime · 4 months

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agent!harry x agent!fmc

part one here ᵕ̈ // little bunny masterlist

the one where grace and harry don’t want to admit their feelings, then another undercover opportunity comes up, this time at a swinger party. harry gets jealous, grace hates him and swears she’ll never speak to him again (but does she really?) // little bunny part 2

ITS FINALLY DONE!!!!!! Im sorry it’s SO LATE ksckskckskc you can be mad it’s okay i understand im terrible.

wc: 6.1k

tw: mentions murder, swinger party (not harry and grace), jealous!harry, angsty vibes, unprotected sex, little bit of fluff at the end

Only You

“No! Absolutely not!” Grace snapped at Harry, stomping her foot like a Kindergartener who didn’t get their way. Harry grins at her display of frustration while crossing his arms over his chest, the sleeves around his biceps tightening. She doesn’t ever want to go undercover again, not after the last time. “You could ask literally anybody else.” She gestured out of the conference room window to their coworkers Gina and Kelly standing around the desk of a police officer, one whose name Grace didn’t remember. They’re discussing details of the most recent case before they go out to the latest crime scene.

“Yeah…but they don’t always fit the profile.” Harry argued back, then his smile grew. “You, however…you always fit the profile, bunny.”

She straightens, her mouth opening to speak before she quickly snaps it closed when she can’t gather her thoughts fast enough to answer. A heat swirls below her belt, one that she can’t blame on the Dallas climate. The weather was brutal, and to top it off, the air conditioning in the station was out. Stand up fans and box fans littered around the station only blew hot air around, not giving them any reprieve. She feels a bead of sweat trickle down her temple, her eyes trail over Harry, flicking to the three buttons of his shirt that were undone and showing just enough of his chest and the light sheen of sweat. She licks her bottom lip before pulling it between her teeth, her mind wandering. He looks like sex, standing there with his hands on his hips and his gun holstered on his belt. She imagines herself striding the short distance over to him and crashing her lips to his before dipping her head down and trailing her tongue over—

“Besides, I was just asking in case we did need to go undercover again, would you?” His voice pulls her from her daydream. She blinks the imagery from her mind, forcing herself back into the mindset she needs for this case.

“No. Final answer. Ask someone else.” She turns on her heel, walking out of the room before she can’t satiate the heat pooling between her thighs.

“Way to be a team player!” He yells from the doorway, causing heads to turn her direction. She doesn’t turn around, instead flipping her middle finger up towards him as she creates more distance between them. She rounds the corner, eyes falling to the floor as she makes her way to the breakroom. She grabs a water from the fridge, leaning against the counter before downing half of it. She breathes a heavy sigh, making a mental note to tell Aaron that she needed some time off after this case.

Grace and Harry haven’t been together since the case in Seattle. The martini’s she had that night forced her into a brief lapse of judgment, as gin usually did. Her clouded mind made her desire for a man who didn’t want her grow into something unfathomable. That night, after they left the room, Jesse made his move on Grace like they expected he would. His partner, the woman whose name they later found out was Margot, had cornered Harry when Grace went to retrieve her coat. Once Harry was distracted, Jesse followed Grace out the door and down the sidewalk, what he didn’t expect was Aaron to be following him as well. She knew Aaron wouldn’t let Jesse get too far, but she was still scared when he grabbed her from behind and dragged her into a dark alley. He put a knife to her throat and whispered in her ear about how she was a disgrace, pathetic and powerless for cheating on her fictional husband. She almost grabbed her gun from her coat pocket, but she wasn’t expecting Harry to be the one pulling her away, holding her to his chest as Aaron grabbed Jesse and put him in cuffs. And even though Grace wanted to be the one to do it, she found in that moment, that she didn’t care. She was just glad they got there before he slit her throat.

She shakes the traumatic memory from her mind, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. Maybe it was just the heat, or maybe it was the fact that this case was almost too similar. Except now their new suspect was targeting young married couples. They don’t have much to go on yet, but they knew they needed to act quickly. Grace turns information over in her head, thinking, trying her hardest to come up with some idea. The first couple found was assumed to be a murder-suicide, until the next couple showed up a week later with the same exact MO. They know he forced them to have sex before he kills them, but he makes them wear a condom. To them, it makes no sense. The couples are married, and why would he make them wear a condom if he was just going to kill them? He’s in control of the entire situation, making them comfortable before shooting them at point-blank range after the husband “finishes”.

She combs through the information over and over, forcing her mind to find any new angle that she can come up with but she fails. She rubs her sweaty palms over her jeans and walks back towards the main area of the station. Gathered around a whiteboard, Harry and Aaron are discussing possible motives with a few officers. Harry mentions their last case, the sex club and asks them if there's anything like that around this area. An idea sparks in Grace’s mind, and she makes her way to them.

“What if it’s a swinger community?” She blurts out and they turn to look at her, Harry raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing we have suggests that.” Harry mutters and her nostrils flare, because of course he would be arguing with her. That’s what he does best.

“Nothing suggests another sex club either, jackass.” She snaps at him, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “How would he get them to even agree to go anywhere with him unless they were already open to the idea of having a third?” Harry’s eyes travel down to the V in her shirt, giving him a view of her chest that’s speckled red from heat before he rakes them over the curve of her hips. His eyes flick back to her face studying the baby hairs stuck to her temple with sweat while she talks. His jaw ticks once and he turns back to the whiteboard.

“I don’t think it’s a stretch to assume that, Styles.” Aaron interjects, and Harry rolls his eyes, capping the marker he was holding and walking away. When no one shares his theories, he gets angry because he can’t piggyback onto them for defense. “I’m going to call Agent Morgan and Agent Jones, tell them to find out whatever they can about the swinger community in this area.” Grace nods, walking towards the door in hopes she can find any reprieve from the stuffy heat inside the station. Once outside, she leans against the building, running a hand over her forehead damp with sweat and swears under her breath. She could already tell it was going to be a long week.

—

By Wednesday, they were fed up. With the case, with the heat, and with each other. It was the hottest day of the week by far. They were shedding any layers they could while still maintaining modesty, but thankfully, the officers were understanding when they walked in to see the women in tanktops and the men with their buttons undone down their chests. They had it worse, and Grace felt sorry for them, always having to have a full uniform and heavy gear strapped to their belts. Grace flicks her gaze up from a file she was reading as Lieutenant Nathan Davis strides through the door of their conference room carrying a file. He smiles at her and she mirrors it back to him, everyone noticing that he’s taken a quick liking to her. Something she’s never been good at identifying.

“Hey, I think I have something here.” He says, laying the file of the most recent murder on the table before pulling over the one from the first. “Both husbands, they’re what one could consider “alphamales”. They go to the gym and work out relentlessly, they have high-power careers. People who knew them said they had kind of overbearing personalities.” He points out highlighted areas and Grace nods. Harry narrows his eyes.

“But they have no specific traits that make them similar. The women however…” He trails off, turning to look at the board with their pictures pinned up, and it was uncanny, the similarities between the two women. Once they noticed, an uneasy ambience settled over the room.

After a few hours, most of the team had checked out and gone to the hotel. The lieutenant was still in the conference room, sat next to Grace and attempting to make small talk while they worked. Harry’s eyes narrowed as he worked on the geographical profile, facing away from them as to not give away his expression.

“So, how's life in D.C? Is it as busy as everyone says it is?” Nathan asks her and she nods, eyebrows pulling together before she relaxes the muscle.

“It’s always busy. But it’s not so bad. I like it there, lots of history in that city. I’m into that sort of thing.” She answers as she highlights part of the coroner's report.

“I’ve been thinking about making a trip there. Maybe when I do we could get together.” He suggests and she grins.

“Oh for sure! I could show you the best museums.” She says, and looks back down at the report in front of her, not picking up on his flirting. Harry rolls his eyes, turning around to grab another push pin. He peeks up from his lashes, catching the way Nathan keeps flicking his eyes down to Graces lips, and the way he scoots his chair closer to her but she scoots away and creates a distance between them. He almost laughs, but covers it up with a cough causing the both of them to glance in his direction. He didn’t look up at them, instead turning to the board and putting the red pin in its rightful place, hiding his smirk from them.

—

Grace and Harry stayed at the station until the night dissipated into morning, the orange sun rising in the sky as the rest of their team made their way into the conference room. They relayed information, dismissing themselves to the hotel to get a few hours of sleep. Grace tried all night to have conversations with Harry but received one word responses or a cold shoulder in general and she was at her wits end by the time they were walking down the block towards the hotel.

They walked in silence, and Grace felt like she was running to keep up with Harry’s long strides, and it wouldn’t take an expert to see that he was tense. His expression was hardened and his fists were shoved deep into his pockets, eyes never straying from the path ahead of them. She swallows, opening her mouth to speak and before she can even get a word out he interrupts her.

“Don’t.” He warned, and her mouth snapped shut, looking down at the ground with a sigh.

“Noted.” she muttered under her breath, acknowledging he wasn’t in the mood to speak to her. She doesn’t know if he’s upset at her or frustrated with the case, but she decides on the latter because she can’t think of any reason why he would be angry at her.

They go their separate ways once they reach their floor, Harry going straight and Grace turning right off the elevator. She fumbles with the keycard, pushing the door open as soon as the light turns green and locking it behind her. She trudges to the bathroom, peeling off her clothes and taking the coldest shower she can stand, washing the sticky feeling sweat had left behind on her skin. Refreshed, she dresses into a more comfortable outfit and slips on a pair of shoes, deciding she was going to walk down the hallway and see if Harry wanted to get something to eat before they inevitably passed out from exhaustion.

She knocks once, and the door swings open. He’s standing there, towel wrapped around his hips with water dripping off the ends of his hair. He huffs, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest, the muscles in his arms popping at the position. She swallows the nervous lump in her throat as he stares at her, his gaze making her almost uncomfortable.

“I-I just wanted to check on you. It just seems like something is bothering you and I just wanted to see if—”

“See if what? If you could fix it?” He interrupts her, and she shakes her head in shock at his tone. “What if you’re what's bothering me? Then what, Grace?” He tilts his head, studying her, and it's almost condescending, the way he’s speaking to her.

“Whatever I did, I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“You think just because we fucked one time I’m going to be nice to you?” He stares at her with a hardened expression and she’s confused. She doesn’t understand the change in his mood, and he’s never spoken to her this way before. He stands there, looking down at her fiddling with her fingers and he almost caves. Almost. He needs to push her away, he doesn’t want her to get comfortable with him. The only way to do that is if he’s callous towards her so she’ll run away from him, then he’ll have his sanity back. Because the truth is terrifying to him, and since the moment he crashed his lips to hers in that club, the only thing he can think about is the way she tasted. They way she squeezed around his cock just right. The way she whimpered into his mouth when he thumbed over her clit. He’s craving her. But, he can’t face the feelings he has for her. He doesn’t want to admit that he was jealous watching Nathan flirt with her at the station…and Grace couldn’t tell he was wearing the mask that he’s become so comfortable behind.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay…and if you wanted to get breakfast since we were at the station all night…” Her voice trails off and she feels small under his patronizing stare, her eyes flicking down to her feet and the floor.

“You should go ask Lieutenant Nathan if he wants to get breakfast with you. The man already has a hard on for you and if you ask him he’ll probably cum in his pants.” He sneers and she snaps her head back up to him, he’s leaning against the doorframe, and she doesn’t know where this is even coming from.

“That’s what this is about?” She becomes defensive now, and she scoffs. “Are you jealous?” She laughs, a laugh laced with sarcasm and he grips his bicep, the muscle dimpling under his skin at the force. “That’s rich coming from you Harry, really. Just because a man is being nice doesn’t mean he’s flirting. And you have no right to be jealous even if he was.” Her breath is heavy with rage in her lungs, and his eyes flare with something she can’t quite pinpoint. She feels her cheeks redden from the anger taking over her conscience.

“You know, I don’t want to tiptoe around your feelings, Grace.” His voice is low, and her hands ball in fists at her sides. “You’re just…pathetic and helpless…like a little bunny.” The words come out before he can stop them, the same words Jesse used against her in that dark alley less than three weeks ago, and she visibly flinches, the fire in her eyes dying out. His flare for a moment longer before it dissipates and the reality of what he actually said hits him. His expression softens, and he reaches for her. She steps back, moving away from him like his touch would burn her. Her gaze hardens again, the heat behind her cheeks simmers.

“Fuck you, Harry.” The words fall from her lips, burning like venom and she storms away from him. Her steps come faster, and then she’s sprinting down the hall far, far away from him. No amount of distance feels like enough. The combination of tears falling down her cheeks and the wind from running cools her burning skin. Rounding the corner, she fumbles with her keycard as she reaches the door, her vision blurring making it hard to see the slot, but once she jams it in she throws the door open and shuts it behind her, leaning against it and sliding to the floor. She sobs, thinking of any reason why his words would affect her like this. He’s always been an asshole, always saying things to get under her skin…but none of them have ever hurt in this way.

Behind his door, Harry is pacing, running his hands through his hair and tugging at the root. He didn’t mean to let his anger take over, speaking for him in a moment like that. It was a terrible form of self-sabotage, the way he always let his emotions get the best of him. He wanted to go to her, apologize (something he never did), but he had a feeling he just fucked up any chance he had with her.

—

Grace had moved to the bed at some point, hugging her knees to her chest before she drifted into sleep. In her dreams, all she saw was the anger behind Jesse’s eyes when he grabbed her, her eyes close as Jesse gets close to her face, his words spitting from behind his lips, and when she opens them, it’s not Jesse holding her against the wall. It’s Harry.

She jolts awake, sitting up in the bed, pressing her fingers into her eyes to force the image of him away. She checks the time on her phone, jumping from the bed and throwing on an outfit that better suits her line of work. She straps her holster on her belt, walking out the door. She makes her way down the street to the station, going inside to find her team gathered in the conference room, minus Harry. She sighs with relief and finds a chair, joining in with conversation as Aaron informs them about new information pertaining to their case.

“We have found out that this man has to be married, there’s no way for him to get into the swinger parties without a partner. We don’t suspect the wife has anything to do with his crimes, or if she even knows he’s committing them.” Aaron pulls a chair out, sliding into it and his eyes move to movement coming through the doorway. Out her peripheral, Grace see’s Harry pull up a chair to the table.

“We want you to go undercover again, Grace.” He clears his throat once, and her eyes meet his. “You’re his type…as uncanny as that sounds.” Just like last time.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” she mutters, picking at her fingernails. Her mind wanders away from the conversation. Her teeth sunk into the skin of her lip, the metallic taste of her own blood meeting her tongue. She tried to stay out of her own mind, but it was hard when the only thing she thought about was if she would be in danger again. She feels Harry’s voice fading in through her thoughts as she forces her attention back to the conversation.

“...and I don’t think it’s a good idea for me and Grace to go undercover together again.” His eyes flick over to her momentarily before he looks back at Aaron.

“Well, I guess it could be—”

“I could do it.” A voice behind them speaks and they all turn to see Lieutenant Nathan standing in the doorway, holding a folder in his hands. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just overheard the conversation. I’m willing to go in there, with Grace.” He looks at Harry once before going back to Aaron, then to Grace. “I’d just need a little bit of a rundown on what to do.” He says to her and she nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She agreed. “I can give you the basics.” Her voice is low and he nods at her, and she stands, following him out the door.

Harry watches her go.

—

She’s nervous, she can’t deny it. Nathan holds her hand in his, fingers laced together as they stand in front of the mahogany door. He rings the doorbell, reminding himself of the backstory they decided on and straightens his posture. Grace fiddles with the earpiece tucked behind her hair, feeling like something is sticking out of place and poking her. She tries to ignore the feeling as she looks up at Nathan, waiting. The door opens and the hostess of the party smiles, making room for them to walk through the door. She introduces herself as Diana, and informs them of the rules for the night. She knows who they are and why they’re here, Aaron giving her a rundown when he called her into the station. She was sworn to secrecy, and more than willing to let them into her house to catch the man who was killing people she had considered friends.

She knew that Aaron and the rest of the team were set up down the road, sitting and waiting in their SUVs for the signal once the suspect was in their car with them and driving down the road to their secondary location. She felt a little bit of comfort knowing that they would arrest him before he even got the chance to hurt them, but she was still terrified after her situation with Jesse and she didn’t want to risk being put into another situation like that.

She felt Nathan's hand squeeze hers, silently reassuring her that he was here and he wouldn’t let anything happen to her…a stark contrast to the touch she received from Harry when they were in their similar situation. She was just thankful that she didn’t have to walk into this party wearing almost nothing. Her eyes flitted over the room of people, looking for anyone who fit their profile. He would be a little jittery, but nothing that would be noticeable to any unassuming person. He’s going to be someone people trust, someone who could easily lure them away. A familiar face in the crowd for the unsuspecting party goers.

Nathan rests his hand on the small of her back, pulling her to his side to show affection like a typical married couple would. He bends over, kissing her temple once and her cheeks heat from the gesture.

“You look really nice, by the way. I didn’t get to say that before we came in here.” He whispers in her ear and she looks up at him, giving him a small smile. She glances around the room once more, trying to put a face to their profile. She breathes in once, seeing a man chatting up a couple before his eyes glance around until they meet hers. A man with short, dark hair. About 5’7” in height. He takes a seat beside them on the couch, introducing himself as Steven Durst. He’s married to a woman named Billie, who’s also around the house somewhere he states. He doesn’t elaborate on much, only telling them he’s the manager of a hedge fund that deals with something outside of Grace’s realm of knowledge. She clocks his mannerisms, noticing the way his leg bounces up and down, and the way he chews on his lip. She notices his attention on her for the entirety of the conversation he’s having with Nathan.

She excuses herself to the bathroom, walking down the hall and slipping behind the safety of the door, locking it behind her.

“Aaron, I think we have our guy. Steven Durst.” She speaks quietly to him and her voice comes through the walkie he has in the cupholder between him and Harry. He relays the message to the police department, and they have a file on this guy in a matter of seconds. He looks over to Harry in the passenger seat, tense and looking out the window into the distance. His brows are furrowed together but he doesn’t say anything to him.

All Harry has heard for the past thirty minutes is Nathan complimenting and flirting with Grace and it’s making him resentful of a man he doesn’t even know. He’s staring at nothing, thinking about how he should be the one in there with her, he shouldn’t have backed down from the job when he was asked.

His thoughts race but he’s pulled from them when he hears the click of the gear shift as Aaron puts the car in drive. They follow the car that Grace is in with their suspect, and he swears he’ll kill this one if he even thinks of touching her. They drive for what feels like forever, keeping their distance a few cars back as they hear Steven Durst through the earpiece saying sinful things, things Harry could never think of and implicating himself. He feels his anger bubbling in his chest at the thought of this disgusting person saying these vile things to Grace. His Grace.

Whatever happens next is a blur to him. They pull into the parking spot beside Nathan’s car and Harry pulls Steven from the back seat before Steven can even get his gun from his waistband. He pulls it out for him, chucking it into the grass and putting the man in handcuffs. He pushes him over to Aaron, who takes hold of the chain between the locks and walks him to a police car. Grace walks away, going to the other car and not the one Harry came in and jumping in the backseat without so much as a glance in his direction. He drops his hands to his sides, defeated before getting back into the passenger seat and sitting in silence as they make their way back to their hotel.

—

Grace is brushing her teeth when she hears a loud banging on her door, and whoever it is sounds impatient as they persistently bang their fist against the metal. She looks at herself once in the mirror before going to look through the peephole. Standing on her tiptoes, she sees Harry standing there, unable to read his expression because his head is tilted towards the floor as he waits for her to open the door. She sighs heavily, debating on whether or not she should open it…but then he bangs his fist again and she’s had it.

“What the fuck do you want?” She sneers as she opens it and he doesn’t acknowledge her, just storms his way into her room right past her. She lets go of the door, allowing it to close as she follows him deeper into the room. She sees him standing with his back towards her. “Hello? You can’t just barge in here like—”

“You’re a real piece of work, Grace.” He laughs, but it's not one of humor. He turns to face her, and his pupils are blown. She knows that look. It’s the same look he gave her in that private room of the club. The one she saw when he was driving his cock into her deeper than anyone else has ever reached. And even though she’s still angry, she can’t help the heat that swirls in her chest and travels straight to her thighs.

“What now, Harry? Please enlighten me.” Her sarcasm has him shaking his head, running his tongue over his bottom row of teeth before he answers.

“Think I liked listening to that fucker flirt with you all night? Trying to win you over with a cheesiness that would make any sane person cringe.” He states and she narrows her eyes at him.

“Aaron asked you if you would—”

“No. You were pissed at me, and that would’ve given us away too quickly.” He interrupts and she rolls her eyes.

“Okay, then you have no reason to be mad when you declined the offer.” She crosses her arms, and his eyes trail over her body. Her shirt that was oversized and dropped just down to her thighs, thighs he wanted wrapped around his waist more than anything else. “For the record, I’m still pissed. Now leave.” She points to the door and he smirks.

“Do you really want me to though?” He slowly closes the distance between them, and she retreats away until her back meets the wall. He cages her head between his arms, head dipping to her line of vision. His lips are so close that she could pucker and they would touch. She keeps them in a thin line, not wanting to give away her guise. He nudges her nose with his. “He’s not me.”

“Maybe that’s what I like about him.” Her words come out breathless, her voice betraying her. Her lips brush his as she speaks and he hums.

“Y’know…ever since Seattle, can’t stop thinking of the little noises you make, the way you squeeze around me when you cum. The feeling of your fingers twisting in my hair…You ruined me for anyone else, bunny.” He mutters and she whimpers, her eyes fluttering closed. He pulls away. “But, call Nathan. Tell him to come fuck you.” He drops his arms, moving towards the door but she grabs his bicep before he can get too far.

“No. Want you.” She assures him and he surges forward, lips crashing into hers as he captures her face in his hands. And it’s blissful, the way his tongue dances with hers. She whimpers again into his mouth as he fists the hair at the nape of her neck. He trails his hands down her body, tapping her hips once and she jumps, he catches her on the back of her thighs as she wraps her legs around his waist. He carries to the bed, the kiss never faltering. She wraps her arms around the back of his neck as he lays her down. He pulls away momentarily as he pushes her shirt up, exposing her body to him and he lets out a groan, his head dropping to her chest as he pulls the shirt over her head. He wants nothing more than to taste her and have her squirming and shaking just from his tongue lapping at her. She watches him admiring her body, knowing he’s just taking her time to make her beg, make her needy like he wanted her to be the first time.

The heat between her thighs grows and he drops to his knees at the edge of the bed, hooking his arms under her thighs and pulling her to the edge of the bed. He drags his lips lightly up the skin of her inner thighs before his hot breath blows over her clit and makes her buck her hips upwards towards him. She whines and he backs away, creating distance.

“Let me take my time, Grace.” His voice is sweet and honeyed, making her breath catch in her throat. She almost argues, but before she can get a word out his tongue drags through her folds and flicks her clit and she lets out a moan so loud her neighbors would think she’s watching porn. He hums with satisfaction as his mouth closes around her and the vibrations send waves of pleasure straight down her spine.

“Taste so sweet, bunny. Never gonna be able to give you up.” He mutters against her and her hands find his hair, grabbing and fisting as she pulls his head back to her. He licks and sucks at her clit, eating her like a man starved and his name falls from her lips between moans over and over, bringing her closer to release. She glances down as his eyes come up to look at her. He smirks and lets his eyes flutter closed, getting lost in her and she doesn’t think she can hold on any longer.

“H-harry. Gonna cum.” She breathes out and her chest heaves as her breaths become labored.

“I know, sweet girl. Let go for me.” His encouraging words mixed with him pushing two fingers into her is all it takes. He pumps his fingers, hooking and curling finding just the right spot, and she tumbles over the ledge, crying his name over and over as he works her through it. He comes back up to her, kissing her and tasting herself on his tongue is the most erotic she’s ever felt.

“Please.” She begs against his lips and he doesn’t waste any time pulling his heavy cock out of his pants and stripping his shirt off his torso. Her nails rake down his chest and he pumps once with his hand before lining up with her entrance, dragging the head of his cock through her arousal. He pushes in slowly, dropping his head to her shoulder as he groans. He stills once he’s fully inside her, allowing her to adjust to him. She grips onto his biceps as he pulls out to the tip and slowly goes back in. He moans against her skin, sinking his teeth into her shoulder and her eyes flutter closed, feeling every ridge and every vein. He brings his forehead to meet hers, lips enveloping hers as he pushes in and pulls out, and she knows he's holding back.

“More. Please.” She whines against his mouth and he fulfills her request, picking up his pace as he sits up, pulling her legs over his shoulders and somehow he hits deeper than he already has. She cries out again, bringing her hand to her mouth to stifle her moans of pleasure. He grabs her wrist, pulling her hand away and shakes his head.

“No. Wanna hear those pretty noises, bunny.” His voice is low and breathy, hips smacking against hers and her eyes flutter closed. He doesn’t relent, keeping his pace and trailing his thumb over her open lips before pressing it against her tongue. She wraps her lips around it, pulling it further into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it. He groans, the image of her on her knees and taking him down her throat on his mind.

“Nobody but me, Grace. Nobody can fuck you like I do.” He says between gritted teeth and she looks up at him with round eyes, his thumb pulling her jaw open and she whines. “You’re mine.” She nods.

“Yours. Only yours.” She says between breaths. His movements begin to falter at her willingness to comply with his words.

“Fuck.” he curses under his breath, letting her legs fall from his shoulder and bending over her as he drives into her. She clenches around him, willing him to come inside her again, craving the feeling it left her with. “Such a good girl.” He mutters against the valley between her breasts. His tongue darts out, licking a stripe up to her neck and pulling her skin between his teeth. His hand comes between their bodies and he presses his thumb against her already sensitive bud. Her hips buck against his hand, and he rubs small circles with light pressure.

“One more, bunny. Need you to give me one more. Know you can.” His movements grow sloppy and her eyes squeeze shut and pleasure sends her brain into a frenzy. The coil snaps and she’s a mess of whining and moaning his name over and over. He follows her as she squeezes around him, his cock twitching as he releases and he holds himself up on wobbly arms.

They lay there for a few minutes, catching their breath and he strokes his thumb over her temple and pushes her hair away from her face. She smiles at him, dazed from the high she’s still coming down from. Their hearts pound in synchrony behind their ribs and he pulls out of her, leaving her feeling empty.

He rolls onto his back beside her, pulling her to his side and holding her for a moment, something he didn’t get to do after the first time, and it was something he thought about every day since then, wanting to shower her with affection afterwards. He nudges her forehead with his nose and he brings his lips to plant a light kiss on the bridge of her nose.

“Only you, Grace.” He says and she smiles. “Only you.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry #styles #fic #harry styles x fmc #harry styles smut #harry fic #harry styles fic #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles x oc #harry styles blurbs #harry edward styles #agent!fmc #agent!harry #little bunny #only you

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matchavellichor · 7 months

Note

Hi, I hope your day is going well when you read this!! I know you said you were currently taking a slight break from writing due to school, and first of all, I'm wishing you the very best of your studies! But I thought I would send a request just in case you do resume writing fics in the future, but feel free to ignore this! This seems a bit plain, but I was wondering if you could write an ominis x fmc where mc is terribly shy and avoidant to no one but ominis due to her feelings for him? Over time, though, Ominis observes her personality when interacting with other people, becoming fond of her but is left conflicted seeing how nervous she is around him, leaving him to wonder if she hates him or not. Since Ominis can’t see MC staring at him or how her cheeks go red around him, we could perhaps have Sebastian take note of this and act like the typical tease-playing wingman to set Ominis and MC up? It’s a pretty fluffy request, but you can lead it down any road you want, whether it turns out suggestively or not.

A/N: hi!!! tysm for the kindness <3 uni is still kind of hectic at the moment unfort, but i LOVED this idea sm so i decided to write a lil something anyway. ty for the request, hope you enjoy!

Great Expectations

Ominis x f!MC - Fluff - 3k words

Summary: Urged on by Sebastian's insistence that the reason for MC's evasiveness is that she harbors a secret crush, Ominis decides to take Sebastian's advice and find this out for himself.

Tags: Miscommunication, Wingman Sebastian, Clueless Ominis, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Banter, First Kiss

"Some light reading?"

Ominis can sense the way she startles, nearly dropping the tall stack of books balanced carefully in her arms.

“Oh, uh…hello, Ominis,” she greets as she rights herself, voice oddly tight. “I hadn’t realized you were here.”

“Always am. The library’s practically my second home at this point,” he smiles warmly, making some attempt at small talk.

There’s an awkward pause before he clears his throat to break the silence. “I uh, I hadn’t realized you were such an avid reader yourself,” he tilts his head, waving his wand over the topmost title in her pile. “Ah, and you have taste! Dickens is brilliant. I’d love to pick your brain sometime about—”

“I apologize, if—you’ll um, if you’ll excuse me,” she suddenly interrupts, eyes trained at her feet, before she’s brushing past him in the tight corridor of shelves and exiting towards one of the more populated corners of the library.

Ominis frowns, brows knitting together in confusion and what’s beginning to morph into genuine offense at this point.

“Was it something I said?” he mutters under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ever since they had become acquaintances, any attempts at amicability on his part had been met with brisk dismissals, curt replies, and her avoiding him like the plague. At first he thought her simply timid, but after observing her behavior with the likes of Sebastian or Garreth or any of her other friends, Ominis had been seriously considering some innate character flaw of his own.

He had thought he had made some progress in their relationship at the last gathering they had frequented, a weekend get-together in the Slytherin common room, but it was quickly becoming apparent that he’d been sorely mistaken.

Was he really so unapproachable? Dreadfully unlikeable? Did she simply have no interest in befriending him?

Ominis tries to pretend his ego isn't bruised by this notion, but fails miserably when his brain wanders to more woeful reasons as to why she would want nothing to do with him. His family’s notoriety and the rumors surrounding his person that are frequently pedaled around the castle undoubtedly have already reached her ears.

Filled with a strange sense of defeat, Ominis abandons any of his original plans of reading in favor of sulking in the common room alone. Less than two steps towards the library exit, however, and he’s bombarded by Sebastian.

“Ominis, you sly dog, don’t think I didn’t see you two warming up in the back shelves,” he grins, poking his friend in the ribs and waggling his brows.

Ominis frowns, swatting at the brunette’s hand. “Warming up is certainly not the term I would use. She despises me.”

“Despises you? Are you blind?”

“...Yes?”

“I refuse to believe you’re that blind,” Sebastian amends, scoffing. “Don’t tell me you really haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed what? The way she can’t bear to spend longer than a minute around me?” Ominis grumbles. “Trust me, I’m well aware.”

“Oh Gods, you’re just as hopeless as she is,” Sebastian groans, deeply pained. “She doesn’t despise you, she’s head over heels, Ominis,” he leans in with an all-too smug tone. “Take it from a man who knows the ladies.”

Ominis turns his head over his shoulder as if in search. “And, pray tell, where is this man?”

He receives an indignant smack on the arm. “I’m serious! Trust me, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes. I mean, why do you think she’s always so nervous around you?”

“She probably thinks I’m going to curse her or something,” Ominis mutters. “My reputation isn’t exactly the nicest, Sebastian. Are you forgetting who my family is?”

Sebastian barks out a laugh. “I’m sorry, Ominis, but anyone who takes even a second out of their day to speak to you will know you’re incapable of harming a lacewing fly. Trust me on this, she likes you.”

Ominis pauses for a moment, considering the possibility that had never before crossed his mind before. An involuntary warmth spreads over his skin, surfacing all kinds of unbidden feelings he doesn’t have much experience in handling. Noticing his contemplative silence, Sebastian peeks at the blonde.

“Oh, Salazar, you’re blushing,” he gasps, no small amount of delight seeping through his tone. “You know, for a while I was half-convinced you were incapable of it. Me and Garreth actually had a bet that were half-vamp—”

Ominis scowls, pushing Sebastian’s fingers away from where they were currently trying to prod at his flushed cheeks. “I am not blushing. Look, this whole notion is ridiculous, even for you, Sebastian. She can barely tolerate me, much less harbor some crush on me.”

“Fine,” Sebastian shrugs, feigning acquiescence. “Then flirt with her. See what happens, and if she truly despises you as you say, then no harm, no foul.”

Ominis sputters. “I will not flirt with her, don’t be absurd.”

“Why not? If you already believe she hates you, what do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? My already maimed ego? You’ve seen her in Defence against the Dark Arts, if we’re being realistic I’m probably in risk of breaking a couple bones as well—”

“Ominis, just try,” Sebastian groans, looking ready to rip his hair out. “If you don’t, I’m marching right back into that library and flirting with her for you.”

Immediately, memories of Sebastian’s past trysts with women and the sheer amount of crudeness in even his most tame chat-up lines come to mind. Ominis panics. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, we both know I would,” Sebastian grins, stopping in his tracks and turning back towards the library doors. “Remember that one boiling cauldron line Garreth taught me? I’ll go up and tell her you begged me to use it for you—”

“Stop, stop, alright,” Ominis grits, fisting a hand in the back of Sebastian’s robes to pull him back. He sighs. “I’ll….I’ll speak to her, alright?”

Sebastian claps a hand over his shoulder, pleased. “That’s the spirit.”

As much as Ominis would have liked to postpone the inevitable as much as possible, fate was not on his side. He had the misfortune of running into her while on his way to the Great Hall for dinner, and with Sebastian by his side, he would have no chance of escape.

After urging his friend on with not so friendly threats, Sebastian made himself scarce, though undoubtedly somewhere within earshot so he could listen to disaster unfold.

“Just the person I was looking for,” he greets with as much warmth as he can manage, though his nerves are broiling a storm in his gut. “Have you gotten in any good reading today?”

Once again, she seems startled by his presence. “You were…looking for me?”

“Well, yes. I was wondering if I might accompany you to dinner?” he smiles. “Would give me a chance to bore you with my fascination with muggle literature.”

“Oh,” her eyes widen, looking almost excited before it’s washed over with anxiety. “I’m sorry, I uh, I wasn’t…going to dinner.”

“Oh,” Ominis frowns, noting how close they were to the Great Hall. “Where were you heading then?”

“The library,” she blurts out and Ominis tilts his head in confusion.

“But the library’s in the opposite direction,” he nods over his shoulder. “And haven’t you just come back from there?”

“I–I have to go,” she says, suddenly swiveling in the other direction and brushing past him. “Apologies.”

Once again, Ominis is left perplexed, and increasingly hurt. The only thing the interaction has done is given him a bigger headache, her behavior irrational in the face of Sebastian’s theory. Ominis finds himself even more convinced she hates his guts.

As if on cue, Sebastian ducks out from behind a tapestry shielding an alcove, an almost pained sort of grimace on his face.

“That was…bad.”

“Understatement of the year,” Ominis groans. “Do you see what I mean? She clearly doesn’t like me, Sebastian. All I’ve done is made a bigger fool of myself.”

“She’s nervous, Ominis. She was blushing the entire interaction. Look, maybe try being more direct? Girls like confidence! Tell her you will spend time with her and that you won’t take no for an answer.”

Ominis blinks at him. “Are you trying to get my bollocks hexed off?”

“While that would be deeply amusing, no,” Sebastian assures. “Look, she’s clearly just too shy to let herself spend time with you, that’s why she runs away. You can’t give her a way out, hell, incarcerous her if you have to.”

Ominis looks genuinely concerned for any women that have had the terrible misfortune of being the objects of Sebastian’s romantic interest. “How you’ve not found yourself in Azkaban yet amazes me.”

“Oh, shush,” he scowls before suddenly snapping his fingers, metaphorical lightbulb lighting up his face. “I’ve got it! Remember how Sharp gave her detention this weekend for sneaking ingredients for Garreth? Just muck something up tomorrow in Potions, and done! She’ll be forced to spend a whole evening with you.”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“It’s brilliant,” Sebastian grins, far too proud of himself. “Everyone knows detention is the best place to snog.”

Ominis chokes. “There will be no snogging—”

“Oh, got bigger plans in mind, have you? Ominis, you dirty little devil—”

The tips of his ears burning bright-red, Ominis pushes through the entrance doors to the Great Hall before Sebastian can get another word in, thanking Merlin she’d foregone dinner tonight.

While sprinkling some erumpent horn powder in Sharp’s cauldron during a practical demonstration was easier than he’d thought, actually having to go to detention the upcoming Saturday evening was not.

Pacing his dorm room anxiously while he counts down the hours until he has to make his way down to the Potions classroom, Ominis can’t help but be besmirched by his own stupidity at how he inevitably let Sebastian talk him into this.

Like the devil, Sebastian pokes his head through the door, not even bothering to knock. He plops himself down on one of the beds, eyeing the blonde with poorly-concealed bewilderment. “What are you so strung up for?”

“Not helping,” he glowers. “What if she runs away again?”

“Relax, would you?” Sebastian rolls his eyes, standing to walk over and muss the blonde’s hair. Ominis scowls and swats at his friend, but Sebastian is nothing if not stubborn, pulling at Ominis’ neatly folded uniform tie until it drapes messily around his neck.

“Perfect,” he grins, standing back to examine his work.

Ominis frowns, attempting with great futility to smooth his hair back into place. “I look like a delinquent.”

“How would you know?” Sebastian raises a brow. “You look great. Girls like a bit of a bad boy, you know. And after your stunt in Sharp’s class you’re certainly starting to build a reputation.”

“You were the one who told me to do it!”

“I told you to get yourself detention, not cause a minor explosion.”

Waving a wand over his wristwatch to check the time, Ominis’ pulse doubles when he realizes he has to be in Sharp’s classroom in a few minutes.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Sebastian is dragging him out the door, blabbering terrible advice as if he’s sending his friend off to a first date and not detention with a grouchy Potions master.

“—And most importantly of all, compliment her, Ominis. I know you’re not very expressive, but for the love of Merlin, tell her she looks nice,” he practically shoves the blonde through the common room door, adding a final, “have fun! Use the contraceptive charm!”

Ominis is promptly left alone in the dimly-lit corridor, a heat involuntarily rising to his cheeks, praying some greater force will strike him down before he has to humiliate himself any further.

The classroom is empty when he finally arrives a few minutes behind schedule, except for where he inevitably finds her scrubbing cauldrons in the back of the room. She tenses when he approaches, but doesn’t startle when he greets her this time. Ominis wonders if he can put it down as progress.

“Sharp asked me to tell you we’re not allowed to use magic,” she nods towards the stack of cauldrons perched on the workspace. “And, um that we’re only to bother him if someone’s bleeding, dying, or dead.”

Ominis nods, pointedly taking the space beside her and dragging one of the soot-covered cauldrons towards him to begin working.

There’s a tension between them that Ominis can’t ignore for the life of him, only the sound of scrubbing to cut through the painstaking silence. After a few unbearable moments, he clears his throat, remembering Sebastian’s advice.

“You look nice tonight,” he attempts, though his voice sounds oddly thick with nerves.

The sound of scrubbing stops. “Sorry?”

“I said you uh, you look very nice,” he attempts with more firmness, though his hands are white-knuckled around the edge of the table to stop himself from bolting from the mortification.

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“What?” he asks perplexed, forgetting momentarily a crucial reason as to why the compliment would seem absurd coming from him. “Oh dear Merlin, no, no that’s not how I meant it all.”

“Very funny, Ominis,” she takes in a sharp breath, dropping the brush with a dull clatter into the cauldron before she crosses her arms and faces him, all timidness suddenly replaced by a glaring frustration in her tone. Ominis isn't sure if it's an improvement, but at least she’s talking to him. “Did Sebastian put you up to this?”

“Sebastian? What? Of course not,” he sputters, desperately trying to amend. “I— Look, I’m—I’m sorry. Can I start over? Please?”

She raises an expectant eyebrow.

“You don’t look nice,” he tries, trying to suppress the wince that washes over his features. His only consolance is that Sebastian isn’t here to witness any of it. “I’m sorry, no—that’s not—I meant, I’m sure you do look nice, not that I would…know, but,” he runs a hand over his face, certain that if she didn't hate him before, she certainly does now. “I meant, you smell very nice. That I can tell, you…you smell very lovely, actually.”

There’s a long pause where she simply stares at him before her frustration inevitably only seems to double. “Is this what you find entertaining?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re taunting me,” she seethes. “You obviously know what I feel for you and now you’re making fun of me for it, aren’t you? You’ve been doing it all week.”

“What? Salazar, no, that’s not it at all—”

“Truly hilarious,” she scoffs, shaking her head. “Very mature. Maybe try being more subtle—”

“That’s not what I’m—”

“You can stop pretending you want to hang out with me all the time now—”

“Will you listen? I’m not—”

“Next time, if you don’t feel the same way, then simply—hmpph!”

Despite the blaring alarm bells that should be going off in Ominis’ head for doing something so painfully impulsive to someone who could hex his entire bloodline in the time it takes her to take out her wand, his mind blanks out into a puddle of warmth as he crashes his lips to hers.

She freezes, mouth unmoving against his in the time it takes awareness to seep into her brain and for her to realize he’s kissing her.

To his relief, when the realization does set in, she kisses him back.

She seems to melt just as much as Ominis, her body instinctively leaning into his, hands going slack at her sides before they instinctively come to hold at his forearms where he’s cradling her face so she can’t pull away.

Ominis pulls him towards her, and then, urged on by some coiling heat inside of him he’s admittedly not too familiar with, he crowds her against the workspace. He nearly topples over several cauldrons in his franticness to deepen the kiss, muttering sheepish apologies through heavy breaths, but he’s far too consumed to feel embarrassed.

His lips on hers are clumsy and impatient, and maybe far too hungry for a first kiss, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Her hands come up to thread through his hair, to drag down his scalp, and Ominis couldn’t stop the groan that leaves him if he had all the composure in the world.

He’s so far gone he doesn’t even care about all the soot they’re getting on each other, too preoccupied with trying to keep his knees from buckling, to press his body even more against hers as if it’s the greatest offense known to history that they’re not physically molded to one another. When he slots a thigh between her legs and she lets out a little noise against his mouth, he thinks he might just collapse.

Ominis skin feels hot to the touch, nerves prickling with want, with the urge to touch and taste and grind until he goes numb. She finally breaks the kiss, panting heavily against his mouth, eyes glazed over with just as much raw need. Though the loss is almost physically painful, Ominis is grateful for small mercies, because he was a few seconds away from tearing through her uniform top.

“You’re…” she swallows, trying to clear the breathlessness from her voice. “Uh, very committed to the bit, I suppose.”

Ominis can’t help the laugh that escapes him.

His shoulders shake, forehead dropping to meet hers, and when he glances back up he smiles, lips still raw and undoubtedly kiss-bruised. She returns his grin, until he can feel her smile against his mouth when he leans down to press his lips to hers again, because he simply can’t help himself.

They barely register the sound of the door to the professor’s office swinging open. Only when he clears his throat do they finally tear apart, and Ominis wonders if it’s possible to drop dead from sheer mortification.

Sharp lets out a long-suffering sigh, as if he’s accustomed to walking in on much, much worse by now and his hardly fazed.

“Just get the cauldrons clean,” he grumbles, grabbing a few texts on one of the adjacent tables. He hobbles back to the door, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. “Bloody teenagers and hormones, don’t get paid enough for this shit…”

He ducks his head out before closing the door, pointing a stern finger in their direction. “And not on my tables.”

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x mc #hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #ominis x you #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis x reader #fluff #hogwarts legacy fanfic

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la-petite-lapin · 4 months

Text

Double the Love | Part Two

Double the Love masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x female civilian!OC Word Count: 2.9k Series warnings (may change between chapters): 18+, Minors DNI, angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of poor mental health, injury description, eventual explicit sexual content, polyamory, M/M/F, FMC is bad at feelings

They finally meet

One year later...

The message comes out of the blue. The first time I've heard from John Price in a whole month, and it's a fucking text message.

I'm watching TV, curled up in a ball on the sofa next to my best friend and flatmate Winslow "Winnie" Sloane, when my phone pings. I think about ignoring it until I catch a glimpse of his name. It's an unspoken rule between the two of us - we never knowingly ignore one another. Obviously, he can't reply to my messages when he's on ops, but that's different - that's not wilful.

I pick it up without hesitation and take a look.

JOHN PRICE: Tali, I need a favour. It's urgent.

My heart drops.

TALIA KELLER: What's happened? JOHN PRICE: Call me. I'll explain.

So, I do. I tap Winnie on the shoulder and rise up to my feet, shuffling off to my bedroom so I don't disturb her episode of Slow Horses. When I'm safely shut behind my bedroom door, I tap on the call button, dreading what's awaiting me on the other end of the line.

"John?" my voice is full of nerves as the call connects, echoing slightly around the room.

"God am I glad to hear your voice, Tali." He sounds haggard, his own voice tired and hollow. It's not hard to tell that he's fresh off an op. I can already imagine how drained he looks; can picture the dark circles shading his eyes and his scruffy too-long beard.

Sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly brave, I try to talk him into leaving the service. I think about Alex and his death, and I hate that John still knowingly puts himself in harm's way day and night. He's the only serving soldier I know now - I never met any of the other members of their unit - and I desperately wish that he'll retire soon.

"How are you?" he follows up, voice puncturing through my thoughts.

"I'm okay. At home with Winnie. How's Marcella?"

A soft sigh leaves him at the mention of his long-suffering wife. I wonder if he's even had a chance to see her yet. "Last we spoke, she was perfectly fine. Misses you though. You need to come over for dinner soon."

An easy laugh leaves me. Winnie and John aren't the only ones who've been supporting me since Alex died. John's wife Marcie has been there every step of the way too, helping me through rough patches whenever John is away on deployments. And Winnie's never been anything but kind and understanding - it's not in her nature to be anything but.

"Soon," I mumble in agreement. There's a sound on the other end of the line in the background, a murmured snippet of conversation and a drawn-out groan followed by a soft shut up. "Not alone?"

"Got some company," John admits. "Speaking of... does Winslow still have that big trip coming up?"

My palms slick with sweat. Yes. Yes, she does.

Ever since her big promotion six months ago, Winnie's job now involves a lot more travelling than it used to. And - because of that - in three days' time, she'll be in France, starting a month-long assignment helping a struggling marketing firm in Paris.

And I'll be alone.

It doesn't bother me as much as it used to, but I've always had this thing about being alone. It's part of the reason why I live with Winnie; why I've been seeing a therapist since I was sixteen; why I struggle to have normalcy. My current therapist thinks that it's a form of abandonment issues from being orphaned at a young age, which has led to my inability to maintain stable relationships. The therapist before that thought it was something completely different; that I seek to form attachments but wilfully don't, self-sabotaging and creating my own permanent sense of loneliness. But, my point is, I don't react anywhere near as badly to it as I did when I was a kid.

I still remember when I was fifteen and Alex left for his first deployment. I was still living with our maternal grandmother at the time, and I completely shut down. I holed up in my room for almost a whole month, refusing to speak and barely eating or sleeping. I could hardly function for worrying about him...

"Tali?"

I snap out of it. "Sorry. Yes."

"Could you... could I possibly bring some of my guys to your apartment? Just while Winslow is away. Our safehouse in the area has been taken out of action and we need somewhere to lay low for a little while."

My guys. The unit.

"What about your place?" My brow furrows. Surely Marcella wouldn't mind a few guests. She's calm and motherly and takes great pride in hosting. I'm sure she'd be in the element with them.

John clears his throat awkwardly. "Not an option. They don't know."

Ah. The brave, almighty Captain John Price still hasn't told his team that he's married. Typical.

I roll my eyes. "Okay. I hope you know that we're coming back to that later." A beat of silence passes. "How many people are we talking, John? Because it's a two-bedroom flat in London. It's spacious but it's hardly the Tardis."

He snorts out a dry laugh. "Only two. One of the lads is local so he's got family around here he can stay with. And there's some stuff I've got to get done, so I'll be hopping from base to base."

"Where are they going to sleep? Are they going to mind sharing a bed? Because the sofa is comfortable, but I know how you army guys are built..."

There's an awkward silence on Price's end as I hear him shifting around. It takes me a second to realise that he's covering his mouth against his phone's microphone. "Yeah... that's, um- that won't be an issue for them."

Oh.

"Okay. Cool. I'll take them."

I wince. Why the fuck did I say cool? Of all the ways that I could respond and I choose that. Way to go, Tali.

"Are you sure that you're okay with this, Tali?" Price asks, his voice soft and encouraging. "If you aren’t, we can find something else-"

"Price, I'll take them in. Winnie leaves on Tuesday morning, so just have them swing by around then, okay?"

Favour asked and questions answered, we say our goodbyes and hang up. It takes me a second to gather my thoughts before padding back into the living room. The moment I step through the hallway, Winslow pauses the TV, angling her head up to look at me. A cloud of black curly hair frames her beautiful face, dark eyes wide and expectant. "Is John back home?"

I wince, getting ready to launch into an explanation. "Not quite."

Tuesday morning rolls around all too soon. By 9 a.m. I'm sitting cross-legged on the foot of Winnie's bed as she packs up her stuff. I can't help but feel a pang of anxiety strike deep in my chest.

"Are you sure that you're gonna be okay?" Winnie asks, almost like she can read my mind.

I meet her dark, knowing gaze and offer her a smile. "Winnie, I'll be fine. You don't need to worry about me. If I need anything, I can call Marcella."

She smiles, running a hand through her freshly braided hair. The pearls attached to some strands clink together softly. "Okay. Good. But you've got to call me once a week at least, okay?" Before I can reassure her that I will, she adds, "And you've got to text me every day."

"Winslow, I will. Stop stressing, please."

A moment of easy silence passes before the laughter starts. Both of us crack up, her eyes finding mine and holding my gaze.

Once we've both calmed down, I take a closer look at her cases. She's packing almost everything she owns. It's a sight that worries me, so I look away, deciding to look out of the window instead.

A loud, firm knock on the front door saves me just as Winnie is packing up her last suitcase. We exchange a look before I'm up on my feet, scrambling to answer it. I can't lie, I'm curious to meet John's friends. But I'm also sad. Because there's a strong possibility that they knew Alex too. That they were with him when he died.

When I open the door, there's two men standing in the hallway, just like John said there would be. The first has short brown hair styled into a mohawk, the sides cropped close to his scalp but the top and back left longer. He's broad-chested, muscular too; built like a grizzly bear. And, even though his complexion has a slightly pallid hue under the overhead lights, it's not hard to imagine that he's usually quite tan.

And then there's his friend. Standing next to the grizzly bear and at least half-a-foot taller than him, he has the expression of a man who wants to break me apart with his bare hands just to see what's inside. I fight to meet his intense gaze, taking catalogue of the features visible under the dark hood of his black sweatshirt. His eyes are hazel - I think - skin tanned from what I'd assume are long hours spent out in the sun, and I can't quite make out his hair colour. He's equally if not more muscular than his friendlier-looking counterpart. My eyes trail down to his mouth, drawn to the scar bisecting his bottom lip. It doesn't draw away from his attractiveness though; just adds to the sense of rugged charm that I'm getting from him.

Not that it should matter. It doesn't. They're here because they need help; not because they want to be ogled by a complete stranger.

"Are you John's friends?" I ask stupidly, as if they could be anyone else.

The grizzly bear nods. "Aye. And you are?"

Scottish. Nice. I've always loved the accent, but his is even better. There's a humour there; something uniquely his. It makes me want to keep him talking just so I can hear it more.

"Tali." I step back so that they can come inside. They hesitate for a second before following me into the living room, the tall, silent one closing the door behind him with a soft click. "Also John's friend."

The grizzly bear plops straight down onto the couch, stretching out with no hesitation and making himself at home. His arms drape over the backrest, a lazy grin forming on his lips as he watches me take a seat on my armchair. The tall one gives him a reprimanding look, hovering beside the window behind him. His light eyes are always alert; darting around the room like something's going to jump out at any second.

"You army?" he asks, expression wary. His voice is all gravel with a Manchester accent.

I offer him a small smile. "Nope." I don't think anyone could mistake me for a soldier. I'm small - short and slender - and skittish at the best of times. "So... what should I call you?"

Hazel eyes narrow at me. "Ghost."

The grizzly bear rolls his eyes dramatically, offering me a wide, disarming grin. It's blatantly obvious that he's overcompensating for him. "Callsign is Soap, but a pretty lass like you can call me Johnny."

My heart flutters.

It takes a second to remember what John had said on the phone. Sharing a bed won't be an issue for them. The awkward, implying tone he'd said it in. In other words, neither of them are meant for me.

Ghost eases away from the window to stand just behind the sofa, drawing closer to Johnny. Johnny, on the other hand, moves so that he's leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees as he cocks his head at me. "A friend of Captain Price, are ye?"

I nod softly. "Yes."

"Funny that," Ghost barks, tilting his head to one side. "He's never mentioned you." Thinly veiled suspicion drifts off of him in waves, and it makes me feel endlessly uncomfortable. His harsh gaze melts through my skin and bones, boring deep into my soul.

I shift in my seat. "He never mentioned either of you to me, so I don't think that counts for much."

Johnny lets out a loud laugh. "I think I'm gonna like ye, Tali. Not many people talk back to 'im."

It's in that moment - as I'm silently praying for the floor to open up and swallow me whole - that Winnie steps out of her room, suitcases in tow. She walks into the living room, depositing them by the front door before coming over to introduce herself, a sceptical look on her face.

She levels Ghost with an icy glare, not looking away from him as she asks me, "Everything all okay here, Tali?"

"Yeah, it's alright Winnie." I gesture to each of John's friends in turn. "Winnie, this is Johnny." He raises his hand and waves, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "And that is Ghost." I point to looming, ominous figure behind him.

"Ghost?" she repeats slowly. I nod. "Okay, well I'm leaving now. Tali, I love you and I'll miss you. Remember to call me." She bends at the waist to hug me, wrapping me up in her warm, vanilla-scented embrace. As she straightens, she glares at each of the men in turn. "And you two - don't give her any shit. If I find out you've made her feel uncomfortable even once, not even John will be able to save you. Got it?"

Johnny stares up at my friend, mystified. His blue eyes are bright as he nods. "Don't worry. We won't be any trouble."

Winnie turns back to face me. "Right, I've got to go or I'll miss my ride to the airport. I'll be back before you even know I'm gone, okay?"

"I know," I say, my voice soft. "I love you. Be safe and text me when you land."

With a nod, Winnie presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head then gets her last few bits together. And then she leaves. Leaving me alone with two complete strangers. Yay.

"So," I grumble, struggling against the urge to shy away from their intense gazes in the safety of my room, "do you want to see where you'll be staying?"

Later that night, the three of us gather in the living room to watch TV.

The guys didn't have much to unpack. They travelled light so I'm going to have to go shopping sometime soon to buy them some essentials; more clothes and toiletries. Definitely food too. If dinner tonight was any indication, they eat a lot.

I'm curled up in my armchair again, watching something that Johnny chose on Netflix. Every once and a while, I glance across at them. Ghost is sitting upright, legs stretched out in front of him. His legs are so long that his feet are tucked under the coffee table. And then there's Johnny. He's laying on his side on the sofa, his head resting on Ghost's muscular thighs. Every now and then, Ghost's hand runs down the length of Johnny's side, stroking him in soothing, rhythmic motions.

Looking at them, I can't help but feel a sense of longing. Jealousy that they're together and obviously quite happy. That they're comfortable enough around one another for these subconscious displays of affection.

I'll never have that. It's something that I've come to accept. I'm twenty-five now and I've never had a serious relationship. I don't even think I want one. For a period of time in my late teens, I thought that I might be aro-ace, but over time I've gathered that I do feel romantic and sexual attraction. It's just different.

The sad truth is that I don't trust anyone enough to believe that they'd stay with me. Love me. Make me feel safe enough for displays of casual affection. There would always be that looming sense of dread that they'd leave me sooner or later.

In my head, I've justified it. If I don't get into relationships, no one can leave me. Alex's death all but solidified that for me.

The rom-com Johnny picked out gets to a comedic scene - a naked beach fight - and he starts to chuckle. I join him and I swear even Ghost lets out a little snort. We're all laughing until...

"Fuck. Johnny, you're bleeding."

My heart crawls up into my throat. My eyes snap across to them, blatantly looking now. The white t-shirt Johnny is wearing is plastered to his side, a red patch seeping through the fabric, spreading across his ribs.

He sits upright, holding it with one large hand. "Ah fuck. Didn't get any on the sofa, did ah'?"

"Fuck the sofa," I splutter out in a panic. "Are you okay? Why are you bleeding? Should I call an ambulance?"

Johnny looks back at me with a quizzical expression while Ghost just sighs, standing up. He walks towards the bedrooms at an unhurried pace, stopping along the way to press a chaste kiss to Johnny's forehead, placing a loving hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, darling, I'll get the bag." Hazel eyes swing towards me, where I'm still panicking in my armchair. "His dressing just needs changing, and I'll check his stitches. He's fine, love."

I ease back into my seat, heat rushing to my cheeks. "Oh."

Ghost leaves the room, heading into my bedroom to get the aforementioned bag. I've decided to give them my room for the duration of their stay because it has an en-suite. It eliminates the risk of me accidentally stumbling in on them in the shared bathroom that doesn't have a working lock. Overall, it's safer for everyone that I'm staying in Winnie's room.

Feeling more than a little foolish for my outburst, I offer Johnny a weak smile. "I'm going to go to bed now. Goodnight, Johnny."

"Ye sure?" he asks, blue eyes tinted with a hint of... something. Maybe disappointment? I don't know. "The movie isn't over yet. You seemed like ye were enjoying it." His brow furrows. "We could watch something else."

"I'm sure. It's fine; I'm just tired. We can watch another movie tomorrow night if you want."

His eyes light up at that. "Yeah, sounds perfect."

I'm back in Winnie's room by the time Ghost leaves mine. I can hear his footsteps padding down the hallway. Hear their muffled conversation and muted laughter.

As I fall asleep, I can't help but feel a different kind of loneliness. And, as I drift off, my heart aches for what Ghost and Johnny have.

a/n: guess who's back! so Tali has finally met the boys :) sorry if this part is a little short, just wanted to get something out in time for christmas for you guys - merry christmas and take care of yourselves, lapetitelapin

#cod #fanfic #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon “ghost” riley x reader #soap x reader #callofduty #cod fanfic #cod x reader #ghost x reader #female reader #romance #angst #poly #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny x reader x simon #double the love

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