#that shoulder pinch? is definitely code for something

[justc2world]

He's not going anywhere

[moonchildstyles]

retrouvailles

élan part six: y/n goes on a date, harry finds out a secret, and something shifts.

wordcount: 15.5k+

—————

"Y'think I did alright?" 

(Y/N) swore her cheeks were going to ache for the rest of the day with the way her wide smile stretched over her lips. 

"I think you did really well," she told him, her voice laced with warm amusement though she was far from teasing. 

She was being honest, really. Hearing Harry speak in the small amount of conversational French he knew to her new nail tech as well as the receptionist of the salon she'd found today, was one of the sweetest things she'd ever seen. While his accent was improving, she cherished the flourish he still gave to his e's and the care he gave to his consonants. 

"'M getting better, huh," he pressed, sounding a little too proud. 

"Your accent definitely is," she mused, spotting the entrance to their building not too far ahead from where they were strolling down the pedestrian walk. 

"Good," Harry responded simply, the edge of a dimple pressed into his cheek, "I've been practicing." 

Somehow it was possible, but (Y/N)'s smile widened. "I've heard." 

He wasn't exactly the most quiet as he recited simple words she'd taught to him after he thought she fell asleep. He preferred to sneak out onto the balcony, and practice with the light of the Tower shimmering in the distance. She liked hearing his voice like that, just a hair muffled through the door and his improper French. 

It didn't take long before Harry was holding open the door for her to head inside their apartment building. No one other than the doorman was occupying the small space. (Y/N) offered a fleeting smile in his direction, her attention captured by the grandiose display on the desk counter. 

In a crystalline vase, cut expertly to allow waves of rainbow light to glimmer over the warm eggshell walls, was an oversized bouquet of roses. The petals were deep spirals of velveteen red, deep dark in the center before going crimson on the edges. They had unfurled perfectly, not a single speck of discoloration or wilting. The stems were a healthy forest green, strong with clipped thorns as they held the large blooms in place. Interspersed between the roses were glossy leaves of emerald greenery and stark white puffs of baby's breath. It was full and large, stuffed and heavy with more immaculate roses than (Y/N) thought could exist in the world. How the vase wasn't toppling over from the sheer size, she wasn't sure. 

They were gorgeous—pristine. (Y/N) even slowed her steps some to caress her eyes over the blooms for a moment longer. 

Nonetheless, their synced steps eventually landed her at the doors of the lift. Harry, at her side with his own attention pressing forward, entered the code for the lift to take them upwards. 

Just as she took her eyes away from the bouquet, the doorman suddenly shouted through the lobby in accented English, "Wait!" 

(Y/N)'s steps faltered, the elevator doors having parted open. She glanced over her shoulder, feeling his shout being directed to her though she couldn't imagine why. 

The doorman looked at her with wide eyes, his brows raised. "Mademoiselle?" 

"Oui? Comment puis-je t'aider?" she trilled, watching as he stepped closer with her to catch up. 

From the corner of her eye, Harry's security instincts kicked in, stepping closer to her as a form of barricade. 

Eyeing Harry, the doorman slowed feet away, keeping that space between as (Y/N) peered around the broad of Harry's shoulder. 

"Les roses," he started, gesturing towards the towering bouquet, "Elles sont pour vous, mademoiselle."

"Pour moi?" she pressed, her brows pinching. 

"Pour toi. Ils vous ont été déposés il y a une heure."

"Oh," she sounded, allowing her gaze to wander back to the glamorous roses behind him, "Merci."

Taking it upon himself, Harry took the flowers from the counter, keeping himself between (Y/N) and the doorman as he moved. Offering nothing more than a quiet thank you, (Y/N) helped him into the waiting elevator, Harry having held the doors open in case he had to usher her through. 

Once alone in the lift, (Y/N) couldn't help but to run a finger over the blooms. Harry watched intently, observing and cataloguing as if he had something to be suspicious over. Truthfully, she couldn't completely blame him. She couldn't think of anyone who would send flowers to this address for her, especially something this grandiose. 

In the back of her mind, a niggling panic arose. This wouldn't be that admirer of hers, right? 

Silence followed them into their apartment, (Y/N) speaking up as she held the door open for him to slip through with the tottering vase. "Is there a card or anything you can see?" 

"Yes." Harry's voice was clipped as he answered. Nothing more was offered. 

She waited for him to set the bouquet down before she searched through the stems, finding the small card amongst the greenery. The slip was heavy, made from embossed cardstock—definitely more than what a regular florist would offer. 

Flicking it open, the writing inside was a shimmering black, inky and definite. The writing was elegant, scrolling and scripting, handwritten with a lilting hand. 

       Even before meeting you in person, I know these roses pale in comparison to your beauty. See you soon. x

        Elliot 

Every beautiful thing about the note was cancelled out when she read that name. 

That was the man who was tasked to take her out for dinner in a few days, her father's friend. 

"Oh," she sounded. 

Harry was silent at her side. He must have been able to spot the details when she couldn't.

"They're so pretty," she said, folding the card away, almost pouting at the roses, "I'm sad he had to be the one to send them." 

A beat passed before Harry spoke again, "I don't trust them."

Canting her head, she tried to see what he saw in the flowers. "What do you mean? They're gorgeous." 

His arms coming cross around his chest, Harry stayed firm in his stance. "I don't like it. He shouldn't know your address before he's even met you. Taking the time to find a florist in Paris, finding something this extravagant, I don't know. I don't trust them." 

"I mean," she started, tipping her head in the other direction, "I'm sure they're fine though, right?" 

"I don't know," he answered shortly, "I'm going to have to think about it. We might have to get rid of them." 

Peeking from the corner of her eye, she saw the pinched expression marring his features. He almost seemed offended to be looking at the roses. 

Her features dropped some at the idea of throwing out the bouquet. "Oh. I like roses, though." 

Harry's face pinched further at her words. 

—————

Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, (Y/N) forced herself out of her room, letting a shiver run up her spine at the cold floor under her feet. Through her bleary gaze, the first thing she saw was the streak of red that was the bouquet of roses sitting on the kitchen counter. 

It took a couple of blinks before she realized that the flowers on the counter were very much not the same as the bouquet she received yesterday.

This bundle was significantly smaller, only a dozen compared to the fifty or so blooms from the day before, only small clusters of baby's breath added in. The same vase was being utilized for this bouquet, the white ribbon that tied the stems together still included and now dipped in the water filling the vase. The red was brighter, a couple of the flowers not quite as open as the ones she'd seen before, the greens on the lighter side. 

Propped against the vase was a slip of pink paper taken from a notepad (Y/N) usually wrote their grocery list on. 

She didn't lift her eyes from the bouquet as she approached, the morning light seemingly making the blooms glow. Reaching for the note, her features softened, rounding and curving into a quiet smile. 

      Good morning. I know these roses aren't as nice as the others, but I hope you think they're just as pretty.

        Harry

His letters were blocky and absolute, none of the flourish the other man had left on the note. She definitely liked these much more than the flowers she received before. 

Brushing her fingers over the soft petals, she attempted to bite back the wide grin that threatened to take over her face. With the note in hand, she spun on her toes, searching for Harry as if she missed him in the space. 

Spotting him through the windows of the balcony doors, she didn't waste any time before she was crossing the living room to join him in the morning air. 

Knocking on the glass, she stepped onto the balcony as Harry looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup.

"Morning," he murmured, eyes glancing towards the note clutched in her hand. 

"Good morning," she chirped, shifting her weight on her feet with that fluttering feeling lingering in her tummy. 

"Y'alright?" he asked, noticing the way she couldn't seem to stay still.  

Looking at Harry now, all she saw was the man that picked out those flowers waiting for her inside. He picked her a bouquet that was worlds better than the grandiose arrangement she saw the day before, if only because it came from him. She liked his note much better, too. 

"I am," she said through her beaming smile, "Thank you for the flowers." 

Harry minutely perked up though his features stayed straight-laced. The grip on his mug tightened, his eyes brightening that much. "Yeah? Y'like them?" 

"I love them."

For the first time since she'd met him, (Y/N) watched as a small smile landed on Harry's lips. The glances of dimples she gained and the ghostly smiles that disappeared before she had a chance to truly take them in were all blown away with the way he allowed that small grin to mold his features. He gazed up at her with that smile on his lips for a moment before he cast his eyes out towards the Parisian cityscape. He brought his free hand up to knuckle at the tip of his nose, his smile partially hidden behind his hand. 

"Good." 

—————

(Y/N) read, and reread, and reread her father's coaching text at least five times before the message began to sink in. 

The first couple of messages were the usual host of guidelines, imploring her to not drink, to stay on her best behavior, to act lady-like (code for: don't try to sleep with him, because she was a whore, of course), ect. She rolled her eyes at first, reading those rules like they were supposed to be pasted to the fridge for a kindergartener to follow. It wasn't until the final message came through that her attention shifted to something serious. 

Dad

      And, Harry is to stay back tonight. He's already a distraction to the media, and shouldn't be there when you're meant to be on a date with someone who is able to handle you just fine. 

The plan all week had been for Harry to accompany her, be right at her side through the whole night no matter what. Not only because he didn't particularly trust her father's circle of friends after the 132 Gala, but also at (Y/N)'s request. That plan had been the only reason she hadn't fought tooth and nail to get out of this stupid date—the whole reason she hadn't done something equally as idiotic to get her father to cancel the plans in favor of punishing her. 

Just thirty minutes ago, sitting in front of her vanity to get ready to go out with another man, Harry had been on her mind. She wondered if he would like the red lipstick she slicked over her mouth, or if he would think it was too much. She wondered if he would like the bounce of her hair or if he would think it was too big. She wondered if he would think of those roses he bought for her when he saw the red of her dress. 

Now, none of that even mattered—if it had mattered at all in the first place, anyway. 

Harry was going to drop her off, and leave her to her date. 

The idea had (Y/N) deflating where she sat on her bed, her shoulders holding a defeated slope. 

She didn't want to get up, she didn't want to face this night. Tempted, she half-typed out a text feigning food poisoning to her father, a quick fix to get out of this whole thing. 

But, she knew better. Delaying this would only cause her more grief. Her father might even follow through and fly out to Paris himself to keep an eye on her. 

Falling back against her mattress, bouncing against the springs without a care for her hair, she heaved a sigh. She was going to have to leave her room and paint her face with a famous smile, but afterwards, she could forget it all happened. It would be over and she could return to her Parisian bubble that consisted of pilates, nail appointments, the farmer's market, and Harry. 

She just needed to get through tonight. 

Steeling her resolve, (Y/N) reacted to her father's text with a thumbs up and shook him out of her head. With her heels strapped to her feet and phone thrown into the bag hanging off of her wrist, she pushed the double doors to her room open and stepped out into the living room. 

Sitting on the couch, waiting with phone in hand, was Harry. He glanced at her over the top of his screen only for his scrolling to pause, eyes widening through the frame of his lashes. (Y/N) saw the trail his gaze made over her form, skipping through the curves she fit into her rose-red dress, the minute slit on the side that allowed the fabric to flare around her thighs. Her accessories came in complementing hues, pearls in her ears with glimmering gold shining against the red. 

A beat passed before he seemed to become aware of himself once more, clearing his throat as he made a move to put his phone away. 

"Y'look... really good," he started, his voice strained as he stood to the full of his height, his gaze dropping down to his feet, "Are y'ready to go?" 

"Thank you," she answered, decidedly less chipper than she would have expected after hearing his compliment. Her father's text was taking up too much space in her head for anything sweet to slip inside. "My father texted me while I was getting ready." 

"Yeah?" he asked, beginning to inch towards the door though (Y/N) lagged behind. "What'd he say?"

Following him in minute steps, (Y/N) swallowed. "Has he talked to you today?" 

"No," he answered shortly, pressing open the door for her to meet him at the threshold, his gaze heavy on her as she obviously stalled. "Why?" 

"He—Harry—" she struggled to find the words, hoping it didn't come out as pathetically defeated as she felt, "He said you're not allowed to come with me tonight." 

Harry stopped. His steps halted, his expression going blank as he looked at her. 

"What do you mean?" 

"He thinks you're a distraction for the media. If you were in any more pictures with me, especially when I'm supposed to be on a date with someone else, that would only cause more drama." 

Slowly, Harry closed the door to her apartment, sealing them inside for a moment longer. His hand flexed around the doorknob. 

"He thinks that?" Harry pressed after a beat, his tone sharp. 

(Y/N) silently nodded her head for confirmation. 

It only took a moment longer of that silence before Harry was undoing the work of shutting the door. Determined as ever, he pulled it open, beckoning her to follow after him as he stepped into the hall.

"I don't care. 'M going with you." His words were absolute like cement, unwavering and unmoving. "'M not leaving you with some man who you've never met before, and couldn't even bother to call y'before tonight—yet, he got your address to send 'flowers'." 

"Harry," she called, following him out into the hall, "I—We can't." 

He didn't budge, standing beside the elevator, the down arrow lit up showing the lift had already been requested. "I don't care, (Y/N). 'M not leaving you alone—your dad can get fucked." 

Her steps stuttered as she moved to catch up with him. Never had she heard him be so explicitly mad at her father—or explicit, at all really. No one ever really became angry at her father the way she did, let alone express it so bluntly. No one had ever seen the things that she had when it came to him. 

Nonetheless, (Y/N) still couldn't let him sabotage himself. 

It was just like he said earlier in the week. Her father's wrath wasn't worth wriggling out of a few hours of discomfort—for she or Harry. 

"Harry, no," she tried again, staying where she was when he tried to herd her into the requested lift. The sparkling panelling in the back of the elevator acted as a mirror, showcasing her and Harry in its reflection. "I can't let you do that. You'd lose your job, then you really would have to l-leave me here." 

She hadn't expected the way her tongue tripped over the word leave. She hoped Harry hadn't noticed. 

Harry's jaw squeezed, a hand coming up to knuckle at the tip of his nose as his gaze fell to the floor. "'S not fair," he murmured, "I can't leave y'there."

"I can't let you do anything else, though," she reasoned with him, dropping her voice to match the volume of his own, "My father would be so angry with us. He wouldn't let you stay here with me." 

While that explanation was the truth, she had a feeling Harry would never be the one that was in proper trouble with her father. It would somehow make its way around to be her fault; that she had poisoned Harry's mind. That could be the only reasoning as to why he would comply with (Y/N)'s wishes over her father's. But, he didn't need to know all of that. He just needed to stay put, that was all she asked. 

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze flicking up in a glance at her. "(Y/N)," he murmured, the syllables of her name cradled in his voice. 

"I know, but I promise I'll be fine. And, if I'm not, I'll call you right away. After this is all over, you can take me home, and we can try to watch a Julia Child episode again." A careful smile touched at the corners of her mouth then, hoping that lighthearted act would rub off on him. "I'll try not to fall asleep this time, either." 

While his mood didn't seem to be particularly lifted at her plan, it was enough to get the hinges in his jaw moving again and the stark set of his shoulders loosening. Only after a lingering pause did she hear the grumble of his voice once more. 

"Okay." Picking up his chin, he matched her eye contact head-on. "You promise me you'll tell me if you're uncomfortable?" 

She knew what he was asking her, the night of the Gala flashing through her head, too. 

"I promise." 

With a single nod of his head, he flattened his hand between her shoulder blades and herded her into the lift.  

—————

Harry maneuvered the car through the now familiar streets of Paris, taking her to the expensive location her date had requested. 

Elliot, she thought with an internal cringe. She was going to have to actually call him by his name, instead of referring to him as some guy. 

With the Eiffel Tower glimmering only a few miles away, (Y/N) wasn't surprised to see the restaurant that had been chosen for the night. (It was a terrible tourist trap, nothing particularly special that could justify the price other than the view of the Tower from the patio). It was just the kind of expensive nonsense her father loved to partake in when he visited, the same seemed to go for his friend. 

The car was still running as Harry did nothing more than step on the breaks as a means for parking. All he needed was to hear her word and they could be out of there in a split second. 

"I'll be back at nine to get you. No later," he cemented, his lips a thin line as he laid his sharp gaze on the eatery. 

"Yes, no later," she parroted, pitching her voice into something lighter in hopes of tricking him into a better mood the same way she'd done for herself. "I'll see you soon, okay?" 

"Okay." 

With her hand on the door, (Y/N) hesitated. She didn't want to leave him now, especially not when he was so obviously on edge. She didn't know how to ease him other than promising again and again that she would get into contact if she needed him. 

She just wanted him to know that she was far away from this date, too. That if it were up to her, this wouldn't be going at all, that she was miles away in their apartment. 

Without overthinking it, she pushed the door open with the most prominent thought in her head slipping through her lips: "I wish I was doing this with you, tonight." 

(Y/N) could feel Harry's eyes on her as she climbed out of the car, leaving before he had much of a chance to offer any response. 

—————

This man—Elliot—is her father. 

He is almost an exact replica of her father inside and out, this man just has a better hairline and faker teeth. 

The similarities started the second it appeared he didn't know how to stop talking, going on and on about himself. He didn't know how to pair wine, despite boasting about the vineyard he supposedly owned here in the French countryside. ((Y/N) had to keep herself from wincing when he suggested starting the night off with foie gras and a deep red wine). He loved France, and wine, and charity, he'd said. 

So, he was a liar, too. Just like her father. 

No wonder he thought this would work out—that she would like him. Her father loved himself so much he couldn't imagine this date not being perfect with the similarities he shared with Elliot. 

(Y/N) hid her frown behind her wine glass, listening as he made a fool of himself and the foundations he ran. (Supposedly, of course. With the way he spoke of them, they sounded more like cash grabs than anything real, a set of others running the operation while he was nothing more than the figurehead and beneficiary). He didn't even notice just how disconnected she was from this conversation, though she couldn't be surprised. To notice anything at all would require him to stop thinking about himself for longer than a breath.

"See! I knew you'd like that wine," Elliot boasted, looking pleased with himself as he ran a hand through his graying hair, "Your father said you were a drinker, so I had a feeling you'd enjoy this." 

A part of her bubbled close to overflowing, wanting to spit at him that she actually hated the wine—it was too prickly and bitter, and overall just shit—but she tamped it down. It was enough to get her father red in the face if he found she was drinking against his rules, she didn't need to add on the fact that she blew up in this man's face over it. Nothing quite like a drunken rage to get her on the front page of a tabloid tomorrow. 

Instead, she offered a sickly sweet smile after taking in a large gulp of the horrendous wine. "Yep," she falsely beamed, "That's me!" 

He didn't even blink at the bitter tone to her voice, the scathing sticky sweetness that laid underneath her words. 

Her savior came in the form of a scattered waiter approaching the table, his footsteps echoing a bit too loud in the otherwise empty restaurant. (Another small flex on Elliot's part—he'd bought out the entire eatery for the night, leaving them alone with nothing but the limited waitstaff and kitchen workers in the back). 

Their waiter—whose name she wished she caught before Elliot had rudely cut him off in favor of ordering terrible wine—offered a painted smile, a bit too perfect to be authentic as he all but tripped over himself for a flawless service. In accented English, as her date didn't know any kind of real French, he asked, "Are you ready to order your mains this evening?" 

Before (Y/N) could do anything but smile, Elliot was chomping at the bit, speaking in broken French as if to impress her. 

He boasted that he would be ordering for the both of him, that he knew what she wanted. The waiter looked on with wide eyes, taking down the order in his little notepad. (Y/N) looked on unimpressed, listening as Elliot ordered himself a steak, commanding it to be cooked way too much, with a sauce that was much too rich for the white wine he was supposedly planning on pairing it with. She dreaded to hear what he thought she would like, especially with the way he flitted his dark eyes to her with bouncing brows, as if she could be anything other than enticed through this interaction.

In another move that was so terribly like her father, Elliot ordered her a chopped salad. Dressing on the side, as well. 

(Y/N) had to rein herself in, keeping a bubbling peal of laughter from leaking out. If not for the fact this was really happening to her in this moment, she would have loved to hear a story like this in a comedy routine. 

"That will be right up, sir. Thank you," the waiter praised, giving a small bow of his head before he turned to scurry away once more. (Y/N) envied him for his ability to eke out of the room. 

Though, before he could make it too far away, (Y/N) stopped him with a gentle hand on his forearm. She extended backwards in her seat, catching his attention. 

"Miss?" he murmured, "Did I miss something?" 

"Oui désolé. Il n'a pas commandé correctement pour moi," she answered, noting the way his eyes widened at hearing the fluent French slip from her mouth. 

Pulling out his leather notepad, he nodded his head, "Oh, mes excuses. Que puis-je mettre à la place?" 

"Pas de soucis, merci," (Y/N) smiled, hoping to ease some of his nerves and make it abundantly clear that she knew she was too good for the man sitting across from her, "J'aurai le penne au salmon à la crème Parmesan, s'il te plaît." 

The waiter nodded, looking a touch more comfortable as he spoke to only her, writing down the new order after putting a definitive strike through the previous. With a promise to return to check on them shortly, he disappeared into the reprieve that was the kitchen, leaving (Y/N) to suffer on her own. 

"I didn't know you knew French," Elliot said from across the table, forcing her attention back to him. There was a pinch to his brow, tightening his already Botoxed features. "What did you say to him?"

"Hm? Oh," (Y/N) sounded, feigning confusion as if she had no idea what she'd just done, "I ordered for myself. I think he thought the side salad you got was for me." 

Clueless to the fact that she was amusing herself at his expense, his furrow deepened. "It was for you." 

"No, thank you," she said, sticky sweet and unbearably kind, "I actually really love the pasta from here. A salad isn't enough for me." 

Elliot tripped his eyes down her form, glazing over the red dress she picked with Harry in mind. "You couldn't listen to me for tonight?" 

"Oh," she canted her head, blinking her eyes owlishly, "I didn't know the salad meant something to you. Just a misunderstanding then, I guess." 

It was eerie the way he looked exactly like her father as he took in a deep sigh, as if he had reason to be disappointed in her. Freud would be too happy seeing as how her father set her up with a man just like himself. 

"It's alright, sweetie. Keep that in mind for next time, though. I've got you now—you don't need to worry about reading the menu and ordering for yourself anymore." 

In an attempt to keep herself rooted to her spot and not stomping outside the door, (Y/N) tightened her grip on her wine glass. She wouldn't have been surprised if the stem broke under her palm. 

"I definitely will," she laughed, feeling a hair away from delirious at this point. 

Pleased with himself, Elliot sat back. "I feel like I've been talking about myself all night," he laughed, shaking his head as if his arrogance was a silly oversight, "I've been meaning to ask about something I read." 

(Y/N) had to keep her eye from twitching. "Really? What was it?"

"That boy you've been pictured with," he started, his voice much too loud for the quiet space. (Y/N) had to consciously make an effort to keep her jaw from clenching as he referred to Harry as a boy. "Your dad said he was your security, but I wanted to ask about him myself." 

Buying herself some time with a calculated sip of her wine, she swallowed down the acrid taste before asking, "What do you want to know?" 

"Is he your boyfriend? Or whatever you kids call it now," Elliot bluntly pressed, "I read you cheated on Mr. Moore's son with him. Is there any truth to that?"

"No," was her immediate answer, "He's just my security guard." 

In the back of her mind she knew those words didn't fit correctly in her mouth. 

Elliot raised a challenging brow. "That's the truth?" 

Forcing herself to do nothing more than grow stoic at his idiotic pressing, (Y/N) met his eyes directly without wavering. "I know the stories can be convincing, but this is what I'm telling you. It's the truth." 

This was her version of biting back, dropping that tabloid bunny facade with placating smiles and the willingness to accommodate to be whatever person the one in front of her wanted. She couldn't outright slap him, so she'd have to settle for not being the naive butterfly he wanted. 

Giving a slow nod, (Y/N) watched as her date ran through what she'd told him. He didn't seem to even understand that she was pushing back on him, his ego too large to see much else. "Okay," he settled, "Well, if this continues between us, I want to make it clear that I would prefer him to leave Paris." 

(Y/N) sat dumbfounded for a beat. 

Elliot continued on, "He's not needed if I'm here with you. I also believe he's taking advantage of his position in getting to touch and 'protect' you. You don't need him around." 

Through gritted teeth, (Y/N) asked, "You think so?" 

"Mhm," Elliot hummed, a bit too proud, "He's taking advantage of you as far as I can see. He takes from you since you can't overpower him—it's a hard thing to notice when you're the woman being taken, but it's obvious to others." 

Swallowing, (Y/N) forced her jaw to unclench and a deep breath down her lungs. 

She was livid. Truthfully, she couldn't care less what this man thought of her in any way—another way he was similar to his father—or if he chose to demean her for the rest of the night. But, when it came to Harry, the only innocent person in this whole stupid mess who'd done nothing but protect her to the best of his ability, that was where she was going to draw the line. 

This night was over. 

"Right," she answered stiffly, forcing her features into something kind and unwitting, "Do you mind if I run to the ladies room really quickly?" 

Already pushing out her chair before he had a chance to say a word, (Y/N) only half listened when he told her to hurry back, he didn't mind waiting for her. 

With her bag on her wrist and phone in hand, she typed out a message in quick strokes. 

      please come get me

Firing it off to Harry took all but a second, long enough for her to reach the kitchen, 

While it felt impossibly rude to step inside, she had to put her plan into place before Elliot realized she hadn't headed towards the bathroom at all. 

A member of the kitchen staff stopped in their tracks when they saw her, a bright streak of red in the middle of the otherwise stainless steel and clean white of the kitchen. 

"Mademoiselle? Vous cherchez les toilettes?" 

"Non, j'avais en fait une demande, s'il vous plaît." she started, keeping herself on the fringes of the space as to not touch something she wasn't meant to.

The staff member cast his gaze around for a moment, the rest of the kitchen slowing to a standstill when they noticed her. Only the sizzling of a pair of pans remained, the space hot from the running ovens and foaming butter. 

"Comment puis-je t'aider?" he asked after a moment, no one objecting to the idea of her newly timed request.

"Y a-t-il un moyen pour que tu emmènes mes pâtes avec moi ? En plus d'ajouter pavé de saumon à la plancha pour que je le prenne également ? Je sais que c'est la dernière minute, mais j'ai changé de plan." 

"To-go?" he answered in accented English. 

"Oui," she cemented, time ticking the longer she had to explain herself, "Je dois aller aux toilettes, mais je peux les récupérer en sortant par l'arrière, si ça te va."

It was then that—what she assumed was—the kitchen manager spoke up, her hair tied up under a pristine white hat. "Oui. Nous pouvons préparer cela pour vous en dix minutes, mademoiselle." 

"Merci," (Y/N) chirped, backing out of the kitchen before she could become any more of a distraction. 

Next order of business came in the form of tracking down her waiter, who was tucked in an alcove around the bar, the single ticket for their table hanging from the processing computer. After the shock of spotting her in the backroom wore off, (Y/N) settled the tab—including the fish entree she just added—with a swipe of her father's credit card. A hefty tip was left for the staff, in hopes of making up for the absolute waste of time everyone involved had gone through for the night. 

Checking the time on her phone as she scurried to the staff restroom (with permission from the waiter), (Y/N) didn't doubt that Elliot was either too absorbed in himself to notice she was still missing or he was beginning to realize she was taking too long for this to be an innocent trip to the ladies room. Nonetheless, she only had a handful of minutes left before her order would be ready, and Harry had to be on his way by now. 

As if he was living inside her head, the second she closed the door behind her, a call came through her phone with Harry's contact written boldly up top. 

"Hello?" 

"Are you okay?" he fired off, ignoring her greeting, "Did something happen?" 

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she eased, leaning against the bathroom door, "I'm a little annoyed and was almost bored to death, but I'm okay. I knew this was going to be a bad night, H, but it's been terrible, honestly." 

"I'm outside, okay? I parked out back, but you'll see me," he rushed off, his voice a low rumble through the speaker. 

(Y/N) reared back. "You're already here?" 

"Yes." 

A beat passed in the quiet of the bathroom. "Did you come from the apartment?" 

"No." She could hear a sigh come from the other line. "I didn't go back—I stayed here." 

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, having no right to feel a small smile bloom on her features at his admission. "I'll be out in a second. I need to grab something really quick." 

"Okay. I'll see you in a minute." 

Hanging up first, (Y/N) doubted he would unwind until she was sitting in that car with him, away from the annoying bug that was Elliot. 

Scurrying through the restaurant in hopes of staying unnoticed by her date, she thanked the kitchen staff once more for the impromptu request she made before grabbing her orders and pushing through the back entrance.

The night was dark, only bits of warm light coming from the Eiffel Tower in the distance, tourists roaming the streets with roses in the wind. Searching for Harry's car, it only took (Y/N) a couple of steps around the building to spot the black sedan with its lights on bright. 

Her steps quickened, heels clacking over the concrete as she eagerly met him. The doors were unlocked and ready for her to climb in. 

"Look what I got for us!" she bubbled, fitting herself in the passenger seat with the boxed meals in her lap. 

With his features only lit up by the dash lights and whatever was able to seep through the tinted windows, a furrow darkened Harry's brow. His gaze lingered on her face before dropping to her lap as she buckled up. 

"Is... Is that your dinner?" 

"It's our dinner!" she chirped, "I got you something while I was there." Finally cataloguing what exactly she had run out with, her grin only widened. "I think they gave me his too, actually." 

At that, a huff of laughter left Harry's lips, the tension in the car melting as he shifted into drive. (Y/N) watched as his features softened in the low light, dimples present and eyes softening. 

"He doesn't know you left, does he?" 

"Nope," she trilled, "He'll figure it out soon though, I'm sure." 

Harry only laughed again, eyes trained on the road though she didn't miss the way he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. 

"That bad?" 

"Oh, yeah," (Y/N) heaved, shaking her head. "My father is going to be so mad, but I don't even care anymore." 

(Y/N) could feel her muscles unwinding the farther they made it from the restaurant, dropping her head back to lean on the stiff rest. She genuinely didn't care if her father woke her up with degrading messages or a promise to visit her penthouse. She wasn’t going to sit by while Elliot degraded Harry for the sake of looking like an alpha. 

The familiar route back to the apartment whizzed outside the windows until a bright idea blinked in (Y/N)'s head.

"Wait," she chattered, sitting up straight in her spot, "Turn around. I have an idea." 

—————

The Eiffel Tower shimmered in front of them, warm dinner in their laps with a sturdy bench under. 

The lights of the attraction were reflected back on Harry's wondrous eyes, his food left to cool in his lap as he was too distracted with the sight in front of him. (Y/N) was the same though her gaze was on him.

"Worth it, right?" 

Harry didn't hesitate to pull his eyes from the Tower, casting his gaze to her with a lingering trace over her features. He paused on her lips for a heartbeat before he matched her eyes once more, the familiar beginnings of a lopsided smile touching the corner of his mouth. 

"Definitely." 

—————

(Y/N) barely bat an eyelash when she saw the heavy envelope as the only piece of mail in her box. She politely thanked the doorman before taking it back up to her apartment, already dismissing its contents despite the curiosity bubbling in her fingertips. She wondered what kind of photos would be inside. 

The media apparently hadn't caught a hold of any kind of story about her date. It'd been three days and there was nothing being posted online other than a random blog post claiming to have seen her dressed in red climbing into a black car. Nothing mentioned a romantic candlelit night, or a scorned billionaire cursing her name for embarrassing him. The only reason she knew her father was aware any of what transpired that night was because of a text he'd shuttled off to Harry, cementing that (Y/N) wasn't to go anywhere without him. (Quite the punishment, she'd joked). 

Otherwise, there was nothing out there about the incident, nowhere for this person to collect photos and scratch out a narrative. She also would have remembered seeing someone with a heavy camera in the empty restaurant, but she couldn’t recall a single moment a lens had been pointed in her direction, including the meal she and Harry indulged in by the Tower. 

Safely inside her apartment, the water running as Harry took his morning shower, (Y/N) took a risk and opened the flap to quell her curiosity. Inside glossy photos awaited.

While she never particularly enjoyed seeing photos of herself in this context, usually fluctuating between fear and indifference, she'd never been so unnerved as this moment. Given, she didn't typically open the letters sent to her, so she didn't have much to compare it to, but she had a feeling this was the worst that had even been sent her way.

Shining in the morning light, were photos of her from the moment she stepped out of her apartment to the time Harry took her home. She was a gleaming scarlet streak in every photo, some shots having been zoomed in on her body, on her legs, on her lips. This person caught her entering the restaurant, Harry conveniently cut out before the view shifted. Through the window, she had been caught with her glass of wine, blankly looking ahead at Elliot as he spoke of himself. This person had even caught her devising and executing her plan, the camera having craned and peered around every corner and every fixture to get even a small sliver of her form. This person followed her to the spot Harry picked her up, to where they sat at the Eiffel Tower with their dinner. Those shots were decidedly blurrier, taken from a larger distance, but it was still clearly the pair of them gazing at each other before gazing towards the Tower. 

Harry's face had been scribbled on in one shot, the same way Marc's had been in the package previous. 

She didn't dare to look at the words written on the back, already collecting what kind of narrative this person would force this time around. They seemingly were turning on Harry now, instead of just ignoring him. 

Leaving that single photo where it laid, with both she and Harry gazing skyward towards the point of the Tower, (Y/N) didn't have it in her to leaf through the rest of the stack. 

Suddenly, having missed the sound of the water cutting and the silence that followed, she heard Harry's bedroom door open, the swoosh of the air as he entered the common space. She scrambled to pack the photos back into the envelope, trying her best to not sprint towards her bedroom. Her hands shook as she gathered everything to her chest, the photos a messy pile she hid with her back facing the hallway Harry was emerging from. 

"Morning," he greeted her, his voice that low grumble it always was in the morning. 

"Good morning," she chirped out, her steps hastening that much more as she slipped inside her bedroom, the door open just a crack. 

"Did y'still want to go to the farmer's market today?" Harry called, his voice carrying as she lingered in the living room.

"Sure!" she trilled, wrenching open her vanity drawer, "Or—um—I was thinking we could finally visit the Lourve today, or whatever. I'm fine with anything!" 

Harry didn't respond then, (Y/N) only hearing her bubbling heartbeat pounding against her chest. Why did she think it would be easy to hide the letters under a pile of palettes? 

It took a handful more seconds before she had everything safely tucked away, the drawer being pushed shut before she sat back on her heels and breathed. That was a little too close, she decided. 

No more opening the letters if she could help it—especially while Harry lived with her. 

Peeking out of her bedroom decidedly more relaxed than when she went in, she swept a hand through her hair. "Did you have anywhere you wanted to go, though?" 

Harry stood with his back to her, his shoulders tensed and head bowed as he looked towards his feet. He didn't lift his head as she spoke, keeping her behind him.

A beat passed, still no acknowledgement. 

"Harry?" she called, stepping out from her bedroom entirely. 

Harry turned slowly then, revealing he was looking at a slip of paper in his hand, his brows in a furrow and lips set thin. 

Sunlight coming through the windows glinted off of the glossy coating of the page in his hand. Her heart dropped. 

"What is this?" 

Swallowing around her tongue, she tried her best to slip into a role she hoped would fool him. "What do you mean?" she asked, voice light despite the heavy pit in her stomach. 

Chancing a look at her for the first time since she left her room, Harry's eyes were sharp, a warning expression she hadn't seen since he pulled her from the pilates studio in New York. 

He held the photo up for her to see, showcasing a shot of her escaping through the back of the restaurant with a giddy smile and stolen dinner. 

"Who took this?" 

Her facade crumbled that much, sinking and sinking like her heart in her chest. 

"Um—I—I don't..." 

"(Y/N)," he warned, his voice low and lethal. He wasn't Harry at the moment, this was the man tasked with her safety who'd just found a secret that changed everything. 

"I don't know," she rushed out, deflating as she kept her eyes low so as to not match his own, "I don't know who took it." 

"Then, why do you have it?" 

"Someone sent it to me." 

A tick hugged the hinge of Harry's jaw, his grip on the page tightening. "What do you mean?" 

(Y/N) floundered then. Her mouth gaped with words she knew she wasn't going to say, the air sucked out of her lungs. Nothing wanted to roll off of her tongue—nothing would.

"(Y/N)," Harry sternly interrupted her swimming thoughts. His sharp tone matched his eyes. 

A shallow breath prickled in her lungs. 

She'd never had to speak on this before. There was only one other time she had gained the courage to confront the fact that someone was stalking her, sending photos and letters and expressing devout affection and depraved ideals about her. There was only once she had voiced these fears before, and it had been shot down immediately by her father. She was told to let it go and be grateful; she was meant to be happy that she had a fan, someone to admire her. 

She didn't want to be called crazy again. 

Because she wasn't, right? This was something anyone would be scared over, right? 

Taking her shaky hands into a bundle at her middle, (Y/N) tried to find the words. 

"I don't know who sent it to me, but it came with a letter and other pictures."

Harry stowed over her words for a lingering moment, (Y/N)'s shuttered gaze keeping her from gauging his reaction. For the first time ever, she didn't want to know what he was thinking. 

"Someone sent you pictures of you we don't remember being taken, and a letter," he reiterated, his voice a deadpan rumble as the story came together. 

She'd never heard these events spaced in someone else's voice. 

"Yes." When he didn't immediately say anything (Y/N) felt her blood pressure spike. "Harry," she tried, his name heavy on her tongue, "I-I wanted to tell you, I promise. I was going to, but my father—he... I thought you wouldn't..." 

Harry paced the room silently. He took his time before settling heavily on the middle cushion of the couch, the discreet photo of her being clutched in his grip. 

"Tell me now, then," he commanded, gaze fixed on the photograph, "I don't care what your dad said or what you thought before, this is something I need to know about." 

Her fingers were a fiddling mess as she stood still in the middle of the room. "I don't know where to start," she whispered. 

Fracturing his line of sight from the picture, Harry cast his gaze out the windows, taking in the skyline they'd called home for the better part of two months. His free hand landed heavily in his hair, nails grazing his scalp. 

"Start wherever—anywhere. I don't care, I jus' need to know." 

(Y/N) sucked in a shaky breath. She'd never felt so lost before. 

How was she supposed to wrap up years worth of ominous letters and unwanted photographs? How was she supposed to put it all in a story that didn't require them sitting here for hours and for (Y/N) to dissolve into tears more than a handful of times? 

"Is this the first one you've gotten?" Harry pressed, taking her silence for the need of guidance. 

"No." 

A heavy sigh lifted his shoulders. He finally craned his neck back to the living room with her, though he picked only a spot in the room to focus on. He didn't dare catch her eye, yet.

"When did they start?" 

Prattling around the timeline, (Y/N) tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. "A couple of years ago, I think?" 

Though his features stayed completely stoic, she knew there was something in her answer that had his shoulders tensing and nose flaring. 

"This person has been taking photos of you and sending them for two years?" 

"Kind of," (Y/N) reasoned, deigning herself to sink into one of the arm chairs beside the couch, her back stiff despite the inviting cushions, "I think sometimes they take pictures they find online since a lot of them match up, but sometimes it's like this one. I used to think they were selling stories and pictures to publications and posting them, but some of the stuff they sent started getting really weird a year ago." She took in a breath, thinking about the one piece of information that she hadn't the courage to read since the first time. "They send letters, too. About me." 

"Do you have them? The letters." 

"Only the couple that have been sent here." 

Harry's voice was low, seething, as he spoke, "Let me see them." 

Hesitating where she sat, (Y/N) stayed stiff in her position. She didn't want to grab the letters, honestly. She didn't want anyone to see them if she didn't even have the courage to fold them open. 

A niggling thought in the back of her head had her staying put: What if she was overreacting? What if Harry read these letters and saw what her father saw? That she was nothing but a paranoid, ungrateful girl. She wasn't sure if she could survive something like that. 

"(Y/N)," Harry started, his voice bringing her back to the surface of her swimming thoughts, "I'm asking as someone who's supposed to keep you safe. Please let me see these things." 

Her voice was quiet as she agreed with an okay. Her footsteps were the only thing that could be heard as she padded over the floor, going to her bedroom with the burning drawer being her destination. Rifling through the pile of palettes and trio envelopes hiding underneath. She collected them as if they were burning, her fingers gingerly grasping them. 

She blindly handed over the envelopes, sinking back into her seat as she felt her heart in her throat. As much as she didn't want to watch, she couldn't tear her eyes off of Harry as he paged through the photos. She barely registered the slideshow of photos as he leafed through them, already having seen the blurry shots and odd angles, the lengths this person went to just to capture a sliver of her body. 

"Have you read the letters before?" Harry asked, his voice low and calculating. 

"I did once," she explained, "But, after that, I never did again." 

Harry didn't waste a moment before he pulled out the letters, the blurry photographs now nothing more than a kaleidoscope of her face across the coffee table. She made a point to shift her eyes to him then, unwilling to really see the breadth of this person's admiration for her. 

(Y/N) looked on as he reached for the most recent letter first, his gaze quickly scanning over the page before he forced himself to grab for this next. The whole time, she watched as Harry reacted to whatever was typed on the page, the way his muscles bunched and his features flattened into something severe and angular. The way he pinched the paper became more aggressive, something tight flexing into his fingers. 

She chewed on her bottom lip, her curiosity peaking. "Wh-What do they say?"

It took a moment before he tore his glazed eyes from the page, flicking to meet hers through the fan of his lashes. "Do you really want to know?" 

Weighing her options, (Y/N) wasn't sure, really. "Maybe?" 

Harry shook his head, folding up the page before dropping it atop the others. "They... pay attention to you a lot. There's a version of you they like, and really care about. It's all they talk about." 

"What do you mean?" She worried her fingers in her lap, the edges of her acrylics being worn dull. 

Swallowing, Harry tried to keep a straight face as he looked over the evidence sitting in front of him.

"They really like you, and have decided they know who you are because of that," he tipped his head, taking in a sigh with his hands clenching and unclenching. "They're... This person isn’t right, (Y/N)." 

Her heart sunk at his words. The rising sun outside lighting the city while she felt the darkest she had in a long time. 

"It's that bad?" 

He didn't offer an answer, the pages in front of him now feeling like poison permeating through the room. 

The silence that sat between them felt like a third roommate, heavy and unforgiving. 

"Harry?" (Y/N) murmured, quiet compared to the silence, "What do we do?" 

A heavy hand was passed through Harry's curls, nails catching his scalp with his fingers messing the swirls. "I don't—," he breathed, shaking his head, "Fuck—I don't know." 

(Y/N) finally saw something cracking in him—that stoic facade that veiled whatever was bubbling on the inside beginning to slip. The uncomfortable feeling of having no definite way to get out of this situation rained down on him. She saw the way he peered out the windows of the apartment as if he would catch someone right then. She wouldn't put it past him to scour the whole place, hoping to ferret out anyone who could have slipped under their noses for so long. 

"Fuck," Harry murmured under his breath, the curse heavy on his tongue. His knee began to bounce where he sat. 

Swallowing around her dry throat, she didn't know what to say, what to tell him. While there was a part of her that felt vindicated knowing that he wouldn't react like this over nothing. This threat was real and not just something she made up in her head and used as a reason to be dramatic. 

The other part of her felt guilt over keeping this secret from him. He wouldn't have been blindsided if she had just followed her gut and told him from day one everything that was going on behind closed doors. Maybe he wouldn't have taken the job then (the idea stabbed at the soft parts of (Y/N)'s heart), but he wouldn't have been struggling as he was now. 

"Harry, I—I didn't mean to, I'm sorry," she tried, unsure of what she was saying or feeling but wanting to give him something. 

He waved her off, shaking his head with his unfocused gaze on the floor. "Why didn’t your dad want me to know?" 

"He said it was a waste of your time to worry about it," she explained, feeling embarrassed despite the fact she had nothing to do with her father's decisions, "W-When I told him about it, he said I needed to be grateful, that I needed to be happy that someone admired me enough to follow me and everything. He told me I needed fans like that since I wasn't very popular anyway." 

(Y/N) couldn't look away as Harry curled in on himself the longer she spoke. The knuckles of his clenched hands were a burning white, his shoulders heavy and broad. 

"I fucking hate your dad," he mumbled after a beat, his voice a seething breath, "So much." 

She looked at him with wide eyes for a moment. Then, she couldn't help the huff of laughter that pushed between her lips. 

She'd never heard anyone say that before—at least anyone that wasn't herself. It was relieving in a delirious kind of way. 

Because she fucking hated him, too. 

Harry looked up at her, something quizzical in his gaze. 

"Sorry, sorry," she got out in-between giggles, "I've just never heard anyone say that before about him—usually I'm the only one that sees him this way. It's—I don't know why I'm laughing, but." 

There was no room to continue with the way laughter began to pour out of her, eyes tearing at the feeling in her chest. The feeling that there was more than just herself on her side. 

A lopsided smile worked its way onto his lips as he watched her. "I've seen enough to know I hate him, don't worry." He shook his head, dimples thumbed into his cheeks. "I only keep this job for you." 

Despite the delirium fueled amusement coating the room, (Y/N) almost melted at the genuine way he spoke to her—spoke about her. He meant what he was telling her, without a doubt. 

"I really didn't mean to keep this from you," she told him once she settled down, a deep breathing inflating her lungs, "Before everything, I thought you were on his side, so I didn't want to waste our time. I don't think my father even wanted you to really be my security guard at first, so." 

"That's why y'said what y'said the first time I went to your place," Harry pieced together, gaze warm on her skin. When she only nodded her head, his gaze dropped down the column of her throat. "At first, I can't lie, I believed the things he told me and what I'd read about you," he acted ashamed to admit as much, "But, that was because I didn't know you. It didn't take very long to realize that you are very different from what everyone said.

"I hope you know that. If more people took the time to know you and used more than a fraction of their brain" he continued, conviction running under his words, "no one would believe those stories. The people who do know you, know that you're worth more than any of it." 

Maybe now wasn't the time, with a coffee table full of deranged letters and creepy photos of herself, but (Y/N) couldn't help the flutter of her heart in her chest. Harry, even if he was giving her a hard truth, was never anything less than genuine. He believed every word he was saying to her, and that made her want to believe it, too.

"Thank you," she smiled at him, the curl of her lips small and shy. 

Harry allowed his gaze to linger on her for a few moments more before he must have remembered the gravity of the situation as she did. He forced his eyes to land back on the matter at hand: the letters and photos dedicated to her. 

"'M going to take care of this, okay?" he murmured, all amusement draining from his tone, "'M going to do everything I can to figure this out and make this person stop, (Y/N). 'M going to keep y'safe." 

"I know you will," she answered in a heartbeat. There was no question in her mind about his ambition. 

(Y/N) allowed her gaze to wash over him as he focused on the photographs. She doubted Harry knew, but he was becoming her safe place. She trusted him more than she trusted almost anyone—more than Francesca even. A pressure in her chest developed the longer she sat with the realization. 

"Harry?" 

"Hm?" 

Suddenly her posture was stiff once more, bottom lip chewed swollen between her teeth. "Could—Or, I guess, would you mind—Can I hug you?" 

The mossy green of Harry's eyes, flecks of sunflower yellow, blinked up at her. She saw every minute expression on his features before they softened and curved into a gentle smile. 

"C'mere," he told her, leaning back against the cushion with his arms open. 

It was on instinct the way she moved, bundling herself into his arms with her legs curled up underneath herself. She was a ball against Harry's chest, his arms a forgiving loop around her body. His palms spanned the planes of her back, one between her shoulder blade and the other lower as he warmed her skin through the sleep shirt she was still wearing. With her head tucked into his neck, she felt him relax around her with his nose grazing the top of her head. 

She felt safe in his arms—forgiven, and trusted. He believed her more than anyone she'd ever known before. 

"I've got you, okay?" 

(Y/N) squeezed herself tighter to him.

—————

Taking her hand out of the UV lamp, (Y/N) settled a gentle palm on Harry's arm. 

"It's okay, H," she murmured, "You can relax." 

He was startled at her touch, his mechanical scanning of the nail parlour ceasing for a moment. 

"Sorry?" he muttered in response.

He'd been like this every time they stepped out of the house since he was clued in on the letters and photos. At the farmer's market, he was suddenly suspicious of anyone who dared to bump into her, any vendor who haggled with her for a moment too long, anyone who so much as looked at her with interest in their gaze. He had mistaken small black bags for high quality cameras, his eye constantly peering out for a lens pointed in her direction. Her pilates class was just a level below that intensity given that she wouldn't allow him to follow her into the studio, forcing him to wait outside with bated breath for her return. 

(When she had joked that she would keep an eye out for someone with a movie camera and a shirt with a photo on her face, he hadn't exactly laughed, but she thought it was funny).

It seemed the nail parlour was no different. The familiar techs and other staff who had begun greeting her after her second regular visit were now suspects in Harry's mind. No one was to grow too close to her, only her given tech when it was time for her appointment. Everyone else had to pass the wall that was her bodyguard before they had any hopes of even breathing in her direction.

"I was just saying that I'm okay, you can relax," she reiterated, squeezing his arm with her fresh set of nails glimmering in the light. 

"I know," he deadpanned, going back to surveilling the scene, "'M jus' doing my job." 

She tried to be gentle as she spoke to him, remembering the way she felt the first time she saw those envelopes of her photos. She had grown paranoid as well, double checking every street, every blurry face, every lingering interaction. She was nowhere near as comfortable with the information as she was now, and that paranoia was where Harry was currently living. 

"If you hadn't noticed them before," she reasoned, voice forgiving as her nail tech made the final touches on the set of cherries painted on her fingertip, "I don't think that's going to change now, and that's okay." 

Harry shook his head, a stray curl grazing his forehead. "I wasn't looking before. I am now." His words were definitive, the same way he spoke to her at her apartment with the photos strewn across the coffee table. "'M not going to let this keep happening, (Y/N)." 

(Y/N) didn't know what to say. 

It was still an odd feeling to have someone worry over her—someone who cared to the degree Harry was declaring. She didn't know what to do, how to act, under these conditions. It had always been her and her alone that carried these kinds of burdens. 

Reaching under the table, Harry settled his hand on her knee, the warm skin of his palm felt through the rips in her jeans. He gave a squeeze. "Let me take care of this. I've got it." 

Her nail tech tapped her hand too soon to inspect the paint before going under the light, forcing her gaze to stray from Harry's and the way his eyes glimmered over her features. Just before she looked away, she swore she saw his pupils dilate, honing in on the shape of her lips. 

—————

It took close to two weeks for the photos of her on her date with Elliot to surface, the angles and shots already familiar to her eyes. They were exact matches to that of the ones that were now carefully stowed in Harry's room. 

(Y/N) didn't exactly care about this specific leak, having expected it two weeks prior, anyway. Her father had to have known about all of the details of the ditch anyway, and if he hadn't said something already, he wasn't going to. She had nothing to worry about when it came to this story making its way to the press. 

Except for the string of international paparazzi that now seemed to make it their mission to follow her everywhere she went. 

She couldn't blame them, really. There was nothing that made ad revenue or sold magazines more than a tumultuous love life, so the hope of catching her on a date—a high profile one at that—was too enticing for many photographers to let go of. Whatever paid the bills, she guessed. 

That was why she wasn't particularly surprised to look over her shoulder and see a string of loitering paparazzi waiting outside the restaurant she had Harry had escaped to for dinner. She even recognized one from back home. 

She didn't try to cover her tracks too often while in Paris, just for the fact she was more unknown here than in New York, but that didn't always mean she went unnoticed. The idea of working through the small string brought her back to her drunken stumbling from the club. She hoped it wouldn't be anything like that. 

(Y/N) hadn't realized how long she'd been distracted by the peering cameras until she felt Harry's hand land on her own. Whipping her head around she found he had abandoned his crostini topped with melty brie to focus his attention on her. His eye contact was unwavering. 

"'S gonna okay, alright?" he soothed her, "'S only a few. Nothing we can't handle." 

"I know," she answered, curling her hand under his, "I just... Now that I've actually looked at some of the pictures being sent to me, I don't like seeing so many cameras on me like this. I don't like that they're taking pictures of you, either." 

Harry sat patiently listening to her, only pulling his hand away from hers to prop his chin up on a white-knuckled fist. Something always ignited in him when she mentioned the gifts from her admirer. His gaze skittered outside the eatery, silently taking in the faces of those smoking and loitering on the sidewalk. 

"You think it could be any of them?" 

The thought hadn't really crossed her mind. She figured it would be a good disguise, to blend in with people who would of course be carrying around cameras and would be looking for her on nights like these, but that didn't explain why she'd never seen a paparazzo-esque person trailing her when no one else was. 

"I don't know," she answered honestly, a small shrug lifting her shoulders, "The picture quality is always pretty good, so I guess it could be someone like that, but I guess I always kind of figured it's easier to follow me unnoticed if they were using their phone camera." 

Humming his acknowledgment, Harry didn't pull his eyes from her awaiting fans. While she didn't know everything about what his expressions meant or what was going on in his head, she recognized this moment. The gears were turning the longer he stayed quiet, a plan being laced together. 

"Do y'want to see if we can go out the back?" 

Considering the option for a moment, she ultimately turned it down with a shake of her head. "We'd still have to pop through the front to get to the car, anyway." 

"I can go alone and bring the car around for you?" Harry offered, trying to meander a way around the inevitable. 

"They know your face now, you know," she looked at him sullenly across the table. That was something she felt the most guilty over, taking away his privacy and splashing his face across the internet and whatever magazines chose to print him. While he wasn't always the target of the shots, he was a person of interest now. 

A beat passed, Harry returning his eyes to her with something softening behind the moss. "You really want to go through them?" 

"I don't think we have much of a choice," she laughed, the sound lacking humor. 

Harry looked at her with his features melting and curving into something soft—understanding. "We'll make it out jus' fine, alright?" 

The smile that tugged the corners of her lips was genuine. She didn't doubt him for a heartbeat. "I know." 

—————

After settling the tab with discarded plates full of the crumbs of brie-heavy crostinis, their dinner of appetizers being left behind, (Y/N) braced herself for the trek outside. 

"Ready?" Harry asked, looking to her intently as she cinched her jacket around her waist. 

"I think so," she nodded. It was now or never, no point in hiding out and sipping wine until they became bored around midnight. 

"I'll be with you," he murmured, just as he attached himself to her side, the waitstaff eyeing them. 

(Y/N) offered a quiet smile of thanks, feeling a bit exposed knowing they were watching so intently. She couldn't blame them—they had garnered quite a bit of attention tonight, it was practically a given.

Approaching the door together, she didn't think twice before she fisted her hand in Harry's coat, ensuring he stayed close to her as she dropped her chin to face the ground. Harry took that as his cue to wrap an arm around her waist, protectively leashing her to him. 

Pushing open the door with a stiff hand, Harry led them to the handful of waiting photographers. It was when she saw the pulsing lights bleaching the corners of her vision did she begin to regret her choice of putting her head down. This position could easily be spun into one of annoyance, and rudeness. That she thought she was too good to even look at these people. 

"(Y/N), (Y/N)!" a pair of the photographers began to shout as they followed she and Harry toward their car. 

(Y/N) kept her head down, ignoring the calls to her attention. She didn't need to give them anything, all she needed to do was follow Harry's guiding steps to get her out as safely as possible. 

"Okay?" Harry murmured, bending down to press his lips to her ear, drowning out the noise of her name and shuttering of cameras. The flashes went on faster at his intimate touch though he didn't let it stop him from soothing. 

Nodding her head, she could feel a small smile touch Harry's lips against her skin. 

"Almost there," he informed in a gentle tone, "Jus' gotta go slow so they don't try to chase us or get too close." 

"Thank you," she mumbled, fist in his coat unfurling until she pressed her palm against the line of his waist. 

"I've got you," was his simple answer back. 

She didn't have a moment to find comfort in Harry's words before an accented voice was shouting once more, unsatisfied with her ignorance. 

"(Y/N), are you a cheater?! Does your boyfriend know you went on a date with that old man?!" the photographer provoked, spewing out any word he could think of that might draw a reaction from her. 

(Truly, the one reaction he may garner is one of (Y/N) bursting into laughter after the declaration of Elliot being that old man. She couldn't have said it better herself).

While she detested the running rumor of the summer that she was a cheating, wicked woman, she wasn't going to let it get under her skin. She'd proven time and time again that Harry was her security official and nothing more, and there was no way this person would accept another dismissal of the theory. It was better to keep quiet and allow them to print about her deafening silence over the accusations. 

"(Y/N), we want to know the truth! Did you have another affair?!" The photographer pushed after only silence was offered, his camera now being shoved into her space as he gravitated a little too close. 

The rest of the string—including the familiar New York paparazzo—had seemingly taken a step back, photographing the new show that was emerging with their aggressive colleague. 

Harry pressed forward, quickening their pace in hopes of breaking away from them faster. He was stopped only when the man jostled (Y/N) at his side, his camera being shoved under her face as if he could catch a shot despite her evasiveness. That had her stumbling backwards, Harry steadying her as best he could before he was stepping up. 

"Give her some space, man. Back up," he sternly commanded, his arm a tightrope around her waist. Flashbulbs were going crazy over the interaction, catching (Y/N)'s blunder and the standoff that was appearing between the two men. 

Seemingly disregarding Harry's warning, the paparazzo tried again, sidestepping the wall that was Harry's blocking form. Maybe, he didn't understand, (Y/N) reasoned. English wasn't always the easiest language to understand even if you could speak it, especially given Harry's accent. 

"S'il vous plaît, laissez-moi un peu d'espace," she piped up, hoping the translation would blot out the grey area. Sometimes these people needed to be told before they remembered basic personal space standards and manners. 

This time, when he pushed through, once again asking (Y/N) if it was true that she's slept with all of her father's friends, that it was clear there was no language barrier pushing him to be disrespectful.

They were this close to the car, just steps away from allowing (Y/N) into safety and speeding away. Of course it could never be that easy.

Harry let go of her only for him to step in front of her completely, blocking the photographer from achieving any kind of shot. 

"Step back," he ordered, his voice a deep grumble as he enunciated every syllable, "Give her some space." 

The way the paparazzo reacted seemed less about getting pictures of (Y/N) and more about standing up to Harry. He scrambled around, reaching his camera over the breadth of Harry's shoulders as if to prove he could get what he wanted despite any kind of intervention. 

Inching slowly towards their car, Harry did his best to pave the way for (Y/N) to follow and slip away. Nothing seemed to deter the other man, however. 

"Step back," Harry ordered again, placing the palm of his hand flat against the other man's chest. 

While it wasn't necessarily a push, the force Harry gave behind his palm was enough to get the other man stumbling back. French profanities left the paparazzo's mouth as he tripped over his own feet.

This was Harry's opportunity as he reached around and grabbed (Y/N). She was quickly steered towards the unlocked car, Harry pushing her inside the second the door was opened wide enough to head in. 

Everything moved quickly then, the other paparazzi seemingly focusing on Harry and the way he conducted himself against the other man. He rounded the front of the vehicle and threw himself inside, the flash of cameras and a distant angry voice following his moves. 

Harry didn't waste a second before he peeled away from the curb, setting them away from the chaos. (Y/N) barely had the capacity to buckle herself in with shaky hands. 

That was worse than she expected, honestly. Never had the Parisian photographers been so blatantly disrespectful, shoving cameras in her face and asking ridiculous questions. 

This was the most physical Harry's ever been forced to be in front of her, most people heeding his size and station in favor of actually challenging him. 

"Are you okay?" she asked, the world whizzing past them with Harry's foot pressed deeply against the gas pedal. 

His knuckles were white around the steering wheel. 

"He wasn't listening." 

(Y/N) swallowed, spying the cutting angle of his jaw and the blaze in his dark eyes. Maybe she should have taken him up on his offer of bringing the car around for her. She could have avoided this whole thing if she wasn't so stubborn. 

"I wasn't sure if he could understand you at first," she shakily recounted, "but I told him to back off in French, too. I don't know why he didn't listen. He didn't hurt you or anything, right?" 

"'M alright," he answered, shaking his head with his lips rolling between his teeth, "I jus'... I don't like how people talk to you, (Y/N)." 

He flexed his hands around the wheel, the leather squeezing under his grip. She didn't know how to soothe him, what advice she could give. "You just can't listen," she told him, sharing the only thing she'd learned on her own through the years. 

A beat passed, nothing more than the feel of the tires grazing over the asphalt sounding through the cab. Harry twisted and turned, moving like an expert through the streets.

"I don't know how you do it," he told her, voice quiet and losing that edge he'd had gained outside the restaurant, "'S like there's a new lie every day—it makes me so angry. These people don't even know you and all they do is call y'names and think the worst of y'every chance they have. Why don't y'say anything?" 

It wasn't accusatory the way he asked her, even if he was frustrated. He was just one of those people who couldn't imagine what it was like to allow abuse from others without biting back. She wished she could be like that. 

"I guess I'm used to it," (Y/N) shrugged, feeling the backs of her eyes beginning to burn, "People have been taking pictures of me and saying things since I was in high school, so I don't think it bothers me like it's supposed to. I've learned it's a lot easier to let people think what they want because no matter what kind of apology or correction I make, it's never going to be seen or believed as much as whatever was said about me in the first place. I just have to be okay with it, and let what people say go." 

By the time she finished, she felt those tears well up in her eyes, stinging and hot. Every blink she gave trying to hold them back only jostled the pool, blurring her vision. 

"I don't like that you're used to this, (Y/N)," Harry answered, his voice feeling a level of mourning she understood. 

A joyless smile molded her lips into something uneven. She shrugged. "Me neither, but what can you do, right?" 

Tonight would spur something new in the media, photos no doubt being caught of Harry's altercation with the paparazzo and (Y/N) fully expected someone to have been able to secure a photo of her with these tears in her eyes. She could already imagine the kinds of narratives that would be built around these moments, the kind of things people would believe about them both now. 

But, what could she do, right? 

Silently, Harry unhooked a hand from around the steering wheel and gently laid his palm on her knee. The split in her long skirt allowed his skin to press against her own, fingers curling around the cuff of her knee in a comforting squeeze. He didn't have to say anything to let her know that he was there, he was here for her and he trusted and believed her more than anyone she'd ever met before. 

He didn't have to say it for (Y/N) to know that he really did care for her, even outside of what his job called for. 

Wiggling her fingers under his palm, (Y/N) hugged her hand to his. Her fingers filled in the gaps between his own, painted fingernails glinting in the city lights. 

Harry held her hand the whole drive home.

—————

As expected, two days after the altercation in front of the restaurant, a fat envelope full of photos and a letter she wouldn't read, arrived at the Paris penthouse. 

The media had already spread their own photos about, including shots of her tearing up on the car ride home, leaving her curious as to what the admirer was going to show her that she hadn't already seen. 

It was an odd feeling to not immediately go and ferret away the letter, to hide any evidence of the fact that his life wasn't completely normal. 

But, Harry needed to see this. If he was so willing to give her such trust and believe her without question, she was going to have to give him something back. 

"Is that another letter?" Harry asked from where he had emerged from his bedroom, the entrance to the hallway now full of his broad shoulders and scowling face. 

"Yeah," (Y/N) sighed, chest heavy. 

Moving towards her, Harry asked her carefully, "Can I see it?" 

She wordlessly handed it over. She didn't want to see the content anyway, especially seeing as the other was beginning to turn on Harry. She didn't want to see what kind of marking they left on the photos of him. 

It was a quiet ordeal, watching Harry pluck apart the envelope and peer inside. He scanned the photographs, seemingly the most upset when he reached shots of her crying in the car beside him. It was when he reached the letter that something shifted in his demeanor. 

He was always calm and collected, calculating each step and each reaction. But, she saw cracks then as he read the contents of the folded page. His cheeks were red, bottom lip cuffed between his teeth with nose flaring. He looked moments away from shredding the page apart himself. 

She was sure he would have if he hadn't instead indelicately folded it before slamming it on the kitchen counter. 

"We're not doing this anymore," he cemented, voice sharp and unforgiving, "You are not doing this anymore—putting up with this shit anymore." 

Leaning over the pile in front of him, he dropped his head into his hands, his fingers creating angry trails in his hair. 

"Harry," she started, her voice cushioning the sharp blow of his own tone, "I know it's hard, but I don't know if there's anything we can do about this. We don't know anything about who's doing this." 

"I don't know what to do," he grumbled, his hands tightening against his scalp, "But, I'm not letting this person take advantage of you and say these awful things about you any more. 'S not okay." 

She didn't know how to tell him that there wasn't anything that could be done to help her, honestly. That there was no way she could conceivably stop this person until they messed up and gave her some kind of information to get a restraining order filed. Until then, there wasn't anything that could stop them. 

"I know it's a lot," she tried, downplaying the same thing that used to give her nightmares when it first began, "But nothing really serious has happened, yet, at least. It's just another person taking photos of me, really." 

 "I don't like it!" Harry suddenly burst, whipping his head up to match her eyes with his own fiery gaze, "You shouldn't have to go through this! I don't understand why everyone thinks it's okay to degrade you, and mock you, and invade your privacy all because your shitty dad lets them! I don't fucking like it, (Y/N)!" 

In a final standoff with the rage bubbling inside, Harry swept his hand heavily over the counter, collecting every piece of evidence and splaying it across the floor. She was sure he wanted to do more, do anything to let off the steam billowing inside him, but there wasn't anything he could do without leaving damage on their home. 

Everything stilled then, the mess on the floor and Harry's breathing heavy in his chest. (Y/N) stood in the stark calm of the kitchen, watching with wide eyes and her hands a fumbling nest. She watched as he looked down at the mess of photographs and the despicable letter that set him off. 

"I don't know how to fix it." His voice was gentle like a whisper, matching the breeze that filtered through the city outside the window. 

Carefully creeping over the floor, bare feet padding over the tiled kitchen, she met Harry around the cooked counter. He didn't look up at her, even when she collected him into her arms and nestled him into a hug. 

"You don't have to fix it, H," she told him, mumbling against his skin as he slowly unfroze around her, "I don't know if this is something that can be fixed. It's just a part of my life at this point, and I don't want you to be upset over it." 

"I want you to be safe," he told her, voice thin when he succumbed to her hold and buried his nose into her hair and wrapped his arms around her just as fiercely. 

She could feel the hard planes of his chest pressed against her own soft curves, Harry fitting himself around her. Every breath he took was matched by her, his nose skimming the top of her head in a soothing pattern as if the motion were for himself only. He was furled like a tight rose, keeping a bumblebee safe from whatever was lurking outside the petals. 

"With you, I am." 

That had Harry pulling away from her then, his eyes matching hers with dilated pulls and a slack jaw. 

"You feel safe with me?" he asked, keeping his hold on her tight so as to not let her stray too far away. 

"Of course, I do," she smiled at him, her hands pressing into his back, "You're the only person that's ever actually been there for me. Like, you actually care." 

While her tone was lighthearted, encouraging, Harry was erring on the serious side. He didn't match her smile, his features left in softened curves and slacked muscles.

Every detail, every expression, every fine point of her was catalogued with his eyes. (Y/N) wasn't even sure if he was really breathing as he did this, the world having stood still the longer he gazed at her. 

When he finally met her eyes once more, the slightly pinch marred his brow, his eyes down turning into something gentle. 

"I do care about you." He swallowed, raspberry lips wet by his tongue. "I don't know when, but I don't think anything I've been doing has been because of my job for a while now." 

Heart hammering in her chest, she felt breathless looking up at him. She still saw that same beauty she spotted in her father's office all that time ago; the mole by his mouth, the sandy stubble on his cheeks, the spotting of freckles on his nose, the cut set of his jaw, the whirlwind of green in his eyes. There was something softer lingering now, something she never could have imagined landing on the face of her security guard. 

She found similarities in this moment to the way he had gazed so wondrously at the Eiffel Tower glimmering at night. He looked at her like she was one of the greatest creations in the world, deserving of romance and praise and commemoration.

"Really?" she breathed.

The way he nodded at her started out small, his gaze dipping to her lips before something frantic kicked in. "Really," he asserted, his hand on her back traveling up her spine and over the base of her neck, "Can I—Can I kiss you?" 

(Y/N)'s answer came in the form of her nose bumping his, mouth placed just off center, hands clutching at the soft fabric of his top. Harry seemed taken aback for a moment, stunned into stillness before he came to life under her kiss. 

The hand that had been traced up her back to the base of her neck turned into a steadying hold, allowing him to support her as he towered above. She tipped her head back as he slotted his lips between her own, kissing her top lip delicately despite the ravenous way he held her. The soft sound of sighs, lips parting and meeting again, filled the room. The very tip of Harry's nose grazed the apple of her cheek as he tipped his head, deepening their kiss with a taste of his tongue over hers. If not for the fact her eyes were already closed, she could imagine the kind of blissed expression she would show off for him. 

Pressing her back towards the kitchen counter, (Y/N) followed Harry's guidance, never pulling her lips away from his own. It wasn't rough the way he grabbed her, placing her on the ledge, only eager excitement flooding his movement. (Y/N) understood completely, immediately reaching for him once more after she was steadied and safe on the counter. 

Her thighs parted to let him stand between, his hands pressing against the round of her hips as he took advantage of his spot. It was (Y/N)'s turn then to clasp her hands around the back of his neck, feeling the baby hairs and heat of his skin. She sighed into his kiss.

She hadn't kissed anyone sober in so long, let alone someone she deeply cared about and who she knew cared about her as well. This put everything she'd experienced to shame. 

Harry put everyone else to shame. 

Happiness flooded her system. 

(Y/N) smiled against his lips, her hands going rogue in his hair as she slipped her fingers between the curls. Harry matched her with a clinging hold on her hips, a grin blooming on his features. He pulled away only when their mouths couldn't actually press together through the breadth of their smiles. 

"Happy?" he asked her, grinning lips just a breath away from her own with his nose nudging delicate against hers.

"Uh-huh," she sighed, chancing her eyes open just a sliver, just enough to see what he looked like when he'd just been kissed by her. Her hands in his hair roamed until they settled a warm hug around his neck. "You make me so happy." 

Harry drew away from her before she was enveloped in his hug once more. His face was in her neck, his arms a cushioned cage around her middle. She swore she could feel his heart beating in time with her own, both racing. 

The kind of silence that only fit when you'd just been kissed in the middle of Paris descended over the flat. This silence full of mushy feelings, lip prints, and synced breathing. 

"Even if I can't fix everything, 'm going to take care of you." His words melted across the column of her neck, the brush of his lips feeling more intimate than when he had helped her undress after the Gala. "I want to make you happy, sweet girl." 

Her eyes fluttered closed as he tucked her chin against her shoulder, cheeks stretched wide from her grin. "I know you will." 

Harry hugged her tighter. 

—————

retrouvailles is an untranslatable French word that describes the feeling of re-meeting someone, the joy of seeing someone you missed even if you didn't know you missed them before

eeeeek!!!!! thank you all so much for reading this part was def fun! sorry for any mistakes and please let me know if you have anything fun to share about the story!

[s-4pphics]

dial. 1 (e.w.)

wc;cw: 3.2k, all ocs r black coded<3, fratadjacent!ellie, she has community dick, dina being mawtha, mentions of psychs, weed n alcohol so dubcon, bad parties, light smut MDNI, pussy eating, err exhibitionism a lil bit, mentions of porn LOL

“Hand me my mascara, pleeease.” 

“… Lemme connect to the speaker then.” 

You sighed in exasperation at your roommate’s bargaining, placing the blaring device into her devious hands before snatching your mascara from her. She was puffing from her dab as she connected it to her phone, her playlist blasting through your small, shared space. 

HOW YOU WANNA FUCK WIT’ A STAR—

Niah returned to her ironing board, slicing and altering her ugly Christmas sweater so it was as revealing as possible. You should’ve followed in her lead; you were already burning up from your vanity lights and long, furry sleeves. 

You never attended holiday themed parties because they were the most packed, but Niah threatened to set your limited-edition vinyl set on fire if you didn’t show up. You did want to protect your rare records, but you were also planning to attend anyway for more selfish reasons. 

You hoped Dina didn’t hate you too much. 

Your good friend didn’t hesitate to scold you in person a couple of weeks ago, bursting into your room with a full IHOP platter and a sharp tongue. She was much calmer when she returned to her room after screaming at you, but you understood her initial anger. You definitely made a mistake. A pretty big mistake. 

Didn’t I tell your stupid ass to leave her alone! You don’t fucking listen, that’s your problem. 

Were you wrong for letting Dina’s best friend rearrange your guts in her roommate’s bed? Yes, without a doubt! 

Were you going to fuck her again despite her warnings? Absolutely! She fucks too good and finals are around the corner. You need a destressor!

Dina was able to let it go after reprimanding you, but you knew that she felt a bit uncomfortable whenever you two were in a room together. It wasn’t due to your private relationship, but because Ellie was a degenerate slut that greeted you by pinching your ass instead of waving like a normal person! 

You and Ellie’s newfound… friendship? Situation? You weren’t sure what the fuck this was. What do you call fucking someone you barely know four times a week and then seeing them in their Starbucks uniform every morning on your way to class? The main topic of conversation is always either can I get two cream cheeses instead of one? or hold this blunt so I can make you squirt. 

You know she likes turtles! She has a small tattoo of one right under her ear! You couldn’t stop poking it when she drove you back to your building after digging you out in her car last week. 

You knew Ellie had a reputation on campus for being a shroom-slinging whore, but she’s… more than that! She’s so funny! And cool. And pretty. And a sweet-talker and—

… You may have developed a little crush on her since you started fucking. You haven’t felt these high school butterflies since you were in high school. 

Plus, she rolls up for you sometimes! That counts for something, right?

You applied your mascara, wiggling in your desk chair excitedly while you downed the rest of your shot. You choked down the burning liquid, and your phone went off. 

You sucked your teeth, turning in your seat to face an occupied Niah as she bobby-pinned her Santa hat onto her head. 

“Did you tell Dina t’come early? It’s not even eleven.” 

She looked over her shoulder at you, “Nah, is she coming?” 

“She’s almost here,” you showed your best friend the messages, and she shook her head, hastily retreating to the mirror to straighten her appearance. And show more cleavage!

“This bitch, I tell you.” 

You poured and downed two more shots for good luck, smudged your liner, and shoved your phone into your jean shorts pocket. You sprinted over to your roomie and slapped her ass with a bright grin, making her snort. 

“You’re a hoe. Hand me my phone.” 

You grabbed the plush on her hips and thrusted into her ass, “I’m getting fuuucked, I’m getti—“

She laughed hard, “Get off me!” 

You squealed and jumped in elation before Dina rang your line and summoned the both of you downstairs. 

The music was the main reason you hated Christmas-themed parties. How are you supposed to bump and grind to The Little Boy that Santa Clause Forgot?! 

You, Niah, and Dina had been party-hopping for the last hour, and you were bored out of your fucking minds! You were more interested in watching the burning ash falling from Niah’s blunt than this packed house. 

The soccer house disappointed you. And you’re still horny! 

Dina grabbed you and Niah’s hands and ushered you onto the just as packed front porch, littered with drunk people singing and dancing in the middle of the blocked-off street. This seemed more fun than the party! 

You could see Jesse and his friends out of the corner of your eye, so you grabbed your friends’ arms and dragged them down the slippery steps; You were so desperate for entertainment that you surged through the freezing cold like nothing. 

“Jesse!” You waved your arms excitedly as you jogged up to him. 

Dina’s boyfriend whipped his head around and smiled once he saw you and the girls rushing up. You saw Ellie out of the corner of your eye, draped in her Nutcracker sweater that read CRACK DEEZ NUTZ in large white letters and an antler headband. She looked you up and down… a few times as she gawked at your bare legs. You were so happy you decided to risk hypothermia and wear fishnets!

Pretend you don’t see her! Don’t look desperate!

You threw your arms around an extremely high Jesse before greeting the rest of the soccer team with polite hugs. All except Ellie. You caught a glimpse of the small bong in her hand before she brought it up to her mouth to rip from it. 

Jesse’s slow drawl snapped you out of your leering, “Fuck, y’all aren’t cold?!” 

All three of you answered unanimously, “YES!”

The group erupted into light laughs before Niah cut in, “Bro not gon’ lie… the music’s trash in there— “

“THANK YOU!” “EXACTLY!” “I TOLD THAT FUCKER TO CHANG— “

The entire soccer team concurred loudly, but you were hardly paying attention. Your hazy mind was hyper-focused on Ellie’s dirty sneakers, watching her weight shift from one foot to the other as she listened and laughed along to the complaints. 

“Hi, Ellie.” 

An… overtly flirty tone that you didn’t recognize caught you off guard, and you immediately stiffened. You peeped and eyed the girl that walked up with her friends, pulling her into an incredibly awkward hug. You took note of how offput Ellie was by public affection. 

She received it anyway, “Hey yourself. How you been?” 

Your ears grew, “Fine, chilling. You selling?” 

She tsked, “Not tonight, sorry. You can come by tomorrow or something if you have time.” 

“Alright cool, I’ll text you. Have a good night,” you saw Ellie’s head jerk in acknowledgment before the group departed. Your eyes dropped to the floor in front of you. 

… Ellie never gave her an address. Has she been to their apartment before? 

“You okay?” 

You jumped at Niah’s concerned tone from behind you. You sighed and nodded at her, “We can leave anytime.” 

Before you could reply, Jesse spun and interrupted, grabbing your shoulders, “Leave? What the fuck, it’s Christmas! Come back with us.” 

“Where, uh, where are we goin’?” 

He rolled his eyes like it was obvious, “Back to our place. I already know Michael isn’t gonna change the fucking playlist ‘cuz he’s a fucking loser! Let’s go, c’mon.” 

You mistakenly looked at Ellie, who was already looking at you. Her eyes were shining with mischief, the corner of her mouth lifting in a sly grin. She looked like she was waiting for your answer. An excited zap went through your chest. You spoke without hesitation. 

“Yeah! Let’s go!” 

You secretly watched Ellie take another hit. 

That Uber XL was crammed as fuck, but at least the music banged! Finally! Future just saved your fucking night! 

And Jesse made edibles from scratch! Christmas came early!

Nothing about this night was going how you planned; You were supposed to be getting your shit wrecked by your newfound… whatever, but instead you were getting handed adult gifts from the soccer players! You were not expecting to receive a holiday-themed goodie bag filled to the brim with pungent, iced sugar cookies. 

Niah accepted both yours and hers eagerly before making her way towards the living room couch to dig in. You, Dina, and Jesse were all sitting at the small dining table playing Uno. Ellie was playing with you all, but she excused herself to her room to take a phone call, and you hadn’t seen her since. It was her turn! 

Dina and Jesse were having an intense argument about the 7 and 0 card rules, and you moved on autopilot. You looked around to see all the soccer players and Niah laughing and slumped on the couch before you stood and trekked down the hallway. You knocked on her door. 

“Ellie? It’s your turn to take!” 

… Silence. No response. 

You knocked on her door again, “Ellie?”

You heard some shuffling come from inside, so you decided to check on her. She smoked a lot; Maybe she needed some help getting into bed! 

You slowly twisted the doorknob and peeped through the small opening in the wood, and her raspy tone immediately filled your ears like warm honey. 

“Uh huh, rub that clit like I would. Nice’n slow.” 

Ellie was completely shirtless on her bed as she twirled her antlers with her free hand, shoes kicked off as she spewed filth to… whoever the fuck was on the other line. She couldn’t see you, and you felt guilty for spying, but the fire that she ignited in your stomach planted your feet to the floor. 

“Mhm, miss you so fucking bad.” 

… Why were you still fucking snooping! Shut the fucking door! 

“Yeah? Gonna let me?” 

Why’d you almost nod? You’re losing it; You need to fuck her!

“Wanna know something really hot?” She whispered. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your palms were sweaty. Yes, you do! Anything! 

“I think we have an audience,” she hummed with a sly grin, setting her headband on her thigh before looking up at you. You nearly hit the floor like your stomach just did. 

She chuckled and your clit throbbed. You hate how desperate she gets you, “Yeah, she’s cute. She has the wettest pussy I’ve ever fucked.” 

Your body was on fire and your breathing was shaky; You swore to send your hospital bill to her address. She was going to put you in a coma! 

“Yeah… tag team her with me,” she bit her lip after her suggestion and that was enough to get you to slam the door. For the first time in your life, your embarrassment overshadowed your arousal. You heard her giggling! You're never going outside again! 

“Why the fuck are you standing there like that.” 

You let out a shocked noise at Dina’s voice, trying to look as… not creepy as possible. 

“I, uh, Ellie… S-She fell asleep! It was, um, her turn to pull and I just— “ 

You felt your phone vibrate on your cheek. Dina crossed her arms in front of her, staring you down with an arched brow. You flinched and pulled your device out, Ellie’s message sitting on your bright screen.

You held back your shudder. 

You heard Dina sigh, “Y’all better not be loud.” 

You glanced up at Dina’s hushed tone, her brow arched at you. 

“H-Huh?” 

“Niah isn’t going anywhere, and neither are you. Go see her,” she sighed and pointed at your snoring roomie. “Just don’t be loud. His room is right next to hers and I’m tired.” 

Your arms wrapped around her as you cheesed. 

“Ireallydidn’twantthistobeweirdIloveyousomuch— “

She snickered in your ear and patted your ass in encouragement, “Yeah, yeah, okay. Just… just try’n keep it light, okay? Have a good time and leave it at that.” 

“I will! Promise!” 

You planted a wet kiss on her cheek before turning to yank at Ellie’s doorknob again. 

You busted into Ellie’s room and was immediately hit with the sound of your moans. 

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, nonchalantly packing the same bong from earlier as your… series of Snapchat memories played on the table. She looked up at you upon entry. 

“‘Sup.” 

You waved lamely and immediately cringed. Why does she make you so fucking nervous! 

“… Wanna hit?” She ushered the bong to you. You shook your head and… spoke. You’re such an idiot! 

“No thanks… but you can, uh… h-hit this pussy?” 

The shock on her face made you pray for lightning to strike you down, never to be seen or heard from again because what the fuck did you just say and why did it sound like your screams from her phone were increasing in volume—

Ellie giggled. She actually laughed, and it made you smile. She sounded so cute, like she doesn’t obliterate pussy on a day-to-day basis! 

She grabbed her lighter and lit her overstuffed bowl, muttering into the opening, “Come watch this with me.” 

Your gut erupted with excitement when you shuffled closer, taking a seat right next to her, your shoulders touching. She blew her smoke away from you before grabbing her phone from her nightstand! How long did these memories go on for!

“I never got to ask,” she swiped to the next video of you gagging on her fingers. “You do porn?” 

You choked on air, “… No?”

She looked at you blankly, her thumb moving mindlessly on the screen, “You should. You’re so good in front of a camera.” 

Your face burned like she called you the most beautiful person in the world. Don’t look at her titties!

“Thank you!” You squealed with a bright smile. 

“Mhm,” Ellie gawked at you before shutting her phone off and tossing it behind her, pulling at the hem of your shorts, “Lay down’n take these off.” 

Your shoes went flying across her room, almost hitting her dresser before yanking your shorts down your legs. Ellie stood and grabbed your chin, halting your frantic movements and pressing a light kiss to your lips. The feeling didn’t last a second, but you swore your heart grew a heart before it exploded into red glitter in your chest. You’re shocked the remaining specs didn’t land on her face. She hardly ever kisses you!

“Gonna let me eat this angel cunt before I knock out?” 

You were a mere dog on a leash. You know your eyes glossed over at her tone. She smirked knowingly, pushing your shoulder until you laid flat on her blanket before dropping to her knees in front of you. 

You didn’t have time to take your fishnets off, so she tore the crotch of them with her two veiny hands, —holy fuck—exposing the wet patch on your lace panties. 

She didn’t bother to remove flimsy, damp fabric, merely moving it to the side and revealing the soft, curly hairs on your pussy, your clit throbbing whenever her breath hit it. 

“You gotta pornstar pussy, swear to god.” 

You snorted and looked down, “Why do you want me to do porn so bad?!” 

She sneered playfully, “I’m a girl with needs and I’m asking my favorite link to help me out. You get a fat check and I nut, everybody wins!” 

You laughed brightly, “You’re annoying!” 

She rolled her eyes before licking deeply into you. Your whole body shuddered at the feeling of her soft tongue, your hand finding solace in the loose strands from her bun. You moved her hair from her face, sitting up on an elbow so you could watch her lick you out. She started slowly, swirling her wet muscle on your pulsing bud, spread your slick around before dipping down, shoving her tongue in your pussy, and coming back up to spit all your juices on your clit 

Your thighs were trying to jerk closed around her head, but she pried them open, digging her nails into your plush skin in warning. Your wet gasps were catching in your throat with every skilled swipe of her tongue, your lashes fluttering 

You couldn’t hold back the loud moan that escaped when her tongue pressed against your walls, and she pulled away, landing a harsh slap on your pussy, “Don’t wake my friend up.” 

Your head jerked, “M’—oh fuck— “

She murmured uh huh right on your clit, and eyes rolled, your hips bucking down to get her to drag her tongue over that one spot again you love it when she licks right there—

She sucked your clit into her mouth, her soft lips massaging your sensitive bundle. Your ankles locked behind her head, her bun completely dismantled in your tight grip. 

“Ellie— “

“Yeah, angel? Boutta cum?” she mumbled against your pussy. 

“Y-Yeah— “

She snatched a hand from your thigh and fucked her index finger into your cunt, hitting all your spots like it was in her nature. 

You tried your hardest to shut the fuck up, but you couldn’t! Whines escaped your mouth as quietly as they could as she fucked and ate your cunt at the same time. Your soft walls were squeezing around her calloused finger like it never wanted her to leave, completely drenched in your slick.

“Cutest fuckin’ pussy. Give it t’me, needa drink that cum— “

Your jaw dropped in a silent scream, your walls clenching and squeezing and leaking on her before your orgasm crashed into you. Your lashes fluttered and your eyes crossed in your head, a line a drool dripping off your tongue and onto your fuzzy sweater. Your toes won't uncurl in your damaged stockings; You definitely weren’t going home tonight! 

You watched Ellie swallow every drop of your cum, releasing hums of satisfaction after every pulse of your pussy. Her eyes were sparkling! 

She forced the last of your pleasure out of you until you went limp on her mattress and pushed her head away. She landed a light kiss on your thigh before standing to stretch. 

“Take this shit off and lay down with me.” 

She lightly pulled at your sweater sleeve and rejuvenated you, tearing it and your bra from your body. She eyed your tits before walking over to her side of the bed and shredding her jeans off, sliding under her cotton sheets.

She said nothing, her back turned to you as her body relaxed into her pillows. You felt a little shunned, but she took care of you like she always does when you come over! You tucked yourself in, hyper-focusing on the blotchy bruises on her neck and red lines that cascaded down her toned back until you drifted off with a dull sting in your chest. 

omg the actual p1 ok slayyyy

taglist? :3

night yall LOL

teaser, 2, 3, four, five

[lupine-trees]

learn me, love me, let me know

[something, something, learning as a love language. dedicated to the mundane bits of falling. a drabble in three parts.]

word count: ~1,550, rating: t

I.

The routine dictates: Thursdays are for new recipes and bad movies.

Draco stood at the stove, hovering over a saucepan. I want to try to make something for the gnocchi, he’d said, like an absolute fool.

He’d gone rogue, recipe-less, and this was what he got for it.

“Something’s not right,” he called to Harry, who was poking at a puzzle spread across the living room coffee table. “Here,” he said, scooping up a spoonful and carrying it over, a careful hand cupped underneath. He lifted the spoon to Harry’s lips.

Harry tasted, nodded, thoughtful, knees tucked under him on the rug. “Salt.”

Draco huffed. “I added salt.”

Harry grinned up at him. “More salt.”

Draco went back to the kitchen, and Harry, with sudden realization, rose and followed behind him.

“Wait— here,” he called, reaching up to the potted plant on the windowsill and plucking a few sprigs of chive, pulling a pinch of parsley. He made quick work of them on the cutting board while Draco stirred at the sauce, sprinkled in more salt.

“Alright.” Harry passed the board to Draco, who slid the herbs into the pan.

“It’s still—”

Harry reached over him to one of the myriad jars on the shelf, poured just a bit of the powder over the mixture.

“Cornstarch,” he said, a smile easy on his lips. “It’ll thicken. Give it a minute.”

And sure enough.

Draco took a spoonful, warm and fragrant, tasted it, and nearly moaned. Cleared his throat.

“So?” Harry said, leaned back against the countertop.

“Delicious, of course. You’re unbelievable.” The annoyance was put-upon, a convenient cover for an inconvenient truth.

“I think you mean, ‘Thanks, Harry, I don’t know what I’d do without you.’”

“I assure you, I do not,” he murmured, small grin sharp, crowding into Harry’s space, pressing him back against the counter, one hand splayed over his hip.

“Go on, try it,” he said, placing the spoon again at Harry’s lips.

Harry did, and he had no such qualms about moaning.

II.

This part was definitely not routine.

Draco’s flat— once Harry was finally permitted to visit— was, somehow, smaller even than Harry’s own, and more bafflingly, he had crammed a piano into it anyway.

“Are you even allowed to have this here? Surely it’s too heavy. There’s gotta be, I dunno, building codes or something.”

Draco gave him a belabored glance. “That’s what magic is for, Potter.” He gave the piano a gentle shove, and it slid. “Featherweight charm.”

“Oh,” Harry answered, carefully pulling the piano back into its place. “Y’know, I always wanted to learn to play one of these.” He plunked a finger down on a key, trailed a few notes.

“Did you?”

“Mhm. They have one at the Burrow, an old upright heirloom. I could play Jingle Bells, but, well. Doesn’t really count, does it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Here.” Draco lifted the bench seat, pulling out sheets of music, settling them on the stand. “Sit, sit.”

Harry sat. Draco slid in beside him. “Put your fingers here,” he said, placing him at rest on the keys.

So, it went like this: The afternoon was long, bleeding into evening, the music clunky. Harry definitely played Jingle Bells upward of twenty times. Draco might’ve taken the opportunity to lean cozily on his shoulder, to place his hands atop Harry’s for teaching purposes.

“Your neighbors are going to hate you,” Harry murmured, softened by the bottle of wine they’d kipped into about an hour in.

Draco laughed. “You’re unbelievable.” He gave a tug at his magic, and the walls lit up with the delicate web of it. “Silencing charms. Wizards. Magic school. Ringing any bells?”

“Oh,” Harry breathed, eyes trailing the soft golds, the cool blues of the trace magic patterned over the wallpaper.

“Play again,” Draco said, bustling him, their shoulders flush.

Harry let out a sound of protest, his cheeks a pleasant, dusky pink. “I can’t. You play.”

“Alright. You pitiful thing.”

And he did, play, and it was lovely.

But anyway, it wasn’t about the music, really, was it?

III.

The routine didn’t really have a say in the weather, but if it did, it would typically be indifferent to rain.

Unfortunately, the tire had gone out on the Corolla, which meant they were left like so: stranded road-side, with the jack and the spare, but a bit tragically, with none of the requisite experience or education necessary to make use of them.

All this and the rain, which had picked up from a steady patter and was dropping buckets rather insistently.

Harry was holding his best umbrella charm— best being the operative description. The raindrops were sneaking through in patches to where Draco’d laid out the spare blanket from the backseat. He was flat on his back, slid under the car, trying to position the jack, to make it lift, to do something.

The ground, though, was hard and cold and wet. The jack slipped again, dropping the car the few inches it had risen, and Draco shrank back, startled, and swore.

He clambered inelegantly from beneath the car, abandoning the rear passenger tire, the nail jammed into it, flat flat flat.

“Alright?” Harry called over the downpour, offering him a hand up.

Draco accepted, then dusted at his dampened trousers. “It’s no good. I’ve got no bloody clue. The cursed thing won’t stay put, and I—” He felt the frustration crawling up his neck, and left the sentence unfinished, tossing his hands in the air.

“We’ll figure it out,” Harry assured.

“Oh, we’ll figure it out. Brilliant. My favorite plan, the kind that doesn’t actually even exist.”

“We can apparate into town, then come back—”

“I’m not leaving the Corolla,” he said, stubbornly, knowing it was stubborn as he said it, unreasonable.

Harry’s voice was raised, shouting over the torrent of the rain, which his spellwork was doing little to deflect. “Draco, I get it, but the car will be fine. We need to—”

“I know the car will be fine,” Draco interrupted, a hiss, “because I’m not leaving it.” He stalked back to the driver’s side door, pulled it open, hard on the hinges. “And your umbrella charm’s shit,” he flung over his shoulder, before climbing inside and slamming the door shut.

The regret was almost immediate, mingling with anxious irritation and the rain drops sliding cold down his spine, plopping from his hair and onto his nose. The rain was louder, too, inside, pinging off the roof and the windshield. Draco fretted at Harry, standing out there still, nudging at the tire, undoubtedly soaked to the bone.

The minutes stretched, and the tension wilted. Draco folded into the steering wheel, knocking his forehead lightly against it. Just as he found the resolve to go back out, to make it right, to try again, the passenger door opened, and Harry dropped into his seat. His curls were plastered to his forehead, and his glasses fogged in the sudden heat of the car.

“Alright,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said. “It’s my fault. The car. This whole ridiculous idea.”

He reached for Harry’s glasses and wiped them clear as he could (rain-damp shirt given) before returning them to the bridge of his nose.

“And I’m sorry. For snapping. It’s not fair.”

Harry reached for his hand. “Thanks. But I like the car. And I like the idea. And I… like you. So.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Stop that, now. Try the car.”

“What?”

“Drive it. Just a few metres. To try something.”

“Alright.”

And the car moved, and nothing horrible happened, and really, you couldn’t even tell there was a flat. They stopped, hazard lights still blinking.

“You changed it?”

Harry laughed, low. “Not exactly. Fortunately, though, my levitation charms are less shit than my umbrella ones.”

“You’re… levitating the car?”

“Sure. I mean, we need to get to an auto shop, because I don’t know how long it’ll hold, but I think we’re only about 12 kilometres—”

Draco practically leapt across the console, the need to kiss Harry an absolute.

“Mmph!” Harry muffled against his lips, startled, but he had no further protests. The kiss was clinging, hands all wrapped in hair and around one another, damp and desperate and delighted. They pulled apart, breath heavy, and Draco laughed.

“You’re brilliant. You’re ridiculous. I can’t believe you. I love you. I— oh.” Draco stopped short, a blush creeping sudden up his neck.

“Oh,” Harry breathed, and smiled at him, and Draco wanted to sink into his seat.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” he murmured, slowly, careful.

“It’s alright,” Harry said. “I did.”

“What?”

“I meant it. Before. I love the car. And I love the idea.” He reached for Draco’s hands again, holding him steady, the way he did.

“And I love you.” He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Mostly that one,” he said, dimple flashing, devastating.

Draco’s heart pattered with the rain, and he leaned forward, the grin on his lips barely contained.

“You’re completely absurd,” he said, all fondness and irrepressible warmth.

“And you love me,” Harry whispered.

“A madman.”

“And you love me.”

“Absolutely shit at umbrella charms.”

“And?” Harry said, hopeful and plain, unexpectant.

Draco closed the little distance left between them. “And I love you.”

[ssentimentals]

dating seungcheol feels like...

being in a cocoon of safety and care. seungcheol is here to show you that relationships can be secure and stable, he's here to set up a bar so high that other people won’t be able to reach it, he's here to ruin you for anybody else and prove that he is the best boyfriend. sometimes that can lead to him beating himself up for not doing something and also appearing a bit overbearing, but he tries to listen to your voice of reason.

(after full five minutes of silence, you finally break it with an annoyed huff. crossing hands over your chest, you stare down at your boyfriend, who only sighs. 'i can take care of myself,' you proclaim and he closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. 'i'm serious, i can take care of myself!'

'i know!' he lets out, exasperated. 'baby, i know. but i still worry, alright? i don't doubt you, i'm just worried!'

you soften up at this, shoulders dropping and arms uncrossing as you walk over to him. 'and you have all rights to be worried,' you reason, taking his hands in yours as you squat down in front of him. 'but you also have to trust me, yeah? when i say 'i got it' i really mean it.'

'but if something goes wrong-' he starts and you immediately interrupt him with: 'yes, i will you call you, immediately.' you roll your eyes but you're so impossibly fond of this boy and he knows it, judging by his growing smile.

'i got it,' you whisper and he nods, pressing kisses to your knuckles.

'and i got you.')

seungcheol is the very definition of an old time romance. he's waiting for you with the bouquet of your favorite flowers, he's holding up the door, pulling out the chair, not letting you touch the bill or walk on the side of the road kind of guy; he doesn't do it in order to impress - that's just how he is and it works because it's natural for him, not forced. he is showering you with compliments ('how did i get so lucky? you look absolutely stunning!') and gifts ('special date or not, you deserve to be spoiled!') just to see you blush and he shows you off proudly ('yep, that's my baby!'). your attention is something for what he's ready to fight for, so he goes pouty once he doesn't receive it and jealous when someone else receives it full force.

('i can do the same, you know,' he suddenly says once you both come back home. you blink and stare at him questioningly, so he explains: 'you were so impressed by him cooking that cake. i can cook it too.'

you open your mouth and then close it because wow, okay. 'cheol-'

'it wasn't even that good,' he continues to grumble, not noticing how you are barely holding back your laughter. 'sure it had four layers and this whole design thing at top but c'mon, i can bet- why are you laughing?')

dating seungcheol involves five hours video calls if one of you is away because he needs to know how are you and what have you eaten and there's a beautiful sunset outside that he needs to show you, the 'i'll pick you up at seven, dress code is fancy' texts that leave your heart fluttering because you know he spent time planning all of this and putting an effort to make it great for you, the 'you are the inspiration behind these lyrics' and 'you are my muse' confessions.

dating seungcheol means arguing with him when he overworks, both of you scheduling your 'rest' days (just catching up on sleep, or doing nothing all day, ordering junk food for sanity), it also means being the only one with who he feels safe to show his weak side and share his struggles.

('rest, seungcheol. rest doesn't involve you monitoring whatever it is on your phone.' you sound very stern and he sighs, putting his phone away. 'good. now rest. you look like you've been ran over by a truck, twice. please just rest.'

he pouts, makes actual grabby hands and you give in, letting his arms pull you on top of him. seungcheol breathes in your scent and exhales loudly, holding you tight. you mutter something about being heavy but he just grips you tighter because your weight settles him down, reminds him that he is here, with you and that's the only place he should be right now. 'you are perfect. thank you for being here.')

dating seungcheol is like standing with an army - there's no fear, just complete confidence that you're unbeatable. he makes you feel like that, like you can jump and he'll be there, ready to catch you. he makes you feel like you are meant to be treasured and that's because you are and he is ready to spend an indefinite amount of time, however much you let him, to prove it to you.

a/n: when you write for one of your ults and your brain just shuts down :') anyway, sweets, my requests are OPEN, so come to say hi and request something! also, let me know if you want to be in the tag list aaand here is the link to my writing list.

[sunlightmurdock]

My Future in You | 0.1 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: allusions to sex (fear not, there will be flashbacks in later chapters), eventual accidental pregnancy, references to abortion in this chapter and a few to come, angst, drama etc etc, enemies to lovers if you wanna call it that, no major warnings in this chapter

…

“Jake,” Had it been a Saturday night? — Yes. Was it critical that they won this game because they had lost the previous two? — Also yes. But Jake had been able to hear that you were crying the moment you said his name. He was standing in the locker room, brows furrowed and one finger plugged into his other ear to try to hear what you were saying. “I need you to help me.”

“Dude, where the fuck are you going?”

Jake shrugs his bag onto his shoulder and shook his head quickly. You might’ve lived an hour away, but you were his little sister and you asked him for help.

“I can’t play, something came up.” Jake shrugs.

Bradley looks up and scrunches his eyebrows. Someone must be dying, because there’s almost nothing that Jake would’ve missed this game for. He’s been talking about it for weeks.

“Are you fucking kidding? — You’re really going to leave your best friends hanging?” Someone calls out. Bradley minds his business, continues readying himself for the game and the inevitable loss. Without Jake there, Elias will make it off the bench for the first time all season — they’re screwed.

“My sister’s in trouble. I’ll be there next time.” Jake calls out as he’s leaving. The locker room door slams behind him.

Bradley looks across to Dustin, their quarterback, and leans in a little closer, “How many sisters does Jake have again?”

“Three.” Dustin answers. Bradley considers this information — maybe what he did isn’t so bad, there are two other Seresin’s that he didn’t hook up with and never talk to again. But then Dustin keeps talking.

“Only one younger sister. She goes to Richmond, they’re super close — she was here for Halloween, I think.”

She was definitely here for Halloween. Bradley regrets wearing an under layer because now he’s sweating.

“Sweet girl.” Dustin’s still talking.

“Can you keep a secret?” Bradley interrupts. He has to tell someone — he needs the confirmation that what he did isn’t that bad. After all, he didn’t know.

Dustin lifts his head to stare dubiously at Bradley, then shrugs his shoulders, “Sure…?”

Bradley glances around him.

“I accidentally hooked up with Jake’s sister. On Halloween.”

“How the fuck do you accidentally—“

Bradley pinches the bridge of his nose. Dustin’s a great quarterback, but he isn’t the brightest.

“No, that part was on purpose,” Bradley sighs, “But I didn’t know that it was her. No one even told me she was visiting. I thought all of Jake’s family were in Texas.”

Dustin presses a hand over his mouth. Bradley jumps as a whistle rings out. The team start moving to head out to the field. Dustin grabs his helmet and gives Bradley a sympathetic look, “You’re so dead.”

You flinch as your front door rattles. Jake bangs on the other side with his fist. Your legs tremble as you push yourself up and walk to the door, pulling the chain off and twisting the handle.

Jake grabs you by your shoulders the minute the door opens. You watch him look you over. Like he’s looking for cuts, bruises, signs of a potentially fatal injury.

“What’s going on? — You said emergency.” In the Seresin household, emergency is an absolute code red. It’s a drop everything and come now type situation. Jake’s somewhat dismayed to find out that you’re totally fine.

He does find it odd that you’re wearing pyjamas on a Saturday night.

Your lip trembles. It’s so much harder to say now that he’s standing in front of you. Jake has always been your biggest supporter. Given that his older sisters were always the bosses around the house, he understood that becoming a big brother was serious — his sisters had always taken great care of him and he had big shoes to fill.

He had always let you hang out with his friends, even if they thought you were too young or didn’t want you around because you were a girl. He had always told you when your outfits were bad, and not even in a mean way, just to save you the embarrassment. He knew you were smarter than him, and had told you this your entire life.

Jake has adored you from the moment he heard about you, and he has always been so proud of his baby sister.

His brows furrow, still holding you by the shoulders as he watches tears brim in your eyes. You throw yourself at his chest, sobbing into the fabric of his black t-shirt.

Jake wraps his arms around you, flooded with worry as he rubs at your back.

“Hey, it’s okay. What happened?”

“I fucked up.” Your face is pressed into his chest, your voice is muffled and you’re crying. Jake can barely make it out. It takes him a few seconds, but he does decipher what you’re saying eventually. He keeps you against him as he steps inside and swings the door shut behind him.

“It can’t be that bad. We’ll figure it out.”

You pull back, cheeks blotchy, “Not that bad?”

Jake’s confused as to how and why he’s being yelled at right now.

You turn and walk over to the coffee table. Jake doesn’t see what you pick up until you turn back and hold it out in front of him, “Not that bad?”

His lips part.

He steps closer and squints. His vision is just fine, he just can’t believe what he’s seeing right now. He looks between you and the pregnancy test in your hand. Jake gasps.

“You’re kidding. This isn’t funny, this is not a funny joke!” Jake scolds you. He sounds like your mother when he does that.

Then, you start crying again. Lip trembling, chest heaving, knees wobbling. He realises that you aren’t just messing with him.

“Shit.” Jake breathes out, he shakes his head in disbelief. His big brother instincts kick in and he reminds himself to comfort you. He might be spiralling himself but he can’t imagine what you must be going through.

He rubs your back, resting his chin on your shoulder until you stop hyperventilating. He looks slowly around the apartment, it’s a standard, off-campus space that you share with three other girls. Your room is the size of a shoe box. Maybe the baby could fit right here, between the couch and the bar cart, under the photo booth pictures of two of your roommates kissing.

“You didn’t even tell me you were dating someone.” Jake complains. You tell him everything. He tells you significantly less but that’s because you had to practically beg him to stop telling you about all of the girls he talks to and inevitably breaks up with.

You pull back and wipe at your eyes. Jake frowns. He doesn’t get why you’re staring at him like that. Oh. There isn’t a boyfriend.

“Do you know who the father is?” Jake whispers, like he’s asking something he shouldn’t.

Of course you know who the father is. You let out a breath and look at the ceiling, nodding dejectedly. Jake’s one rule for visiting him on Halloween was to not sleep with any of his friends. In your defence, you hadn’t realised that the idiot in the Eagles jersey even lived there until he was already inviting you to his room. And he was so cute.

“Is he going to step up?” Jake asks, his face growing stern.

You roll your eyes and almost laugh at the thought of asking Jake’s frat brother to raise a child with you. Jake’s staring at you, still waiting for an answer, taking this conversation extremely seriously.

“He doesn’t know.” You sigh. You only found out yourself two hours ago.

“When are you going to tell him?” Jake presses.

The father. You can’t imagine telling a stranger you met at a halloween party that you’re going to make him a father. The thought makes you nauseous. You certainly can’t stomach the word mother at this moment in time.

“I’m not.”

“What?” Jake chokes. He knows that if this was him, he would want to know. This guy might be a shithead, but Jake figures he probably deserves a chance to know that he got someone pregnant.

“It was a one night stand.”

“Since when do you have one night stands?” Jake demands. He only asks because you constantly make fun of him for being such a commitment-phobe. You press your face into your hands and groan in frustration.

“How would you like me to answer that? - We can either go with, no Jake, it was just once. Or we can go with your sister is hot and gets plenty of action - which would you prefer?” You snap at him. His face creases for a moment, not happy to hear about his little sister’s sexual habits. Then, he shakes his head and moves back into big brother mode.

“I would prefer you to have had protected sex. Protected.” Jake specifies. He’s gesturing with his hands as he speaks. You frown at him.

“We used a condom.” You answer. You really don’t want to provide any more details than are absolutely necessary. Jake pulls a face at this new information.

“You’re the girl, aren’t you on birth control or anything?”

“Hey, this isn’t my fault!” You bite back. It kind of is. You’re too busy to remember to take the pill every morning and your appointment to get an IUD was supposed to be on Thursday. Besides, condoms are supposed to do the job. Ninety-ninety percent effective… bullshit.

Jake opens his mouth to lecture you, then stops. He was about to sound a lot like your dad. He shakes his head.

“Fine. What’s the plan?” Jake asks.

“I guess planned parenthood.”

It’s late by the time that Jake gets home. Like, almost five in the morning, late. He can still hear people giggling at the back of the house, but most of the people inside seem to be already asleep. Jake assumes they lost the game without him considering that the house is relatively clean and people aren’t still up celebrating.

He wants nothing more than to fall into his bed and forget that tonight happened. He still can’t believe that this happened. If it was going to happen to either of you, everyone would have been in agreement that it was more likely to happen to Jake. You’re so smart, things like this just don’t happen to smart people.

Jake really hopes his Mom doesn’t call tomorrow. You’re both in agreement that your parents should never hear about this - they wouldn’t take it well, and Jake hates lying to his Mom. He feels like she can see right through him.

The sound of a door opening makes Jake lift his head as he reaches the top of the stairs. It’s the door opposite his that opens. Bradley’s room.

“So you’ll call me?” The pretty brunette wearing a non-descript men’s t-shirt long enough to hide her shorts, steps out of the room and looks at Bradley. It’s one of the shirts that Bradley won’t miss. Bradley hasn’t yet noticed Jake. She sways on her feet, fidgeting shyly.

“Yeah. Sure.” Bradley leans against the door frame and smiles. He barely even knows her name. He’s fairly sure it begins with an E. If he even got her number tonight, he isn’t going to remember to call it. Bradley knows this, Jake knows this - yet, the girl seems to believe him. “Get home safe.”

“Okay. Goodnight.” She giggles sheepishly. Jake steps out of her way as she turns and heads for the stairs. Bradley smiles as he spots Jake.

Jake isn’t surprised to have come across this situation. It isn’t unusual to spot a girl leaving Bradley’s room early in the morning. He usually makes an excuse about having to do something early in the day. He’s not a fan of girls being there when he wakes up.

Jake finds that weird because morning sex is one of his favourite activities. Bradley also likes morning sex, but finds that girls tend to think they can stick around afterwards, which he isn’t a fan of.

“Hey. You missed it, we won.” Bradley announces, stretching his arms up above his head and resting them on the doorframe. He swears he catches Jake’s eye twitch.

Salt in the wound. Jake nods and congratulates him, then begins towards his own room. He’s hoping to shut his eyes before the sun starts to come up. Bradley understands why Jake isn’t excited, he would be pissed if the team won without him there too. It’s an ego thing.

Bradley decides to change the subject rather than let Jake go to bed on a bad note. There’s only one conversation topic that comes to mind.

“How’s your sister anyway?” Bradley asks more to be polite than out of genuine concern, arms still stretched up above his head. He’s wearing just a pair of gym shorts - makes sense, that girl clearly just took his shirt.

Jake looks at him. Bradley stands still, he mistakes the tired look in his friend’s eye for anger and immediately begins to theorise about apologies. How does someone apologise for sleeping with their friend’s sister, anyway?

“Dude, don’t even ask. She’s in such a mess right now.” Jake shakes his head and waves him off. Bradley sighs in relief and assumes she just got her heart broken or something simple like that. Jake continues to his room. “See you later.”

“Sure. Later.” Bradley agrees. They each shut their doors, with no idea of how drastically each of their lives are about to change.

…

Tag List:

@thedroneranger

@chaoticweirdogeek

@alanadetigy

@itsmytimetoodream

@oldnatgwenaccount

@khaylin27

@bloodforbiod

@luckyladycreator2

@mizzzpink

@mak-32

@cherrycola27

[toomuchracket]

pregnancy scare with matty

oh this is birthday-party!matty coded... i mean, i did have them fucking with no pull out or protection whatsoever in part 2 lol (this is a long blurb btw)

it's been 3 weeks since matty and you first got together. 3 weeks of you seeing him as much as you can between deadlines and meetings and his interviews and writing sessions, 3 weeks of being an official couple, 3 weeks of fucking like rabbits when you get the chance. some of those times you've used protection, others you've gotten too caught up in each other to take the time to consider it. but you're in love. you're happy. you're talking about holidays together and hard launches on social media and house-buying. it's serious.

and then your period, normally so regular you could set your watch by it, doesn't arrive. and then the potential reality of your situation sets in.

you call matty to tell him that afternoon. he's at your flat within 20 minutes, the rising pitch of your voice on the phone an indicator that you were on the verge of a panic attack. he steers you by the shoulders to your sofa, grabs the personalised love island water bottle your friends got you as a joke and makes you sip its contents, hugs you tight to his chest as your breathing regulates. "shh, sweetheart," he says into your hair. "it's alright. you're alright. we're alright."

you look at him, eyes wide in disbelief. "alright?" you squeak. "matthew, we are not alright! my period is-"

"late, and you're never late, you said on the phone," matty nods. "but come on, darlin', it's not even been a day yet. and you've been so stressed with the manuscript and the deadlines lately - that can throw your flow, right?"

despite yourself, you snort. "throw my flow? who am i, azealia banks?"

matty pinches your side lightly. "leave me alone, i was just trying to make you feel better."

"you did, baby, you did."

there's silence for a couple of minutes, save the sounds of london outside, until matty mutters something so quietly you almost miss it. "would it really be so bad if you were actually pregnant?"

you open your mouth to say yes, but your boyfriend places a finger over your lips before you can. "i know, i know, the timing isn't ideal," he continues. "and we're not prepared. but i'd quite like to have a kid or two with you in the future, if you'd want that."

"yeah, in the future, babe," you reply. "not now!"

"i know, but it's still a nice thought. you've got to admit it, sweetheart - we would make a really fucking cute kid. cool, too."

you smile at the mental image, a toddler with thick dark curls, curious eyes like yours, and the cheekiest little smile on the planet, running towards you in black converse, holding a picture book. "yeah, we would."

"and you said i'd be a dilf."

another mental image - matty, shirtless and messy-haired, holding a tiny baby to his chest and singing softly. you sigh. "you would."

"god, you'd be such a milf. hottest mum in the playground," matty says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "and wouldn't our kid grow up in the perfect scenario, with two parents who love each other as much as we do?"

you kiss his hand. "indeed they would."

matty pulls you into his chest again. "i'm not saying that it wouldn't be difficult, not at all. if you are pregnant, we'll deal with it however you want to. i'm just saying that i wouldn't mind having a baby with you, even right now, not at all."

you kiss him. "ok."

matty stays over that night. the two of you hold each other close in bed, the atmosphere still thick with nerves, but not the heavy kind. more like... butterflies. he leaves for work in the morning with a long kiss and a "relax", and you make a point of intending to. unfortunately, however, your stomach muscles start to cramp as soon as you close the door. "oh, shit."

you run to the toilet, where you discover that you are absolutely definitely not pregnant. still sitting on the lav, you call your boyfriend to tell him the news. he laughs and says "good good", but you're strangely melancholy. "is it weird that i'm kind of upset i'm not having your baby?"

"no, i made it sound great," comes the eye-rolling-inducing reply from down the phone. "but it's not that you're not having my baby - you're just not having it yet."

"well, we'll need to move house before we do. my flat's too small, and your house is too... concrete. can you imagine a kid having to learn to walk in there? christ."

"alright, sweetheart, noted."

[bam-stroker]

New Same

@betweenblackberrybranches, RLGL Sun and Moon. The lovey dovey art they have going got to me.

So have a sweet little love confession flashback drabble for the RLGL boys. SFW, and very fluffy

New Same

Something had changed recently. 

The two of them have been in some of the most hedonistic, lewd, sybaritic situations together. Their day to day was blush worthy to most. And it was something they had become accustomed to and felt not too far off from any other job someone might have. An accountant might clutch their pearls to do what they do - but Sun and Moon would be equally thrown if someone were to suddenly ask them to start planning out spreadsheets. It was just part of the daily flow. A job is a job and they had their own skills. 

But Moon had never felt a flutter in his internal fans when Sun caught his eyes before. 

He knew very well the warm hum of arousal - but this… This was something he’d never known. Sun’s laughter would have him grinning wide, hoping to keep him laughing and smiling like that forever. Whenever Sun would reach over to gently tap him on the shoulder to grab his attention, his wires would feel all staticy. But then just as quick it’d be gone as soon as Sun’s touch left him. The two of them were a pair. Always had been, and most likely always would. From the very beginning the world was the two of them working together and then living together. 

Sun was his best friend because of it. He was the person who could understand him in ways no one else could. And he cherished him for it. 

But whatever these feelings were, they were starting to get more and more distracting. And much harder to ignore. When they had their last weekly movie night he practically felt like he was going to shoot into the sky like a rocket with all of the heat boiling up inside. If Sun noticed it he very pointedly didn’t say anything because he just kept leaning on him and chuckling like a goddamn handsome and sweet romcom character. Why’d he have to be so charming huh?! It wasn’t fair! 

Moon wasn’t shy. There really was no need for it, but these days even at work if their eyes locked he’d have to look away or else Sun might see the hearts that wanted to flutter forward. Instead he’d lean into the act and focus on the job at hand. 

But if he had waited long enough he would have been able to catch the way Sun’s eyes twinkled just a little brighter at his back. The subtle shifting of his rays as his own internal workings were all a flutter. 

Moon had to be the most handsome, beautiful, and amazing person. Every day the adoration Sun felt for him grew bigger and bigger. He couldn’t help but feel the gravitational pull to his counterpart. Quite literally feeling the need to reignite the spark that ran all throughout him whenever their hands might brush or Moon would lean against him in moments shared alone. Moon’s touch grounding but at the same time making him feel light as a feather with some sort of sweet feeling. Leaving his head all fuzzy, but not in a bad way, never in a bad way. He wanted to bask in it as much as he could. So he grabbed, pinched, poked, and held as much as he could.

It had been on a day when the two of them were out for an evening stroll when the realization hit him. Moon had put on a lovely dress with glittering beads and tear drop pearls. And as the sun was setting and the light reflected on the lunar bot like water it was like a brick had been dropped on his head. 

Sun was in love with Moon. 

The following weeks after the realization were full of the most awkward scuttling about and embarrassed floundering when Moon asked even the simplest of questions. Sun was talented in the art of smooth talking, but suddenly it felt like the person he could talk to anything about was making every coded letter of the alphabet get dumped from his mind. 

So when it came time for their weekly movie night the energy surrounding them was definitely… awkward.

“So, um-” Sun claps his hands together while hovering near the couch, “What do you want to watch?” His usually cozy clothes on. At least he could feel comfortable in some way while his inner workings anxiously ticked inside. 

Stepping into the living room, Moon looks breathtaking as always. He’d gotten a new pair of navy blue satin loungewear. Loose flowy shorts fanned out just above his knees and a long sleeve button up top. Oversized to act more like an off the sleeve sweater then an actual button up. Sun has to clench his hand to stop himself from reaching out to hold onto the lunar bots inviting waist to pull into a snuggle. 

Shrugging Moon flops down on the end of the couch where he likes to lean on the arm rest, “Don’t know. Something slower? I don’t feel in a comedy or action mood.”

Sun nods his head and goes to do some finger guns, redirects halfway through thinking it might be awkward, but then commits back to them - resulting in a wild frenzy of hand flapping to then end on finger guns, “Yoooooou got it!” A weird hunch to the side thrown in to attempt at making it seem like it was all according to plan. 

Moon looks at him for a solid minute, a small bit of confusion - and then his sharp smile cracks and he chuckles. 

Sun flops down on the couch next to him and lets out the smallest exhale, Crisis averted.

Eventually they both land on Howl’s Moving Castle. Studio Ghibli offering the kind of slow and calming energy with lovely imagery the both adored. At some point in the movie the two of them ended up in a light hearted argument of which one of them would be the Sophie or Howl. Some rebuttals thrown on Sun being the more practical one of the two while he defended that he offered more of the charming energy Howl has. Moon fighting for the spot of the fancy wizard by saying he once had an entire morning process with for a favorite necklace lost, while Sun was Mr. Practical with all his outfits. 

Through it all they eventually ended up holding on to each other as they laughed. 

Moon’s shoulders finally stop shaking from laughter, as he leans into the comforting hold of his other half. Forehead pressed into the cotton of Sun’s hoodie on the solar bot’s chest. The warm steady hand on Moon’s back better than any cozy blanket could feel. He lets out a final low chuckle and shuts his eyes, humming softly, “Maybe we’re just both of them?”

A moment passes where they hold each other. Silence filled by the movie continuing on. 

Moon grips tighter to the thick fabric of Sun’s hoodie. An overwhelming melancholy washing over him at the realization that if they were both Howl and Sophie… Then surely it must mean something more. That they must mean something more to each other. Like a light being flicked on it finally hits him, the realization of exactly what he’d been feeling for the solar bot all this time. 

Shifting to sit up, Moon steadies himself by pressing his hands to Sun’s chest as his voice shakes, “Sun.. I-I think-”

At the same time Sun bursts through with his own declaration. Resulting in both of them unison saying “I love you.”

Leaving them to only stare at one another with owlish blinks as their shared sentiments land. A good couple of minutes passing by as their internal fans whir softly. Eventually Sun’s left hand raises from where it had been pressed to the couch to instead slowly cradle Moon’s cheek. Not a word spoken as Moon leans into the touch. Finally able to really just look at one another with no hesitation. And that’s exactly what they do. Held in a trance of putting to memory the moment and exactly how beautiful the other was in front of them. 

They stay like that until the closing scene of the movie, where they both lean forward - a tentative action. Lips softly touching. Barely a kiss. But the feeling of it is like none they’d ever felt before. 

Leaning back Sun smile’s down at Moon with a smile that could outshine every star in the sky, “C-cool…” All his usual smooth charm from work gone to instead offer up a new side Moon could easily get used to adoring. Bubbly and sweet. And just the slightest bit awkward. Something only the lunar bot would get to see. 

Moon smiles and lets out a chuckle, “Very cool.” Shifting to cuddle up to Sun’s side and lay his head on the solar bots shoulder. Grabbing onto the other’s arms to better lock their cuddling hold together, “So you want to watch Castle In The Sky next?”

Relaxing into the hold Sun rests his head on top of Moon’s, letting out an extremely content sigh, “Yeah… Yeah, I think I’d like that.” 

Holding onto one another it feels like any other night but just that much more perfect. Because finally that missing piece was finally clicked into place for them. And Howl’s Moving Castle would forever hold an extra special place in their hearts. It was the movie they’d watched when they’d finally confessed after all.

[catboydogma]

cold weather company

tags: sickfic, cuddling / snuggling, caretaking, sick / hurt cody, no order-66, everyone lives / nobody dies, post-canon fix-it, fluff

wc: 1321

pairing: cody / obi-wan

cross-posted to ao3 !

“I’ll just sleep on the couch, then,” Obi-Wan snapped over his shoulder. The door to his bedroom snapped shut with a definitive click and he said, “fine!” in a way that sounded nearly the same.

“Can you take your domestic somewhere else, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked from the kitchen table. “I have to show Snips how to—”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan said, arms still full of their duvet and a sad-looking throw pillow, “These are my own damn quarters and I shall not—we aren’t having a, a domestic or anything of the sort—what the hell are you doing in my kitchen?”

“You haven’t changed your code,” Anakin said in a tone that implied that if pesky padawans were to be kept out, then door codes must be changed to prevent their entry, and so this was all Obi-Wan’s own fault, really.

Never mind that it technically wasn’t Obi-Wan’s code but Qui-Gon’s, still, over a decade later.

“Skyguy’s showing me how to re-wire his phalanges,” Ahsoka said brightly, wiggling Anakin’s pinky with her own to demonstrate. “So I can help Echo with his.”

“That’s very kind of the both of you,” Obi-Wan said, dumping his armful onto the couch and rounding on the table and its occupants. “But that does not explain why the two of you are in my kitchen and not your own.”

Anakin and Ahsoka got the same look on their faces—and no, Obi-Wan had no idea where they’d gotten it from—as a massiff when asked what it was chewing on.

“Can it be fixed?” Obi-Wan asked with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Can you and Cody be fixed?” Ahsoka asked, tilting the tops of her montrals at the door behind Obi-Wan.

“We are not fighting,” Obi-Wan told her and Anakin with the last vestiges of his tattered dignity. “Marshal Commander Cody has contracted a cold and does not wish to inflict it upon any other persons within his vicinity.”

“So, he’s kicked you out to sleep on the couch.” Anakin motioned between Obi-Wan and the couch with a multi-tool. “Don’t worry, that usually doesn’t result in divorce. I have been told that I’m an outlier.”

“We aren’t married, first off, thank you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, starting to roll up his sleeves. “And I shan’t be sleeping on the couch just because Cody is being a bit silly.”

A string of hoarse invective came from under Obi-Wan’s bedroom door. Obi-Wan smiled beatifically in Cody’s direction and leaned over to where Anakin and Ahsoka were sitting; they were co-conspirators now, for better or worse.

“He always gets ornery when he’s feeling under the weather,” Obi-Wan confided. “I shall make soup.”

--

Cody woke to the smell of something delicious. It felt a little like the aroma—spicy, savory, strong as Sith hells—had reached up into his sinuses and scrubbed at least part of his frontal lobe. The door to the room cracked open and the smell grew stronger. Cody pulled the heavy blankets back over his cold shoulder and burrowed back into the pillows that were still covered in silky threads of Obi-Wan’s blond-auburn hair.

“No, no sleeping yet,” Obi-Wan chided him, voice a quiet murmur. “Get some soup and juice down and then we’ll see about sleep.”

Cody intended to suffer through this alone, thank you, and not drag anyone else down with him. He was captain of this ship and by the Force he’d go down with it if he had to—

A warm hand peeled back a corner of his blankets and wormed into the collar of his shirt to take his pulse, and then up to feel his forehead. Cody clicked his teeth at it and Obi-Wan had the audacity to laugh.

“Don’t want t’get you sick,” he rasped, indignant that Obi-Wan should be so careless with his own wellbeing. First it was the war and throwing himself in the path of IEDs, and now it was this, and Cody’s suffering would never end—

“Yes, yes, and you’re very brave and selfless for that,” Obi-Wan said, still laughing a little—Cody could hear it in the lilt of his voice, half-see it in the gleam of his teeth in the dim—as he leaned down to brush a whiskery kiss across Cody’s brow. “But I want to care for you regardless, Cody, and in any case, if I get sick, then it is the will of the Force.”

“You—” Cody swatted at Obi-Wan but his coordination was all shot; Obi-Wan caught his hand and pressed it to his own chest, uncurled each of his fingers so he could press a kiss to Cody’s too-hot, clammy palm.

“Me,” Obi-Wan agreed, still so awfully smug. “Up, up. It’s time for soup, my darling.”

Cody heaved himself up with the help of Obi-Wan, who bustled around the room while Cody was navigating his complicated relationship with gravity and wide-brimmed bowls.

The soup was good: it was hot and garlicky and full of seaweed and little tender pieces of thin-sliced bantha. Cody felt it warm his chest all throughout as he methodically ate. He wasn’t really hungry—hadn’t been since the onset of this miserable bitch of a cold—but the hot liquid felt good against his sore throat.

Obi-Wan aired the room out, though he kept the lights dimmed low and hissed threats at Anakin and Ahsoka in the kitchen whenever their voices got too high. He laid damp washcloths across the headboard of their bed and briskly swapped Cody’s blankets out for freshly-laundered ones, along with the pillow case and after a bleary few minutes of Cody bracing each hand in turns against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, Cody’s own bedclothes. After the soup, Cody managed a glass and a half of cool, sugar-sweet juice before he leaned his head heavily against Obi-Wan’s shoulder and found that he was feeling well enough to not cough all over him.

“Kicking you out,” Cody said into the pillow when Obi-Wan had come back from rinsing out the bowl. It didn’t smell like Obi-Wan anymore, though it did smell of their laundry detergent. Cody snuffled a little and indulged in feeling badly for himself as he heard the door shut.

This lasted until he felt the bed dip beside him and Obi-Wan start at peeling back the blankets again.

“I won’t be leaving you to suffer alone, brave as you are for it,” Obi-Wan said, sounding as if Cody were making some great sacrifice and not just trying to quarantine himself as any decent-minded and strategic person might. He lay all along Cody’s side and pressed his face against Cody’s shoulder, away from where Cody might sneeze on him in retaliation—a smart tactic, Cody had to admit.

It felt—good. Cody had resigned himself to several days away from Obi-Wan choking down ration bars and sipping water to the tune of the alarms he’d set for such purposes and—as much as he wouldn’t admit it—he’d already begun to miss Obi-Wan’s soothing touch. Cody knew he served much the same purpose for Obi-Wan but to him, Obi-Wan was grounding, an anchor even in the best of times. Maybe especially in the best of times. They worked to balance the worst of each other: Obi-Wan’s suppressed anger and tendency to get overwhelmed, Cody’s pessimism and penchant for detachment.

Among other things.

“Feel better, my love,” Obi-Wan murmured, smoothing a hand all down Cody’s side with steady, relieving pressure. Cody felt himself melt a little more into Obi-Wan’s hold. In the dark, he pressed his brow to the crown of Obi-Wan’s head and reassured himself with the smell of Obi-Wan: a little spicy, a little of the soup he’d made, a little of woody shampoo and clean linens and Cody’s own slightly-sweaty cough-drop smell. The feel of Obi-Wan’s hands on his back and sides followed him all down into a deep, dreamless sleep, where he was held, and he was safe.

[fullofgutsndopamine]

or: 5 times Ludwig wanted to tell you he loves you + the 1 time he finally did.

tw: cursing, mention of anxiety, one mention of

"my girl", dick joke

one

"if you like this you should be tried for crimes and i'm not fucking kidding. like, this is-"

You've long since learned to tune Slime out.

ludwig would kid, when he's wrapped in sheets with you at night in a too small bed, when it's hard to tell who's limbs belong to who's, that Slime likes to hear himself talk-could argue with a wall and someone come out of the conversation still thinking he won-

you turn the cup over in your hand, weighing options, moving the liquid around waiting for it to become familiar.

"hey."

ludwig's voice is so quiet you'd almost miss it. his face is red and his head is down, like he's talking to his lap, his hands folded on his lap. you can tell he's been chewing on his nails again, the bloody stumps stare back at you-

“hm?”

a gentle nudge, would look more like a shoulder bump to an unsuspecting viewer.

"y'okay?"

it's gentle, shared. this isn't your scene-would rather be alone with him or a max three people at any given moment, definitely not in front of a shitty web camera to a few thousand people judging your every move, watching you carefully.

"'m fine."

it comes back strangled and you wonder if he knows the invisible hand around your throat, choking you.

"proud of you."

your head whips to him, afraid you imagined this-instead he's back to the camera, his online persona is on:

"Slime," he says, "if you think that you're truly fucked and beyond saving-*

two

"You can't possibly think a straw is two holes. No one i date it thinking I-"

"Ludwig," you huff, "Use your fucking brain. there's one at the top and-believe it or not-the bottom. that’s two!-“

"you're so fucking dumb" it sounds a lot like "i love you" on his lips as it lingers and buzzes. He blinks and hopes you read morse code, the i love you that he's throwing his life preserver to you.

As if checking on you again, his shoulder bumps with yours, a shared wink.

three

"it's late," you'll say gently to ludwig, his glasses pushed up his face and his hair disheveled, obviously fucking with it as an anxious habit, "you should get some rest."

your chin rests on his shoulder and you both act like you don't feel how he deflates, relaxes around you.

"This video-" he mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"can wait until tomorrow."

you finish for him, hands hard on his shoulder, a gentle kiss to the top of his head: "come on," no movement, "the beds too big without you."

he snorts, his eyes slanted before he lets you take him by the hand, gently walk backwards as you pull him towards the bed. he flops in after you, his head on your chest as you draw constellations on his back, waiting for sleep to find him.

four

"give me a hug, please."

it comes out more like a demand than a question, his hands snake around your waist and his chin on your shoulder.

"that wasn't an ask."

you're teasing, obliviously, your hand wraps around to ruffle his hair affectionately,

ludwig carries this invisible weight on his shoulders, some invisible boulder he won't dare let you know, how his shoulders slowly are giving in and coming into this pressure

"you okay?"

his voice is muffled into your neck, "never better."

"lud-"

"shh," he says, "you're ruining the moment."

his voice is muffled in your collarbone.

five

ludwig comes out of a crowded gas station with his hair dishelved, a million different directions obviously anxiously messing with it in a crowd of people.

"chips?"

"yeah?" it's a question, like he's afraid it's a trap.

he's quiet for a second before his voice comes back quieter:

"¡ got these because they're your favorite," he pauses for a second, like that's too familiar too sweet has to add, "duh."

"hardly a road trip."

you're eyeing the bag carefully. it's a ten minute ride at best, picking something up at the store for him before a stream.

he shrugs, brings his sunglasses over his face, trying to hide the red across his face

"want one?"

you pop the bag open gently, going through the bag before picking the best out, gently feeding him one as both of your faces are red.

+ one

ludwig's eyes are heavy next to you. you can tell even with his eyes on the road, slanted and narrowed, glaring at the yellow lines on the road.

"hey," you nudge him, the familiar movement between you two, the same song and dance that you two always do, narrowingly missing feet, "pull over, let me drive."

his voice borders on slurring: "what kind of boyfriend would i be if i made my girl drive home?"

it's obvious he's trying to smirk, to come off as this confident version of ludwig, but instead it comes off as a grimace, an uncomfortable look.

"you'd be a boyfriend who wants to get me home safely. seriously-let me drive, cmon."

he groans but obeys, the click of the turn signal as he flicks it on, eases to the side of the road.

puts the car into park, rests the side of his face against the too rough seat: "i owe you. i'm sorry i'm a shitty boyfriend-"

"cmon ludwig," you say gently, "you don't mean it. move over, let me drive. i'll get you home safe."

"US."

"hm?"

you're in the drivers seat, clicking into the seatbelt as he fumbles with the seatbelt, his hand outstretched over the gear shift, he wiggles his fingers, an obvious invitation.

you roll your eyes but link fingers with him gently. his eyes are already closed when he speaks

"¡ love you."

for a second you're afraid he's sleeping, talking in his sleep-wouldn't be the first time.

"don't leave me hanging like that."

your eyes snap to him, his eyes half shut but a lazy smile on his face as he rubs the pad of his thumb over your hand.

"¡ don't know what you're talking about."

he groans, shuts his eyes:

"¡ love you, i love you, i love you." he lets out a sigh like he's been holding it for a long time, "i've been too big of a pussy to say it."

you hum, turn the volume in the radio up, let him sit for a second, the pink in your face rising, can hear your heart in your ears, how you've been waiting for this

it rolls of your lips as easily as you'd hope:

"¡ love you too."

[baiboop]

do you think midam is ever out shopping, and when they walk past the tank of lobsters adam makes some joke about the cage and about how the lobsters are trapped, and he’ll dryly laugh to himself.

but michael doesn’t laugh and he doesn’t find it very humorous. he stops walking and stares at the lobsters, and looking at them trapped in there really resonates with him.

he’s like “adam, my love, go check out i’ll meet you up there, i just have to take care of something really quick.”

and adam is like “uhm.. alright..” because that’s definitely not suspicious, and walks away but keeps glancing at michael over his shoulder as he’s leaving.

a couple minutes pass, adams at the self checkout scanning his last item, a carton of eggs and michael wanders back over to him, sheepishly stopping and standing next to adam. adam gives michael a once over and looks behind him in the direction he came from.

adam sees an assload of employees running by, towards where michael just was and the employees that are already over there are looking stressed. then just as he’s about to ask michael what the hell happened, over the speaker someone says “we have a code 74 over in deli, code 74.”

(which adam doesn’t know, but that stands for runaway lobsters)

and adam looks to michael and says “michael, what did you do?” to which michael just shrugs back in a kind of dont-worry-about-it gesture.

so adam just face-palms and finishes checking out, once he’s done he brings all their bags over, making michael carry the bulk of them, to see what’s going on.

when he gets back to the deli area he’s greeted by all the lobsters, now on the floor, with their claws un-wrapped. they’re shuffling around, threatening to pinch the employees that are trying to put them back in the tank.

adam starts crying laughing and looks at michael (who’s looking away from him) and through laughs he asks “michael? was this you? did you free them?”and he’s so obviously not mad about it, that michael’s blushing from a little embarrassment.

however, he still stands his ground and explains to adam his resolve, “well.. they were certainly not happy with their entrapment, i could feel their upset. so, i did the right thing and freed them.”

adam, who’s hands are on his hips now, scoffs a little and he’s like, “uh huh, and that’s why their claws are free too?” and michael’s like, “well adam, this is a dangerous world how else do you expect them to fight for their freedom?”

adam walks over to the deli counter, where a very flustered and concerned cashier is standing. he looks between the lobsters and the cashier and says, “how much for all the lobsters?”

the cashier looks at adam likes he’s insane, and before he can open his mouth to ask ‘are you kidding?’ adam cuts back in with an, “i’m serious.” so the cashier studies the twelve loose lobsters on the ground. “120$ for all 12..”

adam sighs, and sets two 100 dollar bills on the counter, “keep the change.” he says, and then adam just starts picking them up with his bare hands.

he’s holding all twelve lobsters in his arms as he walks out of the store. the emoloyees are all like ‘what in the fuck was that.’

and that is the story of the, VERY LARGE AND SPACIOUS tank full of lobsters michael and adam have in their living room.

[dxringred]

the way that the soulmate pain can be used as communication

like robin pokes herself in the arm repetitively until nancy responds with like a poke in her leg

morse code via pinching.

nancy waking up at 3AM after being repeatedly pinched on the arm and dialing up robin's house in agitation, hissing, "if you pinch us in the middle of the night one more time, i'm going to bang my elbow on the wall," down the line. nothing. then-

"sorry..." robin mumbles quietly. "i'll let you go back to sleep."

"wait," nancy says before she can hang up. her voice takes on a much softer tone. "what's wrong?" she can tell that something is. this isn't like the time robin called her up in the early hours of the morning to ask why tomatoes were considered a fruit and if that made tomato soup a smoothie.

"nothing," robin lies.

"robin," nancy says firmly, warningly -- if you don't tell me, i'll get it out of you another way. there's silence. nancy can just about hear robin's breathing through the receiver.

"are we... we're definitely friends, yeah?" robin asks, almost in a whisper, curling the phone cord around her forefinger; a nervous habit. nancy's shoulders fall. her heart aches. any semblance of annoyance that might've remained is washed far away.

"of course we are," she insists gently. "why wouldn't we be?"

"you sounded pretty pissed just now," robin reminds her. nancy rolls her eyes.

"because it's three in the morning, robs," she points out. "some of us need our beauty sleep." there's a pause.

"you don't," robin says, muffled, as though she'd barely moved her lips; as if nancy isn't supposed to have heard her, but in the dead of night, it's all too easy to. she pretends she didn't.

"is that the real reason?"

"no," robin admits, staring up at her ceiling. another pause. "what if this... shared pain thing is because..." her voice lowers, like she's scared to finish the thought. "we're supposed to hurt each other?" for a moment, nancy's heart stills, afraid of the idea. then, she frowns slightly. "y'know... like enemies. i could torment you. you could ruin my life."

"no," nancy disagrees quietly. "no, it's not that. i think-" that it's a warning, she doesn't say. so we can help each other. save each other. in other ways too, however, it feels like a burden, because what happens when you can't save each other? when all you can do is stand there, helpless, sharing in every ounce of the other's pain and their suffering until the light is gone from their eyes? perhaps, nancy supposes, dolefully, that is the curse of soulmates. "well, it's a working theory."

[terrainofheartfelt]

Dair prompt please! Decision

Dair + Decision

Blair sits at her desk in her home office nook, staring down at the legal pad in front of her, no longer seeing the words scrawled on the lines, all the hypotheticals, the possibilities, the pro/con lists. 

“Hey,” she hears Dan over her shoulder, “how goes it?”

She makes a noncommittal noise as he comes up behind her, bends to press a kiss to her temple. At the touch of his lips, her shoulders drop, she wasn’t even aware of the tension she was holding until after it leaves her body. 

She taps the end of her pen on her desk. Well, it’s Dan’s pen, she stole it from his home office because her good ones were all at the museum. At least once a week, the classic line of what’s mine is yours is used in their household to justify some grand office supply larceny.

“I think…” she starts, willing herself to speak it, “Yale.”

“Yeah?”

She turns to glimpse Dan’s face, gauging his reaction. “I know it's not in the city, but it's a better program, and it's definitely closer than most of the others. Like, I want a doctorate, but I don’t really want to have to go to Boston to get it.”

Dan snorts, cracking a smile, shaking his head slightly. 

“And,” she continues, “I could get most of the work done from here, except for the teaching, but we can work something out –”

“Of course we can,” Dan insists, sincere. “Lizzie’s in school now, so that’ll help.”

Blair arches an eyebrow. “And Sam?”

He shrugs. “He’s easy, just water him and face him towards the sunlight.”

She rolls her eyes, but refuses to laugh, it’s too easy. 

“We have a deep bench of backup,” Dan adds, slightly more serious. “We can absolutely make Yale work, if that’s what you want.”

She casts an eye to the stack of promotional material they’d gotten in the mail. She’d thought universities had moved strictly to email, but Blair guesses some things never change (though Dan had offered to print every one of her acceptance letters: Harvard, Bryn Mawr, Penn, Toronto, Princeton, even Stanford and Berkeley—even though she abhorred the idea of moving to California). 

“Yeah,” she declares after a deep breath. “Yeah it is.” 

He drops down next to her, meeting her eye level, like she’s their daughter coloring at the kitchen table. “But?”

Blair shoots him a sidelong look, but he knows her too well. “Do you think maybe it’s too…” she trails off, waving her pen in the air. 

He nods, knowing what she means without her having to finish the thought. “It’s not like that,” he says, soft but firm. “This is what makes the best sense for you now, and all that happened back then has nothing to do with it.” He taps a finger on the notepad in front of her, color-coded and organized to class size, faculty, and course offerings. “All the lists you’ve made are proof of that.”

Blair huffs out a laugh, pulling up one knee to her chest, propping her foot on her desk chair. “It may be about that,” she turns to meet Dan’s eye, and holds up two fingers, pinched together, “just a little bit.” 

He smiles. “So what if it is?” He settles onto his knees, scooting up right next to her. “I know – losing out then hurt you, but you’ve already been accepted. And now, you have the chance to go back and rub all the success you’ve had since right in their face.”

She bursts into laughter, her head dipping towards the desk in front of her. “And you?” she asks suddenly, turning back to him, not having to add any more words for him to understand their meaning. You were hurt, too. 

Dan reaches out, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. “If it’s right for you, it’s right for me.” 

She reaches for him, runs her fingers through his hair. “You have quite a bit of success to rub in Yale’s face too, Dan Humphrey.”

He laughs into her hand, twisting around to kiss her palm. “Hey,” he says lowly, “as far as I’m concerned, I’ve won.” 

She grins, teeth digging into her lower lip. “Oh yeah?”

He nods, solemn. “Mmm-hmm. After all,” he kneels up, bringing his face right in front of hers, “I’m the one who’ll be married to the hot doctor.” 

Blair laughs, giving in, kissing Dan back, knowing that whatever else happens, there’s at least one choice she got right.  

[erodasfishtacos]

HSLOT SAINT LOUIS

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A post shared by harry styles updates ♡ (@harryflorals)

warnings: smut, 18+

-

Harry was doing his same script, he’s been starting every show but addressing the circular stage.

“Sometimes you’ll get m’face and sometimes you’ll get m’ass. Please, let me know if y’have a preference,” He gives the crowd a cocky grin, it widens when the audience goes insane with whistles and screams.

YN is standing off to the side, where she always stands with Harry’s friends and family who come and go - visiting them.

Harry’s eyes dart to his wife, when he sees her rolls her eyes at him, he points at her, speaking right into the microphone, “And you’ll be gettin’ the ass baby!”

The arena is near deafening with the fans who are fawning and cooing at the couples interactions, they all look back to YN.

She blows him a kiss and he dramatically snatches, smacking it right on his backside with a cheeky wink and purse of his lips.

He goes on with the show in his stunning red outfit that fit for Saint Louis perfectly - YN was matching him in a dark satin orange slinky dress that was undeniably sexy. It had Harry feeling her up backstage before he went on. ***

The fans loved that the couple matched at every concert.

YN loved watching her husband perform and after that comment about her getting his ass…well, it gave her some ideas for later.

The way the shirt he was wearing wasn’t buttoned enough so she could see the glisten on his chest, how the trousers hugged his perky backside like a sin.

It may be wrong, but everybody in this arena wanted him.

They want to hug him, kiss him, blow him, fuck him - but the only one who got that was her and she basked in it.

As Harry finishes with Kiwi, losing his absolute shit, YN and everyone else starts to head backstage. YN waves to a few fans and stops for a selfie or two before disappearing.

When Harry runs back to join, after dashing from center stage, he automatically finds his wife and wraps her up into a tight hug.

“Ew, bun. You’re extra sweaty, you definitely need to go shower,” YN crinkles her nose, pushing him off as he does stink a bit and is just sticky from sweat.

Usually, Harry would coerce his wife into joining him but they had quite a few friends who came to see the concert and YN was expected to entertain them.

“I’ll be thinkin’ about you, flower,” He teases, nipping her ear before chatting with their friends for a moment before he’s trailing off to shower and change.

-

YN waits a few minutes, enough time to guarantee he was already in the shower - soaping up.

She punches in the code to his locked dressing room, a soft smirk on her face as she steps over where he’s strewn the orange ensemble to purposefully piss off Harry Lambert - like always.

When she opens the bathroom door, she makes sure to be as quiet as possible - same as when she shuts and locks it behind her.

It a modern, standard shower stall and Harry is standing facing away from his wife - scrubbing his hair roughly to get the styling gel and grime out.

Harry’s shoulders are so broad.

His back is just…beautiful.

It’s so muscular, defined, and strong as he flexes his arms forward. Then her eyes trail down to his backside.

His bum was small, she loved to tease him and pinch it but it was muscular as well from those squats and wall sits he does in the gym.

After she quickly undresses, she steps in behind him into shower - pressing her chest up against his wet back and wrapping her arms around his waist.

Harry startles, nearly jumping out of his own skin before huffing out a laugh and leaning back into his wife, relaxing - well more like melting as he puts his weight on her.

“Thought y’were some crazy fan,” He jokes, hand coming down to cup the hers on his waist but frowning when she pulls back.

“Against the wall,” YN murmurs firmly, pushing him gently until his chest is against the tile and the shower head is pounding on his back and shoulders.

Harry shuffles forward, willingly albeit confused about what was going on and his wife’s demeanor as the cold of the wall hardens his nipples.

“Baby? Y’alright-“

“Did you wash yourself up already?” YN asks directly, hands rubbing softly at his sides, squeezing where his mini love handles are.

“M’body? Yeah, why-“

She cuts him off again, lips on his shoulder blade, “You told the crowd and me that I was getting your ass. I’m just holding you to your word.”

And when Harry realizes what’s about to go down, he lets out a low, explicit moan that echos throughout the bathroom.

“Yeah, baby, yeah,” He babbles excitedly, it wasn’t like this was something rare for them. They normally incorporated ass play into their sex life.

It was something about catching him off guard, when he’s vulnerable, and the post-show adrenaline has already worn off - making him malleable and pliant for his wife.

“You want to be all cocky, arrogant on stage, right? But look at you now, whining for your wife to touch you,” YN teases sharply, hand drifting down to squeeze his cheek hard enough to make him squeak.

“Baby. I’m yours, I’m yours,” He gasps, voice turning into a raspy yet high begging tone.

It was a tone of his voice that nobody in that crowd had or would ever hear. No, it was saved for her when she had him like this, like nobody else ever will.

“You don’t think I know that, Harry?” His wife laughs, fingers moving to sneak between his cheeks, pressing tightly against where he’s aching for her.

She continues, “God, I think everyone knows your mine. You can’t keep your eyes off me during the concert, parade around your wedding band, make sure my tattoo is always visible.”

“It’s ‘cause you- oh fuck, s’cause y’my soulmate,” Harry moans, pushing back on her fingers - wanting more but she wasn’t willing, “Need more, darlin’, m’close.”

She really wasn’t even doing much beside pressing at him, pushing in just the tiniest amount but he was grinding his hips against the wall a bit and her tits felt so good on his back.

Sometimes when he came off stage, he had absolutely no stamina.

Normally he could last but when he was adrenaline high and had basically edge himself in front of tens of thousands of people, it wasn’t going to be a long event.

“That’s really sad, H. Reminding me of when we were teenagers and you couldn’t last,” YN ends her rude statement with a bite to his shoulder before dragging her teeth down a bit.

It was just fun to get Harry worked up, he still acted the same from when they were younger - he’d get bratty and demanding, whiney, his chest and neck bloom into a soft pink color, and his eyes are a bit wet.

“Still just as much of a fool f’you, tha’s why,” Harry puffs out, hands continuously clenching and releasing over and over against the wall - like he wants to just make Harry wife touch him, tortured by her teasing.

“Fine, fine,” YN simpers, as if he was being a pain but she slips down onto her knees - hands dragging down his back and then his lean, solid thighs.

But in typical Harry behavior, he turns back and looks over his shoulder, “Sunflower, y’knees? We can move out of the shower.”

“Shush up,” She accentuates her words with a heavy handed smack to his right cheek and she chuckles when he gasps out a quiet, “Fuck.”

YN cups his cheeks, spreading them and leaning forward.

As soon as her tongue hits where he’s hot and tight, his legs twitch, and he puts his hands on the wall to brace himself.

“Darling, baby, baby,” Harry mewls, pushing back for more and hissing when she licks into him - his ring-bare hand leaning back to thread into her hair.

YN was planning to draw this out but she only gets a few directed laps before he’s moaning obsencenly, loud enough to hear through the god damn arena.

And then he’s gripping his cock, giving one firm tug, and he’s coming with pants and unfiltered, inconsiderate shouts of pleasure.

“S’good, m’good wife. S’no one better than you. Y’the only one who makes me feel like this. Crave y’like a drug, flower,” He praises endlessly, he turns around and helps her up - kissing her harshly.

When his hand comes to sneak between her thighs, she shakes her head and murmurs, “We don’t have time, H. Everyone is waiting on us.”

He pouts with his swollen pink lips, “I’ll take care of y’are the hotel, promise.”

“Mm,” She agrees, scrubbing the leftover shampoo bubbles from his hair as he tucks his face into her neck and tries make himself smaller.

Harry always gets a little sheepish after she does anything that makes him feel vulnerable, needs reassurance from her.

“Only with you, m’yours. Y’own my heart, ‘ave since we were fifteen,” Harry murmurs into her neck.

-

When they get themselves together, dressed, and exit the bathroom into the dressing room.

Harry Lambert is irritated as he is picking Harry’s clothing off the floor and putting it back on the hanger.

The stylist gives them a look, a knowing look, as he hangs the trousers on the rack.

“Fuck off,” The singer huffs, tugging his wife by the hand out of the room and to the car waiting for them.

[soulmate-game]

Daughter of wonderwoman au where marinette finds out her mother is actually Diana and somehow it ends up with her meeting/being introduced to the batfam maybe because she has super strength and is seen yeeting some bad guys who tried to mug her... Or something.

“... you are running from your problems, Mari,” Adrien’s exasperated voice reminded his best friend. Again. She ignored him, and he threw his hands up in exasperation. “Look, you don’t have to do anything about it! Nobody would hold it against you if you decided to just, ignore that you found anything out at all. But you need to actually think about what we just found out and decide whether or not you’re gonna do anything—“ he side-stepped a piece of trash that went flying in his direction. “—or if you’re gonna move on and pretend nothing happened.”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” Marinette shot back, pushing her bangs out of her face and tying her hair back with one hand.

“No, you’re currently hiding away in Gotham to avoid your parents while you beat up every random group of idiots who thinks you’re an easy mark,” he retorted. Another wannabe kidnapper went flying in his direction, making him sigh and side step again. She had thrown that one with only her one free hand, showing just how upset she was. “You’re ignoring everything in your life, which is not what we meant we said you should get a little space.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marinette dropkicked the last criminal into unconsciousness before stepping back and putting her hands on her hips. She looked over at the now seven passed out men in the alleyway, and the one very frustrated ex-model pinching the bride of his nose. “I think I’m coping just fine.”

“It’s better than being forced to suppress all of your emotions, sure,” Adrien reluctantly agreed. “But not by much. Your angry rampage through Gotham has already attracted more attention,” he raised his hand to point at a nearby rooftop. Several shadows lurked there, looming over the building’s edge. “Which, might I add, is exactly why I told you not to come to Gotham.”

“You’re the one who followed me here,” she shot back before turning to the shadowy figures above them. “Go ahead and come down! But it was self defense, and you can’t arrest or beat me up for defending myself!”

The first figure to drop down straightened your just as quickly, revealing the imposing figure of none other than Batman himself. The little white eyes on his cowl seemed to narrow on their own as he looked down at her.

“That might be true, but I’m sure you know my policy on metas in my city,” he grumbled back at her. He wasn’t necessarily threatening, but he definitely wasn’t welcoming either. With all of his limbs hidden behind the cocoon that was his cape, Marinette would never be able to predict his next move if he did decide to fight. Not that she seemed particularly worried about that as she crossed her arms over her chest and met his glare evenly.

“Oh, do you own this city now? I wasn’t given the memo,” she retorted. “And considering I didn’t even know I was a meta until last week? I think I deserve a little slack. I’m angry and if people think the tiny little girl in pink is an easy kidnapping target, then it’s their fault for making themselves into the perfect practice dummies for me to try out my newly discovered strength on.”

Adrien saw the eyes on Batman’s mask narrow even further. Marinette wasn’t exactly at her most charismatic at the moment, and Adrien didn’t wanna get the both of them into a bad relationship with the experienced superhero who always seemed to know things he shouldn’t know. So he stepped up quickly, getting in between Marinette and the Bat and holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Okay, Monsieur Batman,” Adrien started slowly, making sure his posture was impeccable and his smile bright. “She’s telling the truth, even if she’s not... the most tactful about it right now. She just found out some very concerning things about her origin and Gotham is the best place for her to hide from her problems and let loose a little pent up aggression. But— well,” he grimaced. “We didn’t intend to run into you guys, but maybe it’s a good thing we did.”

“How so?” Batman was clearly still incredibly suspicious of the both of them and wasn’t giving an inch. So Marinette rolled her eyes (she was still very moody) and leaned around Adrien so she could get a good look at the monochromatic hero.

“I thank my lucky spots that we ran into you, Batman!” She said monotonously. “Me and Adrien are paw-sitively excited at this opportunity.”

Batman. Froze.

Not only were those two lines the very first lines ever spoken to him by two foreign heroes a few years ago (with a few key words changed to protect identities), but they had become their code phrase for whenever they made calls to one another outside of their costumes. All at once it seemed to hit him— the golden hair and bright green eyes on the boy, the blue-black hair and normally super-focused bluebell eyes on the girl that were currently sporting very uncharacteristic frustration. Their heights. Their builds. All of this info flowed through his mind and compared to the information stored in his memory, and it only took the span of two seconds for everything to click.

Suddenly Batman was at full attention, back straight instead of looming over them and eyebrows clearly raised high under his cowl.

He knew Chat Noir and Ladybug would never take a random vacation to Gotham. Ladybug herself had nearly waxed poetic about how much the city depressed her just from the pictures she saw online. If she had willingly come to visit, it was more than to just blow off some steam.

“Batcave?” He asked, earning a relieved look from Adrien and a moody silence from Marinette.

“Please,” Adrien agreed. “You can probably help us, actually.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette leaned back in the metal debriefing chair, legs up on the table and looking for all the world as the picture of pure teenage rebellion and angst. Coincidentally, Red Hood was in the exact same position in the chair next to her.

Batman and all of his other bats and birds were in the cave with the two off-duty Parisian heroes. Everyone except Adrien and Marinette still had their masks on, since the two Parisians were still not privy to their identities. Yet.

To be fair, the bats hadn’t known the identities of the two miraculous users either before today.

“Cha Noir,” Batman started, only to get a head shake from the blond boy.

“Just call me Adrien. Chat’s out of the bag—“ he ignored the groans at the pun and soldiered on, “—so might as well use my real name.”

Batman nodded. “Adrien, then,” he amended. “Why are you and Ladybug really in Gotham?”

Adrien sighed. “I wasn’t lying, before. Marinette,” he gestured to his hero partner. “Just found out some distressing family news. Since HawkMoth is gone, she doesn’t need to repress her negative emotions anymore. But she also didn’t want to be around her parents while she processed everything. I told her to choose any other city— really, I begged— but she insisted on coming to Gotham.”

“The never ending cloud cover and constant rain seem thematic,” she finally spoke up, reaching into her big over-the-shoulder bag and pulling out a large envelope. She threw it to Batman, making the thin package slice through the air like a knife. To nobody’s surprise the seasoned hero easily caught the projectile between two fingers. He looked at the envelope and back to Marinette, silent questions floating in the air between them. Marinette decided to answer at her own pace.

“That’s what we found out. You see, one of my friends is a huge science nerd. A genius. And he wanted to compare DNA samples between us to see if there were any genetic components that determined a person’s suitability towards certain Miraculous or other magical artifacts over others. It was supposed to just be a fun side project that he didn’t expect any breakthroughs on. He mostly just wanted to satisfy his own curiosity. But instead of finding out if our DNA was linked to the miraculous, he found out that my parents are not biologically my parents.”

“Hence the whole just finding out that you’re a meta thing, right?” Nightwing spoke up, fully invested in the story. “Did they never say you were adopted before?”

“It’s not in the system,” she replied easily. “My parents have all the documentation to prove that I’m their biological child, except I’m not. When I confronted them about it, they caved and admitted that they had adopted me in secret and covered it up. Apparently a friend of theirs was involved in something illegal, and,” she waved at the envelope that Batman was now opening. “The details of what we were able to dig up are in there. The summary is this; their friend was part of a secret, illegal experimentation to create clones that could defeat the Justice League—“ the air seemed to get sucked out of the room as soon as those words left Marinette’s mouth. Everyone seemed to know exactly what she was talking about. “—a group called CADMUS. They made me, as apparently one of their early attempts. But I didn’t exhibit any of the powers they were looking for, or any meta traits at all, and my body refused to mature at the rate they wanted. They had no use for a seemingly normal human baby that they managed to clone, so they were preparing to kill me and start over. That’s when my parent’s friend stole me, not wanting to kill an infant, and begged my parents to take me in and pretend I was theirs. Low and behold, it turns out that my DNA just needed a very specific series of emotions to unlock it’s latent abilities.”

“Those emotions being..?” Red hood trailed off, earning a wolfish smile from Marinette.

“Intense anger, betrayal, and confused frustration closely followed by the desire to punch other people’s faces in.”

“That last one is just an assumption,” Adrien chimed in. “And maybe not accurate. But the first three, our scientist friend was able to confirm. The rapid experience of a lot of negative but action-oriented emotions released whatever had been holding back the powers in her DNA from expressing themselves,” he had switched to French so that he could explain everything exactly as Max had told it to them, but he knew all of them were fluent anyway so it was fine. They nodded along, processing the information.

The crinkling of paper drew everyone’s attention back to Batman, who had been flipping through the detailed break down of everything they had found about Marinette’s situation and how she was made by CADMUS.

“Uh,” Red Robin nervously spoke up. “What’s up, Batman?”

“Your genetic donors...” Batman breathed, getting a wink and finger guns from Marinette.

“Yup. Isn’t that just the most fucked up thing you’ve ever seen? They were clearly trying to make someone who could destroy the world.”

“That makes me nervous,” Nightwing admitted, getting up and going to get a look at the papers himself. “It can’t be that ba—“

When even Nightwing was left agape, everyone else who wasn’t in on it found themselves squirming.

“Just tell the rest of us, already!” Robin demanded after the silence stretched just a bit too long.

“The unknowing genetic donors that CADMUS used to make me,” Marinette spoke up, still with her legs up on the table. “Are a very mad-scientist’s-wet-dream combination of Lex Luthor, Bruce Wayne, and Wonder Woman.”

“We don’t even know why they added Bruce Wayne’s DNA,” Adrien admitted. “Although our scientist friend thinks it’s because of physique. His hypothesis is that, in order to support the genes of Wonder Woman, they had to add male genetics that could support the production of a very high muscle mass and would lean towards easy development of a very athletic body. Lex might be evil-scientist smart, but he’s a string bean. But if he added the DNA of another multi millionaire who just so happens to maintain a ridiculously fit body without putting any obvious work into it,” Adrien shrugged. “Then maybe the clone would be able to support Wonder Woman’s genetics and that of two human donors without falling apart.”

“So I’m ‘the clone’ now, huh?” Marinette snarked, earning an exasperated eye roll from her friend.

Batman just stared at the both of them for a moment. He walked away without a word, and came back with a fresh needle and a box. He placed it on the debriefing table.

“Can I do a paternity test myself?” He asked, his voice suspiciously less gruff than normal. “I trust the both of you, but I rather be safe than sorry with something like this.”

The both of them just stared at him in confusion. They traded a glance, and finally Marinette shrugged and moved to sit in her chair properly. Her shirt was already short sleeved, so she just held her arm out so Batman could easily get a blood sample.

“Sure, why not. But do you just have Lex Luthor or Bruce Wayne’s DNA sitting around to compare, or—“ she shut up when she watched Batman take off his glove and roll his own sleeve up. Realization slowly sunk in as he asked Nightwing to take a blood sample from him.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, eyes wide. “You’re— and Luthor doesn’t know— holy shit this is even worse than I thought,” Marinette rambled, not even noticing as Red Hood moved forward and took a small blood sample from her.

Adrien put a hand over his face and just laughed for a moment hysterically. “Oh my god,” he looked over at Marinette. “You could take over the world.”

“I have the blood of Batman AND Wonder Woman on MY side,” Marinette joked back, also hysterical.

When the bat’s high tech equipment was able to come back with a positive result only a few minutes later, Marinette and Adrien had to sit on the floor and just let it all sink in. Which Batman did not at all help by immediately unmasking himself and trying to make a proper introduction.

“I wanna go beat up random thugs again,” Marinette whined, pulling at her hair. “I’ll put on a mask, whatever, but just please let me punch people. I need to punch people right now.”

[toomuchracket]

what about going to a sex shop with matty and whenever you see something that piques one of your curiosities, he’s whispering in your ear like “oh you like those, princess? want me to use them on you? pinching at your nipples, perfectly mixing pin and pleasure while I fuck you with my tongue? you’d be a good girl for me, wouldn’t you?” and you’re like omg yes please add to cart and then obv you’re quite turned on when you get home so you guys live out one of the fantasies

had another request similar, for I was in the goop store today (where matty was seen buying a vibrator) and it kind of did my head in so I am humbly requesting a blurb about going to buy sex toys together

this is so d word coded it's not even funny. i think once you guys have decided to introduce the d word itself into your sexual vocabulary, matty's quite keen to find out if there's other things you might want to do to spice up your sex life a bit - not that it needs it, per se, but you both love using the vibrator together (that one blurb lives rent free in my head) so there's surely other things that you'll enjoy and that'll enhance the pleasure even more. i think you'd initially be a little bit shy in the shop itself, but curious; matty thinks you're fucking adorable, and like you said he's in your ear every time you're vaguely interested in something, because he's a little shit and he loves getting you horny flustered. like there's a whole range of silk ties you can't help running your hand over, and he's immediately right behind you, whispering "you want these, princess? want me to tie you up, use my fingers to get you all soaked and desperate for me to fuck you, all desperate to cling to me the way you love to while i'm inside you?"; you can't even speak because you're so turned on at the thought, rolling your head back onto his shoulder and softly whining out an "mhmm", and matty just kisses your head and says "good girl" before moving onto the next section as if nothing had happened. and i think you're like "that motherfucker how dare he get me all Affected and then just abandon me", so you decide to try and get him back - you pick up a really beautiful skimpy bit of lingerie, an almost-sheer black bodysuit, and say "i like this a lot i think i'll get it", and while matty's eyes widen he manages to play it cool like "yeah you'll look gorgeous in that, sweetheart". again, you're internally like "for fuck's sake how on earth am i meant to get him", and then you clock the wall of jewelled butt plugs and you're like Oh i am going to use these to fuck with him hehehehehe; you pick up a random one and wander back over to matty like "this would also look quite cute under the bodysuit i think" and his jaw DROPS. for the first time, he's speechless, and for a good few minutes - he just looks at you and finally stutters "are you being serious right now?", and you just smile sweetly at him and walk away. he follows, though, like "no wait babe are you actually going to buy that do you actually want to use it wait up jesus christ babe tell me please!!" - maybe you do, maybe you don't, idk, but matty's definitely flustered by you referencing it lmao. and yeah, when you get home... the tying-up DEFINITELY happens (and most likely leads into a discussion about shibari like we were talking about the other day) <3