#I'm almost done with that event post so I'm just doing this for a bit of traction 👍
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The Big Damn Kiss
Buckle up, my fellow Good Omens Ineffable Mystery Puzzlers, Crackpotters, and Assorted Brainrotters, because I learned something HUGE yesterday.
This will be a bit of a long post, because I want to show you exactly how I got where I am. I want you to understand. I want to put all the naysayers to bed (ha! But I'm still gonna try), and settle this once and for all.
I know (almost) exactly what Crowley gave to Aziraphale during the kiss.
DO NOT TAKE ANY OF MY THEORIES TO NEIL! PLEASE!
Okay? Okay. Thanks. Shall we begin?
Ahem.
Firstly, whether you believe me or not, I am 100% certain that Crowley did, indeed, give something to Aziraphale in his mouth during The Kiss. I've covered that in the link previous. Okay? Okay.
I did not know what it was. I've now heard theories that it was a bullet (nope), a ball bearing (nope), hellfire (nope), and no one, NO ONE has suggested what I see. (If you have, hello! Talk to me!)
Here's our first foreshadowing Clue:
And here's our next foreshadowing Clue:
And the next:
And our last Clue:
With me so far? Well, that first GIF is a bit off, I couldn't find one of Crowley actually spitting out the flies. But he does. When Beelzebub first drags him to Hell, he actually goes "Pleaugh!" and spits out four or five flies.
Moving right along, we come to Crowley in Heaven with Muriel, looking at the trial. We learn two important things here:
One, Gabriel doesn't have a desk.
Two, Muriel does. Where they keep the records. And it's a bit lonely. Every few hundred years, someone comes and asks for something. Muriel can't access the sensitive ones, you have to be pretty high up. A throne, dominion, or higher. Like, maybe Supreme Archangel?
So if Gabriel doesn't have a desk, whose desk is he at when he's getting ready to leave Heaven? Of course I can't find a damn picture of Gabriel at the desk, but it's Muriel's. Where they keep the RECORDS.
Gabriel puts his memory into the fly, then gets on the elevator to go to Earth.
Now, when Gabriel opens the fly with his memories inside, we find out that it's a container. Bigger on the inside. You can put thing(S) in it. The bit we see of him remembering is shot in two parts, one where he's flying down a red tunnel, one where he's flying down a blue. If you slow this scene down and watch, you can see that he is NOT looking at just his own memories. There is more going on here, more that he was not present for. @embracing-the-ineffable put up a great meta about that here. Go look!
Now I figured Gabriel must have taken something else. Something important. Something useful. Something he meant to give to Aziraphale, except he forgot.
I also figured he must have left whatever it was in the fly when he took his memories out. Crowley must have realized while watching the trial footage that Gabriel also grabbed something else. I don't know when Crowley grabs the fly, but he does. And that is what he gives to Aziraphale in the kiss. Why? Well.
I had no idea what Gabriel took until I started working on the chiastic structure of season 2. I'm not done with that analysis yet, but let me show you one thing that I have found so far:
(The numbers are just to try and help me navigate the story and its events without time stamps)
My note #357 of what happens isn't quite right, but when I saw the only two times Aziraphale says "I forgive you" are towards the beginning of Season 2 and towards the end, I realized I had something.
Rephrase line 357: Crowley's kiss is forgiven IN EXCHANGE FOR RECORDS.
(Not that I think Crowley's kiss needs to be forgiven. It's just what Aziraphale says, and had to say at that moment, because the Metatron was listening in.)
What does Heaven in Good Omens remind us of most of all?
A big corporate entity. And what do powerful people do when they get fired from a big corporate entity? They download all their emails while they're cleaning out their desks. Damning emails. Emails that can be used to black mail or even destroy big corporate entities. Or, ya know, maybe they swipe some sensitive RECORDS?
Oh yes.
Records that Gabriel meant to give to Aziraphale, but he forgot. Records that Crowley realized Gabriel had put in the fly. The fly that Crowley grabbed once Gabriel had his memory out. The fly that he gave to Aziraphale when he kissed him. The fly that no longer held Gabriel's memory, but did still contain those damning records.
Here's Aziraphale reading the records:
Here's Aziraphale being horrified and outraged by what he's reading:
And here's Aziraphale realizing he has got some GOOD DIRT on Heaven. Maybe enough to bring them down:
That's it folks. I have no idea what the records actually say, and maybe we're not meant to know until season 3, but whatever it is, it's GOOD.
That's my story, and by God Herself, I'm sticking to it.
#good omens#good omens 2#crowley#good omens meta#aziraphale#ineffable husbands#aziracrow#good omens analysis#good omens fan theory#ineffable mystery#aziraphale elevator#corporate heaven#the big damn kiss#the kiss#good omens muriel#good omens gabriel#good omens beelzebub
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so i did what any normal, sane, and rational person would do and overhaul-edited a multi-chapter fic right before a week-long trip to see family on the other side of the country. you know. regular behavior.
anyway. after giving the more the merrier the space i needed to not violently attack it, i've edited it to be more cohesive in tone and just got it to a place that i like better and feel good about
i've edited the original versions of the posts as well as what's up on ao3, so i'll reblog all 4? 3.5? chapters again shortly
#at first i was just gonna edit the first chapter but then i . did all of them#i left ch. 3 alone for the most part#but i wanted to match the other chapters to it a little better#they're still very much framing for the main event#but now it feels like one whole fic to me#not weird taped-together bits#and now i feel like i can finally relax and work on other things#i'm almost done with the wintery oneshot#it's very cute if i do say so myself#it'll probably be posted right after i get back from this trip#as usual thank you for reading these tags#i love and cherish you
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I Can See You - Live Action!Sanji x Reader
Saw a post about wanting a fic with Sanji and this song that @its-a-show-stoppin-number posted and I knew I wasn't gonna get anything done until I wrote this. I've never written anything like this before to be honest. I kinda word vomited in a sense. The story just exited my fingers and here it is.
Warnings: Suggestive, kissing, secret relationship, nothing explicit, only implied, objectification of Taz Skylar's jawline, like. Why’s it so fine. Like. Dear lord.
No use of y/n, or those weird descriptor things, reader is gender neutral. Reader is however you imagine them
Word Count: 1.5K
Main Masterlist
It wasn’t something you had seen coming. It wasn’t like you, to be honest.
But he was just so damn charming. How were you supposed to resist?
Sanji hadn’t been part of the crew for long. A few weeks at most. But you had been watching him from the moment the crew walked into the Baratie.
Tall. Strong. Nicely dressed. Polite. Respectful. Suave. Not to mention good looking. That jawline–in your defense, you HAD tried to ignore the blatant attraction.
Fleeting glances for almost a week, brushing past each other in the ship’s hallways. Fantasies filling your head. One specific dream of exchanging heated kisses in a dark corner had your mind racing whenever you were in the same room as the chef.
It was impossible to function properly.
Your job aboard the Going Merry was to document the events that occurred. Luffy thought it would be perfect to write down all of the adventures that would eventually lead to him becoming King of the Pirates.
And writing anything was impossible.
Blond hair and grey blue eyes kept your mind far too distracted.
So you decided to do something about it.
Especially since you had caught his eyes on you repeatedly throughout dinner.
So you took your time eating. A phrase which here means wasting your time until Luffy, Usopp, Zoro, and Nami had vacated the kitchen for the evening. Leaving you alone with Sanji.
As he stood to clear the dishes, your hand shot out, grabbing his sleeve and stopping him in his tracks.
You looked up into his eyes, your own wide with adrenaline.
"Please tell me it's not all in my head." You said softly. "If it is, I promise, it'll be like this never happened."
"And if I say it's not all in your head?" He murmured the words, the tension so thick someone could have cut it with a knife.
"Then I'd ask if you'd worry what the others thought. I'm not sure if relationships between crewmembers are allowed here. They weren't on my last crew. And I'm not too keen on asking Luffy if I'm entirely honest." You took a deep breath. "But I can't get you out of my head. It's like I'm addicted."
Sanji moved to rest his hands on either side of your chair, effectively caging you in. "So more like a secret mission. Just the two of us." He bit his lip and watched your eyes zero in on the action, a smirk spreading on his face instead.
You nodded, knowing you were in too deep to back out now.
Sanji continued, despite the fact that his eyes flicked down to your lips every few moments. "Everything professional, except when it's just the two of us."
You nodded again, your heart racing and palms sweating as the object of your desire leaned forward a little more, waiting for you to reach across that last gap separating the two of you.
Your eyes fluttered shut as that gap closed.
As your lips careened into the chef's, he exhaled heavily through his nose, pulling you up to stand and then closer so you were pressed to his chest, your hands flying to tangle in his hair.
The world around the two of you was a blur as you lost yourselves in each other. Clothes were shoved unceremoniously to the floor as you each tried to pull the other closer. You barely registered Sanji lifting you to sit on the kitchen counter, much less registering when the two of you had even moved from the table to the counter.
"You sure you want me sitting here?" You asked breathlessly, your newfound lover placing kisses down the length of your throat.
His laugh was husky against your throat. "It's a kitchen, darling. All the best meals happen in a kitchen."
That moment was the first of many. You had never regretted sharing a room with Nami more. While there were many kitchen escapades after that first one, the two of you still found a little thrill in having your secret.
You spent time talking as well. You learned about each other. Likes and dislikes, pasts, dreams of the future. Sanji told you about his childhood with Zeff and his quest for the All Blue. You told him of your dream to be a famous poet one day and of your life on the sea.
Something changed along those talking sessions. Something you liked. You wouldn’t call it a friends with benefits situation. You both knew it was something else, something deeper.
Those words were just waiting to be said.
You two would lock eyes at random moments throughout the days and his eyebrow would quirk and you'd look away.
Nights would be spent with each other, sometimes words weren’t even exchanged.
It was bliss.
One afternoon caught the two of you on the lower decks, encased by shadows. You had originally been working on writing down events in the logbook, but your lover had sought you out.
Sanji had you caged up against the wall, kissing you with a fervor. As if you were the last meal he'd ever receive.
He always kissed you like a starving man.
However, you heard Usopp's voice getting closer to your hiding spot, calling for Sanji, and the two of you quickly separated and righted yourselves.
He winked at you as you adjusted your skewed shirt. "You'll tell me more about how that dream of yours went later, right, darling?"
You smirked. "You wouldn't believe half the things I see inside my head."
Sanji grinned, unable to resist capturing your lips in another kiss before slowly pulling away and heading down the hallway.
Nami cornered you later that day.
"You've been hard to find lately." She stated.
You shrugged. "I've been hiding away trying to find a quiet place to work on the log." This was the go to excuse.
And Nami wasn't buying it. "It's been hard to find Sanji too."
Your eyes met her brown ones in questioning silence.
"I knew it." She muttered. "Sanji left his jacket on the floor in the hallway the other night. You do know we're not like other pirates, right? Nobody's gonna care if you two get together. 'Sides, pretty sure the only ones who haven't figured it out are Luffy and Usopp. But that's just a matter of time."
You were flabbergasted. "How in the--"
"You guys aren't very sneaky. Zorro found you two the other day. Plus the jacket."
Of course Zorro would find out first. But knowing that a relationship would be fine was also a relief to hear.
You had just finished telling Nami about your's and the chef's so-called "secret mission" when Sanji brought lunch around a few minutes later. When he got to you, he handed you your food and your logbook. "You left this in the kitchen." And with a wink he walked away.
"He's not even subtle about it." Nami stated.
You laughed. Sanji hadn't been subtle from the moment you met him at the Baratie. He had only stopped calling you 'madame' because you told him it made you feel old.
He had immediately switched to darling, being far too suave and charming for his own good.
You opened up your logbook. It had gotten easier to get back to your job lately. Apparently the dark hallway meetings and late night rendezvous worked perfectly in helping your focus.
You immediately noticed his note.
"Meet me tonight"
You snapped the notebook shut, grinning like a schoolgirl,and Nami only rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You two are the weirdest."
It was late when you began to make your way to the kitchen that night.
He must have been impatient, because you found him waiting down the hallway, still dressed in his suit and necktie.
You never knew blue could feel like fire, but his eyes were smoldering as they met yours. He had you up against the wall in moments, his lips on your own.
He never did anything halfway, it was all or nothing. That thought crossed your mind as you began to lose yourself in the way he kissed you. In the way it was tender and yet passionate. In the way he caught your lip with his own. In the way he would sort of nudge his jaw forward in little movements. In the way his tongue always seemed to ask permission by gently touching your own lips and leading you into deeper and deeper kisses.
You could drown in this man.
The words slipped out in between kisses before you could stop them.
"I love you."
But he just grinned. A smile so bright, were the sun out it would have felt threatened. Remarkably sweet for the heated exchange that had been occuring only seconds prior.
"I love you, too, darling."
And the heat was back. His hands, which had been holding you gently at your hips, slipped to lift you and press you harder into the wall as the passion returned.
Only to come to a screeching halt as someone cleared their throat.
Luffy stood a few feet away, struggling to mask his shock.
"While I'm happy for the two of you, maybe the hallways are not the best for such...activities?" he said.
You both nodded, mildly embarrassed to have been caught.
As your captain disappeared further down the hallway, a laugh bubbled out of you.
Sanji turned to look at you, bewildered.
Grabbing his hand, you led him away. "You heard our captain, gotta go somewhere other than a hallway."
Understanding spread across his face in the way of a knowing smirk. "I completely understand, darling."
I can see you, waiting down the hall for me, I can see you, up against the wall with me.
I can see you, throw your jacket on the floor, I can see you, make me want you even more
#opla sanji x reader#one piece live action x reader#vinsmoke sanji#sanji x reader#one piece x reader#opla#opla sanji#thismothwrites
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I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again, and I’m finally ready to start. Here are some of my thoughts.
I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be.
But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate.
This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified.
I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not nearly as close to what’s happening as I am.
How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying “I live in Palestine” and “I live in Israel”? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map.
I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places along America’s east coast, and traveled all over the world. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle.
If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more.
I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop.
But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I have looked at pretty things and taken out my phone because, despite it all, I still think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments.
So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life—compared, of course, to those suffering in Gaza—one filled with sunsets and over-sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation (or, alternatively, escape method) as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on.
But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not.
They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways.
These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfire makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine.
Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war.
No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.
But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this:
I am a Jew.
Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love.
I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your arbitrary criteria is generally not seen as good manners.
Now, let’s go back to thathateful message (read: poorly disguised death threat) I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee!
Then they sent me this:
I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.” Oh, the wonders of incognito tabs.
Where this person drew these conclusions after reading my (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them, and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die.
For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind.
But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake.
I remember thinking, I don’t have the power to free anyone.
I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired.
And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel? (Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate the modern state of Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two entities interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.
But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people?
There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and fret about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.
But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews.
So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. I’m still waiting to break, even now.
I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like.
I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for.
I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.
But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war.
When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, forever unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.
My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why.
I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be.
Feel free to send any genuine, respectful, and clarifying questions you may have to my inbox!
EDIT: just coming on here to say that I'm really touched & grateful for the love on this post. When I wrote it, I felt hopeless; I logged off of Tumblr for Shabbat, dreading the moment I would turn off my phone to find more hate in my inbox. Granted, I did find some, and responding to it was exhausting, but it wasn’t all hate. I read every kind reblog and comment, and the love was so much louder. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🤍
Source Reading
The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications
Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn
Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha
I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg
The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes
Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board
There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart
The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit
“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi
When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss
Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller
Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer
What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins
The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore
Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman
The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman
How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner
This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press
Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss
#palestine#israel hamas war#israel hamas conflict#hamas#on war#essay writing#personal essay#rant post#stop terrorism#israel#writing#palestinian lives matter#jewish lives matter#jewish and proud#jewish identity#jewish muslim solidarity#on grief#on religion#antisemitism#anti zionisim#purim 2024#chag purim sameach#judaism#israeli palestinian conflict#am yisrael chai#kvetching#jumblr#mims on middle east#המצב
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ephemere
élan part three: when the night comes crashing down harry is the only one there for y/n.
wordcount: 22k+
cw: descriptions of a panic attack, unwanted advances against our y/n (nothing too intense), and her dad is veryyyy mean in this one
—————
"Good morning!" Dom—(Y/N)'s stylist, and the most important person of the day—sung as he swept through her apartment, a team of people following behind, "We have so much to do today, are you ready?"
(Y/N) sleepily shut the door behind the last person that trickled in. "Yeah," she yawned, forcing herself to keep her eyes open after the lingering blink she gave.
Today was early enough already with the fact Harry had come over an hour prior, and now her apartment was full of half a dozen others that were way too happy for the early hour. (To be fair, it was just before ten a.m., but she didn't love to get up any earlier than that when it wasn't a pilates day).
Tonight was finally the night of the 132 Gala. She'd prepped as much as she could this week—an esthetician visit the other day, waxing studio visit the day before, a touch-up and trial run appointment with her hair stylist earlier in the week—but so much of the process had to be left to the day of.
"Just yeah?" Dom teased, imitating her sleepy voice, "I thought you'd be excited to see me today."
"I am, I am," (Y/N) argued, trudging towards him with her sleep shorts rustling against her thighs, "I didn't sleep well last night, but I promise I'm excited. Just a little tired."
She wasn't lying about her late night, the small hours of the morning having been the only time she managed to sleep. A letter had been sent to her apartment the night before, plaguing her mind a little too deeply.
It had only been a matter of time, she knew when she saw the official publications posting about her secret rendezvous with Harry at the country club. (Her favorite was the subline on one article, saying that (Y/N) was insisting he was only a bodyguard but how could she resist a body like that? As invasive as it was, it was still rather clever). Now that less real drama was circulating about her, rumors had taken the helm and that seemed to draw her admirer out much more often; less concrete answers seemed to draw them out. They seemed to feel a need to rewrite them to fit a specific mold they had for her, one (Y/N) never really understood the parameters of. It gave her a spike of anxiety in the pit of her stomach now whenever she picked up her mail, worrying that something too heavy to be friendly would be slipped between the bills and other pieces.
"Well," Dom chirped, clapping his hands together, "We'll just have to make sure no one can tell!"
With that, the day turned into a bit of a whirlwind. Many of these big events deteriorated into such, too much going on for (Y/N) to properly focus on one thing at a time.
At least there was a photographer Dom brought along to take photos of the whole process. One more person running around her apartment.
Her hair was the first thing to be started on, the one thing that was going to take the longest. Ensuring everything was perfect, a wash was made to start the day, plenty of products and serums applied before everything was dried and brushed. The natural texture of her strands was altered, her stylist wrapping them around hot and heavy curlers. Earlier in the week at the trial, extensions were added to her hair, adding to the weight on the top of her head. Though she loved the look it would achieve in the end, everything looking effortlessly glamorous with big curls and draping strands, she almost erupted into a migraine from the tension.
At least once the rollers were in, though, she caught a break from her hair stylist. Done was all the tugging and pulling from the various hot tools and hairbrushes, now she could just sit there and concentrate on ensuring her scalp didn't throb before she had a chance to feel pretty.
While the curlers cooled enough to truly curl her hair, her nail tech pulled up a seat beside her. Carlotta was her usual warm self, pleasantly chatting with (Y/N) until a light silence settled between them. Applying and filing her nails were comforting motions, knowing that her set was coming together. It didn't take long for the paint to come out, sparkling pearls to be added to the pastel pink French manicure to match that of her dress. Her fingernails looked every bit like the princess set they had been calling it before Carlotta made her exit for the day, her job done in one go compared to the others that would stick around for final touches.
After a quick break for snacks, her hair was ready to be unraveled and her makeup ready to be applied. The photographer began her closeups then, the camera shuttering as her hair fell in large curls around her face, her makeup artist prepping her skin. Dom periodically checked in, ensuring things were going according to their plan all the while he was coordinating garments and creating problems just to fix them a moment later. Around her, members of the glam team began to pull out their phones, their own cameras trained around the space to document their own experience getting her ready.
(Y/N) sat quietly in the middle of it all, eyes closing when instructed, head tilting when needed, body still in her silken robe.
For hours on end, Harry was like a statue in the corner of the room—silent and stoic. When things began to get hectic, Dom tried to kick him out, only for Harry to ignore the attempts and stay right where he was. He wouldn't be going anywhere no matter how hard Dom tried.
—————
"Everyone out! She needs to get dressed! Everyone out!"
(Y/N) could see Dom was moments away from ripping his hair out, the time making him more than stressed. Styling her hair took longer than expected, draining an additional half an hour from their prep time. Dom timed things meticulously, the schedule written down to the minute to leave her to be on the carpet at a fashionable time—not too early, not too late. This was going to through everything off, and Dom was already feeling it.
The second her hair was finally pinned into place, a layer of hairspray going across the strands to keep anything from moving in any direction, he pulled her into her bedroom where she was to be dressed. Everyone was to be shooed out of her space then, Dom directing them with an agitated tone.
On their way out of the previously quiet room, (Y/N) slipped away from Dom and offered her thanks, hoping they didn't take her stylist's tone too personally. They would still be needed for finishing touches, and she didn't want them stepping out on account of her stylist. Especially since she loved them for their regular services, anyway.
Quietly padding back to her bedroom before Dom became more agitated, Harry became her ghost once more.
"I'll wait outside here for you, okay?" Harry murmured, looking at her with a clear gaze as he stopped in the threshold of her bedroom.
"You don't have to," she told him, lingering in the doorway. She could promise she would be on her best behavior if he needed her to.
Harry shook his head, a curl falling over his forehead. "I'll be here."
With that, she was pulled into her bedroom with the help of Dom's assistant, her grip much more delicate than that of the stylist.
The process of squeezing her into her garments began then. Shapewear and the proper undergarments pulled over her body, her form smoothing with rounded curves. (Y/N) held her breath with every swath of fabric wrapped around her body, more and more of the look piecing together the closer they got.
"Careful," Dom told her, helping her step into the molten pearl of the Vivienne Westwood dress of her dreams. His assistant held the gown with utmost care, ensuring there was no way there could be a rogue crease or an unwanted footstep on the hem.
(Y/N) stayed stagnant, allowing them to zip her into the corset. Dom took over as his assistant began to shoot photos, documenting the way the tight corset adhered to her body. The top was tighter than the original fitting, alterations stiffening the boning and pushing her breasts up high on her chest. Her cleavage was deeper than she ever thought it could be, the swells pushed up and almost spilling over the neckline. The body makeup her artist applied sparkled in the lighting, highlighting the soft parts of her body in a sunny glow. The draping of pearls as her sleeves dripped down her biceps, strategically broken strands having been added during alterations to allow another string to hang down the length of her arms. The high slit was just as scandalous as she remembered, a breeze settling over her bare skin.
She felt gorgeous.
Glancing in the mirror bolted to the wall across from her, she saw the vision come together. Her hair was perfect, bouncy and full, tickling her collarbones with soft brushes. Her dress glimmered like molten pearl on her body, clinging to every curve and edge. Her makeup glittered in the gentle light, delicate sparkles on her eyelids with soft pinks airbrushed across her cheeks and lips. Everything was dewy and light—she looked like a cross between a celestial body and a mermaid inhabiting the waters of a moonlit lagoon.
There was a level of giddiness rising in her knowing that there were going to be countless photos of herself dressed this way. For the first time in a really long time, she looked forward to the torrent of cameras and flashes that would be pointed her way on the Gala carpet.
That serenity didn't last for very long, though, before Dom found another detail to begin to worry over.
"Where is the purse?" he muttered, voice sharp as he rifled through the bag he brought along with him.
"The purse?" his assistant, chirped, stepping back once the proper photographer had rejoined them, his camera flashing to catch (Y/N) in a candid moment.
"Her purse. The purse. The one (Y/N) is supposed to be carrying on the carpet in less than an hour." Dom was seething now.
"It's not in there?"
"If it was, I'd have it already," Dom snapped back, his arms almost elbow deep into his endless bag of everything.
The level of chaos in her apartment ratcheted up a notch in that moment. Now was not the time for something like that to go wrong. Not when—as Dom listed out—finishing adjustments to her makeup needed to be made, final touches to her hair, and someone needed to help her put her shoes on so she didn't bend and crease the dress. Not to mention the photoshoot Dom planned on having (Y/N) partake in before she left for the event, photos to be taken for his portfolio.
"Dom—I can—"
(Y/N) was quickly cut off as he shook his head, his long hair flying around his face. "No, you are not doing anything! Where is everyone?! We don't have time for this."
His assistant scuttled away then, gathering each of the members of her prep group to accomplish each of the things Dom was beginning to fret over.
"Henry—Harris—Whatever your name is, can you please help instead of just standing around?!" Dom shouted through the now cracked door of (Y/N)'s bedroom.
A beat passed before everyone—including Harry—stepped into her room. Carlotta had an extra file in hand, her hair stylist a comb and a bottle of hair spray in his apron pocket, and makeup artist with a gloss in hand. Harry held nothing but a raised brow over the way Dom spoke to him.
Each of the artists and techs descended upon her then, each quietly assessing what needed to be perfected before they were off. (Y/N) didn't have a chance to see what Dom was commissioning Harry to help with before she had to blink her eyes shut, her makeup artist fluffing a brush of glitter on her eyelids.
"Find her bag, and someone put her shoes on, please! We won't have time for pictures if we keep this up!" Dom rattled off, "The event is almost over at this point! Where the fuck is her bag?"
As much as (Y/N) loved Dom, it was moments like these she wondered if the stress of preparing for events was worth it.
Murmured voices of his assistant and a deep voice (Y/N) thought could be Harry, adding to the chatter of the room. The sound of her door creaking happened before the dull roar finally settled.
"(Y/N)?"
Chancing a blink of her eyes open, (Y/N) saw Harry standing before her, just behind her makeup artist, with the box of her Manolo Blahniks in hand.
He met her gaze over the shoulder of the artist swiping more gloss over her lips, his eyes dropping imperceptibly down to her mouth before ringing back up once more.
Before he had a chance to say anything, Dom traipsed back in, his cheeks decidedly redder than before. "Help her with her shoes, we need to go!" he shouted, Harry not even bothering to look back.
He was hesitating—waiting for her permission. There was an unspoken line they'd put in the sand, one that kept each other at arm's length; (Y/N)'s aloofness, and Harry's professionalism the key administers. He wouldn't come any closer if she didn't want him to.
"It's okay," she told him, her makeup artist pausing as her lips moved.
With that, box in hand, Harry wormed his way in-between the various artists and stylists warmed around her. Bending to one knee, he knelt before her with the pristine white box just off to the side. She could feel his eyes on her when he made the first touch, a hand on her ankle. Unwilling to disturb the makeup artist tending to her face, and the stylist primping her hair, (Y/N) wasn't able to meet his eyes despite feeling them trace her face.
The photographer's camera shuttered at a rapid rate, but (Y/N) knew these photos were going to be the kind that stayed in the archive with her.
His thumb grazed the bone in her ankle as she shifted her weight, helping him slip the first cream colored pump onto her foot. The custom pump had a ring of pearls that were to be attached around her ankle. (Y/N) could feel the brush of Harry's fingers over her skin as he latched the stones around her leg, his touch decidedly more gentle than she could have expected from someone who's entire job centered around the rough use of them.
"Let me go grab a setting spray, hold on," her makeup artist murmured, dropping her hands from where they were separating her fluffed lashes and diffusing the color on her eyelids. With that, the woman scurried away, leaving (Y/N) the freedom to finally shift her eyes.
Glancing down, she saw Harry on his knees, a furrow in his brow as he concentrated on helping her balance on the teetering heels. It was like he knew she was watching with the way he peeked up, the fan of his lashes a frame around the green of his eyes. His hand faltered for a split second when she met his gaze.
The rest of the noise melted away for that moment, (Y/N) only taking in just how delicate the shoes looked in comparison to Harry, how gently he was treating her. How pretty he was. She wondered if Dom had ever considered taking Harry on, prepping him for this event instead; he'd fit right in with the models and celebrities that would be on the carpet.
Despite her eyes following his movements, (Y/N) hadn't been paying attention when he had finished slipping her shoe on, the pearls latched around her ankle. She teetered where she stood, a slight gasp leaving her lips.
In an instant, Harry was there, standing to the full of his height in front of her. He steadied her, his grip on her arms firm in his hold but gentle in his touch.
"Alright?" he asked, gaze skipping down her features for just a moment.
(Y/N) almost thought he sounded breathless.
"Yeah," she answered, the word low between the two of them as if there weren't a handful of others around. "Thank you."
Harry only nodded, his hands lingering for a split second longer before they fell away from where he had them on her biceps.
In the back of her mind, she could hear the way the photographer seemed to be capturing every second of the interaction. Camera flashes and the lens shuttering added to the chaos.
The same time Harry was backing away, her makeup artist returned with a glimmering bottle in hand. She was flustered, immediately stepping back into place in front of (Y/N), leaving only a sliver of a view of Harry over her shoulder.
(Y/N) had her eyes glued to him as he approached the entrance to her bedroom, his previous post having been just outside. She saw as he lingered, his head down as he shifted his weight as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to step forward or step back. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.
"Close your eyes for me," her artist instructed.
Hesitating before doing so, (Y/N) just barely caught the way Harry seemed to look back at her.
A loud commotion burst into the room then, (Y/N) flinching where she stood with her eyes closed.
"I found the purse!"
It took a moment for Dom's voice to register. (Y/N) had completely forgotten about the purse.
—————
(Y/N)'s fingers skipped over the pearls dripping down her arms, keeping her gaze forward as they rushed through the New York streets. Beside her, Harry had changed into an all black suit while she was commandeered for photographs at Dom's request. He kept his gaze solely stretched out the window. He hadn't looked at her since that moment in her bedroom, the space between them on the bench seat just a hair larger.
"When would you like me to come for you?" Sully asked, breaking (Y/N) from her over-analysis of how many inches of space was supposed between two people in a working relationship that had also shared a somewhat intimate moment just an hour earlier. At least, (Y/N) thought it was intimate.
She recrossed her legs, shifting in her seat. "Um, I'm not sure," she murmured, noting the way Harry didn't break his staring contest with the window even at this disturbance, "I don't want to say too long, but Francesca will probably want to go to an afterparty."
"Okay, just give me a call about thirty minutes before you're ready. I'll make it as soon as possible, but you know how these places can be."
A smile stretched across her glossy lips as she nodded her head. "Got it. Thank you."
She wondered if Harry knew how many shades of green were in his eyes, if he saw the same tiny blonde hairs threaded through his dark curls that she did. She wondered if he knew how gorgeous he was. She hoped he didn't know that she was still thinking about the way he looked up at her when he was on his knees before.
Despite the sun having set and sunk below the horizon, the city was still bright outside the windows. (Y/N) wondered how many of the other vehicles passing around them were also heading to the Gala.
Peering through the front windscreen, the gallery came into view. The large building that was usually splashed in black and white with 132 on the front in primary colors, had been transformed to allow a tent to be set up up front, shielding the public from the massive red carpet laid out underneath. From here, she could spot the overflow of people, bright lights shining from under the white tent. At least a fourth of that light had to be from the crowd of photographers and publications that had made it inside the event.
Coming to a smooth stop in front of the event, Sully put them in park but didn't make any move to usher her out. From the curb, she could see those set up along the carpet, ready for interviews or photos. She could even see Francesca towards the end, nearest to the entrance.
Her fiddling with the pearls of her dress resumed, anxiety spiking. Her crossed leg swung.
For the first time since leaving her apartment, Harry turned to look at her. His eyes stayed fixed to her face, not daring to skate anywhere else on her body.
"Ready?"
A faux-natural smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Mhm," she hummed, glancing at Sully through the rearview. It was too crowded for him to help her out of the car as usual, she knew that. She would have to settle for a smile through the rearview to settle her through the night. "See you soon?"
"See you soon, sweetheart," he confirmed, his eyes gentle as he met them through the glass.
With that, Harry took his leave first, scooting out of the car with her small purse in tow before reaching back inside to offer her a helping hand out. It felt like a movie the way she could hear the snapping of cameras and dull roar from the event. The shadows around him lengthened, backlit by the fluorescent bulbs.
Rubbing her glossy lips together, she put her hand in his and followed him out onto the sidewalk.
Harry was dropped into his element then second they were faced with the budding crowd waiting to be herded onto the carpet. He had to have been familiar with events like these as he let go of her hand only to place his palm on her upper back, ushering her through the bodies. It was a form of a greenroom that was waiting at the entrance of the carpet, another tent with event coordinators ensuring pacing out the carpet. He didn't let her stop even as some familiar faces gave her small greetings.
Dipping his head down, (Y/N) could feel the tip of his nose brush the draping strands of hair by her ear. "'M going to stay a step behind you the whole time, okay? If at any point you want to be done, jus' look at me and we'll go. I'll be with you."
Drawing away just enough to match his gaze, there was that earnest intensity she'd seen only once before at the pilates studio.
"Okay," she said, giving her head a minute no, unwilling to remove her gaze from his.
With one final push towards the head of the line, (Y/N) could spot the event coordinators clustered around the entrance, earpieces in and tablets at their chests. She watched as they ushered someone onto the carpet—a model she remembered from a trip to Milan, but couldn't place his name—cameras flashing the second he made it to the first pose point.
Harry's hand was a warm weight on her back, grounding her as she forced herself not to pick at her nails or fiddle with her dress as she attempted to sike herself up for her own upcoming turn. From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the familiar coordinators perk up when he spotted her, one of the ones that had been assisting the event for the last handful of years. The coordinator—Monty—brought the lapel of his blazer to his mouth, muttering something into the covert microphone, before (Y/N) felt extra eyes on her.
With a bright smile on his face, Monty pushed their way through the clusters of people, stopping right by she and Harry.
"Ms. (Y/N), how are you this evening? You look gorgeous," Monty greeted her, his eyes obviously shifting from her gown to the petite pearl bag in Harry's hands. His brow raised just that much more at the sight.
"Thank you so much, Monty," she bubbled, knowing the version of herself he would be expecting and slipping into that role, "How are you? Busy, I'm sure."
"You have no idea," he exaggerated, the words ending with a boisterous laugh (Y/N) joined in on. "Are you ready to walk?"
"As ready as I can be," (Y/N) offered, shaking her head as she gestured down to her shoes, "Didn't get a chance to break in my shoes at all, and you know how the Vivienne corsets can be."
"We'll get you through as fast as possible, then," Monty laughed, smiling a little too bright, "You know, when we got your RSVP, we made sure to stock the bar extra just for you."
It was meant to be a joke, she knew that, a rib at the way she was apparently always drunk whenever she went out. She was sure it was supposed to be something meant to entice her into being that much more excited to get the carpet over. Nonetheless, she couldn't help the way she wanted to roll her eyes and huff a sigh.
Still, she laughed along, leaning forward as if she were doubling over in laughter. The photographers ate it up. "You know me so well," she told Monty, taking in a deep breath, "Thank you."
Casting a look towards the carpet, Monty double checked his tablet before he looked at her with a mild smile. "Ready to go?"
Following his gaze, the patrons in front of her had dwindled down to none, leaving her the next on the chopping block.
Feeling a tad bit stiff after the last interaction, (Y/N) still nodded her head. "Of course."
Harry was a silent pillar beside her as they followed after Monty. She wished she knew what he was thinking.
A beat passed, Monty waiting for a cue, then he looked to (Y/N) with that practiced smile. "Go ahead, Ms. (Y/N). I'll see you in there."
(Y/N) waved her goodbye, stepping carefully into the mouth of the event, the carpet shifting under her feet into something luxurious and soft. At her back, Harry stepped up.
"I'll be right behind you," he murmured, a quiet reminder, before the chaos erupted.
No doubt the media recognized who was at her back, cameras fluttering with flashes burning her gaze. She smiled effortlessly, stopping to pose and look in whatever direction she was called. She stood out against the stark white and deep black of the carpet, the attendees meant to be the color in the gallery for the night. Around her, others were posted up giving their own poses to the cameras facing them, some having brought friends or dates to chat with in between.
(Y/N) hoped she would see Francesca or Emma soon.
Traipsing through the carpet, (Y/N) stopped and pose at ever juncture instructed, blowing kisses and showing off her gown at every stop. As nervous as she was to have so many eyes on her—many wanting some kind of slip up to be able to report on—it couldn't knock how excited she was to have herself immortalized in a look like this. That couldn't take away how pretty she felt.
Harry was a silent soldier behind her, never wavering as the hall had shouting photographers, shuttering cameras, and chatter from the various attendees. He followed her carefully, a delicate pink bag hanging from his hands that were clasped at his front. He stayed far enough away to ensure every shot only captured her, but close enough she could turn to face him and give him whatever signal was needed to get out of there.
Going down the carpet, (Y/N) grew used to the feel of eyes all over her, beginning to revel in the way her body and look was being appreciated by the attendees. While she didn't love the sound of her name being shouted across the carpet, she didn't mind when it meant she was going to be posing for a photo that she would be happy to see floating around the internet.
Scaling the plush staircase trailing further down the carpet, the mass of the photographers thinned leaving only a few here and there to snap the final photos before guests were led into the gallery, with a few publications waiting for a moment to catch an interview. Scanning the few, (Y/N) tried to spot the one interview she was scheduled to make for the night.
Catching sight of a bright blonde head of hair, (Y/N) inched towards her hoping the woman was who she thought it was. It took a moment for the interviewer to turn around, the strands of ultra straight blonde hair fanned around her familiar face. Relief hit (Y/N), then—she didn't have to stand in the middle of everything hoping someone noticed her and gave direction.
"Hi, (Y/N), how are you?" The interviewer, Gwen, greeted her with a bright smile, leaning over to give her a light hug around their immaculate gowns.
Noting the camera that was definitely still recording, (Y/N) ensured her own tabloid smile was fixed to her face, her voice pitched and pleasant. "I'm doing well, thank you! You look amazing, Gwen," (Y/N) bubbled, stepping back to admire the embellishments on the gown.
She wasn't surprised, really. Gwen was the yearly reporter for the major fashion magazine that sponsored half of the attendees at the event. They were one of the few legitimate publications that printed stories about her and reached out for articles about her looks or to be featured in segments on their website—even if there were hate comments flooded on her features.
Starting off like the rest of the interviews that had been conducted that night, Gwen asked who she was wearing and rattled off questions about the inspiration behind her gown. (Y/N) answered pleasantly, attributing everything to the collaborative effort with her stylist and the handful of others that helped her prep for the night. Standing just off camera, Harry stayed back but she could feel his eyes on her as she spoke with Gwen.
More than once did Gwen's eyes shift from where (Y/N) stood, peeking over her shoulder to find her bodyguard. (Y/N) hated to think what she might be assuming at that moment, the kinds of questions that might be swirling. Tomorrow, when all of the analyses of this moment were circulated through the public, she was sure people would assume that there was something more going on in the moment, that Harry was doing something just off screen that would somehow confirm that he was her affair partner and secret boyfriend.
"But, yeah, we wanted something classic for the hair, but it definitely took a lot more time to get there than it looks," (Y/N) ended, brushing those stray strands out of her face.
Waiting for the next question to come, (Y/N) saw the way Gwen tossed a glance towards the producer that was standing behind the camera. Something was exchanged in that look.
Keeping the energy up, Gwen turned back to (Y/N) with her practiced smile. "While I have you here, (Y/N), we do have to ask," she said, lowering her head with a glint in her eye as if she were just a girl friend gossiping over brunch, "We see you've brought a guest with you tonight, can you share with us who that is?"
She was definitely fishing, trying to glean something out of the interaction. Even magazines like this couldn't be completely free from rumors and gossip, she guessed.
Staying in character, bubbly and bright, (Y/N) looked behind her with a giggle. (Another scene that was going to be overanalyzed, edited and clipped to show the "truth"). Waving to him to step forward, she hoped Harry would play along for just a couple of minutes. Hesitant, Harry took a careful step forward, inching into the view of the camera with her purse swinging in his grip.
"This is Harry," she bubbled off, gesturing to him as he gave a reserved smile to the camera before tipping his head down so as to not garner any more attention, "I know he's been pictured with me a lot recently, but he's just my bodyguard. I think there's been a few different stories floating around, but that's the truth."
Gwen paused for a second, certainly rattled by the soft denial she was given for details. In an attempt to recover from the fishing, she joked, "And, is that your purse or his he's got?"
"His, but he let me borrow it for the night," (Y/N) played along, hoping Harry wouldn't mind taking ownership over the mini beaded bag in his grip.
Gwen joined in her laughter, sounding a little more than exaggerated with the way she reached out to grab (Y/N)'s arm as if to steady herself.
"Well," she started once recovering, "it was so much fun talking with you, (Y/N). We'll see you inside."
"I'll see you inside, Gwen," (Y/N) reciprocated, giving another small hug as a goodbye.
"Hopefully, we'll both be at the same afterparty—I'd love a chance to see you let loose," Gwen laughed.
"Right," (Y/N) answered with a peal of laughter, stepping out with a wave as Gwen's next interviewee was set to step up to the plate.
Taking in a deep breath and shaking out her hands, (Y/N) was grateful to be out of view of any cameras. Only a stitch remained off the carpet before she would be ushered into the event, but there was a moment of reprieve in this moment.
Close behind, Harry stepped up beside her, his eyes clear when he matched hers. "Alright?"
"Yeah," she breathed, fluttering her lashes with a shake of her head to get the stray hairs from her updo out of her face, "I didn't expect anyone to ask about that. Sorry."
"'S okay," he murmured, scanning over her features, "Want to wait a second before we go in?"
(Y/N) nodded her head with a mumbled yeah. Harry didn't push her as she lingered in that space in-between, allowing her space as she calmed her rattled nerves. It wasn't until she heard the sound of others approaching, more people to clock her with her shaking hands and stressed demeanor, that she decided she was ready to move on.
"Let's go," she murmured, eyes downcast as she spared a few more moments before she was to be on again.
"Y'sure?" Harry checked, reaching his hand out to hover between her shoulder blades. All he needed was the reaffirming nod from her before he was helping to usher her inside.
The hosts of the event were the first to greet her as they stepped into the gallery, familiar faces (Y/N) had seen year after year. Harry's hand on her back was warm and weighty, keeping her on track as he took the blame to usher her through the interactions as soon as she received their seating tickets and were wished a good evening. She was grateful for him getting her through, still feeling a little bit too exposed after that interview.
Entering into the gallery space that had been renovated for the event to feature round dinner tables and a stage for the hosts and donors to be honored for the night. Matching the carpet out front, everything was left as black and white, the guests being the splashes of color as if they were the artworks for the night. The decor came in the same monotone hues only the cocktails and drinks breaking up the greys on the table.
"Did they seat you with me?" (Y/N) asked, passing Harry his ticket for the night.
Giving the paper a small glance, Harry kept most of his attention on getting her through the clusters of people standing about. "Think so," he murmured, a furrow on his brow.
Peering over the large curls on her head, Harry guided her through, finding their table. Lucky for her, despite being a bit later than she had scheduled, her father and his associates hadn't arrived yet. That allowed her to peek at the seating chart, lips thinning when she saw she'd be at her father's side through the night.
"Can I have my bag?" (Y/N) asked, looking at Harry just a step behind her. He didn't hesitate to pass off her tiny purse. Still embarrassed by what happened on the carpet and thinking about the dull way he confirmed he'd been seated next to her, (Y/N) bit at her bottom lip before turning towards him. "It's okay if you don't want to stay tonight. I know this stuff is really boring, so if you'd rather—"
"No. We've been over this," Harry said, his voice stern as he matched her gaze, "Wherever you are, I am."
While she knew this was all a part of his job—his following of her, his determination—there was something that bubbled behind her ribs. Even if there was no other reason he would spend time with her, at least there was someone always at her side; she wasn't going to be alone in these moments as long as Harry was there.
"Okay," she nodded, biting back a smile. Peeking over his shoulder, (Y/N) spotted Emma and Francesca settled around their own table, chatting away while others breezed past their table with small greetings. "I think I'm going to go talk to my friends before my dad gets here, but you can go get a drink or something if you want. If anyone asks for any payment or anything, just say it's on me."
While she knew there was a high possibility that he wasn't going to take her up on the offer, he only nodded at her before she was sending off towards the girls.
Growing closer to their court, (Y/N) could see Stavros at Emma's side, with Francesca thankfully alone—it was always a good day when she didn't bring some billionaire or to come hang out in hopes of commandeering his yacht for the weekend. They had leaned close together, chatting over the table while Stavros absently stroked his hand up and down Emma's arm, his gaze shimmering as he gazed at her profile.
Franny was the first to spot her approach, her gaze lifting and posture straightening. "(Y/N)!" she cheered, Emma turning in her seat with a matching smile, "You finally made it!"
"You look gorgeous," Emma gushed, her own glimmering dress surely a Stavros original.
"Thank you," (Y/N) smiled, taking a free chair at Emma's side to slip into the conversation, "You guys look so pretty, too."
At that, Emma couldn't seem to help herself before launching into the origin story of her dress, introducing Stavros and his genius mind as the one behind her high couture sheath dress. Francesca had clearly already heard this tale, her gaze checked out as she pulled her phone from her purse.
"Did you bring anyone, (Y/N)?" Emma pressed, no doubt having already seen Harry at her table and fishing for more information.
Shaking her head, (Y/N) felt the ends of her hair tickling her collarbones. "No, just Harry."
"Just Harry?"
A smile spread across her cheeks at Emma's prodding. "Just Harry," she parroted, unwavering despite Emma's tease. Turning to Francesca, (Y/N) shifted the conversation, "Has your mom called again since she visited?"
It only took a roll of Fran's eyes to tell (Y/N) everything she needed to know. "It's not if she's called, it's how many times."
With that Francesca started on the epic that was the amount of phone calls, FaceTimes, and voicemails left on her phone with her mom still insistent that being a gallery owner is all her daughter could ever want. Following along and allowing her laughter to flow freely, (Y/N) slipped into herself as she sat with her friends. Seeing the event photographer fluttering about the tables, she was grateful that this moment could be forever immortalized—a time she felt like herself with her best friends.
Unfortunately, also from her peripheral, she could spot her father and his friends having seated themselves at their table. His showmanship in terms of his boisterous laughter that had to be at a volume just higher than the rest of the crowd was what gave him away. Harry was also seated though he was decidedly less interested in the conversation than the rest of the table, his gaze shifting to where she sat more often than not.
(Y/N) couldn't help but to scoot in further to her borrowed table, despite knowing that she was only pushing off the inevitable. She was going to have to speak to her father anyway, especially with her place setting residing next to him. Nonetheless, she preferred to put it off as long as possible. She was having a good time at this point, no reason to cut it short.
Being spared only a handful more minutes, (Y/N) knew she couldn't steal this spot forever when she saw one of the hosts start making rounds before edging towards the stage. She was sure the rightful owner of this spot was waiting for her to leave, anyway.
Finding a pause in the conversation, she began to stand with a careful hand ensuring the slit in her dress didn't open too wide. "I'd better go sit down, guys. I think everything's starting soon."
Francesca gave her a pout. "You'll come see us after dinner?"
"Of course; you think I'm going to stay over there all night?"
Both Fran and Emma let out a laugh, Stavros awkwardly joining in despite most likely needing a translation of what she said from his girlfriend.
Sharing quiet goodbyes, (Y/N) pasted a smile on her face as she made her way back to her own table. At some point she must not have caught, Harry had gotten up and was now returning with a couple of glasses of water in his hands. She watched as he placed them beside their individual plates then took the spot beside her father. A pinch took her brow.
Their table was full of exclusively her father's friends: two men she recognized from the country club, one of their wives, and Harry. The rearrangement would leave her to sit between Harry and the man's wife, a step removed from her father. Not that she was complaining, though.
Without missing a step, (Y/N) approached the round table with her hands folded in front of her, tiny bag on her wrist. The sound of her heels clacking over the floor was muffled under the dull roar of the chattering ballroom.
Silently, she took her rearranged spot. Scooting in, no one acknowledged her, her father instead holding court as usual. At least here, he was one of many important fish, so she didn't have to deal with people fawning over his facade.
Peering at the name cards she had spotted before, (Y/N) saw her's and Harry's cards had been swapped. Harry had been stationed at the table the whole time, she couldn't imagine anyone had a moment—even her father—to move the places around without him noticing.
Eventually, just as she was about to pull out her phone and do anything to entertain herself, she heard her name come from her father's mouth. "You look nice, sweetie" he complimented, his investor meeting smile lighting up his features.
"Thank you," she answered, her own features arranged in a practiced expression, "You look nice, too."
Just like that, he moved on, replacing his attention to now land on Harry. It was a replay of the day at the country club, another round of praises being offered to her "handler" and all the amazing work he's done for (Y/N). Tuning it all out, she instead focused on the ice in her water glass, smiling when she heard a laugh around the table and zoning out otherwise.
It wasn't until there was another joke made at (Y/N)'s expense, that she was brought back to the surface with a discreet brush of a hand against her knee. Blinking back into the moment, she saw Harry looking at her, ignoring whatever else was going on.
"Alright?" he murmured, eyes flittering about her features, "Do y'want me to get you a drink?"
The beginnings of a smile touched at the corner of her lips, her mouth going lopsided with her lipgloss glittering in the light. "I'm okay, but thank you," she muttered.
If she was being honest, she was on the brighter side of okay in that second. It was nice seeing someone ignore her dad for once and offer her some attention.
Harry only gave her a quiet nod before seamlessly slipping back into the conversation. Her attention followed him, watching the way he interacted very differently than only a couple weeks prior at the country club.
He was stiff in where he sat, features closer to a flat mask than the more languid expressions she was used to seeing him give her father. His jaw was tight, his forearms coming to rest on the lip of the table, his hands an inflexible bundle over the fine china of his plate. He was taking up space, shoulders broad and eyes solid. Following his line of sight, she saw him fixed on the man sitting at her father's other side.
(Y/N) only recognized him from the country club, specifically during her last visit a couple of weeks back. He wasn't notable by any means, but he was one of the couple that spared her a lingering glance even when her father was promoting Harry to the rest of the table.
Maybe, he was the reason Harry was in such a rotten mood when he met her in the maze. One of the few times she wished she had stuck around her father's drinking table, if only to know why Harry was insistent on shooting this man daggers.
"Right, Harry?" her father jested, most likely looking for Harry's confirmation to a deprecating joke at (Y/N)'s expense.
Blinking in the direction of the man, Harry barely spared a glance to her father.
"Right," he deadpanned.
It was the expression on her father's face, obviously thrown off by the lack of enthusiasm on Harry's part, that had her hiding her smile behind a sip from her glass of ice water.
Perhaps this dinner wouldn't be so bad.
—————
With dinner plates cleared and trays of mini desserts being distributed throughout the room, (Y/N) took her first chance at escape.
Others had started milling about, socializing with drinks in hand before the afterparties that would no doubt last well into the night. It was easy to slip within the masses, the wife of one of her father's friends being one of the only that could have spotted her disappearance. The men at the table were too distracted to even acknowledge her mumbled excusal to go to the restroom—including Harry, even if half of his attention was still placed on the sharp looks he was giving to the man across from him.
Emma and Francesca happily welcomed her back to their table, a couple of other girls they occasionally clubbed with also having pulled up a chair. From where she sat, she could still spot her father's table, his back facing her. She was able to relax then, feeling comfortable around her friends, even when she spotted the photographer from earlier meandering through the tables once more with the camera to his eye.
They bubbled over the surprise performance over dinner, an impromptu concert from one of the celebrities in attendance, with (Y/N) hoping they ended up at the same afterparty as her so she could get a chance to ask who designed her gown. Francesca shared the person she now had her eyes on, a man she recognized from touring galleries with her mom who was now seated only a few tables away. He was an artist, she decided, way more romantic than any guy with a yacht. Emma and Stavros were very much ready to head to the afterparties with the way they could barely finish a sentence before sealing their lips together.
"I'm going to go get a drink, do you guys want anything?" (Y/N) asked, standing from her spot with her tiny purse hanging from her wrist.
Chatters of denial spread over the table, many of the girls having their own drinks or refraining until the afterparties. (Y/N) shot them a smile before turning on her heel and making her way towards the bar.
The bartender was busy lacing together elaborate themed cocktails for the string of other patrons waiting, leaving (Y/N) to lean against the counter, arms folded on the bartop. She watched the show, enthralled with the mixing of ingredients while in wait.
Suddenly, she felt a hand touch the small of her back, the boning of her corset stiffening against her skin. (Y/N) jumped where she stood, her breath coming up short. Turning to face whoever spooked her, she recoiled when she saw it was the man that Harry had been shooting daggers at across the table.
He didn't even look at her as he flagged down the bartender, raising his voice to call across the long bar. (Y/N) stood there, her brain a little too muddled as she watched him speak over her to order a duo of drinks.
All of her father's friends sucked, but never once has any of them so blatantly disrespected her in public like this. He couldn't wait a few more minutes to get his whiskey and gin and tonic?
(Y/N) started to pull away then, shaking off his hand as she slunk away from his hovering body. He didn't let her get very far, his hand flexing on her back as he stepped along with her.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he said, a megawatt smile on his face, "I saw you standing here alone and figured it was my chance to finally talk to you."
"Oh," she sounded, unsure of what to say. More than anything at the moment, she was now annoyed that there was another order before hers, just wanting her cranberry juice-heavy cosmo in her hand.
"I'm Barron," he told her, dipping his head down as if it was loud enough he needed to whisper in her ear.
"Nice to meet you," she smiled, her expression practiced, "I'm (Y/N)."
"I know," he flirted. (Y/N) swore her eye could have twitched.
Just in time, the bartender reached over with a whiskey on the rocks and a crystalline gin and tonic. "Here you are, sir," the bartender smiled, placing both drinks on coasters in front of Barron.
Thankfully, he removed his hand from her back to lean across the bar, relaying the tab information, his voice a little too boastful when spelling out his last name. (Y/N) felt she could breathe easier almost as soon as his hand left her form. Now was her chance: order her drink, and get back to her girls as soon as possible.
Instead, she saw as the bartender stepped away, relaying back to his previous customers as Barron passed the gin and tonic towards (Y/N). "Here you go, sweetheart."
Though she was startled, (Y/N) kept her practiced smile on as she stepped back just enough. "No, thank you. I was actu—"
"I insist," he cut her off, speaking above her with another push of the drink and coaster towards her. His hand returned to her back, caging her in with her front still against the bar. This time, he pressed his palm against the bare skin of her back, his fingers dipping low underneath the scoop of her corset. Unpleasant goosebumps erupted over her skin. "Your dad said you would need someone to keep an eye on you tonight, and I can see your bodyguard is a little busy at the moment. I can take care of this for you instead."
Her jaw felt tight. Peering over his shoulder, she was able to spot Harry sat with his back facing the bar, just as she left him with her father.
"Well," she started, chest expanding as she pulled in a deep breath, "Thank you for the drink. My friends are waiting for me, but it was nice to actually meet you."
Expecting his hand to fall from her, (Y/N) attempted to make her exit. Instead she was offered a stronger grip, his arm a bar across her back. "At least let me talk to you," he laughed, as if he couldn't believe she was trying to slip away, "I got you a drink, I think that's only fair, right?"
"Oh, I mean," she floundered, reciprocating with a polite laugh, "I should probably get back, though. After I got a drink we were planning on leaving for some afterparties, so."
He barked out a laugh, bringing his whiskey to his lips as he took in a deep sip. The ice clinked within the glass as she shook his head. "You know, your dad did say you were a bit feisty, but I didn't think you'd be like this."
Shifting her weight, (Y/N) would have done next to anything to crawl away from this moment. She didn't like the idea of him asking about her to her father; she dreaded to think what kind of stories were told or publications discussed that could have brought up the topic of her being "feisty".
From the corner of her eye, she spotted the photographer meandering close by. All it would take was a slight struggle, a slight raising of voices, and that camera would no doubt be up to his eye with a high definition photo of the moment splashed across the internet by the end of the night. That wasn't even taking into account the amount of cell phones around the room that could be trained in their direction in a moment's notice.
As annoying as this man was and how much she was itching to leave her skin over his touch, fighting him further wasn't going to be worth the scene it would cause. Especially not with her father right there; it would be too easy for this man—his friend—to turn this whole thing around on her without any argument from her father.
All she could do was hope Francesca or any of the other girls noticed she was missing for longer than it could possibly take to grab a drink.
"Come sit with me," Barron commanded, urging her to roll underneath his arm so he could guide her to a nearby table with vacant chairs. Swallowing, (Y/N) followed along, her smile tight. "Don't forget your drink."
Her smile grew that much tighter over his words.
The chilled glass was slick against her palm.
Barron pushed her into a seat, his hand finally leaving her skin and leaving an overly hot point on her body. Sinking into her chair, (Y/N) tried to create as much space as she could between them, even with the way he leant across the space to enter her bubble. Her hand clenched around the gin and tonic glass.
"See, not so bad, is it?" Barron teased, taking another sip of his quickly draining glass.
"Right," (Y/N) let out a humorless laugh, "So, how do you know my dad?"
This was a trick she learned to get these men off her back. They loved nothing more than to talk about themselves and the things they thought deemed them important. Barron seemed all too excited to talk about his business prowess that led him to her father's "inner circle", surely exaggerating the amount of acquisitions he headed to get him where he was.
"But, I can't lie," he said, lowering his voice and smirking at her, "I told him I wanted to meet you a month ago, and we've started talking a lot more since. He told me you were having some troubles, and I had a feeling I might be able to help you."
Reaching across, Barron settled his too warm hand on her knee, his fingertips denting into the soft flesh of her thigh.
(Y/N) felt her chest tighten at the touch, the way he looked at her over the rim of his glass, as if he were doing her a favor. She was sure he thought she should be grateful to feel his hand on her skin, like this was the first step to getting her through her troubles.
Her grip around her glass tightened.
What was she supposed to do now?
She felt trapped. He scooted closer to her over the floor, his hand sliding over her thigh. He even stuck his foot out, playing footsie as if she looked open to flirting.
Swallowing, she let out a strained laugh, bringing her glass to her lips for no other reason than to buy herself a moment's reprieve.
She couldn't decipher what would be worse: staying in this situation or causing a scene that would no doubt have her father locking her down in a remote cabin for the winter?
With the amount of cameras in the room, if she flipped the way her bubbling anxiety urged her to, there was no doubt the last vestiges of her reputation would be burned to the ground. Everything was bad enough already, but there would be no recovery from a documented outburst like the one she could feel brewing.
A forced laugh fell from her lips, "I guess you could say that." Glancing through the room, she tried to spot Harry. Maybe, he had miraculously turned around and could see what was happening. If she caught his eye, he could put a stop to this.
He told her all she needed was to look at him, and he would be right there. He could take her away from this. He told her—promised her.
Suddenly, she felt that overly-hot hand that had been on her leg pinch her chin. Barron redirected her strayed attention, forcing her to look right at his smug face.
"Eyes on me when I'm speaking, babygirl. It's respectful."
If not for the fact she was close to having an anxiety attack, (Y/N) could only imagine the amount of rage she would feel at his condescending words.
Instead, all she could feel was his hand too close to her throat, the absolute view of his eyes he was forcing on her. Her skin felt too hot, though she swore goosebumps were rising. Her stomach churned, the corset feeling way too tight around her lungs.
"Sorry," she swallowed, almost choking around the word though she could tell he didn't even notice.
In as casual of a way as she could muster, she pushed his hand off of her chin, disguising it as a move to flip her hair over her shoulder. Barron instead settles his hand on her shoulder, fingering the pearls draping over her skin.
"Good," he said, seemingly pleased with her feigned obedience, "I want to hear about you, though."
"What do you want to know?" she forced out through a high smile.
Her heart jumped into her throat, clogging her airways with every brush of his fingers over her skin. She was on the verge of a panic attack.
One of the only times she ever would have wanted a bodyguard and he's not even here. If her father could shut up for two seconds, Harry could have done the job he was hired for.
Instead, (Y/N) was left with a pit in her stomach, something that she swore could eat through her dress and absorb her as if it were nothing. How was she supposed to breathe when her organs had to make way for the blackhole in her stomach? How was she supposed to think clearly when her instincts urged her to move along, with nothing else managing to make an impression on her brain?
This man was pushing her too far. He was touching her too much, looking at her too closely, talking too loudly.
She needed him to stop. She could barely feel her hands, her toes, her lips. No amount of air in her lungs was enough.
(Y/N) hadn't even realized Barron was talking until his voice was cut off. A decidedly gentler hand settled on her opposing shoulder.
"There you are!" Francesca greeted, bending down to (Y/N)'s level with her eyes widening just enough when she made eye contact, "I'm about to head to the bathroom, could you come with me?"
Without a second thought, (Y/N) released her chokehold grip on the gin and tonic, looking Barron in the eye as she took in the first semi-normal breath in the last handful of minutes. "Sorry, I'll be right back."
Francesca took (Y/N)'s hand in her own, scurrying to the bathroom in record time. Stepping over the tile floor of the single stall restroom, (Y/N) felt a tingle in her hands, her gaze unable to focus while Francesca locked the door behind them.
"Hey, what's going on?" Fran questioned, stepping behind her with a cautious hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"
All it took was a flutter of (Y/N)'s lashes and a stuttered breath before everything she was holding back spilled over. A whimper sliced from her throat, her vision blurring.
"(Y/N)?"
Spinning on her heel, she couldn't help the way she braced herself against her best friend, Francesca collecting her into a hug as if she might collapse at a moment's notice.
"I-I don't know," (Y/N) cried, tears slipping down her cheeks, "I—Fran—I'm—Thank you."
Nothing falling from her lips made much sense, everything too mushy and half-baked as she sputtered. She didn't know how to articulate how uncomfortable Barron was making her feel; how much she wanted to crawl out of her skin, how she felt trapped, how she knew what he did wasn't all that bad—even compared to her own experiences—but she swore she hadn't felt so unsafe since that night with Damien Moore. How was she supposed to get all of that out between gasping breaths and tingling lips?
Francesca was her pillar at the moment, keeping (Y/N) upright as she held her. "Okay, it's okay," she tried to soothe her, despite her own voice wavering, "I didn't even know, (Y/N). I'm sorry. I would have helped you sooner, if I had."
"It's okay, it's okay," (Y/N) parroted, sniffling, "I-I think my dad told him to talk to me."
Francesca muttered something under her breath, which sounded a lot like a string of curse words though (Y/N) hoped it was actually a hex against her father.
After tightening her hug, Francesca began to pull away from (Y/N)'s melting form. "I'm going to be right back," she told her earnestly, "I'm going to grab my bag and call my driver, and we're going to leave, okay? Your dad isn't even going to know."
"Okay, okay," (Y/N) repeated in a broken voice, nodding her head, "Thank you."
Francesca left with a concerned look over her shoulder.
Circling the drain, (Y/N) couldn't stop pacing around the bathroom, the clack of her heels echoing in her ears. Her mind was running way too fast to keep up. There was no focus she could give to anything when she swore her corset was strangling her. The spots that Barron's slimy hands touched her dirty, gross and sticky in a way only the longest shower could hope to erase. Her head was too muddy, swimming too far away, for anything to make sense.
Striking through it all, she remembered her father was out there.
God, she was going to be in so much trouble. There was no way she could talk herself out of this one, and with how fragile she felt at the moment, she couldn't imagine making it through a scolding of his like she usually did. Not like this.
What if he blamed Harry, even? What if Harry was roped into her orbit of trouble, being blamed for the fact she had a breakdown in one of the most inconvenient places? Her father would no doubt reject the fact that he was the reason behind Harry's distraction.
The idea made (Y/N) crumble that much more. These were her problems, and now Harry might be held accountable for the fact she couldn't suck it up over a couple of lingering touches and condescending words. As if she didn't know how to handle it already.
Memories of this man's hands on her body—along with a quick montage of others in his place before, including Damien Moore—were a thick ocean in (Y/N)'s head. The illusions were only cut with the scolds of her father, lists of things she'd done wrong and could never recover from.
Through the depths, she could hear distant voices. They were having a muffled argument on the other side of the door, that much she could collect. Every other detail was lost at sea, (Y/N) too busy crumbling by the sink with her breathing too short to be good for her health.
Suddenly, the voices were much closer, a firm tone telling their partner that "I need to see her, let me in!" She knew she recognized that voice, that firm tone and grumbling accent. (Y/N) knew who was on the other side of the door, but nothing could properly register in her head.
The door burst open a second later (or it could have been a handful of minutes, time wasn't real in the moment to her). Both Harry and Francesca tumbled through, Harry's brow furrowed and eyes hard while Fran's were boiling in anger.
"(Y/N), I tried to tell him to—"
Francesca's voice filtered through the bathroom, though (Y/N) only saw the way Harry assessed the situation. His cool demeanor never wavered as he catalogued the crumbling mess that made her up. The only thing that gave away the fact that this was out of the norm of his routine was the furrow to his brows and determination setting his jaw.
Taking broad steps over the tile, Harry met her by the sink, his hands gathering hers from where they were fumbling and picking at her middle.
"Hey, hey," he murmured, his voice somehow louder to her than Francesca's in the background of the moment, "Why aren't y'breathing, (Y/N)? What's going on?"
"I-I want to leave, Harry, I don't want to be here anymore," she rushed out, her tongue tripping over itself with salty tears traced the shape of her lips. "I don't w-want him to touch me again, I want to go home."
A tick appeared in Harry's jaw. "Okay," he nodded, features composed as he slipped his hands out from hers to settle them on the curve of her waist. Before (Y/N) could have any kind of reaction to the touch, Harry was lifting her to sit on the edge of the sink, the slit in her dress splitting to reveal one full leg with the other still draped in the silken material. "Before we can do that, I need you to breathe with me. Okay?"
"I-I can't," she whined, the tenor of her voice echoing in the otherwise silent room. From the corner of her eye, she could see the silhouette of Francesca paces away, quietly watching on.
"Okay," Harry soothed, his hands taking hers once more, "But I need you to try. We can't go anywhere until you try."
The idea that she would have to stay here even a moment longer made (Y/N) choke up even more. How could he ask her to do the impossible like this? She just wanted to leave and Harry was making her stay here, pressuring her to breathe as if he thought she could actually manage that.
"Harry," she cried, her voice broken.
He shook his head, a stray curl falling from his tousled head of hair. "Just for a minute, yeah? Then we'll leave, I promise."
When he didn't dare to break the eye contact he was making with her, (Y/N) couldn't do anything but nod her head to his wishes.
"Copy me," he instructed, taking in a deep through his nose, holding, then exhaling through his nose. When he didn't see (Y/N) doing the same, he repeated, "Gotta copy me, (Y/N)." A pulse of his hands around hers gained her attention.
"Okay," she peeped, nodding with jerky movements.
Another round of structured breathing came from Harry, his chest expanding with his perfect lips forming an "o" when exhaling. (Y/N) copied him as best she could, her chest straining against her corset and her lips feeling sticky with tears when she blew out. Harry stuck with her even when her lungs stuttered and she sobbed through the exercise. It wasn't until she was able to make five full breaths in a row that Harry relented in his pressing.
"Feel a little better?" he asked, eyes searching her face.
(Y/N) took stock of her state, noting the tingling in her fingers and toes had relented, leaving only the aches of a panic lingering in her body. Her head felt a little bloated and her chest tight, but she was doing world's better than she was only a handful of minutes earlier—even if that wasn't a necessarily hard bar to cross.
She nodded.
Using his gentle grip on her hands, Harry guided her off the counter, steadying her back onto her heels. (Y/N) had her eyes on her feet, watching the sparkling of her shoes against the immaculate tile of the floor. She really, really, really hoped tonight wouldn't ruin these shoes for her.
Stepping back into (Y/N)'s line of sight, Francesca looked just as concerned as when she had left the first time. Her purse was now in hand with her phone clutched between her fingers. "Let's go back to my place, okay? I can make sure my driver can be here in five minutes, then we'll leave and we don't have to talk to anyone else."
Francesca reached out a friendly hand, intending to take her from Harry's hold and back to her like they planned before he tumbled into the bathroom. (Y/N) didn't even realize that she was shying away from her best friend until she felt Harry's hand settle on the top of her back with his arm curling around her.
"Fran—I—," she floundered, unsure of where her voice went but not trying to find it, "I want to stay with him, I'm sorry."
Though (Y/N) expected hurt to touch Fran's features, she instead only saw a look of surprise raise her brows and widen her eyes. "That's okay," Francesca reassured her, "Don't be sorry. Just text me when you get home, okay?"
"Okay," (Y/N) nodded, her hair tickling her bare skin.
Taking a tentative step forward, Francesca held her arms out. "Can I hug you before you leave?"
(Y/N) didn't say anything before she collected her friend in a clumsy hug, cheek against her shoulder with their hair creating a mess.
"I'm sorry, Fran," (Y/N) repeated in a hoarse whisper.
"Why are you sorry, don't be sorry," Francesca reminded her, "I just want you to feel safe, that's all." Pulling away, Fran matched her gaze, a soft smile falling on her mocha lined lips. "You look so hot tonight, so you better still post pics."
It was the way Francesca looked at her so earnestly as if what she was saying was just as important as solidifying her plans to make it home, that had (Y/N) spilling with a huff of laughter. "I will," she sniffled, her cry-swollen mouth, "Love you."
"Love you, too."
Francesca parted with her after another squeezing hug, (Y/N) turning to find Harry with his eyes on the ground waiting for her. He peeked at her through the fan of his lashes, noticing her eye on him once more.
"Ready?"
All it took was (Y/N) nodding her head before she was reaching for Harry once more, allowing him to take her under his arm and bundle her to his side.
"We're going to have to fast, okay?" he murmured to her as he pushed the door to the bathroom open, Francesca lingering in the restroom.
"Okay," (Y/N) repeated, staying still as he peered around the secluded hallway in search of anyone else lurking around the space.
Once he determined everything was clear, he started her in the direction of the ballroom. (Y/N) stiffened under his arm. Her father was out there. So was Barron. And over a hundred cell phone cameras and a trained photographer with a high quality camera for moments just like these.
"I know," he crooned to her, the tip of his nose brushing her hair from where she had her eyes trained on the ground, "But 's the only way to get out. There's a back way, we jus' need to get through by the bar, then we'll be alone again. I promise."
As much as she wanted to stop in her tracks, hide a little while longer, she allowed Harry to guide her steps down the hall. If this was the only way out, she was going to have to endure.
The dull roar of the Gala filled every space in her body the second they stepped back under the chandelier light of the ballroom. (Y/N) kept her head down, hoping that if she caught anyone's eye, she could at least spare herself the humility of them catching her ruined makeup and swollen eyes. She clutched Harry's hand cupped around her waist. Her anchor.
Harry guided them through the space, dodging most of the crowd as he took a swift turn, (Y/N) doing her best to stay steady on her feet. His steps didn't falter once. Until they did.
(Y/N) stopped in her tracks when Harry skidded to a stop, something in their path that she was trying not to panic over. She kept her eyes trained on the pearly hue of her shoes as if she could pinpoint every hue that glimmered off of the expensive fabric.
"Harry, what's going on?"
Almost jumping out of her skin, (Y/N) whipped her head up to find her father and Barron standing in their way. Her father spoke through gritted teeth, Barron's cheeks too red and eyes too glazed as he didn't even try to hide the way his gaze clung to her form. It's as if he forgot everything that led up to her fleeing from him and now returning with ruined mascara.
(Y/N) flinched back on instinct. His eyes were almost as bad as his touch.
Harry was a firm cage around her, keeping her steady as he ignored her father. He dismissed them as he tried to get around them, finding a path between a pair of tables. Her breathing caught in her throat when she saw her father try to reach for her, his hand like a wolven claw meant to drag her away.
In a moment, Harry had twirled her away, putting her out of range while he acted as a solid wall between them to her.
"Do not touch her," he gritted out, an undertone to his voice she'd never heard before. He was looking her father right in the eye as he spat out his command, taking him on without a wavering second.
Her father, taken aback, almost stumbled on his feet. "Excuse me?" he let out.
Ignoring him once more, Harry shot a sharp look at Barron. The man recoiled as if he had been struck.
Harry didn't linger a second longer as he took through the tables, getting them back on track as soon as possible. (Y/N) could feel eyes on her, no doubt cameras following suit. This was a moment publication and gossip blogs would rather die than leave out. Tomorrow was going to be a shitshow with the notifications that would blow up her phone, but she couldn't find it in her to care at the moment.
She only focused on Harry, keeping up with him and keeping her hand in his on her waist.
Eventually, they stepped into the back hallway. (Y/N) recognized it from the times she'd visited 132 during a regular exhibition; it was the best way to sneak in and out when she didn't want to be spotted.
Pushing open the heavy door after the hallway forked off into two different directions, Harry pulled (Y/N) into the fresh night air. Though the sky was clear, not a single star could be seen above their heads, the lights too bright to see anything in the heavens. The alley behind the gallery was big enough to allow protected trucks full of art pieces large enough to be considered murals to make through, the space clean enough. Cigarette butts were on the ground, and a dumpster resided on the other side. Still it was enough to please that of the higher clientele that visited the 132 Gallery, though (Y/N) wasn't sure she would care if she were stepping through piles of garbage at the moment.
She was out. The gallery, her father, Barron, the cameras were all behind her.
That knowledge alone allowed her lungs to open just a hair more, the rush of oxygen almost choking her.
"Sully's on his way, okay?" Harry told her, his grip on her lessening now that they were alone, "I told him it was an emergency and he said he'd make it as soon as possible."
"Okay," she gasped, nodding her head as best she could through her muddied mind.
"Yeah," she breathed out, her lungs shaky but nothing like before. She just needed to think about every intake, which was a feat in its own, but whatever helped.
A beat passed, Harry surely keeping track of her breathing. "Thought we stopped crying?" he murmured after a moment, closing in around her with his hands settling on her biceps.
Raising her hand to her cheek, (Y/N) swiped away a stream of tears she hadn't even been aware were leaking out.
"Me too," she whispered, her voice watery with a pinch to her brows.
Through the vignette of her tear-clumped lashes, (Y/N) could see the barely there smile on his features. "You've got all that pretty makeup on, remember? Can't keep crying like that when Sully gets here," he crooned, his voice more gentle than she ever thought he could manage.
He thought her makeup looked pretty. Maybe he wasn't saying that she looked pretty, but it was still enough to loosen her muscles just enough.
A watery smile fixed itself on her lips. "Yeah," she let out, the word floating on a delicate huff of laughter.
From behind Harry, a bright beam of light outlined his silhouette. The sound of tires popping over the pavement and the purring rumble of a car engine filled the alleyway. Harry looked over his shoulder, leaving (Y/N) with only a view of the cut and hinge of his jaw, looping curls on the back of his neck.
The car stopped beside them, Harry not wasting a second before he was gathering (Y/N) in his arms and pulling her into the back of the SUV. She was first in, with Harry following behind her over the leather bench seat.
(Y/N) couldn't look at Sully when she settled, avoiding the reflection of his gaze in the rearview mirror she was sure that was pointed in her direction. As soon as the pair of them were buckled in—Harry having done hers—Sully was off. They were seamlessly incorporated into the city's traffic, the route back to her apartment, one he knew well and (Y/N) hoped he could quick work of.
Harry, having forgone the usual buffer he placed between them, shifted in his seat with his thigh pressed against hers. In the back of her mind, (Y/N) knew this should feel like it was too much for her, that she should be shying away from his touch after the gross feeling Barron left her with, but she didn't feel that instinct to revolt. Instead, he was like an anchor, the steadying pillar that followed her about and ensured there was no way she could drift away from shore.
"Alright?" he whispered, ducking down to peek into her line of sight, "Almost back home."
She nodded, her brain feeling numb though she was sure there were still tears dripping off her cheeks. Now that the initial wave of panic passed, exhaustion was moving in. She would find out soon if there was going to be an aftershock, a tremor that would wrack through her when the night rushed back to her clear mind.
Sinking into her seat, (Y/N) tossed her watery gaze out the window. Only a couple of hours prior she was in this same spot, though with perfected makeup and her skin buzzing from anticipation and excitement. Now she only buzzed with the feeling of oxygen reentering her bloodstream.
God, she couldn't wait to get out of her clothes, and get the pins out of her hair.
No longer caring, she got a head start and began shakily unraveling her shoes from her feet. Her fingertips fumbled over the latch on the string of pearls around her ankles, but it didn't take long for her to kick off her pumps and curl her knees to her chest. Harry silently reached down and took the Manolo's from the floor, his fingers hooked in the top straps.
When (Y/N)'s building came into view, Sully rolled to a stop just outside the entrance. (Y/N) finally chanced a look at the rearview mirror, her driver's soft eyes matching hers through the glass.
"Thank you," she peeped, voice broken.
Sully simply smiled and nodded at her.
Behind her, Harry urged her out onto the sidewalk with a careful hand on her back. She didn't think twice about her bare feet landing on the burgundy carpet rolled out on the sidewalk before her building, keeping her mind focused on getting up to her apartment. Harry lingered for a moment, the rumble of his voice saying something to Sully, before he was joining her.
"C'mon," he murmured, grabbing her hand in his.
Much like he had at the Gala, Harry directed her through the lobby, her hand in one of his with her shoes in the other. He didn't let her linger on what the doormen could be thinking, seeing her with tear stained cheeks and bare feet with her designer gown. He took her straight to the elevator and input the code to her floor.
For the first time since landing in the bathroom with panic in her chest, (Y/N) noticed the small detail of elevator music.
Following after him, Harry took her to her apartment, using the key she'd given him weeks ago to let them in. He let go of her hand once they crossed the threshold as he lingered back to lock the door behind them. Looking around her apartment, the rug under her feet, (Y/N) couldn't pinpoint what triggered her, but the sprinkling of tears leaving her eyes elevated to a full downpour.
Her breathing came out in a stuttered pace, a whimper swirling from her chest. There was that aftershock.
Oh, how this night was derailed.
In an instant, Harry is there. His arms looped around her, his instincts taking over as she was pulled to his chest.
"Hey, hey," he crooned to her, "What's going on, what happened?"
(Y/N) only shook her head against his black suit-covered shoulder. She didn't have a real answer to that, and wasn't interested in digging through the events of the night to give him a full picture at the moment.
Instead, she focused on his hold. She could feel the bump of her heels on the small of her back, but that didn't keep him from keeping her in a grounding hold. Though he was touching her in the same places that Barron had—her back, her arms, her leg, her chin—Harry's touch didn't feel the same at all. She didn't recoil or expect a film to be left on her pores.
She all but melted into him, her muscles liquifying like the tears from her eyes. Harry held her up without a second thought, just as he had the rest of the night.
A pinch took knitted her brows together at the thought, her eyes squeezing shut as more tears fled from her ducts.
Never did she picture herself needing him the way she did tonight. He was so calm and strong, keeping her from falling to pieces on the bathroom floor. (Y/N) loved Francesca with her whole heart and knew she owed her a phone call before the night was over, but she didn't think her best friend could have controlled the situation and her breakdown like Harry had.
He stopped her father from touching her, Barron from talking to her. He knew the precise way to make it out with the least amount of disturbance possible. Even letting Sully know to pick them up as soon as possible wasn't something that had even crossed her mind, but that had to have been one of the first things he did when he realized her state.
She hugged him tighter, her arms around his middle.
Drawing away just enough to look down at her, Harry scanned her with sparkling green eyes. "Do y'need to breathe with me again?" he asked her, the suggestion gentle and quiet as if there were people around to overhear.
"N-No," she said, shaking her head, "I just—... Can you stay with me f-for a second?"
In response, Harry homed her back into his chest. "I've got you," his voice rumbled his chest under her cheek.
Though it was more than clumsy with missteps and stilted movements, Harry led her to the staircase that ran up to her room. From there, he sat her on the bottom step, with him following closely after. She huddled up to him, Harry's arms curling around her as she sat with her dress splayed around her.
She didn't know how long she sat there, one of Harry's hands on her shin with his thumb moving in a soothing circuit over the bone, her face in his neck, but no time seemed long enough. The only reason she even dared to begin to pull back was the itching feeling of her clothes wrapped around her body.
"What do you need?" he asked instantly, ducking down into her space. From this view, she saw a collection of freckles across his nose, faint.
Swallowing, (Y/N) felt her hair sticking to her wet cheeks, the chunks of desecrated mascara surely mixing with the strands on her skin.
"I don't want to be in my dress anymore," she said, her voice as loud as she could manage without breaking. "It's too much."
"Okay," he murmured, giving a small nod, "Okay. I'll help you up to your room, and then y'can change into your pajamas."
The idea of him leaving her being in her bedroom had the lump in her throat thickening. She could barely keep her hands steady and he wanted her to be by herself?
"I-I can't do it by myself," she whimpered, too far gone to feel embarrassed about asking her bodyguard for help like this.
"Y'need my help?" he pressed, looking for verification though his gaze didn't waver from her own.
(Y/N) simply nodded her head.
His lips thinned but he gave her a confirming dip of his chin before he started helping her stand. He kept his hand wrapped around hers as he pulled her up the steps, (Y/N) following pliantly into her bedroom.
With a toss, Harry left her shoes in a heap somewhere in her room, but his attention was firmly laced on her. He kept her bedroom door open, the light from the hallway seeping through.
"(Y/N)?" he voiced, his voice firm, "Can y'look at me?"
Turning her gaze, she found him looking directly at her as his hand slipped away from hers. She almost wanted to reach for it back, unwilling to let go of that tether.
"You're okay with me helping y'undress?" he prodded, reiterating the same question she thought she already answered at the bottom of the stairs, "I need you to tell me if you're sure. I'm not going to help unless y'mean it."
"I-I can't do it by myself, please," she told him. Not once had she made it in or out of this dress by herself, and she couldn't fathom doing that now when her eyes were swollen with tears and her hands fighting off tremors. "I don't want to wear this anymore."
he looked at her for a beat longer, gaze matching her own. Whatever he saw in there must have been enough for him to give her a small nod. "Okay. Tell me what to do."
"Just get the zipper," she told him, facing her back towards him where the scooping line of her dress made it that much harder for her to reach the tiny mechanism.
Silently, Harry stepped behind her, her hair already up and pulled away when she reached towards her. The hook at the top of the form was the first to go, his fingertips brushing the same swatch of skin Barron had violated. Taking the zipper down, every tooth that was pulled apart allowed her lungs to fill deeper with air. (Y/N)'s eyes fluttered closed at the feeling, her dress loosening around her shoulders.
Pressing her hands to her chest, she kept the bodice of her dress up once Harry reached the bottom of the line.
"Can y'breathe better?" Harry murmured behind her, his words fanning across her skin. His breath felt cool against her skin.
"Uh-huh," she exhaled, her shoulders relaxing into a gentle slope, "Thank you."
She heard him murmur a good in response though he hesitated where he stood. "Do y'need any more of m'help? Or do y'want to be alone now?"
The idea of Harry leaving her, setting her to be alone in the dark of her room, the city skyline dusky out the window. She feared his hands were the only things keeping her from falling apart.
"Help," she answered simply.
Wordlessly, Harry assisted her in pulling down her dress, her back facing him as it became an ethereal puddle at her feet. Dom was going to kill her when he found out she let the gown touch the floor.
The nude forms of her shapewear and barely there bra was all that was left on her body as she kicked away her dress, the corset now structureless and folded with pearls a mess around.
(Y/N) didn't even think before she was pulling down her shapewear, the compression just another layer too much.
"I—" Harry coughed from behind her, his voice cutting short, "I'm going to get y'some clothes."
Her skin heated when she realized the way she had so carelessly began undressing in front of him. She was so used to having a team be there when she prepped and redressed from this, the shyness accompanying undressing and pulling layers off her body no longer lingered in moments like these. But, Harry wasn't a member of those teams, and this obviously wasn't the kind of thing he had anticipated when he obliged to stay and help her. She hoped she hadn't scarred him with the way she was almost completely nude in front of him.
At the same time, she couldn't curb the urge to get these pieces off of her body. She wanted to be rid of the night, the touches, the layers of herself that fell victim to her father's pressures to stay perfect at all times. The sooner that could happen, the sooner she would feel like herself again.
By the time Harry returned from her closet, an oversized shirt and a pair of her pilates shorts in hand, she was down to her thong with her hands holding up the push-up cups of her bra. She almost jumped out of her skin when she saw him move out of the corner of her eye, his steps faltering before he trained his gaze on the ground.
"I'll leave these here for you," he mumbled, the set of clothing being dropped on the edge of her mattress. He brought his knuckle up to brush against the tip of his nose, "I'll be outside your door. Come find me when you're done."
When the door shut behind him, (Y/N) was sealed away by herself. Her room became a vacuum, the air sucked out in a way that only felt calm.
Left in only her underwear, she allowed her bra to drop to the floor as she fell back on her mattress. She stared up at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling with the light of the city filtering through her balcony in hazy beams.
This is her apartment. She's in her bed. She was in her skin. Her clothing was waiting at the end of her bed.
(Y/N) eyes fell closed as relief flooded through herself at the mantra. Everything around her was hers. No one could take any of this from her. This peace was hers to hold.
Tomorrow she would be worried about the stories that would be spun, her father's reaction to everything that had transpired, what consequences would follow this breakdown. But that was for tomorrow. Tonight, she was going to relish the sense of safety, that for a second she worried she would never experience again (that panic in her tummy was rooted deep).
She needed to text Francesca.
While she would have preferred to give her a call, there wasn't enough energy in her body for something like that.
Instead, (Y/N) lethargically redressed into her pajamas. Her top slouched around her form, the neckline wide and sleeves draping. Her shorts were well worn and stretchy from the many pilates sessions they accompanied her to. Taking her phone after she was settled into her skin, she typed out a text to Francesca.
thank you for helping tonight. harry got me home a little bit ago so I'm alright. I love u so much fran thank you thank you thank you
The second she pressed send, the confirmation that the message was delivered popping up, (Y/N) dropped the device among the folds in her duvet to find Harry.
Whipping the door open, she found Harry just outside her bedroom door. His suit jacket had been discarded somewhere in her apartment, his tie missing as well. Now he was left with the top couple of buttons undone of his shirt and his shirt sleeves now loose around his forearms. The tattoos she spotted the first day they met were back on display, roses and mermaids and bugs and script.
That peace she found in her bedroom strengthened at the sight of him.
"Y'alright?" Harry asked, his posture straightening from where he had leant against the wall.
"Yeah," she murmured, stepping over the threshold, "I-I can breathe, finally." She swallowed, taking in the state of his messed hair and flush to his cheeks. She knew what the night looked like from her end, but she could only imagine the kind of trouble he went through. "I'm sorry."
Harry shook his head, lips thinning at her apology. "Don't be sorry," he affirmed, reaching a careful hand out, "C'mon."
Laying her palm in his, (Y/N) was ready to follow wherever Harry wanted to take her. She padded after him as he escorted her to her bathroom, the space littered with beauty products and a bay window showing off the light of the city through the frosted glass.
"Let's get your makeup off and hair down, yeah?" he asked her, meeting her eyes through the glass of her mirror as he flicked on the overhead lights.
"Yes, please," she nodded, her voice heavy with fatigue now that the come down was beginning to settle in. "I'll start with my makeup if you'll get my hair?"
"Sounds like a plan," Harry murmured, a shadow of a smile touching the corners of his lips.
A comforting silence settled in the air, Harry concentrating on breaking the hold of the can of hairspray that was used on her styled hair. A furrow appeared in his brow from where she spied him in the mirror.
"Let me know if I hurt you," he mumbled, picking bobby pins out of her strands. He only worked with gentle hands, fingertips brushing her scalp.
Now it was her turn to feel a curling grin tease the corners of her mouth. "Okay."
Pulling her removal balm from her drawer, she spread the oil across her fingertips and began shedding the layers of ruined makeup from her skin. In the back of her mind, she wanted to care about Harry seeing her with raccoon eyes and greasy skin, but she was sure he'd already seen her much worse earlier in the night. Nothing could scare him away at this point, even if she knew it was more for job security than anything that had to do with her. Besides, she didn't mind showing him this part of herself; he was her safety net tonight.
More and more of her strands broke free while (Y/N) peeled her lashes off, a damp cloth being used to get the removal balm off of her skin. Her pores and blemishes were on display once more, her skin breathing after being caked under powders and rivers of tears. Her scalp felt sore with every bobby pin Harry took out, a pile accruing on the counter.
"Can I ask what happened back there?" Harry piped up, breaking the silence that had settled like a fog over the room. His usual deadpan tone softened into something malleable and soft, gentle to her ears.
(Y/N)'s lips thinned at the question. She knew how to answer the question, but it was more of a matter of if she wanted to hear the answer after already living it. She bought herself time as she swiped her face with an extra cleansing water, her reusable cotton pad soft against her skin.
From her view in the mirror, she saw as he kept his eyes trained on her hair, fingers tracing through the strands comb out the twirled mess made earlier in the night.
"I know y'might not want to tell me because we aren't... friends, but even as someone who's meant to look after you, it would help to know just so I can protect you better next time," he mused, his voice gentle.
"Franny didn't tell you?"
A beat passed. "I want to hear it from you, (Y/N)."
Harry kept her steady when her weight shifted on her feet. His hands in her hair dropped to settle on her biceps, his eyes returning hers in the mirror. She felt his eyes scanning over her face. Whatever he found there had his jaw hardening, his resolve strengthening from where he stood behind her. "You're not there anymore, (Y/N). It's all over, don't forget."
She nodded her head, taking in a wavering breath through her nose. "Right, um," she started, her fingers fiddling with the sewn edge of her cotton pad, "It was that guy, at our table. The one sitting on my dad's other side. He found me at the bar when I was getting a drink, and he just didn't really listen. He bought me a drink and kept wanting to talk to me even when I was saying I wanted to go back to Emma and Francesca."
With his hands resuming in her hair, Harry listened along. "Right," he murmured, his voice now holding an edge that had previously been melted away. She had a feeling he knew bits and pieces of this story, and it only made it that much harder to hear it from her mouth.
"He kept touching me, and talking to me like I was stupid. It wasn't that bad, it just felt wrong—it made me feel gross." She swallowed around her dry throat, grateful for the lack of makeup on her face, her tears now welling over clean lashes. "I tried to leave, but I knew people were around and my dad would have been so mad if I made a scene. I tried to find you but I think my dad was talking to you so you couldn't see me, and the girls were busy, and there was a camera guy going around and taking photos. I couldn't... I let him keep touching me, but I was getting so nervous and it was all too much."
With her hair finally down and free from the style it was put in, Harry noticed the shine of her tears falling down her cheeks once more. He didn't hesitate before he was spinning her around, looping his arms around her to collect her to his chest.
"I know, I know," he murmured to her, her own hands curling in the fabric of his black shirt, "'S over now, though, right?"?
"Right," she breathed, voice a bit hoarse.
His hand petted her hair, the strands fluffy now that the hairspray was broken but still holding the heat style she was given. She couldn't wait to wash her hair when she had the energy, already missing the natural texture.
"Y'said it was the man sitting beside your dad? Barron?"
"Mhm," (Y/N) whimpered at the sound of his name. "I guess my dad had told him I needed to be taken care of, and I think he told him other m-mean things about me."
Her words dissolved into a string of sobs, Harry going tense against her. She couldn't help herself, sniffling and crying against his chest, her breathing coming in erratic puffs. She felt guilty, feeling him tense around her. She didn't mean to upset him.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she babbled, pulling away to look at him with a crinkling sniffle of her nose, "To-Tonight has been a lot. Thank you for helping me."
(Y/N) attempted to unravel herself from his hold, only to be stopped by his arms caging around her middle. "It's okay, don't apologize to me," he told her earnestly, matching his gaze to her blurry one, "Thank you for telling me, but I want to make something very clear right now."
Nodding, she looked up at him, watching as he ducked down into her space, crowding around her with intensity in his eyes.
"If y'ever feel uncomfortable or like you're in danger, for whatever reason—I don't care if you think it's not that bad, or your father will be upset, or whatever reason you think is good enough to stay in that moment—you are going to leave." His words were a command hiding behind a gentle tone. He was unwavering in his stance, that much she could glean. "I don't care what you have to do, what kind of 'scene' y'have to make, come find me if 'm not right there. Whatever will make you feel safest, that's what I want you to do. Don't ever feel like you have to put up with anything that upsets you for whatever reason.
"You matter more than whatever cover story or photos someone could make up. Okay? Don't ever think it's the other way around."
(Y/N) couldn't hold back the tears that fell down her cheeks, her skin stained and chin dripping with every drop. Her father had never said or even made her feel like putting herself first was an option, that she was the one variable in these stories that deserved a bit of protection. There was even a brief period of time when she had a publicist, and he never said anything close to what was coming out of Harry's mouth.
Everyone else around her had always shared the importance of what those around her thought, what could be said about her, the kind of stories that could be splashed across the pages. Her feelings, her safety, herself was always at the bottom of that list.
"Okay?" Harry prodded, his hands on her back flexing with fingertips denting the planes of her back, "Do y'understand what 'm saying?"
"I do," she choked out, lips quivering. Even blurry through her tears, dressed in all black and exhaustion on his features, Harry was the most gorgeous person she'd ever seen. An angel in the frosty light of her bathroom. "Thank you."
Harry only tugged her closer to his chest, cupping her back of her head where she snuggled in and allowed tears to run from her eyes.
(Y/N) clung to him tighter.
—————
Waking in her bed, duvet in folds around her with her pilates shorts chucked on the floor beside her discarded gown, (Y/N) blinked her stiff eyelids open. She couldn't be sure what time it was when she stalked to her bedroom, only remembering the ache in her muscles and stuffy nose. Harry had stayed with her all night, soothing her through the bouts of tears and being there when all she needed was to not be alone.
Stretching out of her bed with her feet hitting the floor, she couldn't remember if Harry had stayed after she fell asleep. She was barely aware of her own body when she shed her shorts and flopped into her bed, too exhausted to even crawl under the covers.
Stepping over her cold floor, (Y/N) crept out into the hallway, peering down the bend. Just barely, she could see a folded suit jacket and the first strands of curling brown hair from where she could spot the end of her couch. The closer she came to the living room, the closer she came to letting a smile settle on her features.
How he could manage it, she didn't know, but it was very much in his character to sleep with his brows pinched and arms crossed over his chest. He didn't look like he was resting particularly well, his suit jacket acting as his pillow as he threw himself into an odd shape to lay on her couch.
He stayed.
A heat bubbled under her skin at the thought. Despite the wringer she put him through the night before, he stayed here. Though she wasn't exactly sure how she would navigate the conversation that would have to occur when he woke, how she would handle knowing that he saw those most vulnerable parts of her, at least she knew she wasn't alone.
Letting him stay where he was, (Y/N) silently moved past him to her kitchen. She could start to say thank you by making him breakfast, she decided. If anything, it might be a good enough distraction to push off the conversation a bit longer when he woke.
She fell into her element as she pulled out the ingredients, feeling her muscles relax and joints loosen. Trying to be as quiet as she could so as to not disturb the sleeping beauty on her couch, she pulled the dish together as she went. Slices of toast were warming in a butter skimmed pan while she raided her spice rack. From her fridge she pulled eggs and chorizo, cheese and hashbrowns until she came up with a scramble. A rich and lemony hollandaise started on her stove, her apartment filling with toasted spices and the sizzling pop of the chorizo looking. She hoped he would appreciate the extra shred of manchego she stirred in.
With her mind running around the kitchen, timing and anticipating everything, she felt okay. She knew there had to be more than a handful of notifications on her phone, too many articles with her name tagged, and her father scheming her punishment, but, right now, she was content in living in this moment. She could wash her hair later, answer her phone calls, and explain to Dom that she didn't mean to let the Vivienne gown wrinkle on the floor. Before then, she would allow her only consequences to be the ache in her bones and the crust in the corners of her eyes.
Adding the final seasonings and beginning to plate everything, (Y/N) shifted her attention to the other consequence laying on her couch. She really hoped he liked what she made.
Adding the hollandaise over the hashbrown bowl, (Y/N) finished up with adding the slices of crusty toast to the rim of the bowl. She placed them on her rarely used dining table, hesitating at the chair beside where she determined Harry would sit before backtracking and placing her own serving in the seat across.
Now was the hard part.
Padding over the rug, she made her way to the couch, Harry's restless form still stiff where he laid. With the top buttons of his top undone, the tan skin of his chest was on display, the necklace she had noticed time and time again, the pendants finally on display. The faces of a duo of birds inked on his chest peeked out, matching the dark black of his outfit. He even fell asleep with his shoes on.
He did all that work to make sure she was comfortable—getting her out of her dress, helping her take her hair down, reminding her to wash her makeup off—only to fall asleep with his suit jacket as a pillow and his event clothes wrapped too tight around him.
Crouching beside him, she sat on her folded knees. His profile was on display this way, the line of his nose and curl of his lashes highlighted through the sunny window.
Using a gentle hand, she cautiously settled her palm on his tensed shoulder. "Harry," she murmured. She gave a minute shake to his shoulder.
Harry woke up with a start, his reaction much quicker and more drastic than she had expected. He sucked in a big breath, his eyes flying open as he sat up, his hands reaching behind to prop himself up. She could see the recognition settle over his features, his eyes frantically searching over her face with his mouth in a soft gape.
"(Y/N)," he breathed out.
Having sat back some when he startled, her hands in a bundle in her lap, she blinked up at him. "Sorry," she started, "I just... I made you breakfast, if you were hungry."
Disoriented, he ran a heavy hand through his hair as he shifted where he sat. The suede cushions fluffed up, the fibers mimicking waves around him. "Yeah?" he asked, moving to sit properly with his feet on the ground and knees wide apart.
Still on her knees, she looked up at him, his hair a mess and chest heaving as he caught his stressed breath. She opened her mouth to say something, but every thought was ripped from her head when her front door was flung open.
Whipping around, she almost jumped out of her skin when she saw her father stepping inside. His face was twisted in anger, wearing a suit too nice for this early in the morning, and his eyes as daggers trained right on her.
He stomped over the threshold, coming towards where she was still folded on the floor.
"Dad!"
Ignoring her voice, she saw him finally take in the scene. For the first time he seemed to realize Harry was there. With (Y/N) on her knees in front of him. His clothes were a rumpled mess, the same ones from the night before. His chest rising and falling from his startled good morning, hair a stressed mess.
(Y/N) could practically see his blood pressure rising through his body, his hair standing on end when he returned his gaze to hers. He was seething, taking his assumptions from the scene before him.
"Are you fucking kidding me, (Y/N)?" he hissed, his hands practically shaking at his sides. He towered over her, even from where she sat feet away. "What do you think you're trying to do to him!?"
Scrambling to stand up, she was already shaking her head in denial. This wasn't the kind of scolding she was going to be able to sit through.
"What? I'm—No, that's not—"
He shook his head, his jaw stiff. He seemed to bite his own tongue, stopping himself from saying anything more. "We will have to talk about that later," he cemented, "Because you need to tell me what the hell you were thinking last night."
While she knew this was coming, she honestly expected more of a phone call. She thought he would be too angry to even look at her. He'd never been angry enough to burst into her home and yell at her there. He much preferred his home turf, where he controlled all the power.
Swallowing, she tried to calm her racing heartbeat. "I know it looks bad, but I promise I didn't mean—"
"I don't want excuses!" he shouted, cutting her off despite the fact he was the one that invited her to talk in the first place. "I'm tired of you embarrassing me every chance you get! I always knew you'd be crazy like your mother, but I didn't think it would be this fucking bad."
(Y/N) recoiled at the mention of her mother. He rarely talked about her unless in punishment, but he hadn't said anything so blatantly evil about her.
She didn't know what to say. This is why he never told her about the racing in her heart and the stress that filled her without permission. She didn't want him to think of her as crazy, something that needed to be medicated and put away. But, she supposed now, he didn't need to know that information to say that about her.
Her father took a menacing step towards her, his expression that much more angry after her silence.
In an instant, Harry was sliding between them, his back facing (Y/N) with his height obscuring her view of her father. "Sir," Harry started, a warning to his tone that had to come from years of dealing with pests.
It was her father's turn to take a step back, (Y/N) just barely catching the way he rolled his eyes. Harry's interference only set him off further, it appeared.
Speaking around the wall that was Harry, he yelled to (Y/N), "How am I supposed to trust him now, after I saw what you were trying to do to him. What did you do last night that convinced him that you needed protecting from me when you're the problem!"
Harry took a step towards him, a hand out as if to soothe a vicious animal while barring him from coming any closer should he attempt. "Sir, I think it's best if you step outside for a moment."
Ignoring Harry's plea, he only craned his neck to ensure (Y/N) could see him when he yelled again. "I always knew you'd end up a whore," her father seethed, "But you only seem to like it best when it's a way to get back at me."
With that, Harry didn't hesitate before grabbing her father by the arms and twisting him away. He escorted him out the door of her apartment, pushing him over the threshold with a slam of the door behind them.
Muffled shouts started on the other side of the door, her father's voice the one that was raised. She couldn't pick out individual words, but she figured that was probably for the best. She didn't need to hear any more of what he thought of her.
Staving off a replay of last night's breakdown, she sunk to the floor, her legs a tangled puddle underneath her. Her hands shook in her lap, matching the cadence of her lungs as she fought to keep her breathing even.
Suddenly, a loud bang against her door rang through her empty apartment. Tears filled her eyes.
The blaring noise was compounded with a stretch of silence. The low timber of Harry's voice rose then, though his was layered with the typical composure he always had, even in the face of someone as unreasonable as her father.
The silence gave too much room for her thoughts to grow, her head bloated and heavy.
In an odd way, she was grateful he was as angry as he was. He was too upset, his vision too red, to say anything properly damaging. If he had been thinking any clearer, she worried she would have a plane ticket to Sweden in hand and all credit cards in her name shredded.
While this morning was bad, it definitely could have been worse, she decided.
She couldn't be sure how long she sat on the floor, waiting for whatever would emerge back into her apartment, but soon enough the doorknob twisted with the hinges gliding open. Harry was the only one to step inside, her father missing from the hallway when she glanced around.
His cheeks were red, hair in an even sorrier state than before, but he kept that same calculated set to his irises. He didn't hesitate to crouch to her level, his brows pinching as he met (Y/N)'s eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asked, intensity laced through his voice.
(Y/N) nodded her head, stray hairs curtaining around her face. "Sorry about everything he said. I-I don't know where he—why he—"
Harry shook his head, his jaw ticking. He dropped his gaze from hers as he shuttered them in a lingering blink. When he dared to glance up at her once more, he said, "No, don't apologize for him. I jus'... (Y/N), I think 's best if I go home, now."
Instinctively, she wanted to question him. She wanted to investigate his reasoning and attempt to make him stay. He was her solid pillar, the buoy keeping her afloat. She worried what she would do without him for the first time in twenty-four hours.
But, she couldn't blame him. Her father just accused her of trying to seduce him to wriggle into his head, with whatever else he shared behind that closed door. She could only imagine just how uncomfortable he was now in her presence, both his employer and client having varying breakdowns in front of him.
"Okay," she settled, dropping her eyes to her hands. At least the tremor stopped. "Thank you for staying with me last night."
Giving a curt nod, Harry stood to his full height. He moved silently around him, stoic as ever as he collected his suit jacket and cell phone. His footsteps seemingly echoed in the otherwise silence of her home.
She wasn't even sure if he looked at her again before he slipped out the front door, leaving her alone.
—————
Dad
I have a flight scheduled to take you to Paris in a week. You can't be trusted here to stay out of trouble, even with Harry's help. You will be staying through to the winter, and I hope you take this time to reflect on what you've done and how you plan on fixing your attitude.
Harry will be accompanying you, but I expect you to keep your relationship strictly professional with him. Don't squander this time away, (Y/N).
I will check in soon to ensure things are going well.
(Y/N) felt heavy reading her father's string of texts.
Today had been enough of an obstacle already, and now she had to plan to be out of the country well after Summer had ended.
She didn't bother to type a response, only reacting to the top message with a thumbs up.
Falling back on her bed, the mattress bouncing under her spine, she stared up at the ceiling.
She was going to have to call Francesca.
—————
"Is there anything I can grab for you, Ms. (Y/N)?"
A pleasant smile curled over (Y/N)'s lips, the bags under her eyes shielded by the heavy pair of sunglasses perched on her nose. "No, thank you."
The flight attendant scurried away at her dismissal, all too eager to practically sprint away. While this crew wasn't especially friendly with her, always seeming a little too scared of her, there was definitely a difference in how attentive they'd started for this flight. They'd no doubt seen the articles that had been swirling for the last week.
She couldn't blame them, honestly. Reviewing the articles herself, she was painted as an out of touch socialite, a woman who flipped out after a perceived slight. There were photos of her speaking to Barron, the moment having been described as the final moments before the blowup. The drink clutched in her hand was blown out of proportion, insiders and onlookers dishing out how she'd been drinking the whole night despite those two sips of the gin and tonic being the only alcohol she partook in the entire Gala.
The men around her were painted as heroes, including Harry. Her father and Barron were trying to talk her down from her drunken antics, urging her to calm and remind her of the cameras watching. Harry was doing the chivalrous thing and helping her out of the event before she stumbled around and humiliated herself more than she already had. Some sources even became so bold as to claim that the reason she snuck away to the bathroom for so long, others checking on her, was because of a drug problem she was hiding behind closed doors.
All of it was her fault. She was being unreasonable, and rude. Untamable and embarrassing. Crazy, even.
The webs were spun so well, including the official photographs along with blurry photographs posted by anonymous social media accounts. Every story looked worse than the last.
Even knowing the truth, seeing those photos gave (Y/N) a deep sense of humiliation she couldn't shake.
Seeing an outsider's perspective, the way she clung to Harry with messy hair and swollen eyes, crying over him and using him like some kind of shield. She couldn't believe he had stayed with her after the way she acted—and those were only the things that occurred in public.
If that wasn't bad enough, after the fashion magazine's interview was posted along with the event's photos and stories, Harry was now having articles written about him. People were digging into his private life, hunting down any kind of hint of who he was, what he meant to (Y/N). Most likely, some were even hoping to get into contact with him and earn and exclusive. She couldn't blame him if he took someone up on the offer.
It was all her fault.
Maybe that was why this past week, she hadn't heard from him at all. To be fair, she hadn't gone anywhere, preferring to keep out of the public eye while the gossip circulated. Francesca met her at her apartment instead, helping her with everything; they packed a small bag to get her through her traveling, cried, bitched about her dad, and had a two day sleepover before (Y/N)'s exile began. She was the only one (Y/N) told, knowing it would get to the rest of the girls in a matter of time, only after she had disappeared for a good few weeks.
That left (Y/N) with a small go-bag, a full wardrobe and duplicates of her favorite things already waiting at the French penthouse, sweats on her form and embarrassment too deep to coax Harry into interacting with her.
She felt stiff where she sat, imagining what the stew crew was whispering about her just out of earshot, imagining what Harry was thinking about her as he refused to even glance at her despite the orientation of their chairs. She couldn't relax in her skin. She was too in her head to manage something like that.
Though (Y/N) was happy to get out of New York, these circumstances were killing any joy she could tie to the change in scenery. Paris was one of her favorite places in the world, her penthouse securing a special spot in her heart, but her father wanted to turn it into a prison. he wanted to ruin another safe place for her. It sucked.
And, the one person she was too embarrassed to even properly look at, was the one person accompanying her through it all. Her new roommate was the same guy that she was being accused of sleeping with out of anger at her father, out of her rampant sexual desire that kept her from staying with any one person for too long, or a cute decoration that was placed around her to give her clout. At least that's what the rumors swirling around were.
Heaving a sigh and crossing her legs, (Y/N) wanted to be surprised that Harry didn't even flinch in her direction, instead she felt just a sting of hurt behind her ribs.
—————
"You know where the house is?"
"Yes," Harry answered, his response curt as he shifted the car into drive.
(Y/N) couldn't blame his short reply, she wasn't being particularly warm either.
Instead, she silently settled into her seat, conflicted on how to feel. She'd never really travelled without a driver. Even if it wasn't Sully since he stayed in the city with his family, there was always someone else that took care of her wherever she went. This time, it appeared Harry would be in charge of that.
Most likely at her father's request, she figured. Now there was no reason for her to be away from him for even ten minutes. Her babysitter extraordinaire.
Shifting her gaze out the windscreen, she took in the emerging city. It had been a while since she was away from the lights and the skyscrapers, the crowds of tourists. While Paris wasn't quite as quant as the movies made it out to be, it was definitely different from that of New York. There was more breathing room.
Her dad always thought it was too slow, too boring, a place to spend a single day in before moving on to something much newer and exciting. Maybe that was why it became one of her favorite places, her first request when she was old enough being that she could find a penthouse in Paris. She knew he wouldn't want to follow her here.
Harry drove like an expert through the winding streets, a GPS screen hooked up to show him the way to her penthouse, though she doubted he needed it. He kept his gaze shifting through the cycle of peering out the window, checking his mirrors, and glancing in the rearview. He didn't waver in his routine, as if (Y/N) wasn't even there.
The familiar lead up to the neighbourhood of Saint-Germain had (Y/N) sitting up. She couldn't wait to lock herself away in that top floor penthouse.
Taking advantage of the free space not too far from the entrance to the building, Harry pulled in in one smooth motion. The click of the gear shifter settled them into park. He pulled the key after a beat, finally shooting her a fleeing glance.
"I'll grab the bags and follow you," he directed, not waiting before he was pushing open his door and stepping out onto the street.
She followed suit, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head.
Upon her first deep breath in, (Y/N) wondered if she had been away for long enough to convince herself the air really did smell like butter and wine the way poets always described.
There were still a good amount of tourists given the neighborhood's proximity to various landmarks, but this place was worlds different in comparison to the city. She hoped her father knew she was enjoying her punishment.
Harry, with their bags in hand, waited for her to take the lead. She gave him a careful smile before she breezed past him, leading them to the entrance of her building. This place was much different than that in the city, no doorpeople around and only a small bank of two elevators beside the various mailboxes.
Once in the lift, she entered them in to be taken to the top floor. Harry was a silent pillar beside her, his luggage and her duffle bag in hand. She swallowed around the silence.
The top floor was all for her, the space being bought by her father by the time she was twenty. Knocking down the walls, the three separate apartments were turned into one big space that was gutted and turned into an immaculate penthouse. (Y/N) fought to keep as many of the original features as she could.
Stepping inside the space, her efforts were rewarded with the sight of the off-white walls, texture embedded in the slabs. Wrought-iron fixtures were littered throughout, the original doors and biggest kitchen left as it was. Everything held the air of romance, the space a lot more intimate than small than what she had in New York. A trio of different balconies were stationed on the outside, those terraces offering views of the Eiffel Tower.
It was lovely. That was the only way she could describe it. The kind of place that deserved to be draped in roses and lit exclusively in candlelight. Late nights and Burgundy wine with silk dresses.
Harry followed her as she stepped towards a plane of French doors, the glass frosted to keep prying eyes out. "This is my room," she told him, voice detached, "But down that hall are a couple of spare bedrooms and bathrooms, so you can pick whatever one you want."
Dropping her duffle on the floor, he gave her a single nod. "Okay."
With that, he turned on his heel. She watched as he started down the hall, leaving her with a single syllable.
She needed to say something. As distant as she was acting because of her embarrassment, she couldn't not acknowledge what happened. Every time she looked at him, she saw those photos of her clinging and crying on him, her mascara a mess while he looked at her with sympathy. She saw the way he tended to her hair in the mirror, using his fingers to break the hold of the hairspray and gently pick out the bobby pins holding the style in. She saw him defending her against her father.
"Harry?" she peeped, eyes fixed to his back.
"Hm?" He stopped, looking at her over his shoulder.
Taking a step towards him, her hands a fumbling mess behind her back, she swallowed. "I wanted to say thank you again for last week. Especially after everything. And for defending me," she started, her gaze dropping to the middle of his back, "I'm sorry I acted that way, and how I have been acting. I know I can be unreasonable, so it means a lot that you stayed with me and still came here with me. I hope this isn't too bad of a place to be exiled."
She tried to go lighthearted, ending with a breathy laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Harry only looked at her with a pinched brow, his arm dropping the bag he had slung over his shoulder. "I... I don't think I understand."
Clamming up, (Y/N) felt too exposed. She waved him off, shaking her head in hopes of dismissing all that she shared. "Don't worry about it," she said, "Just thank you for looking out for me, and I promise I'm going to make your job as easy as possible while we're here. Hopefully, I'll be able to get you home before the holidays."
A silence settled between them. Harry didn't offer any kind of response, only his eyes following her. She shifted her weight where she stood, her fingers knotting behind her back.
She inched towards her room, the space feeling too heavy as her words hung in the air.
"I think I'm going to unpack and take a nap," she murmured, offering a barely there smile, "We can order food later if you want, but I don't plan on doing anything, so the rest of the day is yours."
With that, she slipped between her open French doors, the warmth of her room enveloping her once she sealed the rest of the penthouse out. She didn't want to see if Harry was still standing there, watching her with eyes that were too observant.
She took in a deep breath, shifting her gaze through her bedroom. Her eyes landed on the open drapes to her balcony. Outside, the Eiffel Tower shimmered.
—————
ephemere is the French words for a fleeting beauty; a summer love, a shooting star, greatness gone too soon
this part is def one of the longer ones of the series so thank you so much for getting through it! sorry for any mistakes and if you have any ideas or thoughts please send them in!
#writing#harry#harry styles#harry one shot#harry imagine#harry blurb#harry au#bodyguard harry#harry x reader#harry styles one shot#harry styles imagine#harry styles blurb#harry styles au#bodyguard harry styles#love on tour#pleasing#harrys house#as it was#satellite
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Renter Problems
yandere!celebrity x gn!reader
Synopsis: You're trying to find a place near your university to stay, and you've managed to find a mansion owned by a celebrity to live in. His name is Jacob, and you've known him since middle school, living in the same city as him. He's blown up as the new, hot celebrity thanks to the movie he's starred in, though, while you're just struggling to pass by. But he's been acting strange, and you're determined to .move out
Details: Physical and verbal abuse, drugging, manipulation, gender neutral reader
Living with this man was hard. His constant need for your attention and approval, his strange comments, his overall eccentric way of living. At first, living in a celebrity mansion for a cheap price had seemed like a dream, but instead, it'd turned into a burden.
You sit up on the bed, leaning your back on the headboard and look out the floor to ceiling length window to see the sun slowly setting. You want to find a stable, normal place to stay in soon as possible.
You had posted an ad online so renters could contact you if their spot became available. You felt more secure with that back up in mind. You suppose thinking so much about Jacob attracted him because you suddenly hear a knock at your door.
"You there?" He asks, opening the door without waiting for a response.
"What's the point of knocking if you can't wait for a response?" You ask.
"It's my house, that's my door." He responds with a straight face.
"Sure..." You respond, not having the energy to argue.
"Anyways!" He claps his hand and points and you. "Want to watch my new movie with me? Pretty good if I say so myself."
You shift uncomfortably, bringing your knees to your chest. He's a bit closer to you now.
"Um, sorry Jacob but I feel a bit tired."
Jacob's smile drops. "What, you don't want to spend any time with me?"
"Huh?" You almost laugh out loud. "Do roommates have to spend time with each other? I'm paying my share of the rent, right? Do I have to be friends with you?"
Yikes. Was that a little mean of you?
Jacob would say yes, that was really, really mean of you. He was just trying to be nice.
Jacob sits at the end of your bed and you look at him confused.
"Y/n... ...Tell me the truth. Do you-" He stares at his lap. "Do you still hate me for what I've done to you when we were younger? Could you ever forgive me?"
You're stunned that he's asking for your forgiveness, but another part of you is hesitant to accept his apology, as you go through the multiple events where he'd picked on you at school. Small things, like name calling and throwing paper balls at your back.
"Oh! Um- well..." Your words falter. You have a grudge against him, but nothing so big that you would bring it up to discuss.
Jacob forces tears to form in his eyes and looks up at you. His glossy, brown eyes, all sad and red. It's fake, but you don't know that.
"Y/n the truth is I've always loved you. I admired you so much but I was too embarrassed to say my true feelings to you. Because I was scared of being rejected." Your stomach turns and you feel bad.
"I- aw.." You try to say something to comfort him but you can't form words.
You crawl to the end of the bed and you hug him. His big arms wrap around you as well and it feels more like he's cradling you rather than you embracing him. Your small form is engulfed in his arms and you start to feel calm. Jacob feels pretty good right now too.
"Jacob, don't cry, I'm sorry." You whisper to him. Sorry for what, you didn't fucking know.
"You hate me, right?"
"No! I don't!" You assure.
He gazes into your eyes. "Do you like me?" He softly asks you, not breaking eye contact.
You're speechless right now.
You part your lips and you're about to toss out some words about you and him having potential to be friends, but you're interrupted.
By Jacob pressing his own lips on your slightly open mouth. He moves his right hand to the back of your head supporting you and kisses you harder, pulling you in.
You gasp and push him off, jumping up on your feet.
"Shit! What was that!?" You exclaim. You stare at him, shocked by what just happened. You feel hot and dizzy.
Jacob looks at you. "Sorry." He mutters and leaves, locking your door on his way out.
You're left to be on your own, stewing in confusion.
It's not a matter of want now, but a need to move out immediately. Like the universe is helping you, you get a notification on your laptop about an available renter who's willing to rent out a cheap basement near your university.
You're leaving, tomorrow.
-----
You've woken up this morning feeling determined and energized. You've contacted the renter and you were supposed to move in next week but you begged her to let you move in tomorrow, and you've taken up on packing.
Thankfully, Jacob is gone again, doing his celebrity work, whatever that could entail.
You haven't seen him once since yesterday, when he confessed his love to you, then kissed you. You hadn't wanted to be kissed, or at least you think so.
On paper, maybe you should have enjoyed it. Jacob is attractive. He has loose waves and a pretty face. It felt bad, and gross, but it had also felt good, the kiss. Yet, you didn't think you could be in a relationship like that. With him.
Who knows where that kiss could have gone. It may have escalated...
You cross your legs and squeeze your thighs thinking of the possibilities. You feel warm.
You should have hated the kiss. You did, but maybe not enough. Did you like Jacob? Oh my god. No, he was a total creep, and he hadn't even asked to kiss you.
He was only thinking of his own needs again, being selfish, just as he always had been with his inflated ego.
You've almost finished packing and it's early afternoon. You stretch yourself onto the bed and doze off.
-----
"Y/n? Are you home?" Jacob calls up.
"Yeah, I'm here." You call down.
"Come down, I brought dinner."
You walk down the stairs and Jacob is in awe of your beauty. You have a glow. It's not the lighting, you're just a natural beauty, you're special.
"Really? What'd you get?" You ask. Should you tell him the news that you're moving out after or during dinner? After, you decide.
"I just got some Italian food."
You smile at him. "Nice, I love pasta."
"There's more to Italian food than pasta," He begins.
You raise your eyebrows. "So no pasta?"
He grins. "Of course pasta."
You're glad things are back to normal, because delivering the news will be easier now. Jacob unpacks everything and you smell the warm food, margherita pizza, pasta...
You bring to the table 2 plates.
As the 2 of you sit down, you stare at the plate most of time and eat ravenously. You've been so hungry all day, this is a blessing.
Jacob tells you about the new interview he did, and how he had to sign "a 1000 autographs"
Dinner is soon finished and Jacob brings out a bottle of wine. "Let's have a drink on the sofa." He suggests. You hesitate. "It's fine, everyone drinks Y/n, don't be so prudish" You relax on the sofa and taste the wine in your glass. It's fine, but you would really prefer anything else.
Jacob turns on the t.v. He sighs. "I've been lonely recently to an empty house, I'm glad you're here with me now."
Aw man, why'd he have to say that? You freeze and the sentence you've been building up to saying gets stuck. You feel warm and fuzzy because of the wine. Your eyes feel kind of heavy too.
"Speaking of- speaking of empty houses, I hate to say this Jacob, but I am leaving... ...tomorrow." You tell him, looking past him.
Jacob stares at you with sharp eyes with that sentence.
"What do you mean. When will you be back?" He asks, suddenly, and harshly, grabbing your wrist.
"Jacob, I'm moving out." You say, trying to remain gentle. You notice the strange look on his face, it's not anger or sadness, or maybe it is? You're not sure. "I mean, I'll visit! Dinner at your place sometimes?" You add, trying to appease him.
He tightens the grip on your wrist.
"Ow! Jacob, stop, it hurts! My wrist hurts!" You shout. You try to twist it out of his hand but it hurts more doing that. He doesn't let go. His eyes darken.
"What, is it because of this kiss yesterday? You know, I'm sorry, but you wanted it too. I could tell." He asks, staring directly at your own eyes, unmoving.
"Huh? Jacob you're ridiculous. I didn't want it, and yeah, one of the factors is the kiss. Also what you just said to me. Let go."
"Don't go, stay." He tells you.
"I've already made all the plans. I'm moving tomorrow. You probably didn't notice but I'm done packing." You retort back, trying to move away.
Jacob slaps you in the face. The sting leaves you paralyzed in fear. "I said, don't go!" He shouts. He lets go your wrist and you notice immediately the numbness and redness on your wrist.
You break down in tears and you start to scream for help. A neighbour, someone, anybody, to hear this and call the police.
But the alcohol blurs and softens your actions, like a terrible dream. Your arms feel weak. And that's when you realize that Jacob didn't have any wine himself. Had he meant for you to become intoxicated by yourself?
"Shut up!" Jacob barks at you and pulls you by your hair. "I confess my feelings toward you and you choose the coward's way and leave? Instead of working on this relationship?"
"Stop!" You sob. Jacob stuffs a kitchen towel in your mouth and holds it their to stop your screaming. He then wraps it with a ripped plastic bag to secure.
You gag and almost throw up with the sudden intrusion of a foreign object in your mouth.
Holding your wrists with one hand he searches for something else.
Jacob squats to your level and brings out a needle with a strange liquid already prepared inside. Your eyes widen and and your muffled screams do nothing to help your case.
"I didn't want to use it this early, but you're trying to leave. Leave us." He explains.
"It'll hurt by the way. It's supposed to make you fall asleep. I think the alcohol is not supposed to be taken with this, but you escalated the situation so there's no helping it. I didn't want to do this. I wanted to have some fucking damn food with you. You're the one who's robbing me of choices and making me into a monster."
Even in your panic you notice him rambling.
He's frantic and crazed, like a desperate maniac, sweat beads and wide pupils.
He grabs your upper arm and quickly injects the strange liquid into your body.
It hurts.
All your muscles seize up and it feels like you're being ripped to shreds. Your body slowly goes limp and you feel yourself falling into a deep darkness.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere drabbles#yandere oc x you#yandere oc x reader#yandere stories#yandere imagine#yanderewriting#rich yandere#yandere celebrity#yandere rich#yandere lover#tw yandere#yandere x darling#yandere male
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Trick or Treat~!
Pairing: Che'nya x Floyd (could be read platonically or romantically)
Summary: It's finally Halloween night, but Floyd is in a bit of a slump. However, the arrival of a curious companion may just make the Halloween party a bit more interesting for him.
Notes: This is my first attempt at something following a prompt - specifically, "Trick or Treat" for the 2023 TWST Rarepair Halloween event. I'm trying to get more comfortable/practiced with writing prose (which is why this wasn't posted on the 30th... oops), and only vaguely ended up following the prompt. I'm fairly happy with how this little piece turned out, though!
Tags: @dove-da-birb, @azulashengrottospiano, @inkybloom-luv, @eynnwwyjth, @officialdaydreamer00 (please let me know if you'd like to be included or excluded from future writing of mine, or only want to be included in specific types of creations)
Floyd wanted to take a break.
It was Halloween, and all he had done the entire week was work, work, work. Getting costumes ready, decorating, helping with their dorm's presentation, plus cooking and serving at the Lounge, all on top of normal classes?
Sure, it was fun, especially getting to show off Octavinelle's cool setup, and 'taking care of' those misbehaving visitors. But now? Everything felt draining and boring, and Floyd simply wanted to leave, which sucked because the actual Halloween party had just started!
Maybe he should just ditch and go back to his dorm; being in a funk when everyone else is having fun around you is not enjoyable. He slumped down on a bench and unwrapped a sweet he had picked up earlier, before wrapping it up again. Ugh, not even in the mood for that candy he wanted only a few minutes ago.
As he shoved the sweet back into his pocket and was about to get up from the bench to leave, Floyd heard a rustle behind him. Someone was quietly humming, and… laughing? The sound gradually moved to his side, towards the empty side of the bench.
“Trick or treat~”
Floyd turned to face the voice. "Listen, man, I'm not in the mood to—” he froze, staring at the figure beside him. “Hang on a second, where's your body!?"
A toothy smile came to the face of the head that currently floated beside Floyd. "Oh, it's here.... or maybe it's there." A pair of hands materialized on either side of this boy's head, followed by the rest of his body.
“I'm just kidding. Mind if I take a seat? I’d like to rest up before I keep purrowling around and startling people.”
Floyd blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “Uh, go for it.”
This guy was... weird, and it was hard to tell if he'd be annoying, or interesting. "You don't go here, do ya? At least, I’ve never seen you before. And you’re no ghost, either.”
The cat-like boy shook his head, his jewellery jingling softly. "I'm just passing through for the festivities and collecting treats. Scaring some people, too. That’s loads of fun. And it's always nice to see my friends let loose."
Floyd had a vague memory surface. "Ohh... you must be that RSA boy who's friends with Sea Turtle and Goldfishie."
"'Sea Turtle' and 'Goldfishie', hey? Those are good names for my green and red friends. Cats are known for liking fish." He leaned forward, his grin growing. “Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Floyd nodded, “Floyd Leech. It's nice to meet you, too.” He looked curiously at the boy beside him, taking in his shaggy hair, piercings, and impish smile.
"You're not what I expected.” Floyd smiled, "But you seem fun, Catfish. I didn't think Goldfishie would get along with someone so... interesting."
Che'nya's eyes lit up slightly. "Catfish? Heh heh heh, most people call me Che'nya, but I guess that works. And I’ve heard some… interesting stories about you, too."
He stretched his legs out in front of him, leaning back with his arms behind his head as he sighed. "But yeah, I don't think Riddle could shake me if he tried."
"I'm almost jealous." Floyd tipped his head slightly. "Most of the time, Goldfishie likes to swim away before I can play with him."
Che'nya laughed, "Well, if you're wondering, he 'swam off' that way." He pointed off to the side. “Just don’t be rough with him. I don’t like people mistreating my friends.”
Floyd looked off into the crowd where he had pointed, and let out a small laugh. “Alright, good to know. Maybe I’ll find him later, if I feel like it”, he smiled and sat back. “And Goldfishie’s stronger than he looks, but I guess you’d know that.”
Che’nya nodded, then leaned closer with a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know, I bet we could do something that would really surprise him.”
Floyd turned slightly towards Che’nya, and flashed a smile. “Yeah, we probably could. I think we should talk more in the future, Catfish. You seem pretty fun.”
Che’nya grinned, “You seem pretty fun, too.”
"Well,” he stretched his arms above his head. “I think I’m going to go and find some more treats… and play some more tricks tonight. I'll catch you around, Floyd."
With a haunting giggle echoing in his ears, Floyd watched as the boy beside him faded into nothingness, just the same way he had arrived.
What a weird guy.
Floyd unwrapped the candy he had pocketed earlier, then popped it into his mouth. Maybe this party was worth staying at after all.
#twst#twisted wonderland#twst rarepair halloween#rarepair halloween#floyd leech#che'nya#artemiy artemiyevich pinker#che'nya x floyd#krenenbaker's :)#krenenbaker's creations#and now... for the ramble-y tags#first: I desperately need more people to write Che'nya and Floyd interacting. their dynamic would be so damn silly!!#second: I had SUCH a hard time figuring out Che'nya's speech patterns - he really doesn't have many lines in canon!#I based some of his lines on the Cheshire Cat's lines in the 1951 film. I think they fit?#and I have no idea is this feels at all natural or in character for either Che'nya or Floyd... but there was an attempt :)#I need to practice writing more stuff like this#I also went through about 4 different possible ways their conversation could have gone before getting this down#here... it's almost like Che'nya's taking a break from tricking AND treating at the NRC Halloween party#that's how I'm saying the prompt applies at least#anywho... I GOT IT FINISHED! I WROTE A THING!!#and I'm going to write more. that IS a threat ^v^
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Hello there fellow human! Could I interest you in some headcanons of the dorm leaders + Jamil receiving headpats from a cute short female S/O?
I only do 7 characters per post for Twisted Wonderland, so for this post I'm going to leave off Jamil and just do the dorm leaders for this post. If you'd like to request Jamil again when the ask box opens back up, I'd be happy to write it!
Fem! Reader
It takes a few seconds for Riddle to process what exactly you're doing, but once he does? He prickles up just like those hedgehogs he's so fond of, face flushing red all the way up to the tips of his ears as he tries and fails to stammer out... Something. Anything. A scolding, perhaps? A demand of an explanation? Anything to hide just how thoroughly you've flustered him.
Part of him considers the act incredibly demeaning. Something you would do to placate a small child, you're instead using on him? Do you even take him seriously? But he can't find it in his heart to demand you to stop, because the rest of him (the "never got positive reinforcement from a parental figure" part of him) actually adores the feeling of being coddled and praised by you, as hard as it is for him to admit.
It's a very subtle change, but you may start to notice him going out of his way to show you his accomplishments more often. Whether that's a perfect assignment grade or an Unbirthday party going off without a single hitch, he'll subconsciously start to seek out your praise and approval more often.
The first time you do it Leona is lying his head in your lap, just about to doze off when he feels your fingers massaging his scalp. He's not even certain if it's real or a dream at first, the gentle touch of your fingers against his ears, the soft, mindless melody you hum to him to lull him to slumber. Whatever it is you're doing, it works, because Leona sleeps like an absolute boulder with his head resting on your lap.
Normally Leona would have no qualms in making demands of you, especially if they help him to sleep. This though... This almost feels a bit too vulnerable, too intimate for him to demand of you. He'll make a point to rest his head in your lap more often, but he's not brave enough to actually ask you to pet him.
If you bring it up first though, he's certainly not going to tell you to stop. Actually, that's the absolute last thing he wants.
"This doesn't bother you? When I play with your ears? I can stop if you want."
"...Nah. Keep doin' it. Don't worry bout me, you'll know if you do something I don't like anyway."
Azul is in the middle of going over his plans for the next Lounge event with you when you reach over and pat him square on the top of the head, and he immediately malfunctions. He stops in the middle of a word, droning out a single syllable as you watch his face get redder in real time until he processes what just happened and frantically excuses himself.
You've completely destroyed his train of thought. How is he even supposed to face you now? Were you merely teasing him, or was your affection genuine? Even though the two of you are dating Azul still has some trouble discerning between the two. He doesn't sleep well that night, mind racing with thoughts and questions and "what if's".
When you apologize the next morning for making him uncomfortable he's quick to brush it off, to assure you that you've done nothing wrong. To be honest, he did quite enjoy it, even if he wasn't mentally prepared. You're welcome to give him headpats from time to time, so long as no one else is around at least. He does have a reputation to uphold, after all.
One of only two boys on this list who is willing to openly ask for headpats from you! The first time you patted Kalim on the head he thought he was going to ascend to heaven, you were just too cute! He let out an audible whine as soon as you pulled away, and quickly made it his mission to earn as many headpats as possible from you.
Jamil is torn on the prospect. Because on one hand, your headpats motivate Kalim to get his homework done quickly and on time for a change. On the other, he definitely cooks up a lot more troublesome schemes with the final end goal being nothing more than a pat on the head from you as a reward. You've got to drill it into his head that he doesn't need to throw you a party just to get a pat, that you'll gladly do it anytime.
He gets the biggest, dopiest smile whenever you pat him, leaning into your hand like a content cat. Everything else just seems to melt away when you play with Kalim's hair. He'll sllump into your shoulder with a big, cozy sigh and let himself float away at your gentle touch alone.
To be completely honest, Vil's first instinct when you reached up to touch his head was to slap your hand away. Even if you were his girlfriend, he did just finish styling his hair and couldn't have it looking unpresentable. Luckily you were able to give him a soft little pat before instinct kicked in, and for once Vil found himself wordless at the unexpectedly heart-squeezing gesture.
Vil doesn't actively seek out your pats, nor does he request them outright. No, that would be terribly embarrassing, far too vulnerable for someone such as himself. But he isn't above asking you to massage his temples for him when he's feeling stressed. He enjoys being away from the public eye for a moment, letting his head rest in your lap as your carefully cradle him in your hands.
Vil doesn't make an active effort to mimic your affections, but the gesture seems to rub off on him. You're in a much easier position to receive headpats than give them given how short you are, and you always give him the most delighted, moony-eyed gaze in response. You're a very fortunate little potato, you know? He would never give out his headpats to just anyone, after all.
Idia is so jumpy that it's hard to even reach for something near him without him flinching away in response. Your best bet at giving him some headpats is when he's in the middle of a game, especially a rhythm one. He won't even realized you've braided his flaming locks for him until he's finished the song he's on, and once he does you'll get to see that entire braid go a delightful shade of pink.
He'll stammer and stutter, doing his best to playfully admonish you for doing something so cheesy. "Wh-What is this, anyway? Some sort of otome event CG? So cringe!" But please don't take him seriously, because if you ever stopped Idia thinks he might just die. The bravado and teasing is just a defense mechanism, he doesn't actually want the headpats to stop.
Hes definitely at his most vulnerable when he's gaming, but it's pretty easy to give him headpats when he's tired too! He's the king of caffeine and staying up way too late on projects, but a few fingers carding carefully through his flaming hair is a great way to get his mind off of his programming and heading straight towards dreamland. He'd never be brave enough to admit it himself, but he loves to fall asleep to the feeling of you playing with his hair.
Malleus is the only other boy on this list who is willing to openly ask for headpats from you once you start giving them to him. And can you blame him? Most people aren't even willing to get too close to him, but here you come along with your praises and your soft laughter and your gentle hands brushing his silky hair. He can't get enough.
He'll go out of his way to plan you little surprises and bring you little gifts with nothing more than a headpat in mind as a reward. He's almost like a crow, the way he spoils you with shiny little trinkets. You'll notice that after you thank him for something he'll being to subtly lean down slightly, just enough to put the top of his head within your reach. He'll pout until you give him his reward.
You are the only person allowed to touch Malleus's horns in the way that you do. He'll tolerate maids or staff doing his hair or adorning his horns with jewelry for an event. But you're the only one who gets to run your fingers up and down the ridged onyx surfaces, mapping the bumps and grooves and digits with careful fingers. A dragon's horns are their pride and joy after all, so it makes sense that he should only allow his mate to touch them in such a manner.
#twisted wonderland#disney twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland imagines#twst#twst x reader#twst imagines#riddle rosehearts#leona kingscholar#azul ashengrotto#vil schoenheit#idia shroud#malleus draconia#riddle rosehearts x reader#leona kingscholar x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#vil schoenheit x reader#idia shroud x reader#malleus draconia x reader#riddle rosehearts imagines#leona kingscholar imagines#azul ashengrotto imagines#vil schoenheit imagines#idia shroud imagines#malleus draconia imagines#kalim al asim#kalim al asim x reader#kalim al asim imagines#my writing#fluff
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I feel like Octavinelle would all respond pretty well to you being lonely tbh
Azul: Bullied, lonely child? Only two friends made because he was "fun" enough and felt at risk of losing them? If you talk about being lonely he MIGHT bring up a contract, but I could also see your honesty being met by the most clumsy olive branch of him stammering that HE could be your friend... since hes so generous, of course (liar he wants a friend too)
Floyd: What?! That's no fun! Being lonely almost as bad as being bored! He kind of thrives on attention/entertainment so I feel like his solution is just to drag you wherever he goes. YOU have to be the one to say that no, you have to go to your own class not his.
Jade: While I do think he would be most manipulative if you told him you're lonely, I think it would be tame - akin to "hey eat this weird mushroom" or dragging you on a hike you are NOT experienced enough for as his "requirements" for companionship. He wouldn't stop hanging out if you refused, he really just likes seeing your reactions. I also don't think he'd ever kick you out of a room he's in, and he'd do his own thing while you do yours
I'm so glad you sent this because I was just thinking while I was settling to sleep that I had a lot more to say but was worried a separate post might be too much.
All Three
If there is one thing Twisted Wonderland does really well it's acknowledging the inhuman aspects of its characters. Malleus has so much magic he fails to solve problems without it, Ruggie has really sensitive hearing, Leona talks about smell a lot etc.
Point being the trio has a bunch of things they find weird about life on land. They're not really going to make fun of Yuu for feeling out of place. Assuming they don't trip and fall a whole bunch, that's just too easy.
They're technically new up here too yeah? Let them show you the ropes.
Azul
He's surprisingly soft with Yuu during events. Especially if you pick dialogue options that show intelligence or planning.
^ this happens if you get why he's selling salad cups I think?
^ and this one is if you assume you'll be using the bell of salvation to destroy the flowers
My one amendment to your idea is that I don't think he'd be shy about it at all. He'd be putting forward a show of confidence because of how he was slighted in the past. He would think your friendship was the most natural conclusion in the whole world.
Your smart. He's smarter. Together you could make some real magic! And maybe play some board games. He could use some time to relax.
Floyd
Completely right. I already talked a lot about him in my original answer, but I do think he enjoys hanging out with Yuu when he's in the mood to be social.
He's got all of that extrovert energy Idia's so afraid of, and if you start indulging him, you won't get to stop. I think he'd be really happy to have someone go along with what it is he wants to do no matter how outlandish it gets. Even better if you look like you're having fun!
I could see him say that you "owe him" for hanging out with you when he wants some of your food though.
Jade
Oh? You're lonely? What a shame. How horrible. Terrible really.
That must mean you'll have no problem signing up for his club right? Because that's very much what I could see him doing. He really wants another member to order arou- I mean enjoy the mountains with.
^ If you tell Epel you will be "Here for whatever [the team] needs." When he asks you to help run the Pit Stop, Jade immediately decides this means you will commit a crime for him. Which to be fair-
I would object to the bit about taking you on a hike you're unqualified for though. He tells you not to try climbing Mount Moln until you've done an easier one first.
Obviously I agree about the sketchy mushrooms. If he's brave enough to walk into the Culinary Crucible with them, what's Ramshackle?
Him coming to the Ramshackle guest room to sit quietly while you both do your own thing is something he'd really enjoy. You make much more interesting faces when he gives you a break from his teasing.
#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#jade leech x reader#floyd leech x reader
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yoooo! The au sounds lit! We need more angry Dogday.
Do you have more ideas about it? 👁️
Thank you, I'm glad you like it!!! I do have several ideas for the AU, especially around the plotline and a bit of the side drabbles.
Missed Chances AU is basically revolving around the smiling critters in the Playcare (however, its specifically focused on our dear Dogday and Catnap, of course), but I've separated it into three arcs.
First arc is the pre-HOJ. This is more on to fill in the backstory of the critters and how they are trained to interact in the Playcare, as well as them finding their own independence and creating their own personalities. This won't be as long as the other two arcs but I do plan on doodling a few drabbles from this arc for fluff and character development. This arc builds up until the Hour of Joy event.
Second arc is post-HOJ. This arc focuses more on the events after Hour of Joy and how the Critters survive through it. This arc specifically focuses on Dogday. There will be major angst here with almost zero-to-none comfort because I'm still closely following the canon events. So yes, Dogday will still end up how he is in the canon game. This arc builds up until the canon Chapter 3.
Third arc is post-chapter 3. As y'all have seen in my previous post, this arc is where Player saves Dogday, Dogday being vengeful, and saving Catnap. I haven't thought most of this arc yet (considering that the chapters aren't done yet) but I have planned out at least how Dogday and Catnap interacts here, as well as Player, Kissy, and Poppy.
Sorry people but I don't plan on making any ships in this AU, simply because I don't think they have the time to in this situation and that I have no idea how romance work LMAOAOAO but I dont mind if yall ship anyone, I'm just saying that I don't plan on drawing any lovey-doveys in here. I also plan on giving this AU two endings: True ending and Good ending, cuz I'm evil like that. Maybe I'll make non-canonical doodles of this au who knows
#maiko rustles#poppy playtime chapter 3#poppy playtime au#Missed Chances AU#smiling critters#Dw I'll be drawing three arcs sometime#I made like a short snippet of a scene in post-chapter3 where Dogday may have snapped at Catnap and Player hehe
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My love mine all mine
Continuation of I bet on losing dogs
It's my birthday so that means I get to treat myself by writing a continuation of my Roman Empire fic <3
It's a reverse Isekai but this time it's post the event that caused him to isekai, and he's got a bit more to deal with now - but he'll be fine because he's by your side, and he won't let anything change that
there is so much lore going into this fic, so there might be more to come in this saga yet :3c
[masterlist]
I’m still here?
No - no I’m not in Hyrule now, something feels different enough that I know that. If I was still in Hyrule then that ‘sky’ would be here if I wasn’t hallucinating him. Besides that though, something feels different, I’m not in as much pain although everything feels heavier. Almost - no don’t get your hopes up yet link.
Moving still takes a painful amount of effort, like my wounds are still there but now everything suddenly weighs triple on top of those. It was the shift from feeling floaty and detached to suddenly being forced back into a body, one that doesn’t feel like my own, that makes everything feel so undeniably real. Now it’s just a matter of opening my eyes to see what’s actually happened to me.
The room I’m in looks so similar to [name’s] when we ended up here one time chasing the shadow, from what I can see lying down like this anyway. Don’t get your hopes up until you see them link. There’s a blanket over me too, the very same that they lent to me the first time I was here; the feeling of it over me makes it the fact that I can’t barely move somewhat more bearable as I let out a low groan.
Which seemed to almost summon the person who’s probably responsible for taking me in.
“[Na]-”
“link what the FUCK did you do?”
Wait, what do they me-
“how the HELL do I have memories of you being my best friend growing up now - I know I met you for the first time in hyrule. you aren't supposed to exist as a person here and yet.”
“[name] I don't -”
“I have the most vivid memory of everything. including having to pick you and sky up passed out on the street because apparently the two of you decided to go out on a bender or something - I don't know but I can remember it somehow.”
That rant seems to have cooled them off for now, not that they're mad just concerned… not that I'm not also. Those memories they mentioned too, I know what they're talking about; it's trippy. I have two sets of my life, one that I know is true and this other one that feels like a learned lie. A cover up. It feels similar to a backstory I learned to lie during espionage, but it's information about [name’s] world. Memories of a whole life lived here, like it's preparing me… or trying to adjust something new being forced into it that shouldn't be here.
“I don't - I think it's cause… I. You said sky is here too?”
“Yeah, he's the reason I'm so certain these memories aren't real, he only got included when I found him when I went out to buy supplies for you. Something feels off about all of this, and I think you two have the answers I need.”
Did sky..? No he wouldn't have. Would he?
“I think so too.”
“Can you tell me what you think it was?”
My voice is dead in my throat, I can't tell them what I did. They'll lose any respect they had for me won't they? I don't even know for certain if sky did the same… but I could have sworn he was there when I - I…He wouldn't have done that to himself, surely not. Even though I could've said the same for myself before everything.
“I… would prefer not to, if that's alright.”
“Okay link, I won't push you. Either way, it's nice to be back at your side even if it's slightly different than what I'm used to.”
That's all it takes to finally break my guard and for the tears to start flowing. I can finally rest, there isn’t any expectation of me here, no pressure to be the picture-perfect hero, no nothing. I can just exist here with my lover for the rest of our lives.
“Can you tell me why everything feels so different now though?”
“Link, haven’t you been able to tell? You aren’t a Hylian anymore. Whatever you did, you’re a human now and you've got a whole recorded history here on earth. You and sky both. Speaking of him, he’s downstairs helping himself to stuff; been awake a lot longer than you have, should probably go check on him really. You feeling alright enough to come with me?”
Moving my limbs still feels different but now it isn’t impossible to move them and seeing the smile on [name’s] face from me just sitting up to move is more than worth the slight discomfort. Falling into their open arms is just another perk of it, being helped to my feet whilst being allowed to cling to them? It’s a dream come true. But despite this there’s something that doesn’t feel right, why is sky here… I’ll have to ask him myself.
“S- why are you drinking all of my milk straight from the bottle sky?”
“...Wanna get drunk.”
“It's milk. You’re never going to get drunk off of drinking milk.”
With the two of them distracted by each other, [name] still letting me cling to their arm thankfully, I get a proper look at him. It’s sky, it’s really sky, but he’s human. All of his scars are the same asides from a new one on his neck and a few burns on his hands ones that look like they come from holding a sword. Fi must have tried to stop him. The strangest thing is seeing him with short rounded ears though - I can’t imagine what I look like to him. This has to be the first time I’ve seen him trying so desperately to get drunk though, he saw you do it. He’s drinking to forget, like you have so many times in the past.
“What do you mean of course I will. Why do you think milk bars were so popular in hyrule?”
“But you aren’t hylian now sky. You’re a human now, and we don’t get drunk from milk.”
“You - we… don’t? Ah. Well. That explains a lot of things then.”
“Did everyone think that I was an addict? Oh my, that explains the ‘interventions’ each of you had with me. Even my boyfriends thought I was an alcoholic.”
The sigh they let out before resting their head against me could make me an addict, as ironic as that is. Although that does bring up the question of how everything is going to be so different now, we’re going to have to relearn a lot of what we’ve always known as fact.
But it’ll be by [name’s] side.
And I’ll do anything to keep it this way.
#I'm another year older now <3#and holy shit I've been writing lu for nearly a year#WOW#anyway#yan wars my beloved#yandere linked universe x reader#yandere linked universe#link x reader#linked universe x reader#yandere link#lu warriors x reader#lu sky x reader#moss✦writes
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Aziraphale and "I Forgive You"
So after I watched the first season a few times however many years ago, I noticed something, wrote up a bit of a meta about it and then never posted it. I thought that it was either very obvious or very silly and either way, no one needed to see it. But now it's several years and another season later and again, I'm noticing the exact same thing so here it goes- I think the reason Aziraphale keeps saying that he forgives Crowley has overall very little to do with what Crowley has just done right before Aziraphale says it and much more to do with a secret Aziraphale hides deep within himself and has for thousands of years, a truth that he hates to acknowledge and is terrified to speak aloud: he thinks God is wrong to have not Forgiven Crowley.
Get settled in because this is gonna take a bit.
The first time I started noticing this really clearly is the Bandstand Breakup scene. Crowley starts by cussing God literally out- "For the record, great, pustulant, mangled bollocks to the Great blasted Plan." To which Aziraphale says, "May you be forgiven." And yes, Crowley has just sinned and Aziraphale is a stuffy angel but the way Aziraphale says it is like a hope, atleast to my ears. Like he's really wishing that God will see how good Crowley truly is and bring him back to Heaven even though he keeps doing stupid stuff like this
Anyway, Crowley then responds with, "I won't be forgiven. Not ever. Part of a demon's job description. Unforgivable. That's what I am." And Aziraphale responds again with a hopeful sounding, "You were an angel once." At this point, I was almost sure that he's talking about his personal wishes here. It sounds like he's saying, "Come on, Crowley. There's a chance." To which Crowley responds, "That was a long time ago," basically saying it's impossible and shutting that whole bit of the conversation down. And you can just watch Aziraphale's face fall at that, like it kills him for that to be true.
The next time the topic of forgiveness and Crowley comes up is when Crowley shows up to beg Aziraphale to run away with him one last time. In this conversation, Aziraphale is very adamant that if he talks to the right people, they won't want the apocalypse and they'll stop it. He, of course, thinks this because his most core belief is that God is good and that even if we don't understand how what God is doing is good right now, it will lead to goodness eventually via the Rube Goldburg machine which is time and the universe etc aka God is ineffable. But even Aziraphale can't imagine how the ineffable Rube Goldburg machine could turn an event where everything on earth dies into a good one so therefore, he's certain that God doesn't want the Apocalypse.
Crowley responds to this hope with, "You're so clever. How can someone as clever as you be so stupid?" to which Aziraphale responds, "I forgive you" in a very gentle but sure tone. And now yes, while it is entirely possible that Aziraphale is forgiving Crowley for calling him stupid, I've always felt like that would be a rather weighty response considering how mild an insult it is. It's also possible (and I feel slightly more likely) that Aziraphale is forgiving Crowley for his lack of faith, his inability to believe in the goodness of God anymore.
And that could definitely be it, but if we think about the way Aziraphale had talked about forgiveness at the Bandstand, the hope and desire that he seemed to put into the idea of forgiveness and Crowley and the fact that Crowley had dismissed it as entirely impossible for him to ever be forgiven, than a third read of Aziraphale's "I forgive you" emerges: one in which Aziraphale is saying, "While God might never forgive you, I do". It's "I might never see you again since you intend to run away to the stars but if this is the last time I ever see you, I want you to know that I think you are deserving of forgiveness. That I see the good in you even if God can't." It's a combination "I love you" and small rebellion against God, because while Aziraphale can't bring himself to give up on Her completely and run away with Crowley (even though a part of him clearly wants to), he is willing to say that She's done this one thing wrong and it's never forgiving Crowley, who Aziraphale can see clearly is more kind and good than any of the angels he knows.
So yeah, that was about where the idea rested at the end of the first season but now we have a bunch of new historical scenes and a new "I forgive you" following a very loaded conversation in which Aziraphale got extremely excited by the idea of Crowley being reinstated as an Angel and I felt like this idea has even more legs than before.
To me, it's very clear that Aziraphale's pitch for Crowley to come back to Heaven isn't him hoping to "reset" Crowley to how he was before the Fall or him being incapable of loving Crowley as a Demon and instead was him being overjoyed to have this secret truth (Crowley is deserving of God's Forgiveness) that he's been observing for 6000ish years be acknowledged and have a chance to come to fruition. After all, as we saw this season (and honestly last season too but less pronounced), Crowley, current Demon Crowley, not the angel he knew over 6000 years ago, has proven over and over again just how truly good he is to Aziraphale.
For example, in the Job sequence, Crowley does a truly good thing that no Angel (beside Aziraphale) would do or even think that they should do and that is save Job's children. And through the entirety of this bit, Aziraphale basically always believes that he will. There are even two moments where Crowley tries his best to scare Aziraphale away, to play up being the bad guy (so as to better hide the con he's running and protect Aziraphale), but Aziraphale's faith in Crowley's goodness does not falter. At the end of the day, it seems clear that Aziraphale has more faith that Crowley will do the good thing, the correct thing than God. Conveniently for Aziraphale's faith in God though, not understanding how something horrible he hates will eventually lead to goodness in the long run is a foundational principle of said faith so his faith in God remains strong even after everything She and Heaven do to Job.
But his faith in Crowley doesn't require such a complicated work around. He believes Crowley won't kill children and he is correct. Though unfortunately, this very simplicity leads to a new problem, a problem that we can see eventually solidify in Aziraphale's mind, becoming a running theme of their association and leading to the eventual "I forgive you"s.
Aziraphale can clearly see how kind and good Crowley is, how he does the right thing as best he can, even when he could (and sometimes does) get into immense trouble for it. But for some reason, despite repeated evidence that Crowley is everything that Aziraphale believes Angels are and should be, Crowley continues to be a Demon. And once you realize that Aziraphale has noticed this contradiction and that it most likely haunts him and is a constant challenge to his worldview, it colors a lot of what he says in a new light. Many of what seem like simple, self-righteous statements reveal themselves to be Aziraphale trying to protecting himself from a massive logical inconsistency he keeps stumbling across.
"It must be bad, otherwise you wouldn't have tempted them into it," Aziraphale says, clearly not quite sure why it's bad actually.
"You, I'm afraid, are evil," Aziraphale asserts, basically stating that Crowley is evil because he's evil. It's tauntological and therefore doesn't have to make sense. (He says this one shortly before Crowley saves Elsbeth from suicide, poverty and damnation.)
"So this is all your demonic work? I should have known," Aziraphale says, thinking, "Aha, this time Crowley must have done the bad thing and therefore continues to deserve being Fallen." (Crowley has, in fact, not done the bad thing but shhhh, worry about that later.)
Once you notice this self defensive habit, you can't unnotice it really, it's just so present in Aziraphale's logic and speech. Aziraphale even at one point says, "Still a demon, then?" after the Ark and Job and Jesus because on some level he probably doesn't want to actually evaluate, it makes no sense to him that Crowley is still a Demon, especially when he has also sinned in a few ways (lied to Gabriel, thwarted the will of God, technically gluttony etc) and nothing has happened to him, to say nothing for all the things Gabriel has done (or has just let passively happen without a thought to interfere).
So yes, I think the entire final argument plays out the way it does because Aziraphale thinks Crowley is good and deserves to be reinstated, to be forgiven by God more than anything.
He comes into their final conversation nervous but excited, to the point where he stomps right over what Crowley is trying to say. "You see I... I have some incredible good news to give you." The good news is for Crowley, you see, because Crowley deserves this and clearly being forgiven like he so deserves should logically make Crowley happy. It will make Aziraphale happy after all.
Aziraphale then starts to describe the conversation that he had with Metatron, stating that he thinks he might have misjudged him. And why would he think that he misjudged the angel who had told him point blank to his face that "The point is not to avoid the war, it is to win it" about the Apocalypse? Well, it's not because he's offered the job of Supreme Archangel, that's for sure. As we can see in the flashback, Aziraphale seems nervous and uninterested in the job at first. He says clearly that he doesn't want to go back to Heaven and even brings up a very half assed excuse to try and weasel out of it, a soft no of, "Where will I get my coffee?"
No, instead, the clear, obvious point where Aziraphale changes his mind about the job and about the Metatron is when he offers to reinstate Crowley as an Angel. Metatron has, quite accidentally (I think? I don't think he actually knows Aziraphale's secret soul), just said one of the most faith affirming things he possibly could to Aziraphale, "We can correct that little error that's been bothering you. You are completely correct that Crowley deserves God's forgiveness."
Given that, it's understandable that Aziraphale is absolutely bubbly about Crowley's reinstatement when he mentions it to him, like the best thing ever has just happened to him even though he's talking about something that will happen to Crowley and not him at all. "You could come back to heaven and- and everything. Like the old times, only even nicer." (Nicer because this time, they are in love. Nicer because they'll both be powerful enough to make a difference.)
Some other bits of Aziraphale's dialogue from this scene that make so much sense through this lens are:
After Crowley tries to reiterate his constant stance that both sides are bad actually, and mentions how he rejected Hell's offer to work with them again, Aziraphale misses his point completely and says, "But well, obviously you said no to Hell, you're the bad guys. But Heaven, it's the side of truth, of light, of good." Aziraphale's faith in the potential goodness of Heaven and the actual goodness of God is unflappable but so is his belief that good is what Crowley wants to be doing. Like of course a good soul like Crowley would reject working for Hell again but why would he reject a chance to do good like he's sneakily been doing all along? (Aziraphale here ignores the fact that he's also had to sneakily do good on the side sometimes even though he was always working for "the side of good" but that is very par for the course for him sadly.)
The lines, "Come with me- to heaven. I'll run it, you can be my second in command. We can make a difference," are a particularly telling set. Everything about these from the high position he's offering Crowley to the "We" scream that Aziraphale trusts Crowley, a Demon, to guide Heaven the correct way more than any angel already in Heaven.
Aziraphale's final, desperate argument also lines up well with this (as well as featuring Aziraphale more completely referencing how he wants him and Crowley to be together romantically). "Come back, to heaven. Work with me! We can be together. Angels... Doing good. I- I need you! I don't think you understand what I'm offering you." Like is the "I need you" here romantic? Definitely. But it's also Aziraphale again affirming that he trusts Crowley to lead him the correct way ie goodness, because, as it's been shown to us many times (and focused on particularly in this season), Crowley will do and always has been doing the correct thing as best he could while Aziraphale would dither and be locked into passivity (like in The Resurrectionists).
So yes, after many attempts to explain to Crowley how he should be in Heaven, doing good and Aziraphale needs his help and one last desperate kiss from Crowley, we reach the final dreaded, "l forgive you." And yes, maybe Aziraphale is forgiving Crowley for not having faith that they can fix heaven, for abandoning him, for kissing him so suddenly. But I hope, after everything I've laid out here in this essay, you can also see why I think Aziraphale is saying, "Even as you reject God's forgiveness and leave me behind, I still see that you are good and know you deserve it so I will forgive you anyway." And maybe, even though it's still blasphemous to disagree with God, it's less scary for Aziraphale to say "I forgive you" one more time than tell Crowley that he loves him for the first time. He is very good at forgiveness after all.
#good omens#good omens meta#ineffable husbands#aziraphale#aziracrow#ineffable partners#crowley#good omens crowley#good omens season two#good omens s2#GOS2 Spoilers#Fingers crossed that next season Aziraphale realizes that while yes#Crowley is quite good#he doesn't need to be forgiven because he is in fact the wronged party here but we shall see#My GO Thoughts and Feels#I sure do hope it's apparent how much I love Aziraphale from this and it doesn't come across super negatively#This is forever a no Aziraphale hate allowed zone#but yes I spent forever writing this#so I hope it's clear#I need to post more of these sorry I'm a coward lols
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Heart Trend Part 2
It's a surprise headcanon post!!
Okay so, way back in July, @obeymewanderer left a comment on the brothers doing the heart trend headcanons about wanting to see Barbatos. So I did the rest of the characters and then got distracted with events and forgot to post it. My bad!
Anyway, here it finally is. I figured since I'm not posting anything else right now, I can finally post this even though I wrote a while back.
This is also the first time I'm including Mephisto, Raphael, and Thirteen. I just felt like this was something simple enough that I could write their reactions without too much of an issue! But don't expect that to start being a thing... I'm really waiting for them to become dateable... but it's taking forever... I dunno, we'll see.
GN!MC does the heart trend with the dateables, Luke, and the side characters
Warnings: none!
Diavolo
Oh! He's seen this! You're making a heart, right? Hang on, he's got this. Completes the heart and he's totally thrilled about it. Grinning from ear to ear.
He probably saw the video you made of all the brothers and he's so happy to be included in the trend.
Please send him all the pictures, MC. He wants pictures of the two of you, but he also wants your pictures of Lucifer doing the trend. Don't worry, he won't show them to anyone else!
Takes it upon himself to do the trend with others, too. Lucifer is not pleased when Diavolo tries to do it with him, blaming you for turning him onto the trend. But secretly everybody finds it pretty adorable, especially considering how excited Diavolo is about it.
Barbatos
You are not expecting him to know the trend, but when you approach with your half heart, he smiles at you indulgently. He shifts into demon form and now you're worried you've offended him.
But no, he's completing your heart with his tail. You're so surprised since he doesn't normally allow anyone to touch his tail that you're immediately flustered by it.
He explains that due to his tail being forked, he felt it would complete the heart nicely. Would you prefer him to use his hand, MC?
No matter what you say, he does it anyway. Now you've got pictures of the completed heart with his tail and his hand. It's such a cute moment, you're almost hesitant to post the video. You do it anyway, but the pictures you keep to yourself.
Simeon
Does not know the trend at all. Looks at your hand in bafflement. Quietly tries to figure out what you're doing for a long moment of silence.
He ends up completing the heart anyway just because he copies what you're doing. You have to position your hand a little bit to make it, but as soon as you do, he gets it.
Laughs in delight and melts you with his smile. It's a heart! Of course, he sees it now, MC! That's so cute!
Explain to him about the trend, then send him the video and any pictures you take. He might try to take some pictures himself, but we all know how that tends to turn out.
Solomon
Knows exactly what you're doing. Completes the heart and can't resist using magic to add a little brightly colored flair to it. You gasp in delight because it looks so cool.
Enjoys making you happy, so waits patiently for you to finish your video and take all the pictures.
When it seems like you're done, he takes full advantage of your close proximity. Grabs the hand you were using to make the heart and pulls you close, planting a kiss on your cheek.
If you protest, he'll apologize. He's sorry, MC, but you're just so cute right now.
Luke
Thrilled. Of course he's seen all the videos you've posted with the others! He knows exactly what to do! Completes the heart with you.
He's so happy about it, he watches the video you took multiple times. Keeps any pictures you take, too. Maybe even has one printed so he can put it in a cute little frame.
Now he wants to do the trend with everybody else, too. Nobody can refuse and they all know what it is now, so he ends up with several videos. But yours is still his favorite.
Look, MC! Now he has pictures with everybody just like you! Suggests the two of you make scrapbooks of all the cute pictures you have of everyone.
Mephistopheles
Absolutely not. He knows what the trend is, but he refuses to do it with you. Why would he do something like that with a human like you?
Show him the video of you doing it with Lord Diavolo and he'll change his tune. Okay, fine, MC. If you insist.
Completes the heart, allows you to take a video and a couple of pictures. But in exchange, you need to send him those pictures of you doing the trend with Lord Diavolo.
Acts like this has been a harrowing experience for him, but you can't help but wonder if he secretly liked it.
Raphael
Complete confusion. Looks at your hand in concern. MC, your hand appears to be in some kind of claw like formation. Did you injure it?
Explain the trend to him, but he might just get more confused. What is the purpose of this, exactly? You do this for fun?
He won't mind completing the heart with you. Lets you take the video and take pictures if that's what you want. He doesn't really get it, but it seems to make you happy, so that's fine.
Show him the videos and pictures of Simeon and Luke doing it to make him smile. Okay, now that's pretty cute, he has to admit.
Thirteen
She's aware of the trend and normally she wouldn't bother to participate, but… it's you. And the fact that it's you, with your beautiful shiny soul, makes her giggle and complete the heart immediately.
Now she's flustered, but she acts like it's no big deal. Of course she knows the trend, MC! She lives in a cave, not under a rock!
You are thrilled when she lets you take a few pictures of the two of you doing it. Warns you to keep those pictures to yourself, though.
Makes sure you know that she's only doing it for you. Wouldn't do the trend with anybody else. But you already know she likes you. You just smile and nod.
part one with the brothers
masterlist | Thanks for reading!
#obey me#obey me nightbringer#obey me headcanons#om swd#obey me diavolo#obey me barbatos#obey me simeon#obey me luke#obey me solomon#obey me raphael#obey me mephistopheles#obey me thirteen#request#misc writes
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2nd Desire ღ Tie Me Down [M]
ღ Aspects of Desire series
ღ Ateez Jongho x fem!reader
ღ feat.: Yeosang
ღ words: ~5.1k
ღ genre: established relationship, college AU, fluff, some humor, slice of life, smut (dom!Jongho, sub!reader, reader masturbating and asking to be punished for it, reader’s hands tied together, he’s a bit mean but goes soft dom when reader shows signs of discomfort, strength kink, fingering, some body worship, teasing, begging, unprotected sex)
ღ warnings: (him running his hand through reader’s hair)
Desc.: Lost in your excitement over the recent development in your relationship with your boyfriend Jongho, you try to tickle more of his dominant side out of him. When he shuts down that attempt with only the best of intentions, he makes sure you won’t stay flustered by your miscalculation for long.
Author's note: chapter 2 and I'm STILL nervous about posting kasjdfölksa I hope you guys enjoy though~ alsoalso I decided to do a taglist for this fic, so if you want to be added, just drop me an ask about it <3
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You drop your bag beside the entrance as you walk into Jongho’s apartment, the little melody resounding when the door falls into its lock that’s usually just another background noise to you manages to annoy you on this day. It’s only half past 4, yet you feel like you’ve been awake for more than 20 hours.
You slip out of your shoes and step inside, the sofa in the living room being your destination. With a groan you let your body flop down onto it, the cushioned surface softening the impact. You’ve been at university since morning, your first class of the day being quite an interesting one and almost making you forget about the dreadful events that would follow suit. For lunch you met up with other students from your major to work on your group project, and these people really remind you time and time again why you absolutely hate group projects. You’re a group of seven, yet somehow the only ones taking the whole thing seriously are you and Yeosang, a guy you’ve done a course with before and who you luckily ended up being in the same group with. You know from back then that he does his work diligently enough - what you didn’t know was how badly the other five would do. One of them ran late, claiming he was convinced the meeting would start at 2 and not at half past 1, one of them didn’t show up at all, the others half-assed their parts and one girl only did half of what she was supposed to do. It’s a mess, and it’s stressing you out, because you’re getting a shared group grade for the paper. If you were being graded individually, you would’ve already decided to just do well on your own part, and make sure to precisely document who worked how much, but since you can’t exactly do that here it eventually came to the point where you decided it would be better if you took over the lead. As the person who has assigned herself the role of scolding the others into doing their work properly, you didn’t exactly gain their sympathy, but thankfully Yeosang was right there to have your back. Sharing their disdain was still better than having to shoulder it all alone, so you made a mental note to thank him with a cup of coffee or a meal later on.
But for now you want nothing more than to get this stupid project out of your mind, and lying motionlessly on the sofa and staring at a wall without any kind of distraction from your angry thoughts running wild isn’t exactly the best way to go about that. So you get up with a heavy sigh, peeking into your boyfriend’s room through the gap in the door standing ajar, before walking inside. He isn’t home yet - you assume he must be on his way, because his last class of the day should’ve ended about 10 minutes ago. Walking over to his closet, you open the side where he made space for some of your clothes, and you grab some comfortable pants and a t-shirt you haven’t worn in a while. There’s the logo of a game printed at the front - coincidentally a game you both used to play when you were still in school, and one of the topics you bonded over as you were slowly becoming closer.
You trod over to the bathroom, figuring you should take a shower in an attempt to clear your mind first of all - maybe you could magically find a way to wash off all the frustration the day has drenched you in. Either way, at least the warm water raining down on your skin has a calming effect on you, and so for a few minutes you merely stand there, doing nothing. You reach for the soap eventually, and as you’re cleaning yourself your thoughts slowly drift elsewhere.
Until you remember the conversation you had with Jongho about establishing a different kind of dynamic between you two. Your fingers dance up your body to your throat, and padding them onto your pulse reminds you of what it felt like to have his hand in this position instead. The thoughts of the project are quickly forgotten, yet your cells have not quite let go of the frustration yet - but that’s nothing a quick orgasm couldn’t take care of, right?
So you let your hands wander, allowing them to map out your own body wherever instinct leads them, and as your fingers find your core, you let out a long sigh. This feels like just what you need right now, so you don’t hold back, beginning to draw circles onto your sensitive bud. Feeling your limbs relax from the sensation, you lean your back against the wall, and eventually you reach out for the shower head, changing the setting to the highest pressure and letting it do the work for you.
You don’t think of much at all, simply enjoying the pleasure coursing through your body, until you can sense yourself coming closer to the edge, and you buck your hips up against the water jet.
“Fuck…” you whimper, as a scenario crosses your mind. “What if he finds out…” You gulp at the thought of Jongho figuring out you got off without him, in his apartment, and your mind begins to wander as you fantasize about all the ways in which he might punish you for it. Another curse escapes you through gritted teeth, and soon you feel your high crashing down on you, walls clenching around nothing as his name falls from your lips.
You step out of the shower feeling refreshed, purposely not changing back the setting of the shower head. You want him to catch you, want to know about all the things he would do to you that you haven’t seen him do before. Slipping into fresh clothes and wrapping a towel around your head to let your hair dry a bit before finishing the process with a blow dryer, you grin to yourself and you walk out into the living room.
Your boyfriend comes home about half an hour later, just as you’re putting the blow dryer back to its original place in one of the cabinets in his bathroom. You suppress the excited grin that just won’t leave your lips, and instead greet him as per usual.
“You’re late,” you remark as you catch sight of the time displayed on your phone screen.
“Yeah, the subway was crowded. Should’ve taken the bus,” he mutters as he walks up to you, his hand patting your head in a gesture that’s supposed to say “I’m home.”
“Right, it’s starting to get bad at this time,” you continue your small talk.
“How did your meet-up go?”
“Don’t ask…” you brush it off quickly, hoping to ward off the stress creeping up to you again upon him mentioning it.
“That bad?” Jongho asks as he lets out a short laugh while he furrows his eyebrows, telling you he feels at least a little sorry for you.
“Yeah.” You roll your eyes. “And you? How was your day?”
“Don’t ask,” he answers, and now you’re the one chuckling. “I’ll go wash up real quick, and I think I’ll need some time to decompress afterwards.”
“Sure,” you mutter, before reaching up from where you’ve made yourself comfortable on the edge of the sofa, hand snaking behind his neck so you could pull him in for a quick peck on the lips.
And so he disappears in the bathroom, you hear him turning on the water and you hear him turning it off again after a while, and with every passing second, the excitement for what’s to come is only growing. Except when he’s done, he simply informs you he’s going to game for a bit, and then he walks into his room. You’re confused to say the least, and a bit disappointed as well. This is not going according to the plan you had in mind, and you wonder if it’s just because he’s had a bad day or if maybe he just isn’t in the mood today. Trying to brush it off, you grab a book you started a while ago, staying out in the living room as you attempt to read a chapter or two, but somehow your mind just won’t let you focus on the story unfolding on the pages in front of you. So eventually you get up, deciding to sneakily follow him instead - you’re not sure why you’re being so secretive all of a sudden.
Your boyfriend is certainly good at reading the room, and it’s helped you leave behind your own awkwardness more than once. So today as well you decide to simply sit at the edge of his bed and watch him play his game, hoping for him to notice something’s off as you’re trying to find the right words to say. And without doubt, he doesn’t disappoint.
“What’s with you?” he asks in between rounds, his voice soft in contrast to the serious stance he tends to take on while playing his games.
“Just…” you’re not sure how to start, how much to hint at what you want - you sure as hell aren’t thinking of just saying it straightforwardly, now that you’re beginning to feel a bit embarrassed about it.
“Hmm?” He drags out the sound a bit, then the image on his screen changes, and he adds, “Let me finish this and then we can talk?”
“Alright.” You’re suddenly more anxious than you would’ve expected yourself to be as you watch, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt the entire time. The time spent waiting for him to turn his attention to you feels like half an eternity, even though once he’s done you’re sure it can’t have been more than five minutes. He exits the game to the main menu, and as he takes off his headset, he turns to you in his chair.
“What is it?” You see worry on his face, and you immediately feel the need to let him know it’s nothing serious, really.
“Nothing bad!” you say.
“That’s good,” Jongho answers, relief behind his words.
“Just… didn’t you… notice anything?” You rub your legs together as you avert your gaze from him, but even in the corner of your eye you can tell he’s thinking hard about your question now.
“Notice anything?” he repeats, and then suddenly his eyes narrow, and there’s an amused smile about to creep onto his lips. “Like what?” At this point you’d have sworn you could see the exact moment the dots connected in his head, so his question throws you off a little.
“Like… uhm… I showered earlier.”
“Good,” he chuckles, and you press yourself on to continue.
“And uh…. maybe got off…”
“Oh. That’s nice,” he replies, and once again you’re thrown off, this time by the way the tension in the room drops right away, and he’s now showing you a genuine smile. “Why are you telling me about that though? Want me to come watch next time?” He tries to throw in a joke, but the confusion radiating off you makes him think again, and well, now you’re sure he understands what you’re trying to get at, because he raises up his chin just a little, giving you that look that’s supposed to say “I found you out.”
“Were you maybe thinking I would punish you for that?” he assumes correctly, and you nod, heat rushing to your face now.
“Yes…” Jongho laughs. It’s more of a giggle, actually, and the amusement in his expression only adds to your confusion. And then he becomes serious, though his features keep their softness.
“Look… I’m sorry to disappoint you but… I’m not going to do anything we haven’t discussed beforehand,” he explains, making sure to be clear about his thoughts. “My first impulse isn’t to punish you for masturbating. But if you want me to, we can talk about it.”
“O-okay,” you stammer, and once again there’s this endearing smile on his face, spreading from ear to ear. You know it’s meant to reassure you, but right now all you can focus on is the embarrassment burning in your chest from making such a severe miscalculation. This isn’t how things go in real life, of course it isn’t. You should know that, and yet-
“Hey,” he calls out to you, hand reaching for yours, giving you a squeeze to tear you out of your thoughts. “Let’s talk about it.”
He’s also good at that - saying the right thing at the right moment. Or at least he tends to say the things you need to hear in moments like this, and once again you feel unmistakably that you’re safe with him, and that you’re in this together.
“Okay.”
“So…” letting go of your hand, he leans back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, and you feel the dynamic shift ever so slightly as he won’t divert his eyes from you. “What kind of punishment were you thinking of?” You raise your eyebrows, and you begin to ponder on his question, but somehow your head is suddenly empty.
“I… don’t know…” you admit, and he grins at your words again.
“You didn’t think about what you want me to do to you now?”
“I mean… I did… but more… in a general sense,” you stammer.
“Like what?”
“Like… you fucking me…” And there it is again, that laugh that’s really more of a giggle than an actual laugh.
“You didn’t think about what comes before that?”
“Not… really?” you admit, and he clears his throat.
“Then how about I tell you what came to mind for me, and you tell me if that sounds okay to you?” You nod okay, and he continues, “So what I was thinking is that I could restrict you in some way… putting you in handcuffs maybe, or blindfolding you.”
“I don’t think I’m okay with the blindfolding,” you respond. “Handcuffs sounds… nice though.”
“See? This is just why I didn’t want us to rush into this,” your partner says. “Because if we move too fast, misconceptions about what the other wants, or just about how this whole thing works are bound to go unnoticed.”
“You’re right,” you agree, being able to see where you went wrong with your assumptions clear as day now. “Then… let’s take it slow. Talk before we do stuff.” An awkward laugh escapes you as you’re speaking those words, because after all you were the one trying to rush into this, and now you can’t help but feel thankful that he stopped you just in time.
“So…” Jongho gets up from his chair, walking over to his closet and rummaging through one of the shelves, pulling out a dark red tie. “I think this is gonna look pretty on you. That okay?” You nod, merely watching as he walks over to you, and when he tells you to take off your clothes first of all, you don’t hesitate. Placing yourself on top of the bed, kneeling in the middle of it, he sits in front of you, and you hold out your hands for him to tie them together. “Not too tight?”
“No, it’s fine,” you answer, the soft texture of the fabric feeling quite good around your wrists, actually.
“I don’t have actual handcuffs, unfortunately…” he explains as he checks the knot one more time, and then he lifts one of his hands to run his fingers through your hair, eyeing you thoroughly. There’s a serious expression on his face now, he’s concentrated as he lets his fingertips brush against the side of your throat, but the way he allows for a smirk to creep onto his lips when you instinctively lean your head back to give him access tells you he’s very much having fun with this.
“You really like that, huh?” he mutters, wrapping his hand loosely around your throat, the warmth of his touch alone causing your heart to beat faster.
“Yeah…” you mouth, and to your disdain he moves on. His fingers draw imaginary trails down your body, moving slowly and deliberately, and his eyes follow their every move.
“So beautiful… too bad I’m gonna have to wreck you.” He speaks silently, and whether it’s because of the tone in his voice or his words you don’t know, but it’s giving you shivers all over and you gulp. His hand eventually finds its way to your side, snuggly fitting into the space between your waist and your arm, and he leans in to brush his lips against yours. It’s a short kiss, yet he lingers there for a few seconds before pulling back merely a few inches - the kind of kiss that’s meant to make you want more. “Want me to punish you, hm? Then, what if I push you a bit? Be a little less nice than usual and not give you everything you want right away.” You suck in a sharp breath at his words. “You’d like that?”
“Y-yeah,” you say, tension building up. You’re not sure what exactly he has planned, but you know he wouldn’t push you too far… right? He wraps the fingers of his free hand around your wrists, and as he brings them up above your head he pushes you back into the mattress, carefully, gently. And yet you don’t miss the dangerous glint in his eyes as he’s now gazing down on you, hovering above you as he pins you against the bed. Lowering his head, he makes you mewl as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he scatters a few nips here and there.
“What’s your color, dear?”
“Green… very green,” you sigh, feeling his weight on top of your chest.
“That’s good,” he speaks quietly as he comes back up, his face now being right in front of you and the tips of your noses touching for one short moment. You think he’s going to kiss you, but then he sits up instead, letting go of you to rid himself of his shirt. With every movement of his you can see the outlines of his muscles working underneath the skin, and the urge to touch him, to run your nails down his chest and his stomach, makes you bring your hands up. For a moment you forget that they’re tied together, and you frown at the restraint, and before you can do anything more, your boyfriend is quick to click his tongue at you as he reaches for your hands and pins them back down above your head.
“Wanna touch me so bad, hm?” he assumes correctly, and then he adds, moving closer to your ear, whispering sharply, “No touching unless I allow it.”
“O-okay,” you mutter. You can unmistakably feel the power he has over you now, both in the way you don’t have the strength to free yourself from his physical restraint, and in the way you feel yourself immediately submitting to his verbal restraint.
“Stay like this,” he then says and you nod as he sits back up. This time he lets his palms run down your upper body once as he kneels on top of you, going over to dragging his nails down your skin once he reaches your hips and doing the exact thing you would’ve craved to do to him. But you obey, waiting patiently for his next move. “So pretty…” he mutters, his intense gaze burning on your skin, and after having his hands wandering all the way back up, he leans in to leave a trail of kisses down the valley of your breasts. And again there’s this urge to move your hands, to throw your arms around his shoulders as his lips are mapping out your features, but you can’t. You shouldn’t, and so you resist.
He kisses his way down your stomach, biting your flesh here and there without applying too much pressure, and the way he’s taking his time with it doesn’t help your case as you’re having an internal battle against your own impatience. Rubbing your thighs together as he’s hovering just above your core and he’s touching you everywhere but where you need him the most, you reach your breaking point.
“Jongho…” you call out his name. “Please.” He merely chuckles at your plea, not even looking up at you now.
“What?” His voice is low, quiet. Calmness radiates off of him, like he knows that he has all the time in the world for this.
“T-touch me please…” you mewl.
“Hmm,” he makes a noise as he appears to be thinking about your request. “But do you deserve that?” You let out a whine at his question, and you frown when he crawls all the way back up, only to press a teasing kiss to your lips. “Do you deserve my touch when clearly you decided that you can also just do the job yourself?” He moves up further, his lips brushing against your wrists just below where he tied them together, and then against the knuckles on your fingers. “Can’t get yourself off now, can you?” He places his hand over yours, pushing your wrists into the fluffy blanket as if to put an emphasis on his words.
“Please…” you start another attempt at getting him to do what you want, but he merely sends you a smirk.
“You’re choosing the shower head over me and now you think I’ll give you what you want so easily? That’s naive.” You frown, and you pout up at him, and for a second his features soften, before he moves his hand from your wrists to your chin, tilting it up slightly. Then he places a kiss onto your jaw, and he asks, “Color?”
“Green…” You idiot - you add in your mind, and when he comes back up to get a good look at your face, you can undeniably see the amusement on his face.
“Didn’t think you’d like being treated like this so much,” Jongho comments, and then he lets his hand wander from your chin down to your lower stomach. “Really makes me want to do this all day.” Fuck. You gulp at his words, thighs pressing together just as he slips a finger in between, dragging it up your folds once, and you don’t expect a singular touch to affect you this much, but you find yourself arching your back as you moan in response anyway.
“Relax,” he says, tapping your thigh once, and you do, spreading your legs apart just a little to give him better access. He doesn’t hesitate to make use of that, watching for even the tiniest of reactions as he gathers your juices on his fingertip, moving it back up and making you whimper as he begins drawing circles onto your clit. You buck your hips into his hand once, causing him to sit up so he could use his other hand to press them back down, immobilizing you. “So needy…” he breathes as he continues on, watching you, and granting you a few teasing touches to your wet pussy. He slips a finger inside, drawing another moan from your lips, and when he adds a second one, pumping them in and out of you at an unhurried pace, you think you could cum on the spot. And he notices the way he’s affecting you, because now he asks you with a cocky smirk on his face that bodes no good whatsoever,
“You like that?” You nod, whimpering, and when he pulls out, the feeling of deprivation that overcomes you makes you whine with anger - though you don’t sound nearly as angry as you would’ve liked. “Too bad.”
“Keep going, please…!” you try to beg, and it seems to strike something deep within him, because now he raises his eyebrows at you, listening intently.
“What was that?”
“K-keep going… please… please…” you add, the desperation in your voice being obvious. “Don’t stop now… w-wanna cum on your fingers…”
“I’m sure you do, dear,” he whispers, leaning in to place a soothing kiss onto your tummy, but it just makes you more furious.
“Please!” you cry out, balancing on the edge between pleasure and frustration, and you know that you wouldn’t want him to push you any further. For a second you wonder whether you should tell him, ask him to go easier on you even though you were the one who wanted him to punish you so badly. But he seems to notice your inner conflict, and his smirk softens into a benevolent smile as he brushes his lips against the inside of your thigh now.
“Is that where the line is?” he asks, and you hesitantly nod. He comes up to comb his fingers through your hair, brushing away a strand that’s sticking to your forehead. “Then let’s not take it any further than this, okay?”
“Yeah.” He cups your face with his hand, thumb brushing against your lips, and he questions,
“What do you want me to do, love?”
“Fuck me… please…” you say with furrowed brows, and he chuckles at the sight in front of him. Caressing your cheek as he slowly takes his hand away in order to rid himself of the remainder of his clothes, he retorts,
“I can’t believe someone could say something so dirty with such an innocent expression on their face.” And now that you’re becoming aware of what you must look like right now, you find it funny too, and you let out a short laugh.
Your boyfriend places himself on top of you, one hand wrapping around his length in order to give himself a few strokes until he’s fully hard, while he has the other placed next to your head to support his weight on top of it. “Wanna hold onto me? Or…” You shake your head. “Want me to pin you down?” Adrenaline rushes through your veins, making you tingle all over from the thought of it, and you nod. Again, he seems amused by your reaction. “After all that you still want me to manhandle you, huh?” Him saying it out loud fills you with bashfulness all of a sudden, and still you feel the need to confirm that he’s right.
“Yes… please,” you mutter. He positions himself in between your legs, aligning himself with your core.
“You good?” he asks, and when you give him the okay he pushes into you.
“Fuck…” The feeling of having him finally filling you up makes you hiss a curse as you’re throwing your head back from the overwhelming satisfaction. Jongho reaches for your wrists, pinning you down just like you had asked, and he leans in, his nose brushing against the skin right in front of your ear.
“Can you do me a favour, then?”
“Wh-what?” you stutter, impatience building up inside you again.
“I want to hear you beg for me again… can you do that?” You whine as he rolls his hips into yours once, and without hesitation you grant his wish.
“Please… please fuck me…”
“Mhm… that’s right…” he mutters, and from the way his voice changes as he begins slowly thrusting into you, you can tell he too has been exerting himself holding back from touching you properly more than you thought.
“Please… feels so good… b-baby please…” you keep going, your moans turning into mere whimpers when he reaches down between your bodies in order to tend to your clit. “F-fuck… w-wanna cum on your cock… wanna cum so bad…!” you whine, racing towards your high at lightning speed.
“Shit, you’re perfect,” he utters, his hips beginning to stutter, and the groans falling from his lips becoming more frequent. “So fucking perfect.”
You cry out when your high comes crashing down on you, hands formed into fists and your nails digging into your palms. Once again you try to instinctively throw your arms around your boyfriend’s shoulders, and when you meet resistance as he’s still pinning you against the bed, your mind is flooded with that much more pleasure. He cums with a broken moan as you’re beginning to come down from your high, whining from the overstimulation as you let him thrust into you a few more times, and then he collapses on top of you.
Both panting, he lets go of your wrists and you immediately bring your arms up to put them around his frame, and this time he lets you. Eventually, after catching his breath, he rolls over onto his back, sitting up and undoing your restraints.
“You feeling okay?” You nod at his question, your eyelids too heavy to open, but you smile at him.
“More than,” you mutter, and when he lies back down beside you, you snuggle up close to him. Reaching for your hands, he holds onto one of them, thumb rubbing circles against your wrist, and when you look up you find worry in his eyes. “I really am okay, baby,” you whisper one more time, and he instinctively brings your hand that he’s holding onto in closer to his chest.
“Okay…” he just says, trusting your words, and you send him a sweet smile. Freeing your hand from his grasp, you bring it up to his head, fingers combing through his hair.
“Thank you…” you say, slurring your words a bit as the blissful afterglow of your high lingers in your mind. Your boyfriend lets out a sigh, eyelids fluttering shut at the sensation of you massaging his scalp. “For being careful. And for taking care of me so well.” And now there’s this smile creeping onto his lips. It’s barely noticeable, and yet you can tell how your words are affecting him. And in the next second he throws his arm around you, catching you by surprise as he pulls you on top of himself and engulfs you in a tight hug. He says nothing, you know that sometimes it’s hard for him to speak his mind in moments like these, but by now you know him well enough to know what he’s trying to convey with his actions. You giggle at the way he presses a kiss to the side of your face before having you rest your head atop his chest, loosening his embrace a bit to allow you to lie down comfortably. You too snake one arm around his waist, and with your heart swelling with your love for him that seems to know no end, you bury your smile in the crook of his neck.
#ateez smut#jongho smut#ateez x reader#ateez x fem reader#ateez fanfic#ateez series#ateez scenarios#ateez drabbles#ateez imagines#jongho imagines#jongho x reader#smut
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^^^ It has come to my attention that whatever I post next (this post) will be my 5,000th post, so I've decided to make it a special one!
Did you know that I started this blog, it was originally named OfDemonsAndDruids, because all I intended to really post about was my fanfic series by the same name? And if you did know that, congrats! And thanks for sticking around, that's so cool :)
And for the rest of you! you will now be indoctrinated by the epic ODAD lore (which plagues my drain to this day, even after writing 176k words about it.)
George is the crown prince of the Mushroom Kingdom, a secluded but prosperous country which boasts powerful druid magic and control over the Lichens, a strange yet formidable species which bonds with humans when their true name is spoken. George, as the prince, is given a Lichen to bond with when he's sixteen, and the Lichen will serve as his guard, protector, and servant for the rest of his life.
Dream is that Lichen, though his real name isn't Dream. Dream is the "code" by which he goes so no one other than George can speak his true name. He has been trained his whole life to serve the royal family and to protect George with his superhuman powers of speed, strength, and stamina. He wears a mask, as do all Lichens, because their most powerful skill is that of control. When a Lichen looks at someone with their bare eyes, they can completely control that person (and yes, he can see through the mask. It's magic.)
Sapnap is, well, just some guy! He lives in a village north of the Mushroom Kingdom, but longs to leave home and go on an adventure. Maybe someday his dreams can be fulfilled...
Bad is a full-blooded demon, or at least he appears to be, when he wears his enchanted cloak which casts a shadow over his face. He's worked for years building a reputation as the best bounty hunter in the Nether, and works with his team of white wolves to hunt down his bounties.
Skeppy is an imp, a species closely related to demons, though they're about half the size and have wings instead of horns and a fuzzy tail. They're also shapeshifters, and don't follow the code of order that demons do. Instead, they're led only by chaos and a drive for trickery. Skeppy and Bad have been friends for a long time, though that friendship mostly consists of Skeppy teasing and trolling Bad, and sometimes his pranks go too far...
I've just barely scratched the surface about these guys (like this literally doesn't even get into the main plot) so if you're curious, give it a read!
Symbiosis is the main fic in the series, and follows George through the events of a war between the Demons and the Mushroom Kingdom. It's 100k words and very plotty, and focuses on DNF and the four muffinteer's freindship.
Maladaptation is the companion fic to Symbiosis, which follows Bad and Skeppy through the same events, but showing a very different perspective. It's 70k and just as plotty, but focuses on Skephalo (as well as Quackity and Skeppy's friendship - I started writing it over a year ago...)
And Devotion is a short follow-up to Symbiosis, which is basically just a nsfw DNF one shot that shows a bit of Dream's POV on his relationship with George.
While it's been almost a year since I've worked on this series, I want to say that I'm not done with it and I do plan on writing more in 2024, because I've been having some serious brainworms about these guys. But regardless, I hope you enjoyed learning about my complicated fantasy AU, or if you've read Symbiosis, that you enjoyed this walk down memory lane.
With that said, happy 5,000 posts to this blog! Here's to 5,000 more 🥳🎉
#muffinteers#dream team#dteam fanart#georgenotfound#dreamwastaken#sapnap#badboyhalo#skeppy#gnf fanart#dream fanart#sapnap fanart#bbh fanart#skeppy fanart#my art#my fic#my fanfic
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“Baby I’m ready for take off”
CW: Cock Warming ,Chest Riding, Fluff(?), Poorly written smut, comfort(?) nicknames ( ma, mamas, papa, and baby)
PAIRING: Connie x Black!FemReader
WC: 0.9k
🫧🗯️: Test run post! Don’t judge🤒 ALSO! first time writing smut so if it’s bad i’m sorry, it’ll probably remain like that for a minute…(title is from a wayv song.. doesn’t have to do anything with the fic🪦🪦)
MINORS DNI
(take off!)
It's been a long day, long week even. School has been beating your ass with essays and finals..this was your only chance to relax. You enter connie's apartment around 6 pm, he wasn't there because he's also been busy but not with school. The team made it to regionals and the coach has been working the team the bone with drills everyday.
You use your key that he lent to you and make yourself at home, he lived off campus. You make your way into the shower and clean yourself up real quick and change into his pajamas, although a lot of your clothes is in his room, hell ! you even have your own drawer! But you love the way his clothes feels on you and his scent makes you feel safe. You were absolutely starving by the time you got dressed and decided to go order some food, wing-stop you finally decide you got yourself a 12 pc hot and lemon pepper with a side of fries and A sprite. When the food came around it was almost eight and Connie should be on his way home.
After you finished eating you cleaned up super quick and went to bed, connie showed up about an hour later. He knew you were here but seeing you in his sheets and pjs made his heart falter. He went in the shower quickly and joined you in bed. He tried his best not to make any noise but regardless you still woke up
"Sorry ma, didn't mean to wake you up"
he said so gentle,
"how are you? I'm sorry I came home late.. i didn't expect coach to keep us so long"
he caressed your cheeks trying to get you back to sleep. You looked up at his beautiful freckled face, you missed him so much you guys havent been able to see each other at all this week with being so occupied with your own personal activities and affairs. Small tears stream from your eyes, he wipes them away with such care and delicacy.
"I know, I know ive missed you too, baby"
You turn towards to him and indulge into his chest , he's not wearing a shirt which is normal since he gets really sweaty at night (😭😭🪦🪦🪦) you start talking about the events that happened that week, how your essay went, how you absolutely failed your stats test, new books you bought, girl drama, and how stressful it's been for you. He nods occasionally and throws in a couple of "mhms" to let yk that he's still listening. This goes on for about an hour and at this point you're just rambling, but connie understands how much you love to talk and let's you continue without complaint, that is until you ask him about his week and what he's done.
At this point he's practically knocked out.
"Hah, What was that baby what did you say??" he said a little bit groggy
You repeat your question, but while you do you see that he's HARD??? No way this man was hard from just hearing you talk.But then he must've been backed up from this whole week because of how rarely he saw you or had anytime for himself. When you think about it has been a while since y'all had sex, because of how seldom it's been to even talk to him on the phone
"Hey con.. You're hard, how long has it been?" you ask while playing with his nipples. (🪦🪦🪦)
"Baby you don't even understand how much i've missed you..c'mere" He pulls you closer to his penis.
Slowly he removes his pants and boxers, revealing his hard leaking cock.. good lord it was so much prettier than you remember. You slowly enter his dick into your hole, surprised by how wet you were.
"Be careful mamas I could jizz into you at any point" you laughed at his choice of words, it was clear that he hasn't been relived in awhile..and while you were also tired doesn't mean you could at least help him out!!?? and you were on the pill so that should count for something..right??? Continuing you grab ahold of his tip and insert it, until fully seethed into your pussy. It felt so good, you grabbed his hand and placed it on your stomach showing him where his dick is. That really pushed him over and sprayed your pussy through and through. your poor baby he was so sensitive. You guys stayed like that until morning.
Waking up, you find yourself looking at connie sleeping so soundly and peacefully. You reach for your phone but feel restricted once you've realized the man got a whole ass dick in you. omggg
"Baby wake up" you whisper yell, tapping his chest. you roam your fingers on along his abs, a few seconds later connie shifts a little bit to remove his cock from you and lifts you up and places you down on his chest. This all happens so quick that u immediately shiver, with your wet slicky pussy on top of his chest he begins move you up and down while his dick teases at your ass crack. Your nails dig into his abdomen while you grind your silky pussy over his abs. Connie's hands take pleasure in your tits while they bounce up and down, twisting and turning you nipples putting you into over drive. Your cum glazes over his abs, you panting hard. First thing in the morning... You rest your head on his chest finding his heart beat while he rubs your head calming you down.
"I love you ma" he whispers, he feels your smile into his chest and laughs a bit. He raises your head, "did you hear what I said?" He leans in for a kiss and you return it. "I love you too papa"
(Think of this as a soft launch ijbol)🫧🗯️
#Kristlewrites🫧🗯️#black reader smut#connie springer x black reader#aot x black reader#connie springer x black reader smut#connie springer smut#connie x black reader smut#aot connie#smut#aot fanfiction#fanfic#fluff#black writers
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