#not a agent whiskey person

[ravensmadreads]

Positive Reinforcement

Rating: T? (for me being a Tease) 18+ !

Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x f!reader

Summary: oh god don't make me do this. This is a Tattoo Artist Jack Daniels AU that @fuckyeahdindjarin lovingly coaxed me to write and now here we are.

Warnings: cursing. bad writing? People being idiots? Yearn? Idk fam I'm new to this let me know

A/N: lots of love to @barbiewritesstuff for listening to me panic about this and for reading this and for letting me be a disaster about pedro despite not even being in the pedro fandom ! ily 💙 also this is my first fic AND first time writing fiction AND English isn't my first language AND I know nothing about tattoo artists or tattoos in general so I ask you to forgive the multitude of sins I'm about to commit.

Tagging: @fuckyeahdindjarin (you're the master and this is my humble offering) @barbiewritesstuff (i gotta be a menace) @chronic-ghost (all the italics for you bby) @sherala007 @oscar-wilde-thing @perennialdoll247

P.S the gif isn't related to the fic but damn guys its a gorgeous gif?!!

Oh.

Oh God.

This was a bad idea.

This was a no good, top of the line, terribly stupid idea; and that was saying something coming from someone who'd once pulled a double shift on nothing but 7 cups of espresso and half a chocolate bar.

So maybe your track record for making sensible decisions wasn't stellar, and somebody should've talked you out of getting a tattoo. But it was far too late for that now.

The needle was buzzing away happily; stabbing tiny pinpricks into your skin and your heart was trying to beat itself clean out of your chest. Although, the very handsome man, with the very wonderful biceps, and the inexplicably sexy Stetson, currently leaning over your arm might have something to do with that. Might have several somethings to do with that in fact since he's the entire reason you're in this predicament in the first place. 

****

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels.

Proud owner of the tattoo parlor right across from the quaint little diner you co-owned and worked at. He'd given you a grin and taken your breath clean away with a "thank you darlin', that's mighty sweet of you"  the day you'd welcomed him to the block with a box of cookies. Sufficient to say, you'd been a goner since then.

After four months of long distance pining, smiles exchanged across windows, (you'd dropped a fork the first time he'd grinned at you from across the street but that was nobody's business but your own), the very rare small talk, and borderline bullying from your bestie Ginger, you had summoned the courage to go ask him out. And promptly panicked at his front door.

Because how were you supposed to talk to one of the most perfect specimens of the male species you'd ever seen? When you knew next to nothing about him!?

Except for his coffee order from when he'd walked into the diner one fateful day.

It had been a slow day and you had been lamenting your lack of love life with Ginger when the front door bell had jingled to announce a new customer. 

You'd twirled on your spot in front of the cashier and had been well in the middle of your welcome spiel before glancing up. Jack, in his infamous leather jacket, had been giving you a warm smile and you'd made a strangled squeak, to Gingers great amusement, before closing your eyes and trying to disappear into the Earth.

When that had failed, you'd taken a deep breath, counted to 5, before opening your eyes and regaining the ability to speak. He'd watched the entire thing with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes but graciously hadn't called you out on it. His parting smile and "you have a great day, honey" had been soft and you had caught yourself grinning about that smile, and that stupidly adorable pet name, throughout the entire next week.

Still, one coffee order and gentle smile didn't mean you could walk up to him and ask him out! He could be in a relationship! He could be married! He could turn out to be a total prick hiding behind a charmingly soft Southern accent!

Although, in that case, this little crush would be over and you could tell Ginger to suck it. Your mental spiral into the abyss had been interrupted by the door opening and the man of the hour himself poking his head out; his brows knit in concern. 

"Everythin' okay, sugar?"

The sight of his brown eyes so close to you had thrown you for a loop. You'd gaped at him for half a minute before blurting out the first excuse that came to mind. You vaguely remember convincing him that you were here for a tattoo and rambling about always wanting one and him opening up shop right in front of you, seeming like a sign from the universe. (A sign that you were losing it? Maybe. A sign to get a tattoo. Probably not.)

He had taken your weird behavior as first time jitters and had led you in for a consult. He'd eased you into the shop, a hand on the small of your back, while recounting the story about how a drunk tattoo had earned him his infamous nickname. You'd been giggling too hard to notice that he'd already sat you down on a couch in the back and pulled out a sketchpad.

He had been all soft smiles and twinkling eyes and thoughtful ideas. While you had been a bundle of nervous energy; trying and failing to not stare at his pretty eyes, long fingers and sharp jaw. You're pretty sure he'd caught you checking gaping at his hands several times. But nothing in his demeanor had changed, apart from the appearance of a mischievous little sparkle in his eyes. Which had only made it harder to resist the urge to jump his bones right then.

You ended up agreeing to a small design (that you had totally fallen in love with), and he had given you an appointment for the very next day. Your protests had failed at his insistence and you'd just been able to nod around the lump in your throat when he squeezed your arm in reassurance.

"Trust me darlin', you're in safe hands. I know what I'm doin'.

A furtive glance at said hands and another nod from you had sealed the deal. (Best keep your mouth shut until you were sure that words were going to make it out instead of embarrassing whimpers.) He'd smiled at you as he walked you out with a particularly devious look in his eyes. Like he knew. Like he knew exactly why you were here and insisting on getting a tattoo. And you couldn't decide if that would be the best or worst thing to ever happen to you. 

****

It was too late to do anything but reminisce now. The tattoo is halfway done and you're not one to brag but you'd made it through without too much fuss. A particularly vicious stab has you hitching a deep breath as you try not to flinch and suddenly, Jack's locking those soft eyes with you. 

"You gotta stay still now, sweetheart okay?” he rumbles, his voice low and throaty. 

Oh God.

That voice.

He could tell you to jump in front of a train with that voice and you wouldn't even blink. Your gaze drops to his mouth as his tongue peaks out to dart across those plush lips. You're caught up in the images of that tongue flicking out and tangling with yours. Figuring he'd be sweet at first; gentle and soft, with just the tiniest bit of pressure. Before licking hard and playfully biting your lower lip as he pulls away. Grinning that mischievous half smirk that makes you want to grab fistfuls of his hair and yank-  

He clears his throat and you fall back to Earth. Gulping, your eyes meet his amused stare and you nod cheerfully in response, trying not to be completely transparent. Apparently you fail miserably, because Jack just sends a knowing smirk your way before carrying on.

"That's a good girl."

Oh.

Oh God.

This was such a bad idea.

You were going to explode right in this seat.

The hum of the needle starts again and you try to shift your focus. Your gaze draws, as always, to the man bent over you; his broad fingers encircling your arm and gently holding it in place. His eyes laser focused on the design. Your gaze moves to ogle his broad shoulders and the way the muscles ripple under the leather jacket covering him. He tilts his neck and you trace the skin trying to pinpoint the exact point you'd like to sink your teeth in. Okay enough! Suffice it to say, you definitely wouldn't mind being under him in a different context.

You nearly squirm at the thought of his broad body on top of yours, but catch yourself just in time. Wouldn't be out of character for you to mess up your first tattoo right near the finish line. That would be quite the story. 'O hey, nice tattoo, what's that squiggle at the bottom?' 'Oh. Yea I was just picturing getting cracked like a glow stick by my tattoo artist when he had a needle on my skin.'

You hold back a flinch and wriggle in the seat when Jack raises the needle from your skin to start a different line. Those caramel tinted eyes rise from the half etched pattern on your bicep and fix onto you as he looks over with a raised eyebrow. 

“Behave darlin’,” he coos. “We're nearly there. You’ve been doin’ so well for me. Let’s not get carried away now.” 

Oh. 

Oh fuck.

This was a really bad idea.

You gulp and grit your teeth and nod for him to continue. You're thinking of kittens taking baths, ice cream in the park, that absolutely terrible but totally worth it for the eye candy vampire movie you'd seen last weekend, and how bad your issues with yourself had to be for you to get something permanently etched into your skin than tell a handsome man that you might like him. Mentally shaking your head at yourself, you glance over to see how much of the tattoo was left. Which turned out to be a mistake. 

"Ack!" You cry out.

Fist clenching and arm twitching immediately, as you watch the needle touch a sensitive part of your skin, and you flinch badly. Jack lifts the needle and fixes you with a stern half glare. But there's a twinkle in his eye that has you giving him a sheepish grin. 

"Whoops?"

You pout at him, with a teasing tilt of your head. He chuckles and your eyes flicker to his lips for a beat too long. When you look up, Jack's smirk has turned roguish as he catches you shamelessly checking him out. Again. 

Oh no. 

"Maybe you just need some positive reinforcement sweetheart, hm?"

Before you can even process the statement, he has already shut the needle off.

"Such misbehavin', darlin'."

He tuts at you before leaning down and pressing his lips against the corner of your mouth. He smells like leather. And a soft cologne. Both of which assault your senses; hints of pine mixed with sandalwood and something inexplicably him wraps around you, and it is dangerously delicious. His tongue darts out to have the tiniest taste as his mustache tickles the corner of your lips. Before you can restore the brain power needed to tilt your head, and maybe pull him on top of you by the lapels of his jacket, tattoo be damned, he's already pulling away. 

"Fuck me."

The whimper that leaves you is entirely involuntary.

He grins at your flustered face as the needle starts again. His grip on your arm tightens and you squirm for entirely different reasons as he winks at you.

"Absolutely. But only if you're good and hold still now sugar."

Your jaw drops. There's nothing but static in your brain.

Wait.

Did he just- ?

Oh God.

"Be good for me now honey. 'M almost done. And then we can see about rewardin' good behavior." 

Fuck.

This was the best idea you'd ever had.

.

.

.

.

****

[creedslove]

okay but we need a kinsgman AU story slightly inspired by Megamind in which Whiskey succeeds I'm destroying all the antidotes and all those people die and he becomes a villain for real and he realizes he is unhappy and it wasn't full filling or worthy at all, he just gets depressed and feels lonely and he falls in love with reader, who obviously hates him and he knows she'll never be his

[daddy-dins-girl]

Pedro Boys "Depressed/Gay/Horny on Main"

Dieter Bravo is our depressed bisexual wh*re King and we love him.

related posts: Pedro Boys "During a Fire Emergency" Pedro Boys "Nice Argument. Unfortunately," Pedro Boys "Don't Fuck This Up" Pedro Boys "Dad(dy) Matrix" Pedro Boys & Stabbing Pedro Boys "Lawful/Neutral/Chaotic" Pedro Boys "Feral/Sad/Angelic" Pedro Boys Respond to "I love you." Pedro Boys "Character Tropes" Pedro Boys "Dad/THOT/Bastard" Pedro Boys "bring some Coke to the party" Pedro Boys "Zombie Apocalypse Team" Pedro Boys "I Want a Baby" Pedro Boys "As Babysitters" Pedro Boys "As McDonald's Dads" Pedro Boys "in a horror movie" Pedro Boys "Cinnamon Rolls" Pedro Boys "5 Kids, 3 Chairs" Pedro Boys "Playing Monopoly"

[scribbledghost]

got this idea bouncing around in my head now but i'm not sure if i should make it a full fic like i want to or not bc i'm about 85% sure no one would read it lollll

anyway i kinda wanna explore the... dark underpinnings of Statesman. Like, imagine they find out Whiskey has a significant other. And he's not supposed to, because 1. that's a potential weakness that could be exploited, and 2. they cant guarantee he won't tell them something he shouldn't.

but instead of just. uh. "disposing" of said significant other, Statesman decides to do something else. namely, bring them in, torture them for info, and see if they talk or rat out Whiskey in any way. That way, they can be sure if they're ever in the same situation in the future, they won't squeal on the organization.

bonus points if Whiskey is attached to a chair behind a one-way mirror, knowing he's basically the reason why they're in this mess.

anyway, something something whump and angst and aftermath and how do they even come to terms with the fact that 1. Whiskey is a secret agent and 2. he's kind of the reason they've got mass amounts of trauma now. also how does Whiskey cope with being the reason they're in so much pain

EDIT: this has been written and posted! You can find it here! :)

[shots-of-whiskey-and-wilson]

i wish someone had told agent whiskey that all of his problems could've been solved with therapy

[mando-thirst]

You’re telling me that tonight we get TLOU ep9, Pedro presenting at the Oscars, AND A NEW CHAPTER OF ROUGH DAY???

WTF IS A GIRL TO DO WITH ALL THIS PEDRO CONTENT??

I am FREAKING

[xdaddysprincessxx]

All I want for Christmas is a handsome cowboy to come kidnap me, tie me up and fuck me until I'm crying. That's it. That's all.

[studioghibelli]

been maladaptive day dreamin like a mother fucker lately,

decided to get up and do something with myself. (aka makeup)

xx

[imurasakaw]

is he...is that…is he drinking bourbon...is he toasting his friends with bourbon...

[ravensmadreads]

@fuckyeahdindjarin told me to write a tattoo artist Jack Daniels (and @barbiewritesstuff was an encouraging loving menace like always) and I wrote the bits I wanted to write (it sucks) And then I tried adding some plot (cause she had to end up in the chair you know??? ) and now its entirely too much plot and none of it makes sense (it does in my head but idk about you all) but I'm having entirely too much fun with these idiots (sombody smack sense into me) And it's mostly a disaster (but whatever) Ok. Yeah. So.

Does anyone want a sneak peak?

Also. Somebody stop me.

[creedslove]

BESTIES 🤠

The cowboy is coming tonight, get ready 'cause he needs his sugar as things will get angsty 🐎

[boughkeeperdain]

Pedro pascal <3

[angelvdevil]

i was a fan of pedro pascal before it was a thing and it's solely because of agent whiskey. one thing about me is that i love cowboys

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Fics and gifs: special report

Some of you may know that I’ve been in quarantine for 7 days, and I’m counting down less than 6 hours until I am free 🎉

I don't think I can ever do this again, but while I've been here, I gotta say I've been productive:

Part 7 of Consent is done, edited and queued to be posted in a couple of hours.

2. Wrote Sticky in a jetlag-fuelled craze. Probably the fastest I've ever written anything.

3. Have a pretty solid outline figured out for Palomino and I am EXCITED - should be a three-part story (but it's me - and can you trust me? No.)

4. Made three more Pedro boys gif compilations - especially excited about 2 of them. Might have to add a dedicated section to them on the Masterlist soon.

Question: should I make a taglist for my Pedro boys gif compilations?

[violet-eng]

Drunk!Loid Forger x wife!fem!reader | NSFW 🔞

Summary: Loid comes home very late drunk after going out drinking with Franky. He fucks you drunk.

Warnings: Porn with no plot lol. Smut +18. Oral fem! Masturbation. Inappropriate use of belt. Spanking. P i v. Unprotected sex, mention of pregnancy. MDNI

Wc: idk like 3k?

━─━─────────༺༻────────━─━

For Agent Twilight, there was something pleasurable about playing Loid Forger, the carelessness that the peaceful family man could indulge in from time to time without suffering any major consequences...like the night Franky had invited him out for a drink.

Twilight was a man of strong drinks, the kind that go to your head and detach you from reality by ripping your thoughts and every last drop of consciousness from your brain... he was addicted to those drinks because he could stand them, because they were no challenge for the best spy in Westalis.

However... along with the wonderful, sweet personality that the Loid Forger brings with him, certain misplaced platitudes fall upon Twilight. Twilight was a cold man of steady mettle and pure stoicism, a determination that could not be eclipsed by mundane feelings like... falling in love....

The fusion of his alter ego as Loid Forger with that of his original identity as Twilight had led him to the very night he stumbled back to your house, his hand covering his face in search of relief from the terrible headache.

He doesn't turn on the kitchen light because he knows you're sleeping in their shared room, and he doesn't make any noise when he fills a glass of water because he's afraid of disturbing your sleep.

You, his beautiful and efficient wife, what more could he ask for but a devoted woman like you. Fuck... if only his mission would never end... he wouldn't have to leave you.

"Loid..." you whisper from the living room, peering over the wall. He woke you up... you can't see him in this state, he can't talk in this state. If he confesses anything now, if he gets carried away with his feelings for you, anything would jeopardize the mission...

Come on, Twilight, think fast. He shakes his head as he returns to his role as Loid Forger.

"Y/n, my dear. I'm sorry I woke you," the voice is calm, even though your name falls from his lips in a frenzy of emotions.

"You came back late," you add, emerging from your hiding place and walking towards him, who stops breathing for a moment.

The dim light illuminates your figure, you are wearing only one of his shirts, which covers the skin above your thighs, and a pair of white wool stockings. Your hair is down, and it seems to Twilight that you look perfect in this moment, with these clothes and this warm light.

Damn, she looks so...

"I'm... I'm sorry, I went out for a drink with Franky. I didn't think I'd be back so late," he stammers for a moment. What are you doing to him? What effect do you have on him that he can't control his emotions?

"I see," you smile, "your cheeks are pink, you look lovely"

"No... no, of course not," he turns his face away, lips parted and cheeks burning.

What are you doing, Twilight, regain your composure.

"I missed you," you confess, embracing him from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist and letting them fall to his stomach, filling his breath with your scent, your lemon and honey scent reaching into the deepest recesses of his mind, taking over his consciousness and his last shred of self-control.

I am Twilight... and I am fucked... I want to fuck her tonight like I've wanted to fuck her for months.

You are completely unaware of the man on top of you. He has carried you into the bedroom in one swift, nimble movement, stealthily and carefully. He has laid you down on the mattress and is now attacking your neck with his lips.

Whiskey breath surrounds your mind, your consciousness is clouded and your heart is disturbed by the frenzy of your husband's kisses, causing sensual gasps on your skin. Loid's hands run through your hair, tangling behind your neck to give him more access to your neck and chin, devouring your surface with hunger and desire.

You are completely immobilized by his muscular body, and by the surprise that his behavior has caused you, you feel your heart in your throat, the beats echoing in your ears, only eclipsed by his moaning when he touches the valley of your breasts through your shirt.

"Loid~" you bite your lip and try to push him away with both hands, but it's no use, Loid is so much stronger than you. Has he always been like this?

"You have no idea how you turn me on," he whispers, almost on the verge of madness, his throat is choked and he holds back his tongue that wants to run all over your body.

He sits on top of you, you find relief in being able to breathe normally for a moment as you see him unbutton his shirt, opening it with a jerk to expose his chiseled abdomen. It's not the first time you've looked at him without his clothes on, but you always marvel at the way his muscles stand out against his skin, the way a few scars frame his pecs and abdomen.

You reach out and touch his skin, the line between his chiseled abs, in a reflexive action. Having him so close, like this, awakens a vulgar side in you that only he knows.

"Patience," he whispers, the tone deep and punctuated with a lustful gasp.

He throws the cloth away from the bed and leaves his hands on the belt of his pants. His movements are desperate yet unmistakable, he is quite skilled for being so drunk.

His pants are on the floor next to his shirt and boxers, he holds the belt between his hands and strokes the leather with his fingers, a dark idea floating in his mind.

"Loid..." you get his attention, only to meet a dark stare, bathed in malice.

"I have plans for you, y/n" his smile is evil, but it turns you on, fuck, you've never seen this side of your husband before.

Loid made love to you, when you slept together he was the soft and gentle type who cared more about your satisfaction than his own. He didn't play with you, he didn't tempt you and he didn't make you beg. His gaze was always loving, full of sincere and genuine affection. His kisses were chaste, almost as if you would break if he came any closer, and his thrusts were gentle, so that he could feel you clearly and not hurt you.

And he didn't cum inside you because he knew you weren't ready to be pregnant, because it was enough to take care of Anya, another child would be too much work for both of you... so when you were done, he bathed you and fell asleep next to you, framing your form with a protective hug and sweet, almost poetic words in your ear until you were both asleep. Loid was a sweet and loving husband...

That was Loid, and it was okay... for you... because for Twilight, it was a nightmare.

He hated going slow, he hated not being able to bite your skin or leave marks between your legs, and worst of all, he hated you moaning a name that wasn't even his. That's why tonight, he would completely take over Forger's identity, kill Loid, and do to your body what Twilight had wanted to do since he first saw you.

"Shit," he grunts as he takes his member in his hand and fucks him with his fist, throwing his head back. Just the thought of fucking you that night had turned him on.

You look at him with great surprise, you've never seen Loid masturbate before and you didn't think the first time would be while he was on top of you. The way his ragged breathing lifts his chest, the way his muscles flex as he jerks his arm, and especially the way he moans your name as the red head of his cock drips pre-cum.

Even though you are completely unaware of this behavior, you can't take your eyes off of him. You slip a hand under your clothes, rifling through your panties in search of your clit, throbbing at the image of Loid above you. Your wrist is gripped by Loid's hand, which leans over you with a tight grip and whispers into your ear.

"Not yet. I haven't given you permission," the voice is unrecognizable, Loid has never used such a low tone.

He undoes the buttons of your shirt, pulling the fabric apart as he dips his face between your bare breasts, sliding the fabric under your shoulders as you squirm from the soft bites he leaves around your nipples.

He circles his tongue around the buttons of your breasts as he runs his hands all over you, from your sides to your arms, lifting them above your head. Loid touches you as if he has never touched a woman before.

He takes the belt and holds your wrists above your head, watching you from his position, like a hunter watching his prey. You let yourself be taken in by his bizarre game, maybe it's a fantasy he's wanted to fulfill for a long time and now he has the confidence to do it, you think.

And the reality is that Twilight fucks like this because he knows he's going to fuck you so good that you'll want to push it away with all your might.

He leaves a trail of kisses all over your face, down your chin, your neck, between your breasts and your stomach, around your waist and down to your hips, where he holds the elastic of your panties, fucking soaked with your juices.

He glances at you before tearing the thin fabric, and for a moment you can see the face of an unknown man, his face completely changed by the lust he is releasing at that moment. Leaning back on his elbows, he spreads your legs and rests them on his shoulders, licking his lips as he watches your dripping pussy.

With his fingers he gently caresses your valley and the edge of your hole, his finger grazes your clitoris, eliciting a moan from you.

He looks at you from between your legs, analyzes your face and the surroundings, and you swear his mind is going a mile a minute right now."What are you thinking about?" you ask embarrassed.Loid turns his gaze back to you, the blue of his eyes seeming darker than before.

"I was debating whether to gag you or not, I don't want to wake the kid."

"I won't make any noise... I... I promise," you say hesitantly, because you don't believe your own words.

"I want to hear you hold back," he smiles, the corner of his lip turning to the side.

He dips his face between your legs, his nose brushing your skin, his fingers parting your folds, his tongue moving from the base to the top. You shiver at the passage of his tongue as it begins to wiggle around your clit. It is delicate, gentle, as it always has been... but he seems to enjoy it more than before.

He gasps as he moves his head, his fingers spreading your folds further apart and you feel the warmth of his breath on your entrance. He doesn't tire, he doesn't stop, in fact, with each movement he seems more energetic than before.

He continues to caress your clit with his tongue, sucking on the small nub that makes you arch your back and hold back the moans that want to escape your mouth. You feel Loid's tongue at your entrance and his nose brushing your clit, then a finger slips gently inside you, followed by another.

His fingers are long, calloused, and surprisingly dexterous. He finds your spot almost immediately and you feel like you're seeing stars. His tongue doesn't leave your clit, your button is swollen and he sucks on it passionately while his fingers abuse your sensitive spot inside you.

Your walls close over his fingers, he thrusts in and out, fucking you wonderfully with his digits, while your ecstasy grows in your belly from his skillful tongue.

He lets out a hot gasp against your skin, and the sound of his fingers soaked in your juices floods the room, it seems harder and harder to contain your moans. You bite your lip hard as he makes a soft stroke over your button, his fingers digging deep inside you.

He makes a curious movement, lifting his fingers and seeming to increase his speed, he uses his other hand to mistreat your clit, with his elbows he spreads your legs. You can't close them, you want to, you want him to stop, you feel the burning in your stomach and in your legs. He lowers his face again to the level of your sex, just when it seems he is finished, he continues, his tongue abusing your hole and your clit in perfect synchrony, a hand runs down your belly and catches your breast.

"Loid~" you let out his name in an anxious moan "Ah~ Loid..."

That name, he thinks, his mouth and mind focused on your sex... I am that now, I am Loid Forger, this is my wife, and I will see to it that she can't get out of bed for days.

"Loid," you add, taking his hair between your fingers, your bound wrists making movement difficult.

"Mmh?" he whispers still between your legs, the vibrations of his voice sending electric waves up your spine.

"Since when... you're so good... so good at this," your words are cut off by a dirty moan that slips from between your lips. It hurts, it hurts not to be able to make a sound, it hurts not to be able to scream out how good your husband is eating you right now.

"What do you mean?" he asks, he knows exactly what you mean, but he likes to play with your mind, right now.

His movements are synchronized again and your mind is confused as you feel your orgasm erupt. Loid has never made you come with his tongue alone. And he hasn't lasted this long. It's different, he behaves differently.

You're breathing hard, your mind a whirlwind, and even more so as you watch Loid savor the nectar that has stained his fingers. His tongue dances erotically between his digits, and his gaze is all on you.

"I missed your taste. Much better than whiskey," he says.

You pick up your legs, thinking he is done, and when you go to ask him to untie your hands, you feel him flip your hips. The movement is quick, almost imperceptible, your face is glued to the sheet, and when you go to protest the sudden change of position, you feel him sink deep inside you.

"Loid!" the cry you let out is unmistakable. It hurt, but it also felt so good. He pushes your walls apart with his cock, molding your insides for him. He leaves a resounding slap on your butcheek and you hear him laughing behind you.

"Just what I wanted to hear," he says.

He pulls back, letting the head tease your entrance, your sodden pussy contracting to nothing, and he slips back in, whole, as far as your cervix will allow. You feel the crash of his hips against your ass and his balls slapping against your skin. His hands are anchored to your hips, leaving occasional slaps on your now pink skin. He's ramming you like an animal, the pace is fast and the force is enormous.

You tremble, your face sunk into the mattress, your forehead rubbing against the sheet from your husband's movements, your elbows in front of your head and your hands raised as if in prayer.

"Loid~ please...more...slower," you moan, almost sobbing.

Each thrust is accompanied by moans from both of you, his moans dark in comparison to yours, and in the background the grinding of the bed and the banging of the headboard against the wall. He moves like he's never moved before, fucks you like he's never fucked you before.

His fingers slide under your belly, touching your clit, you let out another scream at the overstimulation, and begin to move your hips in time to his fingers. Your breasts are massaged by his other hand, fully attended.

"Loid, Loid I..." you don't know what to say, the sentences you blurt out are meaningless, pleasure clouds your mind and all you hear is Loid's low growl behind you.

"You have no idea," he whispers in your ear and leans over you. You feel his chest against your back, your pussy shuddering at the change in position and the sudden cessation of his assault. "You have no idea how many times I've wanted to fuck you like this."

He spreads your lips with his fingers and your tongue tastes your own taste and a hint of the whiskey he'd had a few hours ago.

"m gonna fuck you until that little pussy of yours breaks, did you hear me?" he demanded grabbing a fistful of your hair and lifting your head.

"Yes... yes I heard you" you blurted out between moans. You couldn't say no, you didn't want to.

He continues his onslaught, more violent than the previous ones, expanding your walls, opening you wide for him, throwing your head back in an avid attempt to enjoy every nook and cranny of your loins. It feels as if it's going to pierce you at any moment, hammering against your spot abruptly, relentlessly.

You turn your head to look at him in the mirror, head back, eyes closed and lips parted, letting out low moans. His arms, muscles tense as his hands hold your hips, holding you in place. His hips move deftly, forcefully, he knows how to align himself perfectly before entering you again.

And you, your back is arched perfectly, your ass vibrates with each thrust and your breasts jiggle in frenzy from the onslaught of his cock. Your cheeks are pink, your lips swollen, your forehead sweaty.

"So good" you hear Loid, who leaves his hand on the back of your neck, returning to your starting position.

You reach your second orgasm without even recovering from the first, and Loid cums inside you soon after.

"I like that you have stamina," he says, turning your body around without coming out of you, his movements continuing, resuming the frantic rhythm of a few seconds ago.

You don't have stamina, fuck no, of course not. But there's not much you can do when your hands are tied and held down by a burly man taller than you. You tell him you can't take it anymore, you feel like you're going to pass out, but fuck, how good it feels when he caresses your waist while he fucks you in that position.

He hides his face in your neck, strokes your hair, frames your cheek with his hand. Untie your hands without looking, and you finally feel free enough to anchor yourself to his back, marking his skin with your nails and playing with his hair.

Loid's favorite position is missionary, because he can smell you as he penetrates you, because he has access to you in every possible way, because he intertwines his hands with yours above your head and whispers that he loves you, over and over and over again.

"Say my name," he whispers, his voice drowned out by your shoulder, "say my name, please.

"Loid," you whisper again and again as you wrap your legs around his waist and your hands find comfort in his.

He kisses you, kisses you as if he had never kissed you before, as if with one kiss he could suck your soul and keep you in his chest forever. With this kiss, he tears away all your doubts and strengthens the promise of a life together with you.

He will not leave you, he tells you fervently, he swears on his life that he will never leave you, that he will put a child in you and that he will not leave this family.

"I hope you will accept me as I am," he whispers.

"Oh, Loid," you smile as you cling to him in an embrace, your legs feeling your third orgasm approaching,

"Loid~ I love you...".

There are no words to describe this night, it has drained you of all your energy, you feel almost sick, weak and completely out of control.Loid hugs you to his chest and covers you with the sheets, leaving a kiss on your forehead and whispers how well you took it.

"Loid..." you whisper.

"Yes?"

"You don't have to ask me to accept you...I love you in every possible way. If this is your way of telling me that I need to get to know you better, I am ready to do so. If I discover another phase of you, as I did today, I will be more than happy to do so," you look at him smiling, "I have noticed that you have many faces that I don't know, Loid Forger.

Loid Forger, he thinks, the man of a thousand faces... doesn't sound bad.

He knows he'll have to tell you about his mission someday, but now is not the time, not after he's shed his facade and shown you an authentic side of himself. Even though he knows you'll understand, he doesn't want to risk everything, at least not yet... later, when you know Twilight better, he can tell you everything... and stay with you. ....

[harrysonlylover]

Discipline

Summary: Agent Harry cherishes discipline, but he doesn’t like the fact that Y/n has been lacking it.

Trope: Agent Harry

WC: 6.8k

Warnings: MEAN Harry, shouting at Y/n, Angst, mention of blood tests and deficiencies, NO SMUT.

Agent Harry Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Choosing to become an agent would either be the worst decision in your life or the best. In Harry’s case, it was the latter.

He was born a leader—at least according to his mother. He had the household controlled from a young age, something that was perceived as adorable by adults.

But behind all his antics and “boss orders”, was a man eager to assert dominance starting from his early years.

His behavior was a replica of a leader or a man in power. His mother didn’t oppose his personality, perhaps a part of her thought it was just a phase, while the other was okay with it.

Little did she know that this stubborn young man would grow up to become one of London’s best secret agents.

As some would say—he didn’t choose the path, the path chose him. A fresh High School graduate eager to take a bite from what the world was offering him with little to no guidance.

Instead, he poured all of his focus on training like a man ready to enroll in the military—something that his mom disapproved of.

How could she allow her son, her boy to sign himself up like that?

Underneath his rough exterior and judgmental persona, his mother’s beliefs were dear to him. To this day, no one has deemed himself as important as her, and perhaps no one ever will.

So, after her sudden death when he was merely twenty—he allowed himself to get lost in grief, to go against the orders he created, and betray his strictness. His body dragged him around from one place to another, asking for fights, a punch here and there to transfer his emotional maim to a physical one.

The last time he would do that was also his first chance at a new beginning. Drunk and out of his mind at a local bar, the whiskey still fresh on his tongue with rage bubbling in his core.

Just like every previous time, he ensued a fight for no reason. But this time, it was different because he had an admirer and more of a stalker.

Ezra Nakrosa, the director of the London Intelligence Agency. A man whose reputation preceded him and Harry’s mentor for the upcoming years.

He wasn’t actively pursuing him, but he kept his eyes on him after he managed to take down three men with alcohol in his system.

He watched him drink one glass after the other and scoffed to himself when he caused a fight. The last thing he expected was for Harry to outpower them all.

Since then, he watched him from afar, studied his file, and was even more interested upon finding out that he had no family.

The agency always preferred recruiting agents with little to no loved ones, for many obvious reasons and Ezra felt like he hit the jackpot.

That night, he watched Harry intently observing his moves and his body language, before approaching him after the bar owner kicked him out.

Again—he didn’t choose this path, it chose him.

Ezra didn’t even have the chance to speak because Harry was quick to confess that ‘he wasn’t dumb to not notice men stalking him’.

His agents were the best, so how did a man from a small town detect undercover agents?

He knew in that moment that he would work hard to recruit Harry, and ironically he didn’t have to ask twice.

From that day onwards, Harry climbed the ladder to the top with the help of his mentor. He found a purpose to live again, somewhere to cage his rage, and use his strategic thinking skills paired with his physical strength.

While most agents took time to adapt to the new environment, and around two years to be qualified as a field agent—Harry got his first mission in one year.

Not because Ezra secretly favored him compared to others, but because he managed to prove himself worthy, making the board demand his transfer to the field.

He was aware of the progress he made and with every milestone, his ego inflated a bit (and his biceps too).

He turned thirty-one recently, marking eleven years of being a skilled agent. Ezra’s retirement is approaching by the second and everyone is whispering rumors about Harry becoming the next chief director.

It’s a decision that hasn’t been discussed yet, but Ezra is aware that Harry will approve instantly because no one can do it like him. Besides, the agency is his entire life.

He has no loved ones and he dedicated years and hard work to the agency. He knows nothing else.

What could make Harry Styles so busy other than his position as a secret agent?

The agency is preparing for a major attack on a drug cartel, and Harry has been training everyone ruthlessly. The plan he devised was strategic and well-planned from A to Z. It can’t go wrong.

But for today, he allowed them some rest after some bargaining with the other trainer. So instead, he directed his focus towards other agents.

According to him, time can’t be wasted.

The room was filled with agents in every corner. Most of them were beginners while the others trained for their upcoming missions that weren’t as important as the drug cartel attack.

The smell of sweat and tiredness reeked from their exhausted but energetic bodies. Harry focused on strengthening their stamina because a weak one won’t benefit them in the field.

“Faster! A child can do better than you.” His voice echoed in the tight space as he stood in front of the lined agents on the ground.

Even his position whether he was sitting or standing declared his authority and sense of power. His arms were folded against his chest, showcasing his pumped biceps and his facial expression did not harbor any warm smile or softness. No one dared to look him in the eyes anyway.

“With a stamina like that, you’d be dead already!” His loud shouting wasn’t helping the poor beginner agents who cursed their luck that landed Harry as their trainer for the day.

Their current exercise was pushups. A basic one but effective in Harry’s opinion, but their exhaustion makes sense when he wants them to do 200 consecutive pushups without resting, and with sudden planks in between that don’t stop until he says so.

Harry may be a bit biased, but he fully believes that the other trainer (whom he doesn’t like) is being too soft with the newcomers. Something that shouldn’t happen.

He glanced at their worn-out faces and rolled his eyes before dismissing them.

“I’ll be discussing your weaknesses with Agent Ian. Go eat and rest but know that you shouldn’t be called agents for this shitshow.” He spat his criticism mercilessly uncaring for their feelings.

He watched them stumble out of the room, some of them limping as he remained in his place with the same posture of a leader.

Once everyone was out, his gaze drifted to the punching bag in the corner. He felt like it was calling for him despite the four-hour workout he did in the morning.

His thirst for combat or any type of martial arts could not be tamed. But upon gazing a bit too much at the punching bag, he remembered something he was supposed to do.

His legs immediately take action before his brain as he flees out of the room heading towards a private floor that is restricted for regular agents.

Only Harry, Ezra, high-ranking agents, and members of the board can access this floor. But for an unknown reason, Harry found himself giving Y/n access to his private gym.

There are many layers to things that shouldn’t happen but it seemed as if Harry didn’t care or was perhaps unaware of his actions.

Agents like Y/n shouldn’t be on this floor, but they also can’t be trained privately.

The first restriction is more important, but the second is rather for caution—to maintain a professional relationship between regular agents and higher rank ones.

All agents were trained in groups and if they needed to work on certain issues, their trainer would give them advice but not train them individually.

Harry doesn’t always train Y/n’s group but as of late, he noticed her lack of discipline and physical stamina when it comes to combat.

He knew that she wasn’t that weak which meant that she had been slacking off with training and that pissed him off.

So he ordered her to wait for him in room 309 at exactly two in the afternoon. His boots left an echo as he walked through the corridor with a confident stride. Yet, something kept poking at his brain allowing anxiety to settle in his stomach. He wasn’t entirely comfortable.

He pushed the door to the gym open, reaching his hand for the light switch. It was somewhat dim, obscuring Y/n from his view. She sat on the ground in a corner with her head tilted upwards. In the few seconds between moving her head and meeting his sharp eyes, he got to catch a glimpse of her in a calm state, almost unobserved. Even then, she looked obscenely beautiful.

“You’re late.” She gestured to the clock on the wall in a sarcastic tone that indicated his five-minute delay.

“No. You’re early.” He tried to hide his smirk before failing upon seeing the frown on her face.

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and supported her body using her hands to get up—something that caught Harry’s eye.

“You’re an agent. You shouldn’t act like a 70-year-old woman at a retirement home.” His tone could cut a vein open, but at this point, she kind of got familiar with it.

She avoided responding or looking him in the eye because one answer would drag the other and he would end up questioning her on her performance—and frankly, she doesn’t have a proper response for that.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t take it any further and instructs her to warm up for fifteen minutes in a corner.

She does so with exhaustion traveling through her veins. The only thing that helps her through it is the sight of his athletic body.

His shirt is still on but it perfectly outlines his biceps that he wraps around her body to manhandle her during sex—

She quickly shakes her head to rid herself of the sinful thoughts she’s having. But again—would it be so bad to crave something that happens every other day?

Their steamy encounters keep increasing behind closed doors, and he puts on his boss’s facade once they’re out. She’s not sure if she likes that or not, but either way, she doesn’t have a say in it.

Their relationship is strictly physical.

Even if her lips begged her to find his at random moments throughout the day, even if their naked bodies molded after sex, and even if she was awake when he kissed her temple.

“Okay, that’s it.” The expression on his face held ambiguous cues, but he refrained from saying anything.

She caught her breath as shame creeped up her face planting a rosy color on her cheeks. She walked over to him with her head hung low, and nails digging into her palm.

“I need you to do some boxing because your game is getting weak.” He sighed as disappointment reeked from his words, causing more redness to settle on her face.

He helped her wear the boxing gloves as he intently glanced at her worried expression.

The first ten minutes were okay. Some form of another warm-up in Harry’s opinion. He has seen her train many times before and by now she would have the bag swinging left and right.

It made him think back to her friendly match with another agent and how she got a hit to the stomach—if he hadn’t stopped it, other areas would have been affected as well.

Not to mention her stamina in recent training—Harry simply could not let her lose her strength out of everyone else.

“Focus harder.” His posture was a warning—an indication of his bubbling anger. His arms were crossed, giving more room for his biceps to rightfully appear.

His legs were parted as he stood motionless, simply burning Y/n’s shame with his piercing gaze. She could feel it. How he had something going on in his mind, aching to roll off his lips.

His jaw ticked while his eyes followed the movement of her hands in sync with the boxing bag. It was a disaster.

“You know who gives this fucking performance? A beginner.” His tone began to increase gradually.

She swallowed down her throat, trying to ignore his intimidating posture and body that could be warm at times and cold at others.

It wasn’t odd for him to be harsh and strict during training—except that he never spoke to her like this. Not even when she was snarky and replied at things that had nothing to do with her.

Superior agents were not allowed to train any lower-ranking agent privately, and she wasn’t an idiot to dismiss that rule. But why was he acting this way?

She punched harder gathering all the strength left in her muscles, for the bag to only move a bit farther. She almost lost her footing but kept going for him. She never wanted to disappoint him.

“A fucking shitshow.” He mumbled quietly under his breath—but she heard it, and it went straight through her heart like an arrow.

“For the love of god, you’re a skilled agent so act like one!” His shouting echoed through the room making her stop and glance at him.

He was visibly furious with a vein bulging from his neck. His hand was trembling and his breaths were laboured. She hasn’t seen him in such a state before, and she regrets that she just did.

No one wanted to be on the receiving end of his anger but especially not her.

Besides, underneath all the tough facade that she puts on and her bold replies, she’s very sensitive and completely vulnerable when it comes to him.

Getting shouted at and taking orders from superiors was just another day for agents, but Harry? She was fucking falling for him.

She sighed, gathering her pride before continuing to punch the bag, ignoring the signs her body was giving her to stop.

He observed her for a minute or two, with his eyes darting between her hands and the sway of the bag. He slid down to her legs, and how they were positioned and stationed.

He took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and shook his head in frustration. Did everything she learn evaporate in thin air?

“If you were in the field right now, you’d be fucking dead.” He began walking around her, throwing one sharp comment after the other.

“Are your legs paralyzed? Are you supposed to stand like that when fighting?! His shouting kept getting louder, pushing at her tear duct to open.

He suddenly punched the bag with his bare hand causing it to swing way farther, almost hitting the mirror facing them.

“Is it that hard, Y/n?” He gestured to the swinging bag.

“Where is your strength!” He was fucking fuming.

What would he do if she went on a mission with such weakness? What would happen to her if he wasn’t there?

He was too occupied with his fears to notice her frantically taking the gloves off with tears streaming down her extremely rosy cheeks.

“Y/n…” He tried to speak but her sobbing was louder than his words.

It was just another training. He has been way harsher before but this was his first time seeing her cry because of him. It was more painful than a bullet.

“J-just stop!” Her words were barely coherent with how hard she was crying. He stood in front of her unable to do or say anything.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was never supposed to cry because of him and he shouldn’t have raised his voice this way.

The boxing gloves hit the ground as she hiccuped from sobbing. She picked up her bag from the ground and turned around to face him with red eyes and a broken expression.

“Leave me alone.” The loud thud of the door closing made him flinch. He still hasn’t moved an inch trying to grasp what he had done.

Being mean and strict was all he ever knew. He never toned it down for anyone and it didn’t reflect how he felt towards them. When it came to Y/n, it was more out of protection and fear of something happening to her. He wanted her to defend herself properly and be a skilled agent. He didn’t understand why she was slacking with training like that, missing some sessions, or letting other agents beat her.

She was an amazing agent and managed to reach the top ranks in a short period, just like him.

He lost himself while training her, but he shouldn’t have assumed that she could take all of that as a motivation. There’s no such thing as being gentle in the agency, and Y/n is one tough woman. Still, he didn’t speak to her like that before. If anything, she was the only agent he praised in his ten years of service.

Did that have to do with their secret meet-ups?

Whatever the reason, he fucked up. If someone made her cry, he wouldn’t let them see the light of the day again, and no he doesn’t know why he feels the need to protect her from everything or why he isn’t running after her this instant.

He’s a pretty shit communicator—that’s the only thing he knows.

“Harry.” Ezra snapped him out of his thoughts. He was standing in the doorway with a worried expression.

“In my office. Now.”

Harry was all too familiar with this office. He has been here a million times for the good and bad. The leather sofa he’s resting on is somewhat his signature sofa, no one else uses it but him.

His legs are spread and his left knee is bouncing as his fingers tap repeatedly on the edge of the sofa. His expression is serious as always and holds no room for bargaining. If you get close enough, you’d hear his blood boiling in his veins and the echo of Y/n’s cries repeating in his head.

“Harry.” Ezra cleared his throat, letting out an exhale before clasping his hands together.

He didn’t need to wait for Harry to turn around and acknowledge him, he had his body language memorized by heart. He instantly caught on and noticed his agitation and stress—something that he doesn’t exhibit regularly.

“I will not question you as to why an agent like Y/n had access to this restricted floor.” Ezra trusted her but if it were a different agent, he could not let it slide easily.

“What I will ask is—why did she run from here crying?” He wasn’t born yesterday. Harry’s bias toward her and his extra attention was easy to catch, especially when he had known him for a long period.

His question was met with silence and the tightening of Harry’s jaw. He kept observing him shamelessly wondering when was the last time he showed such distress over another human being.

“At least tell me why you were training her privately. You have never done that nor should you, but what’s so simple—“

“She’s getting weaker!” Harry slammed his hand on the mahogany desk, catching Ezra off guard and spilling some of his coffee.

“Low stamina and endurance, weak punches, wrong posture, and allowing others to win in matches.” His nostrils flared while his hand trembled from the pent-up anger. The tick of his jaw was unsettling and his brows furrowed with great agitation.

Ezra remained calm partly because he was familiar with Harry’s outbursts, but also because he was shocked by his response.

It would be hard to recall a decade of knowing someone, but if he’s not mistaken, Ezra has never witnessed Harry giving two fucks about someone other than his late mother, let alone an agent.

But damn it if it didn’t make sense.

“So what? Many agents slack sometimes.”

“Well, she’s not any agent. She’s smart, strong, and a skilled agent. Have you thought about what would happen to her in the field?!” His body language was less tense, but his defense grew stronger giving Ezra the final piece of the puzzle.

As the chief director of the agency, he’s slightly disappointed by Harry’s lack of professionalism, but as his mentor and nonbiological father figure, he’s happy for him.

He’s on the road to finding love and caring for someone else is a promising step to de-freeze his cold heart.

Ezra didn’t convey any form of emotion and sported a poker face. Harry looked as if he was still gathering evidence in his mind while simultaneously waiting for Ezra to say something.

“A while ago, Y/n asked for my help.” Harry’s expression changed completely.

“Wha—“

“Patience Son.” He warned, gesturing for him to relax a bit—which he did reluctantly.

“She wasn’t feeling well and told me that she wanted to get some tests done.” The words rolled off his lips smoothly as if he wasn’t casually telling him that something was wrong with her. If it weren’t for Ezra, Harry would be halfway through the door right now.

“The only obstacle was you.”

“Me?” Harry’s voice was rather timid this time—another surprise for Ezra.

“Yes. If she asked for the agency’s doctor to perform them, then you would have known one way or another. The reason she avoided telling you remained unknown to me—but I did help her to get them done.” Harry’s mouth went dry and he felt his vision getting blurry.

Y/n was not feeling fine, and he thought she was slacking.

He was frozen in his place, stuck to the sofa trying to comprehend what his mentor just said. His chest tightened and his heartbeats increased gradually.

“I—“

“The tests came back and the doctor I contacted said that it’s mild anemia. Nothing too scary, it’s treatable.” Ezra stopped right there after noticing the change of color on Harry’s face. He looked like he was about to faint.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He immediately passed him a water bottle and watched him take a few sips with furrowed brows.

What is up with this boy, Ezra thought.

“Do you need food—“

“She doesn’t have a history of anemia, where the fuck did it come from?” He returned to his normal angry self by posing more questions.

“The doctor said that mild anemia can develop suddenly—due to lifestyle practices of course but Harry it’s manageable.“ He could no longer tell his body language. Was he angry? sad? overwhelmed?

Harry stared at the wall, avoiding eye contact but continued his knee bouncing. He unconsciously began cracking his knuckles as Ezra’s presence was erased from his mind.

Only Y/n occupied his thoughts.

His little minx.

She was sick, refused to inform him and all he did was make it worse. His nails dug into the leather sofa, almost tearing off a piece with how hard he pressed.

He was a fucking idiot for not noticing her cues. What kind of sick bastard was he?

“Harry!” Ezra stood in front of him, snapping his fingers to coax him back from his dissociation.

He had a file in his hand that he threw in Harry’s lap. “These are her tests. Take them and fix what you have done son. I know that you hate apologizing—but sometimes it’s what you should do with certain people like Y/n.”

Harry was up on his feet in seconds heading towards the door with the file in his hand.

“And Harry?”

He waited for him to turn around before continuing.

“I know nothing about this.” A hint of a smile was painted across his face with some mischief.

Y/n was curled up on her couch under her fuzzy blanket with a half-eaten chocolate bar next to her. Her tears barely dried before another wave came through upon remembering what unfolded a few hours ago.

She glanced to the other side of the room where her beloved (and only) companion was staring.

“He’s a meanie TimTim.” She wiped her tears using her sleeves as her sniffling increased.

Unfortunately, her companion cannot comfort her verbally. TimTim is a penguin plushie that has been with her through everything. The nature of her job prevented her from adopting a pet—something that she wanted so badly. Her constant absence did not make her qualified to look after a small creature, but TimTim sufficed.

“…but he has a good dick… and a good heart sometimes.” She rolled her eyes at her stupidness. No matter how badly someone hurt her, she’d always find an excuse to justify their actions.

Her recent argument with Harry had many layers to it. To begin with, he wasn’t exactly a love-dovie type of person. His attitude toward her was slightly less bitchy compared to other agents—but she also drove him nuts by throwing back sassy replies and remarks.

He was the most stubborn and cold-blooded man she had ever met, not because he liked to do it for fun or out of sadist tendencies—it was just his character.

Discipline, Respect, Loyalty. Those were his most sacred traits. Most agents nowadays were weak according to him, so he found himself resorting to tougher training and a harsher approach.

Her eyes didn’t swell with tears because of his sharp words and anger. Frankly, she knew how he could turn into someone else during training, and rightfully so.

But validation from him mattered. If she placed her biased feelings aside, she would find that he was her favorite superior. He’s a talented agent with the right principles and morals. She looked up to him.

She never wanted to disappoint him, but she managed to.

The more she thought about it, the more tears flowed out of her tear duct. The fury and frustration that he expressed pained her, it was so different from his usual smirks that were followed by praises.

When she could no longer handle his disappointment, she broke down revealing all the ache that she had been carrying.

Letting him down was never on her agenda, but neither was getting sick. She began noticing her decrease in performance a while ago, along with fainting twice. She dismissed it thinking that she just needed more sleep or perhaps more days off.

But when the symptoms persisted, she knew something was off. Telling Harry was not an option, mostly because she didn’t know how he would react but it also felt like something that must be kept a secret from him, so she resorted to Ezra.

He hasn’t replied but she spotted him from her peripheral vision upon leaving earlier today, and her emotions were all over the place to give two fucks, which explains why she came to her apartment.

Usually field agents like her sleep at the agency and dedicate their time to the secret service. She was one among many who became orphans at a young age, and this made it easier for the agency to make them stay there instead of in apartments.

No loved ones always meant a safer life for people like them.

Still, Y/n liked the idea of having a designated space for her. If she was destined to be lonely, she might as well learn to enjoy it.

So despite not being allowed to leave without prior notice, she immediately found herself in her cozy flat munching on chocolate and ranting to TimTim as she hiccuped and sniffled repeatedly.

What confused her even more was his expression of regret upon seeing her cry. She was too upset to register it, but now that she let everything out and recalled what went down, she was certain that it wasn’t something usual of him.

His entire demeanour switched and he was confused whether to step forward or backward as he softly whispered her name.

Did he act the same way with other agents? Fuck no.

But does that mean that he regretted what he had done?

Maybe his eyes that tried to decode her feelings exposed him, or his hand that unconsciously moved forward towards her body—

Y/n covered her face with her hands and groaned loudly as if her thoughts would stop colliding. Everything was puzzling her more and more. Was he disappointed or not?

The loud banging on her door pulled her out of her tangled thoughts and vulnerable character.

She certainly wasn’t around enough to become besties with her neighbors or have friends to pop in for girls’ night.

Perhaps the agency sent someone to get her, but how would they know that she came here? Maybe they just tried their luck—

The banging got louder as if it was a warning. Whoever was outside, planned to come inside no matter what.

Y/n immediately switched into agent mode and grabbed a gun from the nearest drawer. Better be safe than sorry.

She walked slowly to the door with careful footsteps and high heartbeats. The door didn’t have a hole in it, so she’d either have to ask who was outside—or open the door.

But her guest beat her to it.

“Y/n…open the door.” Harry’s voice made her take a step back. The fresh tear stains on her cheeks burned upon hearing his words. What brought him here?

Hell, a serial killer would’ve been less surprising.

“No.” She lowered her gun and relaxed her shoulders a bit. More tears threatened to fall as she slowly turned around toward the couch.

He hasn’t been to her apartment before which means that he had some fun with her record. He’s most likely here to drive her back to the agency where she’ll receive a warning for leaving—what else could be here for?

“Y/n… I can pick the lock, break the door, or you can just let me in.” He huffed in annoyance at her stubbornness. She might as well turn on the TV to ignore him.

They both knew that he wasn’t joking. He could break in if he wanted, but Y/n was too busy trying to understand why he came here.

“Listen, I know about the lab tests.” Y/n’s eyes widened in shock. Damn it, Ezra.

So this is what he’s here for. A double warning. One for leaving and one for not informing him of her sickness.

She was near the door in two seconds, unlocking it and facing him despite her messy look and tired teary face.

“Since when—“ She meant to stay focused. She really did. But as usual, he found a way to make her forget about her anger.

He was dressed normally. It was odd to see him in something outside of his work attire, even if it was a simple hoodie with matching joggers. He looked cozy.

But what made her jaw drop was the fresh bouquet of yellow tulips in his right hand.

He got her flowers?

He cleared his throat making her realize how shocked she looked, and he didn’t blame her. She was the first woman he bought flowers for, ever.

The sight of her swollen eye and dried tears made him tighten his grip on the bouquet. A sight that will never leave his mind.

“I—“ She tried to let out something but she failed and moved aside for him to enter.

“Why the tulips?” She stood with her arms crossed trying to decipher what was going on.

“You like them.” His answer was short and clear but it held more meaning. She doesn’t recall letting him in on her favorite flowers—

“I overheard you telling Tania.” He shrugged as if it was not a big deal to eavesdrop on other agents and then memorize Y/n’s favorite flower.

He scanned the apartment with his eyes carefully—a habit of his for safety. It was more out of curiosity as if it would whisper to him secrets about Y/n.

“Why are you here?” Her voice seemed timid and broken.

He ignored her query and continued scanning his surroundings for a hint of her personality.

“Chocolate…?” He furrowed his eyebrows at her but it was hard to focus or look her in the eye without noticing her puffy face.

“Here to lecture me?” She scoffed, walking past him to the safe corner she made on her couch.

She covered herself and returned to her previous position as if her superior at work was not standing before her—with her favorite flowers still in his hand.

What the fuck is up with the flowers, she thought.

“If you want to stand there and give your lecture, then be my guest.” She mumbled coldly without blinking once. The coziness from the soft blanket slowly came back, but Harry’s cold stare fought it.

The last thing she expected him to do was sit next to her and rest his hands on her legs. She had a billion questions swimming in her head and she bit her tongue to not ramble and ask what the fuck was going on.

“I’m Sorry.” It rolled off his lips so easily, but her ears couldn’t process it. She stayed silent and did not move an inch as she stared ahead, ignoring his warm touch.

If she can’t understand anything, she’ll just listen and observe cluelessly.

“I had no idea that you were sick— I wouldn’t have pushed you this much if I did. But still, that’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t push you at all.” His words were direct and his voice was unshakeable. He was fully confident of what he was saying, with no shame.

She swallowed down her throat, fighting the tears threatening to fall down her face.

“I spoke with Ezra…and he gave me your tests. A doctor reviewed them and said it’s mild anemia.” The tears fell silently on her face disobeying her. Harry stopped speaking as if he felt her sadness.

“Could you get up a bit? Hmm?” He rubbed soothing circles on her skin and waited patiently for her answer.

She slowly lifted herself despite her reluctance, but still refused to look him in the eye. He can see her tears falling from the side and it makes him want to punch a wall.

“Attagirl. Look at me please.” He stroked her cheek softly with his knuckles.

She slowly turned her face in his direction as his hand reached out to wipe her tears.

“You’re pretty when you cry, but I don’t like it.” He whispered with his voice being barely audible. His eyes were fixated on her gorgeous lashes that she batted at him. How did she exist like an angel so casually?

“Yeah well, it was you who made me cry.” She mumbled like a child, crossing her arms at her chest.

“I’m a dickhead.” He laughed at the cute face she made with his hand still wiping any new tears that fall.

He’ll be damned if he’ll let her cry again.

“I know.” She rolled her eyes and reached out for the file next to him.

“Y/n—“

“What did the doctor say?”

“Like I said, it’s mild anemia. But nothing too dangerous. I got you the supplement he prescribed.” Harry gestured to the bottle placed near the flowers.

“And you missy will have your diet monitored by me. I want you eating iron-filled foods—“ He barely completely his sentence before Y/n was groaning loudly and slumping backward on the couch.

“Get up. Don’t make me tickle you.” He warned and she lifted herself within seconds with a pout on her face.

“Now the question is… why were you ignoring your needs?” It was the only question that she wished he wouldn’t ask. But nothing can stop him from knowing what he wants.

She stared at TimTim despite his piercing gaze on her hoping that the plushie could rescue her somehow.

“I wasn’t ignoring them, I guess I simply didn’t realize.” She swallowed down her throat, avoiding eye contact.

“You didn’t want to tell me.” He pressed further. His tone was soft but impatient—he’d beg on his knees if he had to.

“I—“ She focused her gaze on TimTim again causing Harry to turn his head around for a look.

“A plushie?” He scrunched his face in shock.

“So?” She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms against her chest. She seemed ready to punch him if he made fun of her.

“No comment.” He raised his hands in the air letting out a soft smile. It was a rare sight, but a beautiful one. She liked seeing him smile as his dimples popped up on his soft face.

“Don’t run away from the question though.” He whispered with his eyes begging her for the truth.

Her tears had dried but her face was still puffy and her eyes were swollen. There weren’t any tears to wipe but that didn’t stop Harry from reaching out his hand to caress her cheeks.

His warm touch was weird to decipher, it seemed able to burn her at times, just like his words.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you.” She blurted out suddenly before inhaling sharply in shock as if her mouth betrayed her without permission.

Harry’s facial expression shifted from softness to something she couldn’t decode—but the pain was recognizable.

She lowered her gaze as her cheeks became flushed with embarrassment. His hand slowly inched away from her skin, feeling unworthy of touching her.

“You could never disappoint me.” He whispered it like a promise. A sacred one. He couldn’t believe that she would think like that even for a second.

He was so fucking proud of her. He pushed her earlier today but he was lenient with her before. A bullet wound would’ve been better to take than her confession.

She mattered to him whether he was aware or not but the clutch in his chest must’ve given him a hint.

“Look at me, please.”

She lifted her chin reluctantly and looked him in the eye. This was her first time seeing him this vulnerable—it was so easy to read his eyes.

“There’s no way you could disappoint me. Ever.”

“I slacked in performance—“

“Fuck that. You need rest.” He shook his head, denying all the false thoughts she had.

“What I did earlier was a mistake and it won’t happen again.” It was more of a vow than a promise.

Silence filled the apartment after his last sentence. They shamelessly stared into each other’s eyes despite the intrusion of TimTim. Harry knew that if he didn’t do or say something—he’d have his lips on her in mere seconds.

“I should get going.” He cleared his throat and stood up.

Y/n was still going through a rollercoaster of emotions. She ached to ask him something back, it was fair to do so. But instead, she decided to let him go.

“Also…” He fetched a paper out of his hand and left it on her couch. “You’re allowed a week of rest. That means no training, no gym, and you can stay here.”

Surprise was prominent on her face. She opened her mouth to speak but he beat her to it.

“No objections. I need you to rest.” She’s not sure if this was allowed—if the board knew about the leave he granted her. It seemed to pile up amongst many of the other things she wondered about.

“Okay…” She balanced herself on her feet and walked him to the door.

“This doesn’t mean I’m done being mad at you.” She mumbled sarcastically.

“Good. I like it when you’re bratty.” He winked at her as he opened the door.

She watched him walk away before turning around and looking at her.

“Oh and Y/n? I’ll have a customized meal plan delivered to your house. For fuck’s sake don’t live off chocolate.”

“But—“

“No buts and take your supplement.” His voice echoed in the building as he descended the stairs.

She stood motionless at the door with her arms folded against her chest as she scrunched her face and rolled her eyes at his bossy orders.

“Don’t roll your eyes missy.” His voice was distant signaling that he reached the ground floor. She slammed the door shut in response, unable to contain the smile that crept up on her face.

She didn’t lie to TimTim—he does have a good heart sometimes, but discipline remains cherished.

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