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floatmeintothesun · 6 months

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Utterly Enraptured

Pairing; Miguel O’Hara x f!reader

tags; breeding, little bit of overstimulation, Miguel goes into rut, creampie, wordcount 4k

Summary; Miguel seems to have forgotten about a certain side effect from having half of his genetic makeup being spider DNA

EXPLICIT - MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

—

Wet, warm, perfectly molded to his length. Large palms pressing against thighs, his mouth quieting your little gasps and hiccups. His murmured praise, his filthy tongue pressing against your hole wetly, licking long stripes up your skin. Hungry. The twitch of his hips, the choked whimpers, he wants it. Needs it.

You’re gasping, trying in vain to muffle your moans into the pillow while he completely and irrevocably rearranges your insides. You’re so fucking sweet – god, he wants nothing more than to stuff you full of his seed, pull out and admire the view of him seeping out from your weeping pussy.

He wants to push it all back in with spit slicked fingers, kiss away all of your tears and do it all over again until you’re sobbing in pleasure, begging for more, more, more –

Miguel wakes up feeling fire burn at the base of his spine and the undeniable hardening of his cock. He immediately wants to just roll over and go back to bed.

It’s 7:47, he has to get up in ten minutes, he’s way too hot but the floors are probably freezing, his blankets are so so comfortable and his dick is aching. So far, great start to his morning. Miguel turns to his side, finding your side of the bed empty. He resists the urge to groan.

Right, you have your early work shift today.

He mourns the loss of the warmth as he kicks off his blankets with one languid motion. For a moment he’s tempted to just indulge himself right now, right here. Your scent is still in the air, soaked into your pillow, heady and intoxicating.

Absent-mindedly he palms himself, cupping the sizable bulge and considers. Miguel wants you, to be completely honest. Always does. Like a thirst that will never be quenched, he craves you. All of you. Your hands, your flesh, your blood — if he could, he’d worship every single inch of you for the rest of eternity.

And you’re not here. Unfortunately. He imagines your hand, smaller than his, wrapping securely around his length, the other curled loosely around his hot, swollen balls, and slowly exhales.

He can wait. He has self control. He doesn’t have time to fist himself like a wild animal. He has an online meeting to attend since he, for once, is taking a break from the Spider Verse for a day or two.

Miguel heaves a sigh and gets up, stretching lazily. The chill seeps into his skin and he resigns himself to taking a cold shower.

(He ends up having to clean spurts of creamy white off of the shower walls anyway. He is so fucked.)

—

There’s something wrong with him. There’s something wrong with today. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Miguel can’t get you out of his head.

You usually don’t leave his mind regardless, but at the moment, all he can think of is bending you over the nearest flat surface, letting you slather at his tip, feeling your sweet, tight pussy clench around him while he whispers obscenities in your ear.

He thinks of you all day, but his thoughts are never this…vividly vulgar. Miguel will admit to having the stray passing instance but right now? He’s practically been a depraved fucking dog for the past three hours straight.

This morning didn’t help. That damn dream didn’t help. He’s been staring at his laptop for the past thirty minutes trying desperately to redirect his thoughts to something more productive, his board members are droning on and on about stock values and whatnot – he has work to finish, but jesus, he can’t think of anything but you.

Your taste, your heat, your everything. He’s hard as rock as he mumbles some bullshit excuse to his meeting members before shutting off his laptop with a definite click. It’s as if a fog has filled his head, keeping him drunk and dizzy. Miguel’s body feels unbearably hot right now, scorching, needing.

“Lyla,” his voice is strangled. “What’s the date?”

His assistant flickers to life next to him, drawing up a calendar.

“Mm…it’s the 8th,” she says, blinking down at him. “Ah, I see. Your uh, time of the month, y’know?” She wiggles her eyebrows and he growls, waving her away. She pops up a little ways away, putting her hands on her hips.“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, man,” Lyla frowns. “Just telling you,”

“Thanks,” He says bitingly, dismissing her and groaning into his hands. You won’t be home until later – and later means that he’s going to have to suffer for the next few hours, alone and unbearably horny. Wonderful.

Mentally, he berates himself with a low hiss, feeling annoyed that he didn't connect the dots earlier. His throat is dry and he swallows raspily.

He should’ve looked at the date, how could he have forgotten? Heightened sensitivity, overheating, inability to focus, the urge to fuck you into next week — all signs pointing to a very large neon billboard that says “SPIDER INSTINCT FUCKERY” in big bold letters. In other words, mating period.

It happens every other month through the 8th to the 10th when his body decides that it’s time to procreate and do nothing else for the next two days.

He sucks in a ragged breath slowly, trying to calm his fast beating heart. It doesn’t work, only serving to remind him of the pulsing in his chest and between his legs.

It wasn’t this bad before he started dating you. All he had to do was tug on his cock a few times and he was fine, for the most part. Anything else could be burned off by fighting criminals and doing his usual dimensional overseeing.

That was before you. You and your gorgeous smile, you and your honeyed scent, you and your burning touch. He’s so hungry — greedy. He wants your flesh in his hands, your slick on his chin, your hands on his body.

He doesn’t even realize he’s getting up from the couch and migrating to your shared room until his knees hit the mattress and his huge frame curls up on your side of the bed. His cock is stupidly hard, twitching and throbbing from where it’s formed a tent in his sweatpants.

Miguel can already feel the precum seeping out of him and staining his boxers. A whine rips itself out of his throat as he buries his head into your pillow, basking in your familiar sweet smell.

A heady mixture of your favorite shampoo, perfume and body, all swirling around him as he grinds his lower half into the bed desperately like a dog in heat.

It’s not enough. It’s not enough.

He needs you, craves you. His large hand snakes down to wrap around his weeping length, the other pulling down his sweat pants and boxers to give him some relief. It’s agony, waiting for you to come home.

He wishes you were here right now, wishes that he could pepper your face with kisses and croon apologies while he slowly bottoms out in your tight cunt while you writhe beneath him.

Or on top of him. He doesn’t give a damn. Any position you want, he’ll do it.

Just imagining your sweet whines and whimpers has his breath labored. He presses the heel of his palm against his stiff length, hissing at the jolt of pleasure and sensitivity that burns through him. It’s painfully dry, but he takes the slick precum dripping out of his tip to aid the tight slide of his fist over his fat cock. God, he just needs to pump you full of him and fuck it all back into you. The thought of you, all swollen and glowing with his kid makes him nearly feral.

His hips jerk upwards and he can’t help but imagine your hand instead of his, can’t help but imagine how much better it would feel.

He gasps quietly as his thumb presses against his slit, jaw tightening, fangs threatening to break skin. The hand currently not wrapped around his cock is clenching the bedsheets hard enough to rip.

He just needs to wait. He just has to wait a little longer. You’ll be home soon.

—

You slip off your shoes at the door, setting them aside on the rack near the entrance. The warmth from the apartment chases away the chill and you set down your bag, heaving a sigh of relief. You’ve been looking forward to spending time with your boyfriend all day since he has a rare day at home today.

You peek around the hall, letting your aching feet be comforted by the rugs near the living room. Where is Miguel anyways?

“Heyyyy,” Lyla pops up in front of you suddenly, grinning when you startle. “Looking for Miguel?”

You set a hand on your chest trying to calm your jackrabbiting heart, before giving her a small smile.

“Yeah. Is he here right now? I mean he said he would be, but I don’t know if he’s doing his Spider-man thing right now,” You tilt your head as Lyla’s expression flickers. She adjusts her glasses, glancing at your bedroom door.

“Well uh, he’s in there. Might wanna be careful though,” She mutters, checking out her bright pink nails absentmindedly. You raise an eyebrow.

“Why’s that?”

In lieu of explanation she draws up a calendar and materializes a glitching pen in her hands, circling the date. Your frown in confusion.

“The…8th?” You blink and she nods. Why would today be significant? It’s not your anniversary, the only thing that comes to mind at the moment is… “Oh.” You swallow dryly, remembering vague flashes from two months ago. Two months ago when he had fucked you silly for what was basically two days, interspersed with breaks in between. Then the sheepish explanation of what he calls "mating period" where his DNA practically drives him insane with rampant horniness.

Lyla nods empathetically.

“Yeah…well, good luck! I've heard that massages really help with soreness.” She vanishes with a pop of golden glimmers, leaving you alone in the hall.

You glance where she had been moments prior before sighing. Dating a man with half of his makeup being spider DNA came with its quirks. Your feet carry you down the hall and you open the door to find –

Oh fuck.

Miguel, in all of his bare glory, strong thighs spread wide, leaving nothing to the imagination. His sweatpants and shirt are in a heap on the floor, most likely thrown in his haste. His heaving chest is gleaming with sweat, abdomen twitching, looking like a Greek God.

And there, his throbbing, swollen cock squeezed tightly in his fist, his hips working back and forth at a languid pace. Long and thick, the tip shining slightly with precum. It makes you salivate, sticky heat beginning to grow between your legs.

The room's atmosphere is heavy as you mindlessly draw closer. Fuck, his gasps and whimpers sound so pretty. Half of his large frame is hanging off the bed as you realize he's on your side, face buried desperately in your pillow.

"B – baby," His words stutter in his throat as your scent overwhelms him, his nostrils flaring. "Please, please, please —fuck, need you so bad," he quivers, taking his hand off of his face to look back at you. He's grimacing, gorgeous plush lips stretched into a pathetic pout and you hum in acknowledgement, putting a hand on his thigh. He twitches but makes no other move.

Your clit throbs in response to the pure neediness in his voice, high and whiny. He sounds utterly wrecked, squeezing his cock and waiting for you to touch him. You’re so close, your hand is on his body, but it’s not where he wants it.

“You’re so desperate, Miguel,” You croon, reaching out slowly and wrapping your hand around his base. He makes a choked sound, his hand falling away to run through his sweaty hair. “Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t answer for a second, visibly trying to contain himself before he speaks, low and ragged.

“Yes,” He finally hisses, crimson irises foggy and clouded with lust. You hum in approval at his answer, squeezing lightly as you begin to pump him, going at a pace you know is wholly too slow for his taste. “Don’t t — tease me, cariño. Faster, baby, please,” He begs, his breath stuttering in his chest.

You rock back on your heel as you begin stroking faster, your thumb tracing the veins on the underside. Miguel’s eyes roll back as your deliciously hot mouth descends on him, your tongue circling his tip juuust the way he likes it. Fuck, you can feel yourself getting wetter with each trembling hiss and moan you pull out of this man — your man. You separate from him with a pop, licking pre from sticky fingers while he watches hungrily.

The smell of arousal — your arousal, invades his senses and his hands twitch and he lunges, pulling you up to him and flipping you over. You yelp in surprise as his hands immediately squeeze flesh, your hips, your thighs, your ass, anywhere he has access to.

You tilt up to kiss him and he leans down, pressing his lips to yours firmly. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip and when you allow him access inside he moans quietly, fangs digging into your lower lip lightly.

Your shirt is practically discarded at the speed of light and you shiver for a second at the cold washing over your skin before Miguel's all over you again.

He leans forward to fumble with your bra, fingers struggling to unclasp the hooks on the back. You laugh and pull it off yourself, to which he rolls his eyes fondly before his mirth is devoured by desire.

Thick fingers nimbly pull at your pants waistline.

"Take these off too, sweetheart," He whispers, leaving wet open mouth kisses trailing down your neck. You shiver, obliging quickly and kicking them off. They land somewhere on the floor and you don't care enough to look for them. Not when Miguel is between your legs, staring down at your clothed pussy like it's his last meal.

He inhales slowly, leaning down to press his head against your thigh. You smell so fucking intoxicating, he wants nothing more than to bury his face between your legs and make you scream in pleasure. But first he has to get rid of your panties.

"Hurry up, Miguel, please," You whine, wiggling your hips as if to try and encourage him. As if he needs any sort of encouragement.

"Do you care about these panties?" He asks, quick and low. You blink.

"No…? –! " You gasp as he lowers his head and fucking rips them off of you in one quick motion with his damn teeth. "Miguel!"

"I'll get you new ones, baby. Promise." He kisses your inner thigh, holding you down with two large searing hands. "As many as you want. As long as I get to have this goddamn pussy, I'll get you anything."

Your glistening lips look absolutely delicious, all wet and soaked from watching him play with his cock in front of you. He wants to put his mouth on your throbbing, swollen clit until you sob, wants your pussy in his face, wants his tongue in you while you grab at his hair and urge him for more. You'd taste divine, and he nearly just decides to do it anyway.

But his cock is so hard it almost hurts and he's about three seconds away from getting blue balls, so instead he sinks one finger in your drenched cunt. Your breath hitches and you turn your head into a pillow as he begins to finger fuck you in earnest. The obscene sound of slick gushing out from your hole makes Miguel nearly feral, nearly has his eyes rolling back into his head as he feels your tightness squeeze and pulse around his thick digit. You hiss at the stretch, slow pain and growing pleasure intertwining as Miguel goes slow adding a second.

"You're doing so good, so good, baby. You feel so – fuck, so good. Can you take one more?" He asks breathlessly. "C’mon, you're such a good girl, aren't you?"

You nod amidst blurry vision, gasping as he slides another finger in. His pace is fast and punishing, and the final goddamn nail on the coffin is the way his fingers press into your g-spot, while his thumb rubs messy circles on your puffy clit.

"Cum, baby, you can do it, you can fucking cum for me, can't you?" He latches onto your tit, swirling his tongue around your nipple in such a way that makes your head foggy.

“Mig – guel!” You whine brokenly as he rolls it between his teeth, sharp points of pleasure burning up your spine like wildfire. Miguel can’t help but groan at the feeling of your sweet cunt clamping down on his fingers, and he increases his speed at the telltale signs of your impending orgasm. You're so so close and when the building coil in your lower stomach finally snaps, you sob, gushing all over his palm.

Your bare chest heaves as he murmurs sweet praise in your ear, telling you that "You did so good, cariño," and "Look at you, you're so gorgeous all spread out like this,". Miguel drags his tongue down your neck, pulling away for a second to suck your juices off his fingers in an awfully erotic display of tongue, saliva, and a flash of a grin.

He presses kisses to your face, trying his absolute damndest not to hump you like a fucking dog but he’s waited so long and he’s going to go fucking insane if he doesn’t get your pretty pussy wrapped around his cock in the next two seconds.

“C’mere, baby,” Miguel takes himself in hand, his other keeping your thighs spread so he can see your twitching hole all wet and ready for him. “Can’t wait any damn longer – I’ll fuckin’ – explode or something.”

Looking up at him from your position is absolutely deadly. His hair is disheveled, strands slipping from their usually neat positions, his expression is utterly and completely devoted as his chest heaves. Your eyes travel down to shamelessly stare at his massive package, complete with his proportionally large hand curled around the weeping length.

He’s so stiff that he splits your lips easily, and he groans at the feeling of your slick coating the underside of his cock. You can’t help but gasp as he grinds against you slowly before the head catches on your clit and pushes inside.

And oh god, he could die right here and be happy, he could fucking die with the tip of his dick buried in your tight pussy and think that his life is fulfilled. It takes everything in him not to cum and paint your insides in a creamy white. Your wet walls are so slick and he hisses as they clamp down on him.

“Fuuuuck… baby you — you gotta loosen up for me, relax — mnnshit — “ he gasps, and you cry out, shifting underneath him. He rubs sloppy circles on your clit, his breathing labored as a few more inches of his monstrous cock slide in, “There we go, there we — nnngh, okay, good, so fucking good, you’re such a pretty girl,” he babbles nonsensically, practically losing his mind in the warmth.

“M — Miguel,” You hiccup, nudging him out of his daze. “Move — please, s’not enough,” You want him in your guts, you want him to fuck you until the only thing you can remember is the shape of his cock.

And who is he to deny you?

He shoves the rest of himself in in one fluid motion, his throat closing in on itself as he bottoms out, his pelvis flush to yours. His mouth parts slightly as his lips form an o shape, and he thrusts once, caging you in his burly arms.

“Oh shit — I’m gonna move, okay? M’gonna move,” he warns you, before pulling out slowly only to slam his hips back into yours with wild abandon. You suck in a startled breath as he begins to absolutely fuck your brains out, fire igniting deep in your lower stomach again. There’s none of his usual careful approach, there’s no teasing, no smug remarks. He’s focused on one thing and one thing only: stuffing you full of his seed until he physically can’t anymore.

You can barely get anything out as he grinds against you, his dick so deep inside that you’re sure that he’s showing through your lower stomach. Fuck – he feels so good as he fills your tight pussy, rocking precisely in all of your sensitive spots. The head of him practically kisses your damn cervix, sending you rocketing towards your second orgasm of the night.

Your brain is so mushy and pleasure-drowned that it takes you a second to realize that he’s still talking and oh fuck.

“Let me fill you, le— let me cum inside, please, please, baby, I wan – nngh, I want you all round and swollen f’me,” he sounds utterly wrecked, desperate and hungry all rolled in at once, “Wouldn’t you look so pretty an’ gorgeous? Pleas – e, please? Need you full, all full of me,” Miguel begs, grunting lowly when you clamp down on him from the downright filth flowing from his mouth.

“Yes – Miguel, just –nnhgod, oh shit, oh fuck,” You lose the tail end of your sentence as your head melts out of your ears and pleasure sears through your veins. Miguel whimpers at your words, shoving himself deeper than you thought was humanly possible.

“Waited so long for you, baby, was so – was so lonely, needed you – need you – “ He hits a spot that has you keening, eyes rolling back and your head bumping against the headboard of the bed. You’re driving him utterly insane, your moans and cries sounding like a blended symphony of bliss pounding through his eardrums. He leans down to litter any inch of bare skin he has access to in dark marks, his burning mouth trailing wetly down the valley between your breasts.

“M’close, Mig – uel, I’m going to cum, baby –” You manage to gasp out before you’re overwhelmed completely and your vision erupts into stars as you gush around him for the second time in one day. It feels like someone has poured molten pleasure down your veins and you’re incandescent with it.

Miguel chokes, low and deep in his throat, feeling your slick pussy tighten around his girthy cock, slathered in your juices. It tears a downright animalistic sound out of him, a trembling snarl from somewhere in his chest as he thrusts once, twice, then finally pumps you full of creamy thick seed.

His mouth is agape, transfixed in a silent ‘o’ as his hips stutter and his balls draw up tight, every atom in his body devoted to filling you completely. When he’s finished, he rolls his hips a few more times, fucking his cum deeper inside of you despite his hiss of overstimulation.

Your limbs are putty in his hands as he slides out slowly and adjusts you into a more comfortable position, his eyes lingering on the way some of his cum drips out of your loose hole. He pushes it all back in with two fingers, giving you a small smile of apology at your choked mutter, before collapsing down next to you and dragging you close to his chest.

“...How long does this last again?” You rasp, voice sore from screaming. Miguel hums in contemplation, nosing your shoulder from where he’s draped over you.

“About a day and a half more to go,” He responds languidly after a moment. “Are you okay with that?”

You know you’re going to be so sore by the end of it. You know you’ll probably be feeling it for weeks on end after. You know you’ll probably have to take a few sick days to recover too.

“Mhm,” You answer, kissing his cheek. “I can handle it,”

“That’s good,” He replies quietly, and you stiffen, feeling his fat softened cock twitch against your thigh. He raises his head to give you a semi sheepish look and you gulp.

Maybe you can’t handle it, actually. It’s okay though, since Miguel will take care of you long after.

—

Man im so sorry this was pretty late. At least i managed to get it in before October ended. Also I’d let that man dick me down any day of the week, 24/7 😻😻

#across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #into the spider verse #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman atsv #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara imagine

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idkimnotreal · 1 year

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my uncle and my dad have two different theories about the construction of the pyramids in egypt.

my dad says some technologically advanced human civilization was wiped out, but it built the pyramids before that, and he believes we live in cycles and that ours will also be wiped out in time to give birth to a new one.

my uncle straight up believes it’s aliens.

i tried explaining to them humans have been smart for quite some time. thousands of years to be precise. i told my uncle humans have known the approximate circumference of the earth for more than 2000 years. we didn’t need satellites for that. thus it’s comprehensible that ancient egypt would have the tech to build the pyramids.

but it didn’t get to me that they’re not doubting ancient egyptians had the capacity to build those huge things - they’re doubting they actually did it. and to me it seems that 1) they don’t understand the motivations to do that, as a pyramid is meaningless to us today and 2) they can’t grasp logistics to build those things and the absolute tragedy of massive loss of human life (for instance; my uncle says that saws are fragile and will break every so often, so i said they made another one. he scoffed at that. but they really did make another one - thousands of times. that’s the power of absolute state the likes of which we see in china today. egypt was just the first).

that is why they think it’s aliens (or almost aliens). they just don’t understand how ancient societies functioned. future humans or our descendant species might wonder why we built the burj khalifa or football stadiums and how. but they’re important to us now, and we’re willing to dedicate massive resources to build those things (even though some stadiums will only be used once, and even though the burj khalifa is empty inside). the pyramids were just that on steroids.

#perhaps next time i'll try explaining history to them #and not engineering #maybe most people just miss the point #as it always is in discussions especially political #i mean what differs us from other primates is exactly that #that we can abstract #we can organize #we can devote an entire society to one huge undertaking #because we made up some story that makes everything work cohesively #see folks soft sciences are also important #hard sciences might take us far but soft sciences prevent us from killing ourselves by being dumb #(and autistics are faulty drones because those stories don't work us which breaks the cohesion and maybe that's why they made the inquisiti #on to pursue faulty drones yes i know it's not that but it would be a nice fiction)#but it's why they kick us out of hierarchies #social hierarchies #autistics just lack what made humanity great though in turn we receive other 'gifts'#gifts which allowed us to give the rest of the species things to work with using their cohesion like fire tools maths computers and so on #anyways i digressed quite a bit but this is the appropriate use of tumblr tags so it's alright

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calumfmu · 2 months

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The King's Reign

King Steve, the stupid nickname you had heard your entire life. The rumors, the huge ego to match. It was everything that made you hate him, especially when your best friend wouldn't shut up about him. Robin was forcing you to be friends with him, but it wouldn't stop the passion you had dedicated to wanting nothing to do with him.

Steve Harrington x reader, enemies to lovers edition, 7.7k+ words

cw: smut, unprotected sex, oral, Steve talking you through it (!!), fingering, angst, tension, 18+, mdni

You had heard rumors of ‘King Steve’ your entire life. Being in a small town like Hawkins allowed every rumor—big or small, to be spread like wild fire. Even when it came to talking about Steve Harrington’s dick. No matter what you did, nothing could allow you to escape the whispers throughout the town.

When Robin had befriended the man of conversation, you were annoyed, to say the least. You could barely escape him when you were trying not to listen to the gossip mill, but it was even harder when your best friend wouldn’t shut up about the guy.

You chewed on a fry, eyes focused behind your friend as you gazed at a group of girls from your school across the way. They were walking into a Tammy’s, hair higher than ever and short shorts hiked up on their long legs. You stared at them, wondering if they had a run around with the guy.

Robin was droning on about something Steve had done today at work, involving a bunch of kids who seemed too young for him.

A fry hit the side of your head, knocking your focus into her instead of the girls across the mall.

“Yn!” Robin sighed, rolling her eyes at you. “You’re not even listening to me.”

“And you would be incorrect,” you responded, smoothing the grease off of your face from where it hit. You grimaced, annoyed at her antics. “You said something about Steve, some kid named Justin, and a stupid handshake or something.”

Robin pressed her lips in a straight line, rolling her eyes once more. They might roll out of her head at this point, you thought.

“His name is Dustin, and the handshake wasn’t stupid, it was cute,” she huffed, throwing her hands in the air. She pushed her food tray away from her, burger half eaten and fries lay abandon across the plastic.

You gasped, leaning across the table and you crossed your arms over your chest. “Woah, Rob.”

She furrowed her brow, wondering what you were getting at.

“I had no idea you swung that way, new development I see.” You wiggled your eyebrows at her, wanting to see how far her patience went. “I just have to know—is it as big as everyone says it is?”

You laughed and leaned back in your chair, blocking your face with your arms as Robin threw a handful of fries at you. Her patience ran out, clearly.

“Yn, can you please be serious for once?” The brunette whined, pouting out her bottom lip as she looked at you. Her infamous begging face. “I’m just telling you because I want you to be friends with him. I can’t be a child of divorce between you. It’s so emotionally draining.”

You giggled, eyeing the way her uniform made her look ridiculous as she begged you. It was rumpled in all the wrong places, red tie hanging loosely at her neck. It made her look like she was perpetually going to a Halloween party.

“How do you think I feel being an actual child of divorce?”

She gaped at you, mouth hanging open as she was at a loss of words. Sputtering, she found the words to say, “Fuck, okay my bad. You know what I meant!”

“I know, Rob, Im just fucking with you,” you laughed, shaking your head as she flushed in the face. She genuinely felt bad, you could tell.

Your parents had recently divorced, next month marking the full year since their split. Tommy and his stupid friends had made it their entire personality and asked you about it ever since the news hit the town. What’s wrong with Mommy and Daddy, they would ask. Daddy found out Mommy slept with the entire town?

You grimaced, thinking about the memories. None of the rumors were true, but that didn’t falter the town people into thinking that you all should be walking around with a Scarlet Letter on your chest.

Shaking your head, you diverted the subject as you hand came to rest of the table. “Me and Steve have never been friends, so you can’t be a child of divorce, Rob. And also, I don’t want to be friends with him.”

Robin stretched her arms across the table, grasping your hand in the two of hers. “Yn, please. I know we both used to hate him-”

“Still do.”

“-but I really think you’ll like him,” she continued, not batting an eyelash at your interruption. “He’s not that same Steve-”

“King Steve.”

“-that everyone talks about. Those rumors are just rumors, I mean, you know how it goes.” She paused when you looked away from her, squinting as you stared unfocused in the distance. You took a deep breath, clearing your throat in discomfort as you turned to look back at her. “Please, Yn?”

You chose silence in this moment, blinking at her with a serious expression on your face as she pouted at you. Her blue eyes were practically watering at this point, long lashes batting rapidly at you.

“Please, Yn.”

Her pleads continued, grip squeezing into your hand as a deadpan expression was being held on your face. This went on for another two minutes (you counted) as she begged you, leaning down every 15 seconds or so to kiss at your hand.

“Okay! Okay, fine, Rob!” You gave in, laughing as she decided to place kisses all over every inch of your hand. She cheered, throwing her hands in celebration before shaking them clasped at the sides of her head, as if thanking an audience for winning an award.

“I literally love you so much, Yn,” she beamed at you, lips stretched thin as she exposed all of her teeth to you. You don’t think she’s smiled this big, ever. “So, tonight, I was thinkin-”

“Tonight?!” Your eyes opened wide, heart beating in your chest as you realized how soon this interaction was going to be. You thought you at least had more than a few hours.

“Oh,” she smirked at you, tilting her head to the side. “Did I not mention that it was tonight?”

Sighing, you trailed a hand down your face, pulling down your features as she shared the details to come. You loved your friend, you really did. She was your best friend, but Christ was she a lot sometimes.

Awkward wasn’t the word to describe the tension in the room. The only sound you could hear was Robin’s nails clacking against the sound of her glass, and Steve’s occasional cough.

You were curled into the side of the couch, Steve on the other, Robin in between the two of you. Steve was looking every which way except the two of you, hand running through his hair as he chewed on his bottom lip. Robin glanced between the two of you, taking sips of her watered down sloppy cocktail in her hand. She kept moving to say something, mouth opening and closing around empty words.

You with your back against the arm of the couch, feet tucked into you as you stared down Steve. You were curious, if they were to ask you. You took in his features, his long hair, giant brown eyes, and navy—is that fucking cashmere?—sweater across his shoulders.

You were observing why him and Robin were friends, why this man had such a hold on your friend. He was attractive, you could admit, boyish features drawing you in, in a way you would never admit in a thousand years. He seemed nervous in this moment, something you hadn’t expected him to be. Cocky, arrogant, rude, brash, anything but this.

But he was still King Steve. The man you had heard about since you went to elementary school together. You were forced to listen to stories of Steve kissing girls underneath the jungle gym evolved to him fucking them in the back of his BMW at the drive-in. It was repulsive.

Robin cleared her throat, drawing your attention away from Steve as his into her. She offered a small smile, awkwardly tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“So… guys,” she phrased it like a question, voice dragging up on the end of the word. “How about actual conversation?”

“Sure.”

“No.”

The two of you having contradictory answers caused your eyes to be pulled into each other. Your face was unmoving as Steve raised his eyebrows at you, confused.

“I’d rather sit in silence,” you muttered, breaking eye contact with him as you leaned your head into your hand. Staring at him while he was focused on something else was one thing, but holding eye contact made you crumble, a slight blush crossing your features. You focused on Robin, shaking your head as she gave you a pleading look.

The blush on your face didn’t go unnoticed by Steve, a suggestive quirk of his eyebrow coming up to cross his face. It was like a switch flipped, the cockiness that surrounded the King Steve rumors coming into play.

“I think that’s a great idea, Rob,” he muttered, voice low as he stared into you. You turned your face towards the coffee table, examining the items abandon on the glass. Your eye twitched at the nickname of your best friend you so often used. You studied the nearly full bottle of vodka surrounded by shot glasses, a deck of cards, and a joint tucked into a clear baggie.

Robin had been optimistic at the night having a positive turn of events.

“I’ll start,” Steve said, turning his entire body so he was facing you. Your bodies mirrored each other, Robin sitting awkwardly in the middle as her eyes flitted between the two of you. “So, Yn… How come I’ve been friends with Robin this long, and have never had the honor of meeting you?”

“Wish I could say the same,” you rolled your eyes, leaning your head on your hand. Your heart was beating heavy behind your chest as you watched this man practically morph into a completely different person.

“Yn…” Robin’s hand came to rest on your knee, squeezing as her voice was a warning to you. Be on your best behavior, you could hear her thoughts.

“Hmm,” he answered, you felt his eyes brushing over your figure. You felt insecure in that moment, focusing on the bottle of vodka as you debated the quickest way to black out in that moment. “I’m just saying, Yn. I’ve heard about you for so long, yet I think this is the first time I’ve even seen you.”

You cut your eyes suddenly to him, your own gaze darkening as his words echoed through the room. You weren’t going to crumble (this time), your mind intent on showing him you weren’t intimidated by him.

At the eye contact, his smirk widened even further. There was a glint of something in his eye, similar to the stories you had heard of the Harrington Charm, or so it was called.

“Funny enough, I’ve heard a lot about you too, Steve,” you replied, huffing as his name left your mouth. “This town can’t stop talking about you. King Steve and how you’re so irresistible.”

The last word in your mouth dripped with venom, squinting your eyes at the suggestive look on his face.

Silence held the next few moments, Robin looking at the ceiling as she muttered words under her breath. It sounded something like a prayer.

“Would you like to find out, Yn?” His voice was low as his eyes bored into you, teeth dragging across his bottom lip as your name escaped his lips. Hair hung into his eyes, head tilted down slightly as he leaned forward an inch. Your breath hitched at the small movement, words at a loss.

Robin shot up from the couch suddenly, arms thrown into the air as she turned around to face the two of you. She shook her shoulders, grimacing at the interaction. “Okay!”

Steve slowly dragged his eyes away from you, smirk disappearing as he glanced up at the brunette. Just like that, King Steve was gone. He settled back into the arm of the couch as his eyebrows were raised to his hairline, lips parted as he stared at your best friend.

“Enough of whatever that was,” Robin tried to blink away the memory, hands resting at her hips. She turned to look at the coffee table behind her, leaning over to grab the abandoned bottle of vodka and the deck of cards. Grimace still present amongst her features, she held them up. “Drinking game, anyone?”

The night continued among the three of you, shots being poured as matching face cards were being thrown onto the table. You were pretty drunk at this point, vision blurring as you leaned into your friend. She was resting her head on top of yours, laughing at something Steve was doing.

He had stuck a card to his forehead, trying to guess which one it was. His eyes were glazed over, slightly hooded with intoxication as him and Robin bickered back and forth about the number of cards there was in deck.

He was losing the debate, set on why Robin was wrong. You had a dopey smile on your face, enjoying the interaction between the two of them. You could see why they got along, energies so different, yet so similar.

“Harrington, you’re so wrong,” Robin laughed, shaking her head as she ripped the card off of his face. A small red mark was left behind, Steve groaning as he rubbed it.

She stood up from the floor, stretching her arms out as she walked away from where you all were surrounding the coffee table.

“I’m starving, Steve, come with me,” she demanded, holding a hand out to help the man up as he complained.

“What about me?” You asked, frowning as you watched him begin to trail her into the kitchen. Your question went unanswered, the two disappearing around the corner.

You sighed to yourself, laying out your body on the floor as the room began to spin in circles. Eyes closing, you held your breath, praying you sober up a little before the end of the night comes upon you.

The look on Steve’s face flashed behind the darkness of your eyes, the sound of your name in his voice echoed in your ears. You felt a small smile creeping on you, only for you to open your eyes suddenly, viscerally shaking the memory out of your mind.

What the fuck, Yn? You questioned yourself, blinking as you looked around the room. Glancing at a clock across the room, you noticed it was half past 1 a.m., way later than you realized. Fuck, my parents are going to kill me.

You glanced towards the direction of the kitchen, head tilting back against the carpet. Robin and Steve’s voices were low, but urgent, causing you to sit up on your elbows.

You strained your ears, trying to focus in on her words.

“-don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Steve!”

“Whaaat?”

Their voices were heavy with the liquor, almost sounding drowsy.

“Stop trying to fuck my friends, Steve. I’m serious.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, breath getting caught in your chest as you heard Steve laugh loudly at her words.

“Shhh!” You heard a thud, presumably the sound of her hand hitting him, based on the “Ow! What the hell!” that followed.

“Steve…”

Silence followed the conversation, your ears straining to see if the conversation continued, only for you to be met with the sound of footsteps coming your way. You panicked, moving to lay back down on the carpet. You crossed your hands over your chest, breathing fast as you tried to pretend like you hadn’t eavesdropped that entire thing.

Glancing up, you saw Steve swaying over you, hand on his hips as he smiled down at you. The overhead light shone over him, creating a halo around his perfectly styled hair.

You allowed yourself to stare for only a second before rolling your eyes.

“You’re blocking my light, Harrington,” you muttered, turning your head in the opposite direction.

He chuckled, moving so he sat next to you. He sat with his legs pulled close to him, being held together with his arms as they were clasped together.

“Sorry, didn’t realize you were getting a tan,” he was sarcastic in his words, light look on his face. He stared down at you, eyes grazing over your stretched out limbs.

“Why don’t you like me, Yn?” He asked, teeth pulling at the skin on his lip.

You closed your eyes, sighing as he started up that shit again. Did you not just have that conversation earlier that night?

“I quite like you,” his voice was a whisper now, hand coming out to dance at the edge of your own sweater. You pulled your arm away from him, tucking your elbow into your side. “You’re good for Robin.”

Questioning where Robin was, you glanced in the direction of the kitchen. Coming out was muffled sounds of her moving around the refrigerator, glasses clinging into one another. She was muttering to herself, something about pickles dipped in Greek yogurt.

“I think you’d be good for me, too.” The low tone of his voice had you squeezing your legs together, watching as his eyes briefly looked down at the movement. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling the strands back into place.

“Leave me alone, Steve.” You tried to even your voice out as much as possible.

“I know you’re curious,” Steve cocked his head to the side, eyes trailing over your face. “About King Steve and his reign.”

You hacked a laugh, surprised at the boldness he had in this moment. The man’s ego was huge, even if he had the looks to back it.

“His reign? Is that what you want to call it?” Before you knew it, a small smirk of your own toyed at your lips.

“Oh, we can call it whatever you want,” the smile dropped from his lips as that darkened look took over his eyes once more. The amber glow of his irises turned nearly black, eyes narrowing as he stared into yours.

“The only thing I’m curious about,” you felt his fingers brush your clothes ribcage, ignoring the sensation, “is how there’s not a single bad thing to be said about this King Steve.”

His eyes slowly dragged over you, starting at your eyes to your lips to your chest and lingering at the spot between your thighs before returning to meet your gaze. He sucked in his bottom lip, gaze glancing towards the kitchen door as Robin began to make her way out, balancing about seven things between her arms.

She giggled, paying attention to the shaking of the items as she tried to not spill anything.

Steve’s voice dropped to a low whisper, barely audible, “Don’t you know that curiosity killed the cat?”

You gulped, eyes on him as he switched it off, getting up to help Robin as she struggled with the items. You are so fucked.

Ever since that night between the three of you, you had been tagging along with Robin and her newfound friend more. The facade had been dropped, Steve no longer being flirtatious with you as you tried your hardest to ignore him.

He began to treat you the same as Robin, making stupid jokes towards you and letting his nerdy side come out during the interactions. Your hard exterior slightly crumbled away, defenses lowering as you realized that Robin may have been right about him. They weren’t completely gone, just lowered just enough to get to know him.

He wasn’t as much as an asshole as you imagined, he spent most of nights with a bunch of kids anyways. It was surprising, you had muttered some joke about the kids being “a little too young for you, Harrington?” only to earn his disapproval back. It was the most serious he had been since you met him, eyes dropping to the floor as he shook his head. You felt bad, seeing how defensive he had been over these kids he had practically adopted.

After that interaction, you dropped the King Steve stuff, seeing that your perception of him had been completely wrong. You would love to say that a beautiful friendship was blossoming between the two of you, but it was the opposite of that. You still hated him.

Every time you looked at him, you were reminded of his past, his stupid friend group that he used to hang with. Tommy had made the past few years of your life a living hell, torments of your parents separation and alleged affairs circling in the depths of your mind.

You watched him as he sat on the back porch of his house, cigarette hanging between his fingers as he reclined in the lawn chair over looking the pool. Robin sat in the chair next to him, turning the dial of the stereo as she tried to find a station with “goddamn decent music.”

The night sky hung heavy over you, your feet dipped into the pool as you watched the two from your perch on the side of the pool.

Smoke circled around him, lacing in and out of his hair as he looked in the night sky. A single light from the sliding glass door illuminated the back yard. His hair was annoying, perfectly framing his features as he blinked into the stars of the night.

As you took in the view of him and the rest of his backyard, rolling your eyes at the wealth that stood around you. Typical Harrington and his perfect home.

“Okay, fuck this,” Robin sighed, huffing as she shut off the stereo. She rose from the lawn chair, slipping on her shoes that lay beside it. “I’m over this, I’m going to bed.”

She began walking towards the sliding door, ruffling Steve’s hair as she past him. You protested, kicking your foot in the water.

“You’re going home?” You asked, watching as she paused to speak to you.

“Gonna sleep in Steve’s parents room, they’re not home,” she shrugged, yawning as she stretched her arms over her head.

“Never home,” Steve muttered with a shake of his head, thinking it was under his breath as he took a drag of his cigarette. You glanced at him, brow crinkling slightly at his comment.

“Just come up whenever you’re tired, Yn.” Robin turned, muttering a “g’night” as she made her way into the house, sliding the door behind her.

You looked down at your feet, watching the way the water circled at your ankles. Sounds of water swirling and crickets chirping in the stickiness of the night were filling your senses. You almost forgot Harrington was there, the sound of his cigarette burning out in the water interrupting your thoughts.

You looked at him from where he flicked it in the water. He stared at the way the burned bud floated in the water, moving in small circles as it soaked up the water around it. He seemed to be in a trance, eyes unfocused as they squinted around his thoughts.

You turned your eyes towards your feet again, ignoring him. You didn’t care. He was still that same Steve you despised so much.

“You want to sit here?” Steve asked, pulling you from thoughts once more. “Waters gotta be cold.”

“Absolutely not.” You were stubborn, squaring in your shoulders as your defenses picked up. You heard him huff, breath long as he exhaled.

“Why the fuck are you so rude?” He snapped, your head quickly swiveling to look at him. He shook his head as his hand rested at his bent knee, he continued to stare into the water. The half empty cigarette box was being turned over and over in his grasp.

“Easy for you to say, Harrington,” you shot back, anger seething through you as you got out of the pool. Water dripped around your feet as you grabbed your shoes next to you. You began to storm past him, muttering curses at him. “Good fucking night, asshole.”

You stopped at his chair, glaring down at him as he looked at you, eyes shifting up in your direction as his head stayed centered. Warmth flashed over you as you imagined he looked just like The Fallen Angel in this moment, eyes rimmed red as his gaze cut into you.

You ignored the thought, leaning over him as you seethed, “I don’t know what you think this is, Harrington, but we are not friends. We'll never be friends. You made my life a living hell, and I will resent you for that for the rest of my life. These rumors painting you in good light makes me loath you even more.”

Steve scoffed at your words, getting up so he stood in front of you. You bit your tongue as he towered over you, breath heavy as he searched your face, your harsh words lingering in the air.

“I didn’t do anything to you,” he whispered, voice low as your heart thundered. You swore he could hear it as he glanced down your body. "I've been nothing but nice to you."

“Liar.” You shook your head, taking a step back as he took one in your direction.

“Okay,” he nodded his head, lips forming a frown. His hand reached up to pull at his hair, rolling his eyes as they closed with a sigh. He opened them, hand moving to rest at his hip. “Tell me then, what did I do that was so bad for you, Yn.”

“You know.”

He shook his head, not taking that answer. He remained silence.

“You know,” your voice cracked, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

He shook his head again, tilting his head as he examined you. His own eyes blinked rapidly, jumping back and forth between the two of yours.

You sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. All of the anger dissipated, sorrow filling your chest instead.

“You let Tommy torment me, you let him say what he did about me and all of his stupid friends,” your voice was fragile, volume moving up and down as your words came out. “You might not have said anything, but that’s the worst part, Steve. You were a bystander during the worst times of my life, and you didn’t. Do. Anything.”

Your finger punched at his chest with every word, emphasizing your point. Steve looked down at the assault of the digit, grabbing it between his fingers at the last word.

His touch burned your skin, a feeling that felt so wrong, but so right at the same time.

“You’re absolutely right,” Steve agreed with you, fingers holding your hand tightly. “I was—I was terrible. I was a jerk, a coward, if you will.”

Your eyes looked up into his at his words, hearing him out.

“I’m not friends with him anymore. I met Nancy all that time ago, and things changed for me,” he continued, thumb rubbing circles over the skin. Your heartbeat quickened, glancing down at his movement. “I met Robin, and things only got better. That perception you have of me is so different. So, so different than me now.”

He left go of your hand, watching as it dropped to your side. Steve was only inches away from you, the left over tobacco scent mixing with the detergent of his clothes.

A single tear streamed down your face, your hand shooting up to wipe it away. His gaze softened, shaking his head at you.

“It appears King Steve has dropped his crown,” he muttered, earning a small laugh out of you. You dropped your head, stepping back as a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

Steve’s laugh followed your own, chuckling low as yours picked up. The two of you stood there laughing at each other, an ache in your side forming as you realized the ridiculous situation you were in.

You both quieted down, staring at each other as the moonlight filled the sky above you. The buzzing of the porch light filled the air.

Steve’s eyes were huge in this lighting, his long lashes curled up towards his brows. The small pout of his lips were wet from his tongue darting out, licking at the skin. Moles dotted his skin, cheeks full as joy crossed his features.

You could see him in this light, for who he truly was. That asshole image may have lingered in the back of your mind, but you could see that he was truthful in his speech.

“I may miss him, you know,” you said, looking at your feet as the words came out. “King Steve.”

You glanced up at him, crossing your arms over your chest. His eyes were dark again, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Oh?” You couldn’t pull the emotion off of his face, a mask placed over it.

You nodded, continuing, “I never got to know him the way most people did.”

Smirking at your words, you turned towards the house and walked up towards the sliding glass door. You didn’t bother looking back at him, opening up the glass as you stepped through muttering a goodnight as you entered the house.

It was dark in there, the only light illuminating was the one hanging over the staircase. The image of the look on Steve’s face burned in your mind, how his dark eyes reflected the moonlight. As you trekked up the stairs on your way to meet Robin, you couldn’t help but think that you took things too far at the end. You’ve hated him all this time, why all of a sudden did you want to mess with his head about the idea of King Steve ?

Reaching the end of the hall, your hand reached for the doorknob, stopping in its place as you heard footsteps running up the stairs, fast in their pace.

Your brow furrowed, turning towards that direction as you watch Steve ascend the stairs, turning the corner to the hall in your direction. He was slightly out of breath, colored in the cheeks.

“You want to?” He blurted out, fast paced with his words. You were confused.

“Huh?”

He was crossing the distance to you, eyes determined on yours. Your hand was still placed on the doorknob, grip loose.

“Harrington, what are you talking ab-”

Your words were cut off as Steve closed the distance, crashing his mouth into yours. His hands came up to rest on the sides of your face as your eyes shot open in surprise at the intrusion. Your hand left the doorknob, resting at his chest to push him away.

“What the hell was that,” you exclaimed, finger digging in his chest. Smiling at you, his hands still present on your cheeks as he tugged at his bottom lip.

He made a shushing motion with his lips, stepping closer to place his mouth on yours again. You didn’t protest, fluttering your eyes shut as his mouth began to move into yours, molding into the perfect shape.

His mouth was soft, tongue darting out to lick between your lips, an urgency as you were pulled into him. One of his hands left your face, finding your waist to press his torso into yours. Huffing, the firmness of his body against yours left you breathless as you leaned up into the kiss.

He pulled away, placing two quick pecks to yours before placing a step back. The absence of his hands on your body left a chill throughout your spine. Eyes glazed over, you blinked at him, tongue running over the feeling of him on your lips.

Steve was smug, hands on his hips as he smiled at you. Your mouth flapped open and close, not finding the words to say to him in that moment. You should be repulsed at him, that was your first thought, but you couldn’t be bothered.

“I-I don’t know what to say.” Your fingers came to brush at your mouth, looking anywhere but him. It was the first time you had been shy around him. You were starting to understand the Harrington Effect.

“You don’t need to,” he rushed, crossing the distance to you one last time to crash his mouth into yours.

He pulled you into him simultaneously pushing you into the wall next to the doors of his parents room. Your body hit it with a full yet loud thud, not caring about waking Robin in the moment.

Your mouth moved in sync with Steve’s, hands coming up to mess up its perfect style and leg curling up to rest at his upper thigh. He moaned into your mouth as his hands gripped your ass, pulling your hips into his.

This is wrong, you found yourself thinking as Steve pulled away to mouth at your neck. He sucked bruises into the delicate skin, fingers digging into your flesh. Your hands roamed free, wildly pulling at his belt his teeth grazed your earlobe.

His bulge ground into the fabric of your jean shorts, leaving you breathless as you fumbled with his buckle.

“S-Steve,” you panted into his hair, arching into his grasp.

You felt the smug fuck smile at your neck, breath sending a chill down your spine. “So needy, baby.”

The nickname had you mewling, panting even further as once of his hands came to help with you the buckle. He freed himself, leather straps hanging at his waist as he unbutton the jeans, pulling the zipper down.

Your hand reached inside, grabbing his heavy cock. You both gasped at the feeling, Steve throwing his head back at the sensation of you tugging at him under his pants. The sounds echoing through the air were filthy—Steve groaning, the wet slickness of your hand on his cock, your dirty words of affirmation flowing out of your mouth.

His hand came to rub at you through your shorts, the thick material making you see stars. Your own head hit the wall, the thud louder than before.

“Shhh baby,” he muttered, pushing them to the side as his fingers brushed over your clothed opening. He smirked at you, low groan escaping his mouth as you were already dripping wet. You huffed, squeezing at the base of his cock in retaliation, feeling the way his hips jutted out.

“C-can’t wake Robin,” he gasped, hips moving rhythmically in sync with your strokes. His head was dripping wet, the inside fabric of his underwear soaking it up.

You felt his fingers prodding at your entrance, the thick jean and thin material of your underwear pushed to the side. They brushed your folds, collecting slick as he applied pressure to the sensitive bud.

“Need you, Steve, fuck,” your face was twisted in pleasure, core throbbing as he continued to tease you. The look on his face let you know he was falling apart at your touch too, brow furrowed as his bottom lip was sucked into his mouth.

He removed himself from you, tucking the exposed part back into his pants. Grabbing your hand, he pulled you down the hall, leading to an open door. He pushed you inside, shutting it behind him as he pushed you down on the bed.

You bounced, half smiling as you rid yourself of your shirt, throwing it across the room. The jeans shorts followed, leaving you exposed in your bra and panties.

Steve stood at the end of the bed, gaze roaming over your figure as that familiar dark look took over his features.

“The things you’re doing to me,” he breathed, crossing his arms at his waist as he pulled his shirt over his head. The sight of his chest, littered with hair at the top, made a rush of heat go straight to your core.

Your eyes followed his hands, watching as they pulled down his jeans, still unbuttoned from the hallway. His boner pushed at the front of his boxers, wet patch present as the material tented.

His eyes followed your eyeline, smirking at you as he saw your legs subconsciously opening wider. Your hand came down to rub between your legs, the panties becoming stickier with each passing moment.

“You want me to show you, baby?” His voice was taunting, leaning over the bed to make his slow crawl over your body. You nodded, eyes big with desire as you felt his heat over you. “Say it.”

“I-I want you t-to show me, Steve,” you moaned, free hand reaching up to grab at his neck. He stopped its movement, hand loose at the wrist as he sucked his teeth.

"Ah ah ah, say it again." His low voice had you falling apart, wetness pooling between your thighs.

"I want you to show me, Steve." Clearer this time, you arched into him spreading your legs so he lay between. He smirked and let go, leaning down to briefly kiss your lips before making his way down your neck.

The urgency you felt in your body contradicted his slow, languid movements. You felt the admiration in his movements, teeth nipping at your skin lightly, his tongue soothing over the marks. He made his way down, kissing over what seemed like every inch of you.

As he spread your legs, he maintained eye contact with you, hair falling into his eyes. His fingers rested at the waistband of your panties, mouth pressing light kisses over your clit. The fabric was thin enough to feel the heat of your breath, and it had you mewling.

"You're so beautiful, Yn," he whispered as he pulled the piece of fabric off of you. Your hand reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes, leaning up on your elbows so you could get sight of him.

His tongue darted out, licking at your clit as you exhaled deeply. Your hips jutted out, trying to feel the full heat of his mouth as his tongue gave you tiny licks, teasing you. Steve's smirk grew, arm resting at your waist to hold you down.

"'M just getting started, my love."

He began to suck at you, tongue dipping in and out of your folds as one of his fingers found your entrance, pushing in. You watched as his eyes fluttered shut, moaning at the taste of you.

It was heaven watching him. Seeing the way his face was pushed into you, fingers moving in and out of you with a fever. They curled inside of you, toying at the bundle of nerves deep in your walls. Clenching around him, your hips began to stutter, the weight of his arm adding a pressure that made your head feel light.

Bliss approached you, slowly then all at once. You swore you blacked out for a moment, vision going white as he licked you through the pleasure. Your breath was fast, chest heaving as that familiar over stimulation worked its way through your thighs.

Steve pulled away, satisfied with your unraveling. He licked the taste of you off of his lips, rising to his knees as he pulled his boxers down. His cock sprung free, dark red at the head as it dripped in desperation.

His hand came to stroke himself, squeezing small drops of precum out of the head.

"Steve," you groaned, hand reaching to grab at him. His hips angled towards your reach, he groaned as you made contact. You gave him short strokes, focusing your attention at the head.

"You wanna give me a little taste, sweetheart?" His sweet words of affirmation had you soaked with anticipation once again, a nod coming in reply. You repositioned yourself, lying on your stomach, propped up on your elbows as you licked at his head.

A low groan escaped him, hand coming to rest at the back of your head. You took him in your mouth, lips stretching over his girth as you opened up for him.

His hand pushed on your head, forcing down some of the length that you felt shy in taking. You sucked at him, looking up at him falling apart with small thrusts of his hips into your mouth. His head was angled to the side, eyes closed as you saw them move behind his lids. His mouth was open, free hand gripping at the roots of his hair.

He looked beautiful in this light, chest glistening as a sheen of sweat covered him. His hand guided your mouth, feeling the suction of your lips over his shaft. The way his hips stuttered into you had you choking, drool pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"M not gonna last, baby," he muttered, removing himself as you looked up at him. Steve glanced down at himself, seeing the way his cock shone with the glistening of your spit.

His eyes rolled, teeth digging into his bottom lip at the sight. You understood the feeling, the both of you being so turned on, it fucking hurt.

"Turn around for me." Rising to your hands and knees, you positioned yourself, arching your back. Blind to his movements, you heard him shuffle behind you, warm hands gripping at your waist that sent a shock to your spine.

His cock nudged at your entrance, a burn coming as he stretched you open. A high moan escaped your lips, hips running from the intrusion. His hands pulled you right back, cock pushing in even further.

"Shh, baby," he whispered, running his hand up your spine to soothe you. "It'll be okay."

You nodded, looking back over your shoulder at him admiring the way you stretched over him. As he pushed in further, the stretch burned even more. The pain was soothed away by the rubbing of his hands and the words of encouragement he gave you.

"'S okay," he muttered, pushing to the hilt. "I'm right here, baby."

Your knuckles were shaking as you gripped the sheets below you. Your eyes fluttered closed, a sigh escaping your lips.

"All right here, baby. I'm not gonna hurt you." His hips reared back before pressing in again, your back arching as pleasure flowed through your body.

"Steve, fuck," you moaned his name, feeling the way he pushed into you over and over, movements slow. He grabbed onto your hips, fucking into you as the sounds of slapping skin echoed through the room.

"You're taking it so good, my love."

His words had you gasping, hips shooting back to meet his movements half way. Seeing the effort you gave him back, his thrusts became faster, fucking into you with a passion.

Steve's words continued praising you, I love to see you falling apart and feels good, baby? and take it, you love my dick so much. You were panting his name, the only word you could focus on.

That pleasure arched up your spine once more, legs shaking with the promise of release. Your orgasm hit you like a truck, falling to the bed as Steve followed you to it. His large stature hung over your body, fucking you through your high.

You couldn't help, but press your face into the mattress, pleasure rippling through you as his movements quickened. You felt him approaching his own high as his words became short, breath raising a pitch.

"F-fuck, Yn," his voice was even an octave higher, face pressing in between your shoulder blades. His thrusts were irregular, slamming into you as the entire bed rocked. "Gon-gonna cum, baby, f-fuck, you did so well."

He released into you, pressing deep as you felt him fill you up. The warmness of his cum made you moan again, the thick liquid threatening to spill out the sides of his cock deep within you.

"Such a good job," he whispered to you before pulling out, collapsing next to you. He lay on his back, hand reaching out to rest at the small of your back.

You turned your head towards him, blinking slow as you took in the mess of the man. His hair was sticking to his face, cheeks red, and wetness around his mouth. He stared back at you, smirk ever present.

"I still hate you, Harrington," you whispered to him, noticing the way your legs felt numb. Sensing the irony in your words, you felt him leak out of you. A grimace crossed your face.

He laughed out loud, winking at you. He leaned to press a kiss to your nose, watching the way it crinkled under his touch.

"I'm sure you do, sweetheart."

You hid your smile in the sheets, rolling your eyes shut. Happiness warmed your body, the lingering effects of your orgasm. A gnawing feeling came to your heart, chest pounding for a different reason. You had fallen for it, the typical Harrington charm. At that moment, you tried not to tell yourself that things may be different, thinking of his words earlier.

He was different than before, however, the thoughts of King Steve still plagued your mind. This couldn't end well, Steve doesn't end well. You opened your eyes, finding him still staring at you.

"You know, I meant what I said, right?" He asked you, seemingly reading your mind. You blinked at him, ready to push that hard exterior forward. "I am different than I was."

Warmth filled your chest, hope bubbling at the surface.

"I don't know if I believe you," you whispered, voice sounding small in the big room. He pressed his lips together, mouth dropping at the corner.

"Let me show you," he replied, hand coming to brush the hair behind your ear. "Let me do that at least."

Hesitation came over you, silence filling the air between you. A few moments passed as he searched your eyes for any sign of emotion. It was like you had an angel and devil on each shoulder, warning you yet jumping for joy at the same time.

You slowly nodded, a sigh escaping your lips. Steve beamed at you, eyes squinting with the smile.

"I swear, Harrington, if you do anything to fuck me over, I will murder you," you shook your head, not believing you'd give him a chance. He leaned over again, pressing another kiss to your lips this time. His smile was contagious, you fought it back.

"Is that a promise?"

masterlist. requests and inbox are open.

#i can’t get over robin lately #so she’s gonna be the bestie in everything #i love her #my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #fanfic #smut #steve harrington smut #enemies to lovers #dom steve harrington

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bibluebutterfly · 3 months

Text

Hoo boy. Now I've made it known multiple times on my blog that I LOATHE the whoobiefication of Vox, but lets get into why/how Vox is NOT a good person nor a baby that needs protecting and why he's all the better for it. Buckle up ladies and gentlemen, this will be long.

Now, why isn't Vox a good person? Easy. Because he (along with the other Vees) is supposed to be the bad guy of the story. Shocking, I know. Vox was NEVER intended to be a good person, and some of y'all just need to accept that.

Now for the long part: HOW is he not a good person?

Well, first of all, his literal introduction is an ad selling drones HE DESIGNED specifically for stalking,"peeping on the neighbors has never been more stylish"

Right off the bat, this tells us he doesn't care about people unless he can profit off them.

Which is also backed up by the point that he ADVERTISES Val and Vels "love potions" which are basically just roofies.

Again. This man ONLY cares about profit first and foremost, screw the people who can get hurt/SA'd by his products.

Next, he has a power of hypnosis which he is NOT hesitant to use. He can take away someones free will at a glance and uses that to his full advantage.

He's also very willing to give Val his lowest earners to shoot. Notice that he does so with no hesitance and no regret.

Also, (and most significantly) he's a huge, HUGE enabler. This guy has cameras EVERYWHERE, ESPECIALLY when Valentino is involved. He's got cameras in Val's room, Angels old room, at Vals corner of the club (which moves when Val does), there's NO WAY he DOESN'T know that Val is a r@pist.

And DESPITE that, he still sleeps with the man, is very likely in love with him, and oh yeah, FUNDS HIS WHOLE DEAL. The cameras Val uses are Voxtech cameras.

Val may be the one who does the dirty work but Vox willingly and knowingly makes a profit off of that. He doesn’t just know and do nothing, he actively HELPS Val out and obviously has no second thoughts nor regrets about it.

This is not a look of disgust or discontent, this is fondness. Genuine fondness. For Valentino. As a PERSON. Let that sink in.

There’s also the implications that Vox is jealous of the attention Angel gets from Val. Angel gets abused constantly by Val, Vox KNOWS, and still hates Angel because of the sheer fact that he takes up so much of Vals attention.

Not to mention the HEAVY implications that he gets off on watching people suffer.

“Well Vox can still do better than Val!!”

While I’m at it, I guess I should bring up the fact that BOTH Vox and Val are MASSIVE red flags.

With Val, aside from the obvious, he’s also a huge attention whore for Vox and isn’t afraid to break Vox’s property if Vox doesn’t pay attention to him. Yeah Vox gets frustrated with him, who wouldn’t be when their lover is throwing temper tantrums every other day?

With Vox, again, aside from the obvious, isn’t afraid to handle Val roughly when he’s mad, and literally screams about how watching his arch nemesis/obsession get the crap beat out of him is better than sex. Right in front of Val by the way. In regular circumstances, 9.98/10 that’s gonna get your ass dumped in a second.

Not to mention the mutual condescension ation towards each other.

And as much as fans (including myself admittedly) like to shit on Val for being a man child, Vox is literally no better.

Plus the explosive tempers.

Seriously. Vox LITERALLY cannot do better than Val. Vox is the only one who can put up with Vals BS and vice versa.

OH YEAH and lets not forget one last thing: VOX ALSO ABUSES HIS OWN EMPLOYEES.

This dude is scared of him, and it’s NOT because he’s worried about getting fired.

So yes. Vox is not nor HAS EVER been a good person.

And for me personally, I love that. I love that he’s entertaining yet awful. I love his dynamic with Alastor, and I love his relationship with Val even more.

If you’re wondering why I personally love Staticmoth, it’s because basic couple rules do not apply to them. They’re both toxic narcissistic red flags and therefore they can be as awful as they want to each other, and the other will simply shake it off. Yet there’s still heavy trust between the two (never being scared of each other) and they still have little moments together where they’re genuinely happy. It’s unique, and something I’ve never seen in media before.

Basically, if you liked Vox better when you thought he was a poor little baby being abused by Val, read a fan fiction. There’s a lot of them out there.

But people really just need to accept the fact that he’s an awful person. Always has been. He’s not better than Val by ANY means. He and Val are both evil pricks who deserve each other.

And guess what? LIKING AN EVIL CHARACTER DOES NOT MEAN YOU SUPPORT THEIR CHOICES. IT’S OKAY TO LIKE VOX EVEN IF HE IS EVIL.

But don’t go on saying that Vox was “ruined” as a character when all signs have always pointed to him being terrible.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin vox #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #vox x valentino #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin valentino #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino #voxval #staticmoth #character analysis #long post

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odinsblog · 9 months

Text

Patrick Braxton became the first Black mayor of Newbern, Alabama, when he was elected in 2020, but since then he has fought with the previous administration to actually serve in office. (Aallyah Wright/Capital B)

NEWBERN, Ala. — There’s a power struggle in Newbern, Alabama, and the rural town’s first Black mayor is at war with the previous administration who he says locked him out of Town Hall.

After years of racist harassment and intimidation, Patrick Braxton is fed up, and in a federal civil rights lawsuit he is accusing town officials of conspiring to deny his civil rights and his position because of his race.

“When I first became mayor, [a white woman told me] the town was not ready for a Black mayor,” Braxton recalls.

The town is 85% Black, and 29% of Black people here live below the poverty line.

“What did she mean by the town wasn’t ready for a Black mayor? They, meaning white people?” Capital B asked.

“Yes. No change,” Braxton says.

Decades removed from a seemingly Jim Crow South, white people continue to thwart Black political progress by refusing to allow them to govern themselves or participate in the country’s democracy, several residents told Capital B. While litigation may take months or years to resolve, Braxton and community members are working to organize voter education, registration, and transportation ahead of the 2024 general election.

But the tension has been brewing for years.

Two years ago, Braxton says he was the only volunteer firefighter in his department to respond to a tree fire near a Black person’s home in the town of 275 people. As Braxton, 57, actively worked to put out the fire, he says, one of his white colleagues tried to take the keys to his fire truck to keep him from using it.

In another incident, Braxton, who was off duty at the time, overheard an emergency dispatch call for a Black woman experiencing a heart attack. He drove to the fire station to retrieve the automated external defibrillator, or AED machine, but the locks were changed, so he couldn’t get into the facility. He raced back to his house, grabbed his personal machine, and drove over to the house, but he didn’t make it in time to save her. Braxton wasn’t able to gain access to the building or equipment until the Hale County Emergency Management Agency director intervened, the lawsuit said.

“I have been on several house fires by myself,” Braxton says. “They hear the radio and wouldn’t come. I know they hear it because I called dispatch, and dispatch set the tone call three or four times for Newbern because we got a certain tone.”

This has become the new norm for Braxton ever since he became the first Black mayor of his hometown in 2020. For the past three years, he’s been fighting to serve and hold on to the title of mayor, first reported by Lee Hedgepeth, a freelance journalist based in Alabama.

Incorporated in 1854, Newbern, Alabama, today has a population of 275 people — 85% of whom are Black. (Aallyah Wright/Capital B)

Not only has he been locked out of the town hall and fought fires alone, but he’s been followed by a drone and unable to retrieve the town’s mail and financial accounts, he says. Rather than concede, Haywood “Woody” Stokes III, the former white mayor, along with his council members, reappointed themselves to their positions after ordering a special election that no one knew about.

Braxton is suing them, the People’s Bank of Greensboro, and the postmaster at the U.S. Post Office.

For at least 60 years, there’s never been an election in the town. Instead, the mantle has been treated as a “hand me down” by the small percentage of white residents, according to several residents Capital B interviewed. After being the only one to submit qualifying paperwork and statement of economic interests, Braxton became the mayor.

(continue reading)

#politics #white supremacy #patrick braxton #woody stokes #republicans #alabama #sundown towns #racism #voter suppression

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teapartyprincess4two · 2 months

Note

omg can you make a chris version to the talkative fic? my english isn’t very good i apology if this doesn’t make sense!

Talkative- C. Sturniolo

pairing: Yapper!reader x Boyfriend!Chris

classification: SFW & NSFW headcannons

inspiration: request^^

warnings: some 18+ content, use of y/n, established relationship

summary: head cannons of Chris with a talkative, yapper girlfriend!

Talkative- M. Sturniolo (Matt’s Version)

Talkative- N. Sturniolo (Nick’s Version)

—

☆ SFW

You love to talk and that’s something Chris has loved about you from the moment he met you. He, much like you, is extremely extroverted, but every girl he’s talked to in the past has always found him to be too much. You’re his perfect match and although he also likes to talk, he loves to listen too.

☆ Chris never gets tired of hearing you talk, “Babe tell me the story about the teddy bear again.”

☆ You retell stories in such a detailed way that he can’t help but burst into laughter even if he’s heard it before.

☆ When you talk about your friends, it’s like you’re explaining their lore in full detail each time.

☆ “No, babe, that was Savannah. I’m talking about Teala,” or “Dude, I’m telling you that’s why they fired that bitch.”

☆ He has all the characters memorized, even categorizing their lives into arcs, episodes, and seasons.

☆ “Wow Teala is in her villain arc,” and “On this weeks episode of, Who the Fuck is Getting Fired!”

☆ He loves asking you questions because you somehow know the answer to everything.

☆ You’ll be eating dinner and suddenly a random question will pop into his mind, “Y/n, what does litigate mean? I heard someone use it today, sounded fancy.”

☆ You look up at him mid bite, slightly confused but also intrigued at a new topic of conversation.

☆ “I think it has something to do with the law, I don’t know, babe. But one time I heard someone say that on one of those court shows…” you drone on for a while.

☆ Chris always Googles the answers afterwards, not because he doesn’t believe you, but because he truly thinks you’re the smartest person on this planet and you haven’t been wrong yet.

☆ You’re both equally insane, you’ll laugh like crazy people no matter where you are.

☆ You tell the best jokes too, your mind works so fast that you’re able to create comebacks and quick, witty remarks to everything he says.

☆ Sometimes you’ll join him and his brothers on grocery trips, and the both of you wander off just completely in your own world.

☆ You’re the only person who can catch Chris off guard.

☆ You’ll say something completely unexpected and outlandish, causing him to pause whatever he’s doing and stare at you in shock.

☆ “Babe! No way you just said that.”

☆ “I said it, and I’ll say it again.”

☆ When you’re with friends, you tend to talk over each other and your friends almost break their necks switching their attention between you and Chris.

☆ To other people it might seem like you’re fighting each other for the spotlight, but in reality you’re able to bounce off each other’s energy and add on to whatever the other says.

☆ He knows what it’s like to be called annoying, so if anyone ever makes you feel uncomfortable for being talkative he defends you without hesitation.

☆ “Watch your fucking mouth. Don’t say shit like that about her.”

☆ Every conversation you have is full of inside jokes that no one else can keep up with, and it’s literally something new every week.

☆ Although other people are confused by the jokes, you and Chris understand each other fully, almost like you speak your own made up language.

☆ You make each other laugh so hard that your cheeks and ribs will start hurting.

☆ “Chris stop! I’m gonna pee,” you wheeze, rolling over on your side as you try to catch your breath.

☆ He keeps going though, making you laugh harder by making silly faces and funny voices through his story.

☆ After long days of filming and being away from you, he’ll cuddle up next to you in bed and murmur through the drowsiness, “Talk to me baby.”

☆ You know he’s tired so you don’t talk his ear off at a high energy, you just retell your day and play with his hair, kissing his face between sentences.

☆ He loves the sound of your voice, each word as sweet as honey, instantly lulling him into a peaceful sleep.

☆ You’re very opinionated and sometimes you say something he disagrees with, instantly creating a debate between the two of you.

☆ The debates always start off innocent, just you two going back and forth with opinions and the occasional fact.

☆ It’s not until it gets personal that Chris gets upset, giving you the silent treatment until you’re begging for him to talk to you again.

☆ “Chris, I’m sorry! Just talk to me, I’m so bored without you!” He tries putting on a tough guy act, but it never lasts long so he’s forgiving you within seconds.

☆ When you’re around older people, they always comment on what a nice, kind couple you two are because you engage in conversation with everyone.

☆ “What a nice old lady,” Chris says, slinging an arm around you as you both walk away.

☆ “Such wisdom,” you chime in, both of you falling into a fit of laughter. You could never take anything serious.

☆ NSFW

☆ Chris knows not to look too into your conversations with other guys, but sometimes he can’t help but get jealous.

☆ He’ll lose you at a party and find you talking to a stranger, an excited aura surrounding you as you jump from topic to topic.

☆ When he sees the guy becoming too comfortable and touchy, he makes his way over to you and inserts himself in the conversation.

☆ Later, he’s fucking you to teach you a lesson and clamping a strong hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, “This dirty little mouth of yours got you in trouble, Princess.”

☆ Other times he just gets turned on by your voice.

☆ He wants you to talk him through the sex and guide him on what positions you want.

☆ “C’mon baby, tell me how bad you want it.”

☆ Despite you both being talkative, there’s times when you’re so fucked out you’re speechless.

☆ The only sound that fills the room is skin slapping and Chris’s animalistic grunts, followed by your whimpers and small squeaks.

☆ He relishes in it, “This dick has you speechless, huh?”

☆ All he gets in response is a whimper, as you claw at his back for support.

☆ Chris loves when you dirty talk him, using your words to say filthy things to him.

☆ It riles him up beyond belief, and if you keep it going he’s lasting at least 3 rounds.

☆ Afterwards, he loves cuddling or spooning, both of you talking for hours about your future together.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

Happy birthday to me! (It was yesterday at this point)

Thank you for this request and NEVER apologize for your English/ grammar. I’m a bilingual education major and I firmly believe you don’t need to apologize for that EVER. I luv u!

Also I’m bilingual (English & Spanish) If any of yall ever want to send in a request in Spanish, go ahead bbys! LOS AMO 💋💋💋

Lastly, I’ll admit that this was harder to write than Matt’s version idky

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

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floatmeintothesun-2 · 4 months

Text

Utterly Enraptured

Pairing; Miguel O’Hara x f!reader

tags; breeding, little bit of overstimulation, Miguel goes into rut, creampie, wordcount 4k

Summary; Miguel seems to have forgotten about a certain side effect from having half of his genetic makeup being spider DNA

EXPLICIT - MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

—

He wants to push it all back in with spit slicked fingers, kiss away all of your tears and do it all over again until you’re sobbing in pleasure, begging for more, more, more –

Miguel wakes up feeling fire burn at the base of his spine and the undeniable hardening of his cock. He immediately wants to just roll over and go back to bed.

Right, you have your early work shift today.

And you’re not here. Unfortunately. He imagines your hand, smaller than his, wrapping securely around his length, the other curled loosely around his hot, swollen balls, and slowly exhales.

Miguel heaves a sigh and gets up, stretching lazily. The chill seeps into his skin and he resigns himself to taking a cold shower.

(He ends up having to clean spurts of creamy white off of the shower walls anyway. He is so fucked.)

—

There’s something wrong with him. There’s something wrong with today. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Miguel can’t get you out of his head.

“Lyla,” his voice is strangled. “What’s the date?”

His assistant flickers to life next to him, drawing up a calendar.

Mentally, he berates himself with a low hiss, feeling annoyed that he didn't connect the dots earlier. His throat is dry and he swallows raspily.

It happens every other month through the 8th to the 10th when his body decides that it’s time to procreate and do nothing else for the next two days.

He sucks in a ragged breath slowly, trying to calm his fast beating heart. It doesn’t work, only serving to remind him of the pulsing in his chest and between his legs.

Miguel can already feel the precum seeping out of him and staining his boxers. A whine rips itself out of his throat as he buries his head into your pillow, basking in your familiar sweet smell.

A heady mixture of your favorite shampoo, perfume and body, all swirling around him as he grinds his lower half into the bed desperately like a dog in heat.

It’s not enough. It’s not enough.

He wishes you were here right now, wishes that he could pepper your face with kisses and croon apologies while he slowly bottoms out in your tight cunt while you writhe beneath him.

Or on top of him. He doesn’t give a damn. Any position you want, he’ll do it.

His hips jerk upwards and he can’t help but imagine your hand instead of his, can’t help but imagine how much better it would feel.

He gasps quietly as his thumb presses against his slit, jaw tightening, fangs threatening to break skin. The hand currently not wrapped around his cock is clenching the bedsheets hard enough to rip.

He just needs to wait. He just has to wait a little longer. You’ll be home soon.

—

You peek around the hall, letting your aching feet be comforted by the rugs near the living room. Where is Miguel anyways?

“Heyyyy,” Lyla pops up in front of you suddenly, grinning when you startle. “Looking for Miguel?”

You set a hand on your chest trying to calm your jackrabbiting heart, before giving her a small smile.

“Well uh, he’s in there. Might wanna be careful though,” She mutters, checking out her bright pink nails absentmindedly. You raise an eyebrow.

“Why’s that?”

In lieu of explanation she draws up a calendar and materializes a glitching pen in her hands, circling the date. Your frown in confusion.

Lyla nods empathetically.

“Yeah…well, good luck! I've heard that massages really help with soreness.” She vanishes with a pop of golden glimmers, leaving you alone in the hall.

Oh fuck.

He doesn’t answer for a second, visibly trying to contain himself before he speaks, low and ragged.

Your shirt is practically discarded at the speed of light and you shiver for a second at the cold washing over your skin before Miguel's all over you again.

Thick fingers nimbly pull at your pants waistline.

"Hurry up, Miguel, please," You whine, wiggling your hips as if to try and encourage him. As if he needs any sort of encouragement.

"Do you care about these panties?" He asks, quick and low. You blink.

"No…? –! " You gasp as he lowers his head and fucking rips them off of you in one quick motion with his damn teeth. "Miguel!"

"You're doing so good, so good, baby. You feel so – fuck, so good. Can you take one more?" He asks breathlessly. "C’mon, you're such a good girl, aren't you?"

"Cum, baby, you can do it, you can fucking cum for me, can't you?" He latches onto your tit, swirling his tongue around your nipple in such a way that makes your head foggy.

And who is he to deny you?

Your brain is so mushy and pleasure-drowned that it takes you a second to realize that he’s still talking and oh fuck.

“...How long does this last again?” You rasp, voice sore from screaming. Miguel hums in contemplation, nosing your shoulder from where he’s draped over you.

“About a day and a half more to go,” He responds languidly after a moment. “Are you okay with that?”

You know you’re going to be so sore by the end of it. You know you’ll probably be feeling it for weeks on end after. You know you’ll probably have to take a few sick days to recover too.

“Mhm,” You answer, kissing his cheek. “I can handle it,”

“That’s good,” He replies quietly, and you stiffen, feeling his fat softened cock twitch against your thigh. He raises his head to give you a semi sheepish look and you gulp.

Maybe you can’t handle it, actually. It’s okay though, since Miguel will take care of you long after.

#miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #astv miguel #miguel x you #Miguel smut #miguel atsv #miguel ohara

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tojisun · 4 months

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/tojisun/738535284282638336/a-tentative-hc-of-bimboreaders-insta-acc bimboReader is a penguin lover?! I can picture her calling ‘Simmy’ in tears when she learns that penguins give pebbles as courting gifts 🥰

she is into penguins!! it’s her current fixation, on top of butterfly migration cycles (and selfcare routines – this one is sups important because it’s also meant to give simon a moment of reprieve; just the two of them enjoying a quiet relaxing skincare sesh <33)!! and ahshdhe this made me giggle sm oh this is so adorable and silly, i fear!!!

bimbo!reader mlist <3 // divider by @/plutism ^3^

simon’s focus is splintered at the first chimes of his phone, the sound ringing within the small war room and taking the attention of his squad. his captain trails off into silence, shooting a bewildered look towards simon – it’s not like simon can blame him, after all, this might be the first time he’s actually brought his phone with him during a briefing.

“what…” johnny murmurs but simon ignores him, still planting his focus to his CO as he tilts his head in silent question. john sighs before shooting simon a short nod, giving him his permission. simon turns to leave before john’s even done nodding, his quiet footsteps drowned out by the sound of john dismissing them for the day.

simon doesn’t even need to guess who’s calling him, after all, it’s only your number he’s saved in his work phone. it’s only you who can reach him when he’s out of the city. usually, though, you wouldn’t call him at this time, choosing, instead, to send series of texts about your day or sending over pictures of mittens or anything that could have caught your fancy. so receiving a call from you worries him, the ball of anxiety in his stomach ever-so expanding until he’s all choked up.

he’s barely made it to his room when simon accepts your call, your name falling from his lips with a breathless whisper.

the answering sniffle on your end does nothing to calm him down, the worry simmering underneath his veins spiking up higher. lashing out angrier.

“shh, sweetpea,” simon murmurs, hoping he could do more than just to comfort you over a call. “c’mon, lovie. talk to me, yeah? tell me how i can help.”

“oh, it’s just,” you mumble wetly. “pebbles.”

“…pebbles?”

“mhmm,” he hears you say. “simmy, penguins give out pebbles or rocks as courting gifts!” he hears you sniffle again. “history channel said so.”

“animal planet, sweets,” simon replies automatically before he pauses, blinking.

oh.

“oh, love,” simon wheezes out, the breath coming back to him, feeling his body finally uncoil from the tension that he was carrying. he sags down to his bed and presses the back of his palm on his temple as a chuckle rasps out from his lips. “but y’r doin’ alright?”

“hmm? oh, yes,” you say, sounding less heartbroken and simon wonders if it was because your attention’s been snagged, once again, by the animal planet channel – simon could hear the familiar british narrator droning on in the background.

simon lets out a fond chuckle. “‘lright then.” he licks the back of his teeth. “tell me more about their courting style?”

he hears you gasp before a rapid fire of information is chirped to his ears, the beautiful drawl of your voice chasing away the last remnants of the worry that had choked him up.

you tell him how the documentary was upfront in saying that scientific explanation for the phenomena has yet to be fully explored, so the documentary had honoured, instead, the longstanding theory of female penguins accepting rocks as courting gifts because it shows that the male penguin knows how he can take care of their eggs. “rocks keep the eggs and their nests afloat!”

simon hums and ohh’s and ahh’s at the appropriate times, posing questions that steered the conversation to the right track when you began to mumble distractedly. simon listens in earnest because he may not really care much about penguins but he cares a lot about you. he cares about learning your interests; cares about cultivating his own because whatever his girl wants, simon promises he will learn for her.

and with the way your voice lilts in joy, well, simon knows he’s done the right thing.

(simon returns from their mission with two rocks in his person – one is a polished pebble which he painstakingly looked for when he went down to the beach. the squad insisted on coming with him although the fuckers were not of any help – not like he would’ve accepted it anyway – as they chose to just sit by the local ice cream shop and watched as simon prowled towards the shore in the middle of winter; the one he found was a beautiful hazel colour, mixed greens and browns and even a touch of blues making up the surface of the rock.

the second one he brought with him was a diamond ring.)

this is so silly i love them bad :((

tagging: @honestlyhiswife @ghostsbimbo @kenz-ee @ivymarquis @yannauauau @yaebaal @liwooa @kariiiel @loonalockley @hawsx3 @durkakakayata @littlecellist

#anon #bimbo!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #suns #ask #luv plutisms dividers sm <33

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bella-goths-wife · 15 days

Note

How would the Vs react if their pet died in hell, forever?

The Vs reaction if pet died in hell

(This is not canon to the au!)

This is disturbing and gross so please be mindful of the media you’re choosing to consume!

Warnings: description of dead body, disturbing keeping’s of dead body, Vs sick version of mourning, grief, mentions of previous abuse, drug use mentioned

You probably would have died during an extermination

Maybe the Vs got too busy to remember to reinforce the safety precautions for the tower

Or you were accidentally downstairs when they sealed their upper level off

In any case, you are killed by an angel in cold blood

But the Vs didn’t know that yet, they were too busy at their viewing party that spies on the hazbin hotel to watch in case alastor dies

They assumed you were just in your room and decided to leave you be since they were so interested in their little spy drones

So when Vox goes to your room to check up on you and doesn’t see you in your bed, he panics

He searches all his cameras while he sends the other two to search for you

Eventually they find your body thrown across the rubble and cut open

It all happens in a very saltburn fashion

Vox doesn’t know how to react as he just drops to his knees and holds your head up while muttering about how you must be feeling cold without a jacket

Velvette just stares before mentioning how it’s almost time for breakfast and that they should all head inside, choosing to live in denial and push her feelings down for the meantime

Valentino stifles a few cries as he just stares at your dead body

They wait for someone else to get rid of your body but as soon as another demon touches your body, vox snaps and shoves them away and picks you up himself

They had to decide what to do with your body

Velvette suggested stuffing you like a doll and keeping you in her office so she could choose a new outfit for you everyday, but Vox and Valentino refused

Not because it’s disturbing and disrespectful for your dead body, but because she’d have more time with you then they would

Valentino suggested having your body burnt and fashioning accessories out of your ashes, but the other two said it would be a waste of your body

Eventually Vox had an idea, and he searched for a demon he met many many years ago

This demon had the ability to restore an item to the original condition it was in 24 hours before

It wouldn’t be able to bring you back to life since they had just missed the 24 hour window when finding your body, but they could keep your body in its first stage of the effects of death

That means your body would remain warm and soft, as if you were just sleeping

Vox had your wounds stitched up to make you look like you were just asleep and he placed you in your bed and commanded the demon to come every day and restore your body so you wouldn’t rot away

He chose to deal with your death by throwing himself into denial

He’d pretend you were just sick in bed and would still visit your corpse every night to ‘check up on you’

He’d watch you through the cameras in your bedroom in case you needed him

He started finishing work earlier to spend time with your corpse and calming ‘his daughter was sick so he had to get going’

If someone tried to point out you were dead they would receive a threatening glare and even more if they weren’t Valentino or velvette

Velvette refused to go along with that plan for the first few months, and chose to deal with your death by pushing her feelings down and finding a replacement

She assumed it was like buying a new dog after her old one had died, and refused to believe she had any emotional attachment to you

So she tried finding your replacement

She’d hire assistant after assistant who either shared your physical looks, your personality, your ability or your mannerisms

But none of them could match you in the way she needed, so she’d end up killing them or firing them

So she gave in to voxs fantasy, and began to talk to your corpse like you’d respond and began to dress your body in a new outfit every day

This worked for her, she could pretend you were here and she could still deny ever having an attachment to you

Valentino was surprisingly the one to not live into the fantasy that you were only asleep

He was the one to care about you the least in life, but he was also the one to mourn you the most on death and feel the most guilt

He drowned his sorrows in his drugs, his alcohol and his employees

He thought about how he treated you in your life, and while he didn’t feel guilt for how he abused you he did feel like a part of his missed having someone around who he could pour his frustrations into

But now you were a dead, and that somehow humanised you to him

He sometimes would get so drunk that he’d wander into your room and sit beside your corpse just to vent about how angry he felt that you’d died

How dare you? Who gave you permission to leave?

He’d just stare at your corpse and scoff, not buying into the delusions that the other two were about your dead body just being asleep

He held a funeral for you which just had him and angel dust in attendance since the other two Vs refused to believe you were dead

Angel dust was only invited because val wanted something warm to hold as he felt the complicated feelings your death brought out in him

And even so, angel dust was sure that however sad your death was and how tragic it was

You were better off dead then living with these people

@corvid007 @buttercupfangirl @lilyalone @ivebeenthearchersstuff @repostingmyfavs @the-faceless-bride @fandomaddict505 @hazbinhotelxreader @perkypeony @sparkleyfishies @idontreallyexistyet

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moonchildstyles · 8 months

Text

élan

élan part one: harry is a bodyguard by trade and y/n would do anything just to be left alone

wordcount: 18.5k+

cw: her dad is really mean tbh!! pls skip parts w him if you are senstive to that kind of thing!

—————

(Y/N) fought to keep her eyes focused in the dark of her father's office. The longer she sat there, listening to the shout of his voice, the easier it was to block it out as she waited for it to be over. She stopped listening when he went off on his tangent about how terrible she was (he loved to use the word selfish and anything he could think of to diminish her intelligence). He wasn't very creative anymore, these berating sessions feeling like a necessary task as opposed to a hurtful punishment these days.

At least the interior designer he brought in last month had moved everything around, leaving his bookshelf behind his desk. This way, she could look over his shoulder and read the titles of his books. She was almost certain he hadn't read a single volume though he most likely told everyone that followed him in, that he had paged through each book more than once.

"Are you even listening, (Y/N)?"

Perking up at the sound of her name, she nodded on instinct. "Mhm," she hummed absently.

"What did I just say?" He was unimpressed—disbelieving.

(Y/N) stayed silent.

A heavy sigh fell from her father's lips. His eyes dimmed fro the angry fire she'd spotted before, leveling to disappointed embers the longer he looked at her.

"This is what I mean, (Y/N)," he continued, harshly spitting out her name, "You don't care. Never have you thought about the consequences to your actions. You're too selfish to think of anyone but yourself!" The blaze sparked up once more as he flicked his gaze to the glossy tabloid splayed across his desk. "Can you even comprehend what this"—he gritted out the word, tapping his finger against the photo—"means for me? My investors are going to have my ass only Monday because you don't know how to control yourself for five minutes."

She squirmed in her spot. Her gaze stayed locked on the tabloid cover. She was pictured with bitter features, her brows twisted in anger and eyes were ablaze. Her hand was outstretched as she dumped a full glass of rosé on Damien Moore's perfect, blonde head. Several angles were posted, documenting her gaped lips as she spat out venomous words while Damien looked on with seemingly innocent, wide blue eyes. The last in the series showed her walking out with the wine dripping down his features as he looked on in shock. A bold headline said: "Whore-mones or Another Drunken Rage?"

(Y/N) swallowed as she took the scene in.

Perfectly manicured nails clashed in her lap, the edges of her acrylics being worn dull from the restless ministrations.

"Do you want me to fail?" her father prodded, unsatisfied with her silence.

"It's not what it looks like—," she floundered, unable to keep her feelings out of it after looking at those photos, "He—Damien—"

"It does not matter what happened, (Y/N)! This is what it looks like and that is what people are going to believe and what they are going to care about!" He seethed as he looked at her, (Y/N) unsurprised. "You're going to make us lose everything if you keep this up, do you understand that? Your apartment, everything you have in Paris, your stupid shopping sprees—you'll actually have to work if you want any of that. Did you think of any of that?"

His harsh words slipped around her, filling every breath of air she pulled into her lungs. Any fight she had, any want to defend herself or give any kind of explanation, left her in an instant. "No," she answered, resigned.

"I didn't fucking think so. You never think, anyway."

(Y/N) just looked over his shoulder. Her gaze didn't shift even as his voice continued on, droning with insults and degrading remarks.

She hadn't even known she was being photographed that day. There wasn't a single flash or shutter of a camera. The restaurant had even gone out of their way to assure them that no one would be able to slip inside without a reservation or loiter along the sidewalk in wait.

But, inside sources and photographers always found a way, she supposed. Especially since it wasn't just her, it was her and Damien Moore on something that looked like it could have been a date. Of course paparazzi were going to find a way to get a photo of them together—anything to help fuel the rumors filling gossip pages and social media.

This particularly source even went so far as to claim they were close enough to overhear the argument that sparked the thrown wine. Supposedly, (Y/N) had been seeing someone behind Damien's back (something that was impossible given the fact she had Damien weren't even talking like that, let alone in an exclusive relationship), and when he confronted her she blew up. She was so hopped up on her "whore-mones" as the headline so eloquently put it, and the obviously unfinished glass of wine, that she just had to throw the drink in his face.

Because of course it was (Y/N)'s fault. Never could it have anything to do with Damien. He was the sterling Yale grad that came from the perfect family, while she was the "party girl" with divorced parents and a wild past. It was always going to be her fault, because that was more interesting than checking your sources.

At least, that's what the "journalists" and "sources" said.

It came with the territory, her dad had told her when she was freshly sixteen and photographers started waiting outside her private school. If you wanted to make the kind of money he made and be important in this world, there was going to be consequences, that's what he'd said when he saw the first photos of her and her friends having lunch on the quad. She was a pretty girl, anyway, of course there were going to be photos taken of her. She might as well take advantage of it instead of whining.

She became a tabloid bunny before she had even turned eighteen, with every misstep documented on the internet and whatever publication bought the photos as exclusives. Because of that, this lashing was nothing to her. She'd "poorly reflected the family image" enough time to let her dad's words roll off of her.

Her father was going to probably send her to the home in Malibu or whatever vacation rental was farthest from New York until he could stomach seeing her again. She'd happily take whatever location; it wasn't like she wanted to see him either.

"(Y/N), we can't keep doing this." Finally focusing her gaze, she saw her father sitting with his eyes sealed closed, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can't keep doing this."

As much as she was numb to moments like these, it was when his anger melted away and she was left with a disappointed father that she felt cracks appear in her walls. The little girl inside still ached to see her daddy so upset with her; so disappointed he couldn't even look at her.

"I'm sorry," she offered, something genuine lying beneath the deadpan tone.

"I'm sure you are," he sighed, "But, that's not enough anymore."

Rolling her lips between her teeth, lipgloss smearing across her pout, she stayed quiet.

"At this point, it's like you need a babysitter again. You can't be left by yourself and expected to behave."

Not this again, she wanted to grumble. Her last "babysitter" was nothing more than an uppity handler that cared more about PR rather than her actual well being.

Beginning to shake her head, (Y/N) tried to politely decline before he steamrolled over her.

"I'm going to have to hire someone, whether you want it or not. A bodyguard, a handler, or something, just to follow you around and keep you out of trouble."

Her lashes fluttered as her eyes widened at his plan. Her last handler didn't do more than text her throughout the day and meet with her once a week. He wanted someone on her back all the time?

"Don't you think that's a little extreme?"

He still wouldn't look at her as he spoke, "Since you keep acting like a child, that's how I'm going to have to treat you."

A slight panic sparked in the pit of her stomach. If she couldn't have her freedom, then what was any of this for? None of this—putting up with her father, allowing him to jerk her around, take his berating—was fucking worth it, then.

"Dad, seriously," she tried again, her hands beginning to shake, "Those pictures aren't what it looks like, I promise."

"And the others?" he asked sharply, whipping his gaze to match hers intently, "The one with you and Francesca sneaking out of a club at three in the morning when you were nineteen? The one of you screaming at Terra at her birthday party? Or, of course, the clips of you showing off your underwear while getting out of some random man's car?"

(Y/N) shut down at the mention of her most famous and well photographed mistakes. He never bothered to get her side of the story to those photos either, he just liked to bring them up to taunt her. He'd rather believe an "insider" over his daughter. It didn't matter that she was his family. It only mattered what his investors thought, or the men at the country club, or whoever he was trying to cozy up to for his benefit. Every attempt to clear her name was thrown out; not even when she showed him that one of these insiders had found her home address and started sending her letters. Not even when she told him she was beginning to get scared did he even pretend to care.

"That's what I thought," her father continued after she left them in silence, "Now, I'm going to have to hire someone to ensure you don't keep causing trouble, and you are going to respect them. If you want any chance of me letting this go, you're going to respect them more than you apparently respect me."

She stayed quiet. There wasn't anything she could add to this.

"Is there anything you want to say?" he pressed. A faux offer of debate.

(Y/N) only shook her head.

"Fine," he spat out, "Then go to bed. I don't want to see you for the rest of the night."

She was up and out of her seat immediately, not wasting a single second before her Dior heels were rapidly clacking over the cherrywood floors of her father's office. Her eyes were on the ground, watching the transition between the wood to the sparkling marble throughout the rest of the flawless Upstate mansion. Everything was high-end and fine, perfect and unburdened. It was full of everything her dad wanted her to be but she could never manage to be as well behaved as a lamp or as quiet as a Persian rug.

Trailing through the labyrinth of staircases and sealed doors, (Y/N) beelined to her childhood room. It was left exactly how it had been when she moved out at nineteen. It had way too much gold and hidden compartments her friends made to hide liquor for their slumber parties. Her bed was too big with a mattress that was too stiff and sheets too starchy from disuse.

Her dad never bothered to clear it out or even change a single piece of furniture—not because he cared or wanted her to have a space in his life, but because he didn't think of her enough to even remember this was here.

Shedding her Chanel sweater and dropping her skirt to puddle at her feet, (Y/N) dressed down to her undergarments before stealing an oversized shirt from a film festival she and Francesca had been invited to at seventeen. The fabric was soft and worn as it fell to the middle of her thighs, the fit slouching and stretched just like it was all those years ago.

That was all the comfort she could find as she slipped into bed, the sheets dragging across her bare legs. With her head cushioned by an overstuffed pillow, (Y/N) shuttered her eyes as she laid of on her back. Taking in deep breaths, she did her best to keep herself from shedding any tears.

There wasn't a single reason she should cry over her father. There was nothing there for her to be upset over; none of his words sliced the way he thought they did, that father-daughter bond having been severed when she was way too young. Her efforts were better utilized trying to figure out how to get out of this whole thing.

Aside from the fact she didn't want a handler—or whatever this babysitter's official title would be—following her around, she needed her freedom. Having the space away from her father's world was the only thing keeping her sane, even if she was barely hanging on.

She'd been suffocated enough of her life, she needed to find a way to get this pair of strangling hands off of her neck sooner rather than later.

—————

"He literally arranged a flight for me to meet him in Greece, but he only ever messages me after ten like I'm a booty call or something."

Francesca's babbling complaints were some of her favorite things. It was fun hearing what the biggest problems in her life were, as if it was really such a bad thing to have a billionaire entertaining a romance with you. Even if it only occurred after ten p.m.

"Isn't there a time difference between here and Greece?" (Y/N) asked, the Prada and Dior bags in the crook of her elbow brushing against each other as she raised her hand to flick a strand of hair off of her shoulder. Summer was beginning to fall over the city, that much she could tell from the humid breeze twirling around them.

"I mean sure, but that's not the point," Fran argued, breathing out a frustrated sigh, "It's like he doesn't think I'll ghost him if he starts annoying me. He's not the only one with a yacht, you know."

"I know, bu—"

(Y/N) was cut off by the sound of her phone vibrating in her bag, the device rattling against her lipgloss tube. Francesca paused her story, watching as (Y/N) pulled her phone out of her bag. Clocking the name on the screen, she had to keep from rolling her eyes. There had already been a photographer taking photos of them through the windows of Prada and she wasn't sure if they'd followed, but a picture of her rolling her eyes before answering the phone would surely be spun into something sensational.

"Hold on, it's my dad," she mumbled before pressing the phone to her ear.

Without waiting for a greeting, her father brightened through the receiver with a call of her name. "(Y/N)! Are you still out with Francesca?" She could hear his smile through the phone. The investor meeting must have gone better than he thought.

"Yeah," she answered absently, "We just finished lunch and shopping. I think we're going to go back to my apartment before we go out tonight. Why?"

"Would you be able to come home this afternoon, instead? There's someone I want you to meet."

The lax in her muscles evaporated at his words. Though it was posed as a question, she knew there was only one answer he would accept. It was never a good thing when he wanted her to meet someone, but it was a required thing she'd learned. More often than not, he wanted her to meet an investor's son, or some man he drank too much with at the country club.

Cautiously, she asked, "Who is it?"

"It's a surprise," he beamed over the phone, "Drop off your things and I'll have one of the drivers come to pick you up."

"I mean, I think Franny actually made reservations at—"

This time around, her father's voice had a curt edge underneath the faux sweetness he started the call with. "I think you're going to have to tell Francesca that you need to reschedule, sweetie," he said, voice too pleasant, "I need you to come home tonight."

Swallowing around her dry throat, (Y/N) resigned herself to the change in the day's plans. "Okay, dad," she muttered.

"See you soon, honey! Love you!"

(Y/N) didn't bother to reciprocate his performance, instead just hanging up. He wouldn't shout at her over the dropped call if someone else was present anyway, might as well take advantage she decided.

Beside him, Francesca looked at her with a matching pout. "You have to go home, huh?"

"Yeah," (Y/N) breathed, dropping her phone back into her purse as they crossed the busy intersection, "My dad wants me to meet one of his friends or something."

Francesca affectionately bumped against Y/N's shoulder as the car taking them back to her apartment came into view. "Well, if you don't like this one, send me his number and I'll take him off your hands. Just make sure he also has a yacht in Greece."

Though her features stretched into a smile with a bubbling laugh, (Y/N) wasn't too impressed with Francesca's comment. While she was the best friend (Y/N) had ever had, the only person that knew much about what happened at home and why she would do next to anything to avoid her father, Francesca didn't get it. She supported (Y/N) and didn't mind being the listening ear and the shoulder to lean on, but she never really understood why certain things bothered (Y/N). Everything was very light-hearted in Franny's eyes—there was never a reason not to be receptive if a rich man wanted to buy her a drink or a company wanted to use her likeness without permission. Everything was an opportunity, not a crossed boundary.

"I doubt he will," (Y/N) played along, setting her shopping bags at her feet after climbing into the black car, "But I'll make sure to put in a good word for you in case he has one in Florence."

Francesca's laugh filled the cab of the car though (Y/N) was already back home with her father, trying to navigate her way out of whatever he planned.

—————

"Thank you, Sully," (Y/N) chirped as her driver helped her step out of the car.

"My pleasure, Ms. (Y/N)," he offered, waiting for her to steady herself over the gravel of her father's long driveway, "Also, I wanted to say thank you again for the clothing you passed on to my daughter. She loved her prom dress and is already asking her mom if she can get it preserved so she can keep it forever. Thank you for taking the time and picking some things out for her—it made her night."

"Of course," she bubbled, allowing Sully to escort her to the front door of the mansion, "I'm so happy she liked any of it! Let me know if she needs anything else for graduation or anything at all."

The smile on his face made it especially worth it to let go of her favorite vintage Dior gown.

Waving goodbye to Sully, (Y/N) stepped over the threshold of the front door, already regretting not fighting harder to get out of this. Goosebumps touched her skin as the temperature dropped. She shut the warmth outside behind her, the lock ensuring nothing comforting could follow her into the lion's den.

Despite the place being her childhood home, there was nothing left for her here, she knew that. It barely even resembled the same place she used to celebrate holidays and share tense family dinners in. Her dad's favorite interior designer had the pleasure of redecorating the place every few years, erasing anything that made it not look like a catalogue.

Her heels clicked over the floors as she made her way up to his office. She wanted to take her time, but she was sure her father already knew she was there. It was better to refrain from keeping him waiting.

Scaling the stairs, she heard a pair of voices and distant laughter. She didn't need to see the space to know her dad had probably cracked open the decanter of whiskey he had on display on one of his shelves, crystal glasses filled for the both of them. It wasn't hard to imagine the kinds of lines her dad would offer in an attempt to schmooze with whoever was waiting for her. She'd heard it all dozens of times at this point.

The other voice, though, took her by surprise. This one was too deep and mature to be any kind of investor's son, and too sober and untainted by years of smoking cigars to be one of the men at the country club. Her steps slowed some. Her expectations shifted as she trailed down the hallway in the direction of the office, heels muffled by the long rug under her feet.

With the heavy door to his office in front of her, (Y/N) carefully knocked on the panel, listening as the voices inside stilled at her disruption. Typically, her father would just grunt a permission of entrance or already be raging when she stepped over the threshold, but she knew he was committed to whatever show he was putting on when he opened the door for her himself.

"(Y/N), sweetie," he greeted her, toothy smile on his lips. "Thank you for coming so quickly; I know you were busy with Francesca, but I'm happy you're here."

If that wasn't enough, the hug he pulled her into was more than alarming. The last time he hugged her when cameras weren't present was the day her parents told her they were divorcing. She didn't even know how to reciprocate.

Before she had a chance to screw her head on right, he pulled away and began leading her inside his office.

"Of course," she chirped, falling into her designated role for this scene. She kept her gaze high as she followed him in, feigning confidence in the midst of whoever it was that was awaiting her.

"I have someone special for you to meet," he continued, pitching his voice louder as to catch the attention of the one other in the room.

Around his shoulder, (Y/N) spotted a head of brown hair, black clothing stretched around broad shoulders and tan skin on the back of their neck. They faced forward despite the obvious way her father was trying to catch their attention. Pacing her breathing, (Y/N) fell into the loving daughter character, willing to do anything for her doting father.

Welcome to the show. She just hoped it would be a short viewing.

Approaching the pair of chairs positioned before the cherry-stained desk, her father held out a sweeping hand. "Harry," he said, looking to his guest, "This is my daughter, (Y/N)."

At the sound of his name, the guest—Harry—stood from where he was sitting, moving with calculated grace as he turned to face the both of them. He stepped away from the cushioned seats, a stoic expression on his features as he looked towards her.

He wore all black down to his shoes, standing taller than her father's height. His arms and chest were thick with muscle, tan skin and tattoos littering the space. He had beetles and mermaids, hearts and roses inked across, some sketches more faded than others. A cross had even been needed into his hand. The chain of a necklace glimmered in the lowlight though any pendant that may be attached were hidden under the neckline of his top. Moving up the column of his throat, his face was made of hard planes and sharp angles. His nose was strong and straight. Stubble shown blonde in the light across the bottom half of his face, a mole off to the side of his mouth. Everything softened as she matched his eye contact, mossy jade with sparkles of sunlight flecked through. Long curling lashes framed his gaze.

He was gorgeous, that's for sure. Not the usual kind of person her father associated with. He must be some kind of new money millionaire, easily fooled by her father's charms.

The man took her in as well, his gaze observant as if there was a notepad he had in his head to take down every detail of her. It didn't feel like the affectionate gaze she'd felt before tracing down her body. Especially with the way his practiced expression stayed level, a wall hidden behind his eyes.

Nonetheless, she kept her facade up and ready, a beaming smile on her face. She reached out her delicately manicured hand, palm smelling of the Miss Dior cream she'd rubbed over her hands on the car ride over.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," she greeted, a mild smile on her face.

His grip was strong as he grabbed her hand, palm to palm with callouses matching the soft parts of her own. "Likewise."

(Y/N) couldn't help but to recoil some as she retracted her hand. It wasn't a new reaction, especially some people who met her after reading too much into the tabloid stories and anonymous blogs. Half the time strangers waited for her to drunkenly blow up on them. Though it wasn't a typical reaction from those who requested to meet her.

Her father didn't seem to pay any mind to the chilled interaction, rounding the width of his desk to take his throne on the other side, leaving (Y/N) and Harry to settle beside each other across from him.

"Remember when we decided you wanted extra guidance, (Y/N)?" her dad asked, bleached white smile on his face, "After everything with Damien recently?"

Ice touched her spine as she took in his sticky sweet words. She knew where this meeting was going now.

As much as he tried to hide behind the "we" words and his fake smile, (Y/N) knew this wasn't some investor sitting beside her now.

Harry was her new cage.

"I remember," she offered, her own voice sounding far away.

"Well," he continued with a flourish leaning over his desk with his elbow propped on the wood, "Harry, here, is that guidance we were looking for. He used to work for Camila and Monroe as their head of security, but he's agreed to be your personal bodyguard until you're back on track." He looked too proud of himself as he spoke. "He's going to take good care of you, sweetie."

Bodyguard.

Her personal bodyguard.

When her father pitched this whole idea and sent her to her room like a child, she honestly figured it would be another handler he would find for her. While it wasn't ideal, she knew she could deal with a handler. She could deal with an uppity woman bossing her around from a distance; she could deal with painting a facade and adhering to her father's guidelines through a handler.

But, a bodyguard—or personal security, as he so delicately put it—was a different story.

Harry would be tasked with following her everywhere. He'd have access to her home, access to the person she was around her friends, who she was around her father. Downtime would no longer be a thing with Harry around—recovery and privacy being thrown out.

Francesca had a bodyguard when they were teenagers. Though it was only over the summers when they weren't away at school, those months he was present were... odd to (Y/N). He wasn't a mean man, but he was always there. Franny wasn't as bothered as she was, but (Y/N) felt like there was no privacy—no space to talk to her best friend about anything. He was always there listening, watching, and anticipating any need for protection. She felt exposed in his presence, no secrets truly secret or downtime when someone constantly had eyes on them.

If this arrangement was anything like that, (Y/N) didn't know if her sanity was going to survive these months.

Despite her insides beginning to churn, her glossy-lipped smile stayed intact with stiff cheeks. "Wow! That's amazing!"

Her performance must have been subpar if the way her father flashed his gaze at her, a glance that hardened a little too much. She needed to be trying harder, was what he was telling her. She wasn't being perfect like he wanted.

"I've already warned him about your history of outbursts," her father said, a stealthy jab at her, "and we discussed everything with Damien. I think he's up for the challenge."

It was an interesting feeling being called a "challenge" by her own father, knowing he must have shared much more degrading comments behind her back disguised as warranted advice. It was all preparation, he probably thought. A proper warning.

She shoved that feeling down—whatever that feeling was called—and instead focused on her role. As long as she bubbled, chirped, and smiled, she could get out of this room sooner rather than later.

"Good," she said, a breathy laugh floating out with her voice, "I'll try not to give you any surprises, then." Looking to Harry, she leaned into her persona and played along. He didn't glance at her once, keeping his gaze forward on her father as if he were watching a movie.

"There won't be any surprises, actually, right (Y/N)?" her father said, a tad too sharp under his act.

"Right," she settled, calming under the weight of the room.

Silence settled over, neither she nor her father plucking up the words while Harry stayed an observing pillar.

This was her opening. If she acted fast, she could get out of here before either of them could stop her.

"It was really nice to meet you, Harry," she said politely, her fingers curling around the arms of her chair, "Thank you for coming to work with us. I actually have early breakfast plans with Fran tomorrow morning back in the city, so I should probably start hea—"

"Actually," her father cut her off sharply, his eyes hardening as they landed on her, "I was hoping you would stay for dinner tonight, sweetie. After Harry and I finish ironing out his contract, I wanted to talk to you some more before he officially started with you."

Instinctively, she wanted to fight him on this. Spending another night here less than a month after the last time she had a breakdown here wasn't on the top of her list of wants, currently. But, knowing there was someone here already expecting the worst from her, forced her to settle. If she talked back it would only reinforce everything her father probably spouted off about her earlier.

"Okay," she smiled, standing to her feet before inching towards he door, "I'll wait in my room then and give you guys some privacy."

While her father offered a small dismissal to her in the form of a stuff smile and a promise to call her for dinner, Harry didn't bother to look twice at her. She didn't waste a moment before she was rushing back to her room. She didn't care if they could hear the pacing of her heels over the floors, knowing she was all but running away from that room.

After twisting the lock on her bedroom door, (Y/N) collapsed onto her bed. Her breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling a little too fast for her head to stay clear. Pinpricks of static began to dance on her palms, fingertips beginning to go numb. A hole began to develop in the pit of her stomach.

This might be one of the last real moments of alone time for the next couple of months, and she was spending it on the verge of a panic attack.

(Y/N) knew her dad didn't trust her, but to have someone on his payroll whose only purpose was to follow her around stung more than she was willing to admit. She wasn't a stupid child despite how much he wanted to believe that.

Harry wasn't there to protect her, she knew that. He was a hired hand to put her back in her place every time her father wasn't there to do it himself. He was another body to crowd her into a corner and suffocate her as long as she kept smiling. Harry was another reminder that nothing was allowed to be hers; her thoughts, her time, her space was to be shared just like the rest of herself.

Besides, Harry might be the kind of person willing to sell stories to tabloids. Who better than someone tasked with observing her every mood to be an "insider"? It wouldn't be the first time a Secrets Edition came out about her.

With her eyes fixed to a knot swirling in the marble flooring, (Y/N) tried to unlatch the phantom hands wrapped around her neck.

What was going to be left of her if she was constantly going to be performing?

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) fisted her hands in her lap, the hem of her Dior minidress caught in the fray. She needed to calm down.

No matter what, she was still luckier than most people in this world. She needed to keep that in mind if she was going to keep her head on straight. She was going to figure this out, and she was going to be okay even if a tiny bit cracked at the edges.

Curling up on her dusty bed, she leveled her breathing as much as she could despite the shuddering of her lungs. Every spiraling thought had to be neatly rolled up and put away.

A breakdown was probably on the list of banned surprises her father had in mind, anyway.

—————

Poking at her dry salad, (Y/N) watched the drops of condensation river down her glass of lemon water. Across from her, her father tore at his too-scorched steak, a side of hearty potatoes and glass of whiskey to compliment the meat.

He hadn't said a word to her since she sat down, instead opting to focus on his tailored dinner while she was left with her pre-arranged salad. It was more lady-like, he'd told her once before, to eat like a rabbit. Leave the big things to men—they needed it after running the world, she'd heard him joke though she's sure it wasn't a joke to him.

As heavy as the silence was weighing on her, she wasn't going to be the first one to speak either. He was the one that requested she spend dinner with him, he was going to have to lead the conversation. That left only the clicking of utensils against the fine china plates.

Suddenly piping up, (Y/N) lifted her gaze to her father's as he spoke, "You're going to have to start being nice to Harry, you know. He's not going away until I say, and I could tell you were being fake today. If you're going to lie, at least try harder."

As if her father wasn't the king of phony facades and fake personality traits. He was the one that shattered that illusion the second he couldn't hide his temper with her earlier. It didn't take much to notice he didn't actually care about her.

Those hours in her room left her exhausted, though. She'd cried off and on until she finally convinced herself everything was fine and none of it truly mattered in the grand scheme of things; that her discomfort and fear was something minuscule enough to be pushed to the side and forgotten. She didn't have it in her to debate with him.

"Yeah," she dejectedly agreed, running her fork through the leafy greens on her plate, "Sorry about that."

Apparently, that was the worst thing she could have uttered with the way her father dropped his fork to clatter against his plate with his grip tightening on the handle of his steak knife. His jaw tensed, lips pinched.

"I don't care how you feel about this, (Y/N)," he gritted out, "Don't think I don't mean that. You are going to show him some respect, listen to everything he says, and behave accordingly. Otherwise, he has full permission to correct you as he sees fit. And, he will tell me every time he has to correct you, so keep in mind that any kind of punishment he gives—mine will be ten times worse."

She didn't doubt a word he said. If this was the kind of conversation he and Harry had after she left the room, there was no telling what kind of person her new security had to be to agree to a job with terms like these. She lacked faith in just how fairly he would "correct" her if his thoughts aligned with her father's.

"Okay," (Y/N) mumbled, all the fight in her gone for the day.

Her father sighed, disappointed as per usual. "This is going to be good for you," he told her, condescension tainting his tone, "I know you don't understand that now, but it will be. I just want you to settle down and stop giving people something to talk about. There's no reason to act like that if you want attention. You're pretty enough, people are already looking—there's no reason to be a bitch, too." Picking up his fork, he steadied his steak as he sliced off another too-tough bite. "Your life could be so much different—Damien might even take you back if you just apologized."

The ice cubes in her drink slid against one another, melting in her water. "Okay."

Chewing down his bite, her father took a long pull from his whiskey.

"He starts with you on Friday. I told him to take a look at your apartment and make sure there isn't anything or anyone that isn't supposed to be there." His pointed gaze landed on her over the rim of his glass. "I will hear about everything, please remember that."

His thinly veiled threat swept over her with nothing more than a meaningless brush. She kept her eyes on the drip of water traveling down the side of her glass. A melting ice cube clinked against the side.

"Okay."

—————

Phone pressed to her ear, (Y/N) flipped through her mail while Francesca bubbled in her ear. No matter how hard she tried to condition herself to be the same, Fran was always a much better morning person than she.

"When do you see him again? Do you know yet, or is that a mystery, too?" Francesca was a little too excited to hear how inexpressive Harry had been in her father's office. His stoic coldness translated to mysterious heat to her.

"My dad said he was supposed to start today, but I'm not sure. I woke up early and made an extra smoothie just in case, but he still hasn't shown."

The envelopes in front of her were nothing but junk so far, her attention waning.

"Ooh!" Francesca sang over the phone, "I'm so excited to meet him! We're still on for brunch this Sunday, right?"

(Y/N) faltered where she stood, hands pausing on the collection of mail. "I don't know, Fran," she muttered, shifting her weight over the tiles of her kitchen, "I just—... He'd have to come with me."

"I know, that's the point!" she bubbled, "You said he was cute and young, I want to meet him."

"I know, but I wanted to talk about stuff, you know," (Y/N) pointed out.

"And we will! You remember Barry from when we were in school, right? I promise you, your guy isn't going to care about anything going on as long as you aren't in danger," Francesca continued, referencing her security form when they were young.

Sighing, (Y/N) wanted to correct Franny. Harry wasn't going to be eyeing out any suspects or worst case scenario moments, not if he was following her father's directions. He would be listening in and watching her for any and all infractions she could commit, including any topic of discussion that might be considered unbecoming.

Francesca must have picked up on her lingering reluctance through the phone. "(Y/N), please," she pouted, "I know you're stressed and all about everything, but I don't want this to take you away from me. You can still live your life, you'll just have an extra shadow. That's all."

A beat passed before she felt herself resign. "Okay, but if today is weird with him, I might be calling and cancelling."

"Okay!" she squealed out, feeling as if this was her win no matter what, "Just keep an open mind today, and have fun!"

"I'm sure I will," (Y/N) laughed, "Love you."

"Love you, too! Bye!"

With that, the call went dead leaving (Y/N)'s previous scroll through instagram lighting up her screen. Locking her phone, she took a breath to take a sip of her purple smoothie, hoping the addition of matcha and cherry juice this time would tap into some of her stress points and calm her.

She kept up with her chosen routine for the morning, rifling through the remains of her pile of mail. Under a few more loose pieces of mail and catalogues was a navy blue envelope, stamped with silver starts and sparkling script spelling out her name. A faux wax seal laid the flap shut but gave away easily under a slight pick against the edge. Inside was an invitation to the annual 132 Gala—a benefit for the art gallery of the same name—she'd attended for the last couple of years, the dress code detailed out along with an RSVP request. Honestly, as much as she and her stylist had been anticipating the event, she almost forgot about it in the midst of all the variables entering her life. She was going to have to touch base with Dom to ensure he still had an idea in mind for her gown before she made any commitment.

With the invitation being stowed away for later, a few more pieces of mail were thrown in the trash until she reached the final slip in the stack. She sighed when she spotted the familiar computerized script on the front. It was crumpled and creamy as opposed to a clean white. She was sure that if she had picked it up earlier in the week it would have still had that distinct woodsy scent as opposed to smelling like the inside of her mailbox.

(Y/N) didn't need to peel open the flap to know that inside there would be a stack of glossy photos of her along with a typed letter. She knew there would be photos of her this week entering her apartment, going out with Francesca, driving to her father's, and the infamous event with Damien. Some of those photos would no doubt end up in a publication or posted along with a too-long article analyzing her outfit or body language. They always did.

Without opening the envelope to verify her suspicions, (Y/N) bent to lay this letter with the rest in a drawer filled with junk and things she wanted to ignore. After pushing the drawer closed, she wiped every thought about her "admirer" from her thoughts. They weren't allowed to occupy her brain when there were much more pressing things to worry about.

Flicking her gaze to the time blinking on her stove, she had to keep from rolling her eyes. While she wasn't much of a morning person, she couldn't believe her dad would allow someone to start a work day—no matter how informal—after nine a.m. With the time blinking well past ten in the morning and the sleep officially having been wiped from her eyes, she was growing unimpressed with the fact she was still waiting.

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) centered herself, leaning back against the lip of the counter. She knew there was no reason to be upset with Harry, it wasn't like she had any say in his schedule nor was this lag truly disrupting anything for her. Her anxiety was beginning to manifest in ways she wasn't proud of and weren't helpful in any way.

She thought some early morning yoga and a string of meditative poses would help settle her, work out that energy, but obviously none of that had the desired effect. Every time she tried to picture even what this Sunday's outing was going to be like, she wanted nothing more than to hide away and keep from encountering anyone or anything. It would be easier that way, she figured. That way she wouldn't have to explain who Harry was or why she needed any kind of security.

Francesca was right, though. She knew that. Staying holed up and avoiding the world wouldn't do anything to get her father off her back. If it went on too long, eventually her father would begin picking out events for her to attend, and that was always a much worse outcome than just leaving her house on her own.

Breathing the way her therapist from her teenage years taught her, (Y/N) centered herself as best she could with her bare feet on the cool tile of her kitchen. The chilled glass with her smoothie was slick against her palm, condensation dripping down the crystal.

Everything was going to be fine.

A buzz coming over the intercom knocked (Y/N) out of her head, her eyes flying open with her hand almost letting go of her smoothie. A stunted breath exhaled from her lungs as the moment she'd been waiting for laced together.

She knew that was Harry waiting to be buzzed up to meet her for the second time.

Forcing her head to clear, (Y/N) fell easily into her role of bubbly socialite. She had nothing to be afraid of, she told herself, it wasn't as if he was going to find anything her father would be ashamed of. She wasn't even his top priority, she reminded herself, her father and his company were Harry's clients, not (Y/N).

Pressing the small button on the stainless steel panel beside her front door, she dipped close to the microphone. "Good morning, how can I help you?" she asked as if she didn't already know what the answer would be.

"Good morning, Ms. (Y/N)," answered the doorman from the lobby, the usual quiet settling in the background as he spoke, "I have a Mr. Harry Styles waiting down here for you. He said he's a part of your security team."

"You can send him up, please," she replied, forcing a chirp to her voice. "Thank you, Claudio!"

"Of course, Ms. (Y/N)," was all she heard back before the static went dead. Claudio was always a bit cold to her, but he never let any of the lurkers into the lobby so she'd take what she could get.

The waiting game started again after the brief intermission, leaving (Y/N) in the silence of her apartment. She was suddenly too aware of the silk of her pajamas brushing her skin, the intricate threading on the hem of her shorts too heavy now.

Lucky enough for her, it wasn't too long before she heard a knock reverberating through the door. It was firm and short, matching the man on the other side.

A shot went through her system, a moment of static hitting her brain. She'd gone through worse bouts of anxiety and stressful situations, there was no reason to get worked up over something—someone—like this.

With her mask on, complete with a reserved smile and detached gaze, (Y/N) opened her front door. The hinges glided like butter, welcoming Harry in where he stood in the hallway.

Dressed in all black as she was starting to figure was his signature, he was waiting with an observant gaze being cast through the corridor. This was one of the few penthouse floors in the building leaving a bare space between where the elevator was stationed before leading to her front door.

"Good morning," she told him pleasantly, "Come in."

With a flourish, she stepped to the side with a space cleared for him to step into her apartment.

"Good morning," he said, a slight smile on his features that appeared for a flash before he was back to his stoic state, "Thank you."

Harry stepped in, acting as a dark spot with his fitted black t-shirt and trousers of the same shade against the understated hues of her home. (Y/N) locked the door behind him before turning to face him once more, a pleasant smile on her face.

"How are you?" she asked, her voice even and warm despite how detached she felt.

"Good, thank you," was his abrupt response, no followup about her own well being for the morning. He cast his gaze around her apartment, taking every corner and curve. She wasn't even sure he had properly looked at her at all since coming here.

"Good," she said, trailing off awkwardly into the space around them. What kind of small talk do you make with a member of your security team? Especially one that didn't seem too keen on knowing their client.

Leaning against her front door, she waited as he observed everything. He looked at her couch the same way he had looked at her days prior, as if he was compiling a list of all its attributes and deciding whether it not it had anything of value within.

It was an odd feeling; she typically wasn't so blatantly compared to furniture to her face, that was usually left to the tabloids and internet trolls.

Seeming to remember that she was still there, Harry stopped his game of finding everything in the room. He settled his eyes on her, a pointed look with a small pinch to his brows.

Taking him in for that moment, she was reminded of just how pretty he was. He didn't look like the kind of man that would be guarding the models and gorgeous people, he should be one of the YSL or Gucci models that needed protecting from the crowds of people trying to get a closer look at him. Off-duty model, she figured would be the name of the article that Vogue would write about him, full of street style photos of him.

With the green of his eyes meeting her own, he didn't waver where he stood. "Jus' go about your day like normal," he instructed her, arms crossed over his chest, "I want to learn your habits and your space first, but if you need to do anything out of the norm, let me know."

"Okay," she sounded, voice quiet to her own ears.

As much as she was sure she was meant to completely ignore him, she still felt odd crossing through her place towards her kitchen. She finished her smoothie and had left her blender and other supplies in the sink, so she could at least do the dishes maybe? At least that way her hands would be busy without plucking at her manicure.

Filling the sink with water, she did her best to treat Harry as nothing more than a shadow. To be fair, it wasn't that hard given the fact he barely made any noise as he traipsed around. It brought back memories of the way Barry used to hover around she and Franny when they were teenagers; it was easy to not pay too much attention to the extra body in the room, but her muscles never fully relaxed.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him poking his head up the stairs to where her bedroom was, casting his gaze towards her ceiling, catching a view out her various windows as he went around. He was a perfect shadow dressed in black, but he seemed a bit too unimpressed for a neutral being.

Harry stepped into her kitchen, the rubber soles of his shoes silent over the sparkling white granite flooring. "Do you have any kind of security system set up here? Cameras or anything like that?" he probed.

Humming, (Y/N) picked up the rag she placed out for drying. "The building has some of those alarms installed with the codes and everything and there's the guys downstairs, but I don't have cameras set up in here or anything."

Perpetually unimpressed, Harry only let out a, "Hm."

She fixed her eyes onto her pink onyx countertops, tracing the swirling white lines in the faint pink of the stone. Why did he even care, she wanted to ask. What good would cameras in her home do when she was a nuisance outside of these walls?

Watching as he headed down towards her guest rooms, she felt her tongue moving before her brain allowed it. "What are you looking for?" she poked, her question simple as he kept drying her dishes before placing them in cabinets.

It wasn't like she was hiding any of the drugs or alcohol her dad surely warned him about, telling him to seek out and destroy before truly starting his job. If that was what he was toeing around her home for, he was going to be disappointed.

He didn't even turn to face her as he called back down the hallway to her, "Nothing in particular. Jus' noting things as I go; vantage points and the complete lack of any useful security around here."

Propping her hip against the lip of the counter, she let out a small sigh. Her hands twirled the rag she had used to dry her dishes, gaze following after her new security detail.

"You don't have to pretend, you know," she started, saving them both some trouble by starting the conversation, "I know my dad didn't hire you to protect me or anything. He wants you protect the public, and his business from me."

His ghosting footsteps came to a stop where stood down the hallway. He was in complete control as he turned to face her, that usual placid look molding his features. "Last I checked, you were my client. Not the public or your father's company."

"But he's the one that's paying you," she countered, unwavering from the point she was trying to make, "I just don't want you to waste your time pretending to find something to protect me from."

That deadpan look never changed from Harry's face. "'M not pretending, 'm doing my job." He paused only for a moment, his gaze bored and heavy on her skin. "Let me know if y'decide to go anywhere."

That was the end of the conversation as far as (Y/N) was aware, Harry turning and leaving her as he went about doing whatever it was he considered to be his job. She didn't try to stop him again. If he wanted to waste his time, he could do just that. Not her problem, anymore.

Draining her sink, (Y/N) crept through her apartment to settle upon her plush couch. Clicking her television awake, she fumbled through streaming services until finally tuning into a rerun of a cooking show she was fond of. Though she couldn't quite sink into the cushions or yell to the T.V. as the contestants didn't see the obvious win she did, at least he wasn't right behind her.

—————

"No, dad, I didn't give him any trouble yesterday."

(Y/N) could practically hear the eyeball through the phone. "You know he's going to tell me, right? Lying won't change anything."

It was her turn to give a petulant reaction, lashes fluttering as she almost got her eyes stuck in the back of her head. "I'm being serious. I'm not hiding anything, and I haven't even gone out or anything. There's been nothing to get upset over, dad."

The trademark sigh of disappointment fluttered through the speaker. "What's the point of having a bodyguard if all you're going to do is stay home, (Y/N)?"

"I'm going to brunch tomorrow with Fran and the girls," she countered, feeling her blood pressure rise over his argument. She was damned if she went out and was seen, damned if she stayed home and out of the public eye. She couldn't win.

"Good," her father said, sounding all too pleased as if these plans were his doing, "I want him to see how you act in public, then we'll be able to start working on your problems."

There was no argument she was going to give after that. She wasn't going to reward him or validate his claim that she is the problem. Because of course she was; it was never the photographers hounding her the second she turned sixteen, never the men around her that treated her like a tabloid bunny there for poking and prodding, and never him who didn't think to be a father for longer than it took for a flash of a camera to capture the moment.

Dead air settled between them, (Y/N) pressing her phone to her ear with the help of her shoulder as she began to collect ingredients for her dinner. Her way of ignoring him came in redirection, instead focusing back on Harry, his new favorite person.

"Harry thinks I should get a security system at my apartment," she offered, hoping the mention of his name was enough to get her father's head turning elsewhere.

The beat that passed after her words showed she garnered the opposite reaction. "Did you tell him about those letters, (Y/N)?" he asked, voice hard as stone.

Her lips thinned. "No."

"Good. Don't." It didn't take much for (Y/N) to picture the way he was surely hanging his head over his dinner, perpetually disappointed in his only child. "Do not waste his time over those. Plenty of people take pictures with you, and if I find out you're having him worry about the one person that's actually a fan of you..." he trailed off as if she didn't know exactly what threat was about to leave his mouth, "I'm going to send you to stay with your mother."

"Right. I won't."

His worst punishment was always to push her off on others. The nannies she bonded with growing up, different boarding schools and summer programs, anyone that was willing to glance at her for longer than five seconds was in the running to take her off his hands. Her mother was always his favorite to threaten her with as if he knew where she was.

(Y/N) didn't bother to listen to him anymore when it came to these moments. While she knew he'd never—could never—follow through with this particular threat, it was more than a little disheartening that he'd consider her calling for help as something that deserved a punishment.

"Well," he started, speaking around his mouthful of whatever his chef had prepared for the night, "if I don't hear from Harry, I'll be calling you to see how tomorrow goes. Don't embarrass yourself, (Y/N). It's not worth it."

"I know," she answered absently, her voice bored, "Goodnight, dad."

"Night."

Pulling her phone from her ear, (Y/N) focused on preparing the zucchini for the pasta primavera she'd been craving. Her thoughts turned methodical now that she had something structured to give her attention to. It was much easier to think when she wasn't firmly planted in her stubbornness and trying to ward off the kind of anxiety she hadn't felt since she was a teenager.

Harry had gone home late into the afternoon yesterday, and didn't return today. He didn't tell her anything other than he'd see her on Sunday morning for brunch, but she had figured he'd have paid her another visit in the meantime anyway. It was an odd arrangement anyway, as far as she could tell.

Stretching her memory back, Francesca's security was always there. Even when (Y/N) would spend the night or go away on trips with family, Barry was a constant shadow. The pool house in their backyard was his, an extra room for every rental or new vacation house taken into account so Francesca was never without her bodyguard. While she hadn't really wanted this, she figured Harry would be the same way—his services a button away in case of any kind of moment in need from her.

He hadn't even taken her number down when he was over.

It had only been a suspicion before, but perhaps her dad really had been honest with Harry: there was no real danger surrounding (Y/N), just her as the problem that needed fixing before interacting any with the public. There would be no reason for him to watch over her as she slept or be available to any emergency that might appear in his absence.

Whatever, she figured, sliding the half-moons of her zucchini into a bowl. At least she cleaned out her guest room, something she'd been meaning to do.

(Y/N) was going to take her time alone as if it were gold. She had a feeling tomorrow was going to be rough enough without a bad night's sleep.

—————

Swimming to the surface of sleep, (Y/N) was half aware of the sound of the static buzzing coming through her apartment. It was far enough away, the buzz panel situated by the door, that she could ignore it easily as she shifted between her sheets with her eyes cinched closed. Brunch wasn't for a few hours anyway, she knew that, and if any of the girls needed her they would have called prior.

Soon enough the buzzing ceased, allowing her brain to fuzzy further and to retrace her steps back to her dreamland. Whatever that was, wasn't an emergency, then.

Until the banging knocks started.

These, she wasn't able to ignore. Forcing her eyes open, she reached for her phone on her night stand. No missed calls or texts filled her notifications, but the time of seven a.m. reflected at her. There was only one person who could be giving her this wakeup call, but there was no reason for him to be here already.

With no contact to reach out to see if it was Harry waiting for her, she just had to trust that the doormen downstairs wouldn't send anyone up that they didn't recognize or who wasn't on the list to be cleared for her penthouse elevator.

Her hair was a mess on the top of her head, tangled and falling out of the braid she had twisted for the night, eyes crusted with sleep in the corners, and limbs shaking from the abrupt pull from her sleep. The only clear thought she had was that she was goin to have to give him the access code to her apartment or a key after this; early morning wakeups like this were something she was ever going to be happy about.

Swinging the door open for him during a pause in his banging, (Y/N) barely looked at Harry before she was trying to usher him in with a sweep of her hand.

"Morning," she grumbled, voice sticky in her throat.

"Morning," Harry reciprocated, "Are you ready?"

"What?" she asked over the click of her lock going back into place.

"I thought you had plans to go out with your friends this morning." His voice was bored as if he couldn't believe he was having to remind her of her own agenda.

"Yeah, for brunch," she added, "We don't have to leave for a while."

"Hm," was all he had to offer in response. Unimpressed.

(Y/N) didn't have it in her to care whether or not he liked brunch or thought she was silly for whatever reason. She was too tired, and her bed was too soft.

"I'm going back to bed," she told him, edging towards the staircase to her bedroom, "You can do whatever you want."

A beat passed before Harry offered an acknowledgement in the form of a hum. He was much more interested in investigating more of her home, she figured with the way his eyes traipsed through the space.

The second her head hit the pillow in her bedroom, (Y/N) happily relaxed into the mattress.

While there was a part of her that felt odd knowing that there was someone else in her home, settling in while she was elsewhere, there were other parts of her that didn't mind it all that much. She'd never felt lonely before, but she also never had known what it was like to have someone else around like this.

Even if he was being paid to, it was nice to her soft, sleep-molded brain that he'd care if something happened while she slept.

That thought made it a little bit easier to fall asleep again.

—————

Standing before her bathroom mirror, (Y/N) sharpened her features and pouted her lips at her reflection. With her hair pinned back and a silky robe draped over her body, she looked every bit the dreamy socialite she pictured herself as in her teens. Except for the wreck that was her makeup so far.

Breaking her pose, she let out an annoyed grumble as she took a closer look at the section of eyeshadow that just wouldn't blend out. She felt like a toddler having a tantrum the way she wanted to stomp her foot on the ground and throw her makeup brush and eyeshadow palette away.

Everything had been going perfect until she decided to daringly dip into a slightly deeper shade than she was used to on her eyes, and now she was stuck with a semi-sweet chocolate blob on the outer corner of her eye when she was hoping for a milk chocolate fade. And, she didn't have time to redo anything.

Life could be so unfair sometimes.

From down the hallway, she heard footsteps glancing over the flooring towards the bathroom. Moments later, Harry appeared in the mirror behind her, something a little more urgent than she was used to in his gaze but just as serious and uninviting as she remembered from this morning.

When he didn't say anything, only tracing his eyes over her bathroom, (Y/N) piped up, "Is everything okay?" He hadn't come to see her once since she woke up.

Catching her gaze in the glass, he said, "I heard you."

"Sorry," she started, dropping her eyes to her palette of neutral powders, "I'm just annoyed right now. My makeup looks dumb, and I don't have time to redo it."

Harry relaxed some where he stood, his arms dropping from across his chest as he leant against the doorjamb. The observations never stopped, even as she resumed trying to blend out her makeup.

"I thought you had people to do that for you," he said, brows furrowing just a pinch.

(Y/N) shrugged, fluffing a creamy shade over the deep mass in hopes of lightening the whole thing up enough to go out for a morning. "Sometimes; usually for really important things. Otherwise, I just like to do it myself."

When the makeup cooperated, anyway. What she wouldn't give to have the hand of a makeup artist here to fix her mistake.

"Oh," Harry sounded behind her, silence settling between them.

Expecting him to leave then, (Y/N) refocused on her eye makeup only for Harry to linger in the doorway. He stood there in his too-pretty glory, watching her as she worked. She felt as if each of her moves were being dissected, analyzed and broken down as if there was a chance he would have to step in. She guessed that technically was his job, though she could argue there might be much better things for him to do rather than watch her blend eyeshadow and bobby pin her hair to perfection.

Once she had her face applied, extra blush and fluffy lashes added in hopes of distracting from her most disastrous shadow look to date (at least that's how she felt in the moment, but she was sure there were photos off er teen years that would love to beg to differ) and hair styled down to the single strand, she was left with her short robe on and her outfit picked out in her closet. Harry's eyes had documented each of her moves, grazing along her skin and observing every stretch.

Finding that gaze in the mirror, she looked at him with a mild expression. "I just need to get dressed then we can go."

Harry blinked at her. "Okay."

That was all he had to say before she was left to head to her room.

—————

Stepping through the lobby of her complex, (Y/N) couldn't help but to scope out the street as much as she could through the tinted glass doors of the entrance. Waiting on the curb was the all black SUV she called with pedestrians scattered along the sidewalks and recklessly stepping onto the street. All she was looking for was anyone lingering a little too close to the building with too nice of cameras to be normal.

She'd always been a little cautious leaving her building once the address to her complex had been leaked, paparazzi having camped out for a week afterwards in hopes of catching her off guard, though now that Harry was going to be stepping out with her another layer was added. She could already imagine the headlines and blog posts that would be made when others caught wind of the fact she was seen with a member of the opposite sex.

Some of her favorites loved to recount her "relationship timeline" as well as call into question her "body count" and how long this new "beau" will last. She was dreading reading those words again; it was bad enough when she actually liked one of those people in those photos with her, but Harry's new job required his presence around her. He couldn't even leave this narrative if he wanted to.

Staying focused, (Y/N) gave a wave to the doormen standing behind the front desk though their stony faces didn't sway. Harry was quiet at her side, allowing her to take the lead as she took them out onto the street, a blast of air hitting them once the seal of the doors was pushed open. Outside, no one paid her any mind, her driver being the only person that acknowledged her with a grin on his face.

"Morning!" she chirped, feeling more relaxed now that he was nearby.

"Morning, (Y/N)," he greeted, opening the backseat door with a flourish for her. His gaze only shifted for a moment to her companion, but she knew he was much too polite to ask for details about any of her guests.

Setting one foot inside, (Y/N) hesitated as she looked around the SUV door to Sully. "Sully, this is Harry," she started, tossing her hand in Harry's direction, "He's my new bodyguard"—her tongue felt odd around the word—"Harry, this is Sully. He's my primary driver."

Sully gave her a momentary look the second he heard the word bodyguard. Out of most people in her life, he knew her almost better than Francesca, so he knew just as well as she did that a security detail wasn't something (Y/N) was in need of. Nonetheless, he kept his polite smile on his face when addressing Harry.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," he said, offering a gentle hand out to shake.

"Nice to meet you," Harry said with a gruff anchor to his voice.

That was all that was shared before (Y/N) stepped into the car, Harry following behind her. Though she was sure Sully felt the same way she did about the situation, he didn't let any of it show when he took his spot in the driver's seat, his eyes meeting hers through the rearview mirror.

"The new place still, (Y/N)?"

"Yes, please," she answered, a soft smile on her face.

As they started the drive through the city, skyscrapers towering on either side of the street and too many people on the sidewalks, (Y/N) pulled out her phone. Though she was aware of Harry's presence on the bench seat beside her only inches away, she ignored him in favor of pulling up Francesca's text thread in her messages.

Fran🫧

are u bringing your bodyguard?????

jk ofc you are he has to come w u everywhere lol is he still cute today tho or was the other day just bc you saw him for the first time????

As much as she loved Franny like a sister, she didn't really want to talk about Harry at the moment. She knew much of brunch was going to be spent talking about her new security or talking around him as all of the girls were going to be varying levels of nosy about it all. (Y/N) didn't have a lot of interest in starting that trend any earlier than needed.

Instead, she began scrolling through her Instagram explore page full of photos of nail art and cooking videos she planned on looking up the recipes for later. Ever-polite, Sully was the one to break the silence that filled the cab of his vehicle.

"How long will you be joining us, Harry?" he asked, kind blue eyes shining in the rearview mirror.

Uninterested as ever, Harry didn't break his gaze from where he was observing through the window. "As long as it takes for her father to be convinced that she's finally grown up."

It was a callous remark, but one (Y/N) had heard before just in a different voice. It was an interesting thing to hear those biting words lack the familiarity of her father's tone. She'd never heard them like that before.

Flicking her gaze up from her phone, she spotted Sully in the mirror through the fan of her lashes. He gave her one of those soft smiles he'd also seen him give his daughter before. It made it a bit easier to let that remark slide off her back when she knew he was on her side.

"Won't be very long then," Sully continued, tipping his chin up in confidence, "It doesn't take very long to see how kind and responsible Ms. (Y/N) is, despite what all those silly magazines like to say."

(Y/N) directed a quiet smile down at her phone. She hoped Sully knew just how much she appreciated him.

—————

"I'll be back around noon, okay?" Sully said, offering a helping hand to (Y/N) as she stepped out of the SUV and onto the grey concrete sidewalk, "Let me know if you need me sooner or want to stay longer."

Nodding her head, she gave him a bubbly smile with soft lips and warm cheeks. "Thank you."

"It's my pleasure," he answered, squeezing her hand in his as she steadied herself on the concrete.

With Harry at her side, Sully was sent off with a wave from her manicured fingers.

Though it wasn't new to feel eyes on her at time when she was out, it was different to have someone following along with her. His job was to watch her, and he made it known with the way she could feel his gaze stitched to her. He only drifted when he made a point to take in their surroundings.

Was he even supposed to sit with them? Was he going to eat beside her? What was his job when it came to events like this?

(Y/N) tried to think back to what Francesca's bodyguard would do, but she couldn't remember him ever joining them for a meal in public. Barry was typically meant to watch over Fran when no one else was around, leaving those group settings without him. Was Harry to do the same? Was he going to sit elsewhere or guard their table like a circling vulture?

Her head hurt just thinking about it. Harry would do whatever he decided to do, she settled on. This wasn't his first security job, so hopefully he would do whatever he was used to with Camila and Monroe.

Harry pushed the entrance door open for her, taking her by surprise as she stepped into the trendiest brunch spot in the city at the moment. Everything was sleek and warm, glass with golden hinges, wood pieces with uniform swirls and knots. Inauthentic authenticity. Falling into character, a bright smile landed on (Y/N)'s lips, her phone clutched in one hand with her purse hanging from the crook of her elbow. The clack of her heels was drowned out by the sound of chattering patrons and a busy kitchen.

"Hello, how are you?" The young man stationed at the host stand greeted her, a dark denim uniform adorning his form. (Y/N) almost cringed for him; she couldn't imagine how hot it must be to work all day in a heavy outfit like that.

"Hi, I'm good thank you," she greeted, feeling Harry just behind her as if he were breathing down her neck. How would he analyze this conversation? "I'm here to meet a few friends—there should be a reservation under—"

Cutting her off, the boy piped up with, "Francesca, right? She and a few others just got here."

Now that she wasn't so distracted by his outfit, she could see recognition in his gaze. He knew who she was and was definitely peeking over her shoulder to see who her companion was.

"That's them," (Y/N) chirped, canting her head as the boy tapped away at the computer in front of him.

"Perfect," he beamed, glancing up nonchalantly at them, "And will he be taking the sixth seat at the table?"

A clear attempt to fish, but not one (Y/N) was going to be able to ignore. "Yes, please."

The way the boy's eyes brightened had (Y/N) already dreading the articles that she would be tagged in across every social media platform, the headlines teasing about her new "mystery man" with all of the sources being an anonymous instagram account known for spreading gossip. Because that's journalism.

"Follow me," he said, waving his hand as he stepped out from behind the podium.

Harry was a ghost behind her as (Y/N) made small talk with the host, answering with polite chatter about the weather while being led through the restaurant. Through the crowded tables, Francesca and the three other girls they frequently went out with came into view. Glasses of bubbling mimosas and an appetizer of cheese and crackers adorned the table, matching that of the rest of the patrons indulging in the brunch rush.

Francesca was the first to spot them once the host dropped them off with a quiet wish for she and Harry to enjoy their food before he was off again. Fran's eyes lit up when she saw her, only for them to widen that much more when Harry came into view behind her.

"(Y/N)," she cheered, gaining the attention of the other girls who broke their absent chatter to turn to face them. Fran no doubt had told them that (Y/N) would be bringing a guest.

"Hi," she smiled, maneuvering around the table to the two empty seats between Emma and Rita, "Sorry I'm late. My makeup was not doing its job this morning."

Emma piped up then, "No worries, honey! We're just happy you could make it. We already ordered a mimosa for you and some appetizers and all."

Despite the girls seemingly talking to her, their eyes continuously drifted to her companion that ghosted behind her. Pulling out her chair, (Y/N) dropped her purse on the table before looking across from her to where Francesca was sat. Even she was pretending as if she wasn't bubbling in anticipation over Harry.

"Thanks, guys," she said, taking her seat with Harry doing the same beside her, "Everyone, this is Harry. I bet Fran already told you a little bit, but he's going to be my personal security for the next few months or so. We're still trying to figure out how this all works for it, so thanks for letting him tag along today."

"Of course," Kita giggled, leaning with her elbow on the table, "Fran did tell us that you were bringing someone special today."

"Right," (Y/N) laughed, feeling slightly exposed despite the fact none of the girls were even looking at her. "I promised him we'd be on our best behavior today, so don't ruin this for me."

The laughter that bubbled around the table was just a touch too melodious, too airy and light. Francesca even made eyes at (Y/N); she approved of him, that much was obvious.

"I'm sure we'll still have fun with him," Toriana said, her spot right across from Harry making it easy for her to reach across and offer her hand up in greeting, "I'm Toriana, but the girls just call me Ana."

"Nice to meet you," Harry answered, taking her hand into his in that same firm grip (Y/N) remembered.

A domino effect started then, each of the girls taking the time to personally introduce themselves. Toriana and Kita were more than a little interested in him, asking questions right off the bat that (Y/N) wished they would keep to themselves. Franny and Emma seemed to prefer to watch, piping in at moments with their own bubbly comments or peals of laughter. Harry, reserved as ever, barely interacted.

(Y/N) didn't know why she liked that as much as she did. Maybe it was just nice knowing she wasn't the only person he was cold with. Even if he did still end up talking to the girls more than he had all weekend with her.

Soon enough—long enough still that (Y/N) sipped through a glass and a half of water, the cheese plate had dissipated to crumbs, and breakfast orders had been placed—the shine of Harry had finally been lost on the girls. The shorter his answers became the clearer the message that he wasn't interested in sharing became. Though Kita didn't pull too far away from him and Fran had eyes on him every few moments, there wasn't much fun in talking to a wall.

The gossip shifted around the table, new topics being introduced as wait staff appeared to refill drained mimosa glasses. (Y/N) was seventy percent sure she saw one of the denim-clad employees pull her phone out and snap a shot of the table while clearing their small appetizer plates. No one seemed to notice the girl other than she and Harry, his eyes narrowing when he caught sight of the camera tilted in their direction. She wouldn't be surprised if the photo captured Harry's harsh gaze.

Ignoring the snooping employee, (Y/N) tried to tune into the story Emma was sharing that had the rest of the table enraptured. As funny and kind as Emma was, she loved to gossip; she loved knowing things, even if the information had nothing to do with her. More often than not (Y/N) preferred to check out of her particularly scandalous stories, just because she knew what it was like to be the name coming off of other's lips in a spit. Francesca was the same, preferring to stay out of it all.

But, this story caught both of their attention for all the wrong reasons.

"Then, I heard that Christal's parents are separating, because her dad also cheated with one of Christal's friends that got an internship at his company," Emma chattered, dipping her chin as if she was actually trying to keep this information a secret for only the table to hear.

Toriana gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth with wide eyes. Leaning over the table, she conspired with Emma in a hushed tone that was far from being any level of quiet, "I heard they were separating because her mom was paying off her doctor to write prescriptions for, like, everything. Her dad is so over it, so he's supposed to be filing officially next week."

The mention of prescriptions and doctors who didn't care to help anymore stung at (Y/N) behind her walls. It was bad enough speaking about Christal and her family dynamics when they barely knew her outside of nights partying in the Upper West Side, but those kinds of rumors weren't something (Y/N) could ever imagine repeating. Drug use and the breaking up of a marriage—no matter the reason—were things none of them should be discussing when they had no idea what was truly going on.

It made (Y/N) think of her own parents and the years of swirling tabloids trying to figure out just how long her parents were on the rocks and what exactly had gone wrong. It was more than invasive.

(Y/N)'s nails quietly tapped on the table as the attention was placed on her, her voice piping up once Emma finally paused for a breath, "We probably shouldn't be talking about this stuff, guys."

Emma was the first to turn to her with a slighted look on her face, surprised to have anyone stopping her in the middle of her speculations. The remaining pairs of eyes turned to her, Francesca the only one that seemed to match her protesting while Kita and Toriana were just as taken aback as Emma.

Saved by the bell, their waitress chose then to appear with trays of their food in her arms. Bowls of salads and plates of eggs were distributed amongst the girls, Harry's order being of avocado toast though she couldn't imagine him picking off more than a couple of bites with the way he was so focused on the scene around him. The women had settled while they were being waited on, beaming smiles and assurances that everything was perfect, they would love a refill, and whatever chattering small talk was started by the waitress in the meantime.

It wasn't until everything had been cleared away, a plate of eggs Benedict with a kale apple salad off to the side in front of (Y/N), that Emma turned to face her once more.

Now she was less shocked and more bewildered that (Y/N) had tried to end her conversation. "Don't you want to know what happened though, (Y/N)?" she asked, incredulous, "Her parents always seemed so obsessed with each other, doesn't that make you want to know even more?"

"Sure," (Y/N) started, "But, it's a little too personal, don't you think? Especially if any of this is true, it's all probably really hard on Christal. I don't think it's fair to talk about it when we don't know anything about it, and she's not even here."

That expression of furrowed brows and parted lips didn't leave Emma's face as (Y/N) spoke. "I mean I guess, but—"

Before she could get much further, (Y/N) couldn't help but to step in. "Honestly, I'd rather hear about you and your fashion designer," (Y/N) started, leaning towards Emma with a conspiratorial smile on her face, "You haven't brought him up at all, even though you've posted him on your story at least five times now."

Watching her friends' features light up told her just how effective her new topic was. There was nothing—not even hot gossip—Emma loved talking about more than herself.

"You mean Stavros? What could you ever want to know about him?" Emma bubbled, acting coy with a lift of her shoulder and flutter of her lashes.

"Stavros?! You never told me that was his name!" Kita chimed in, filling in where (Y/N) had left off.

All it took was Emma starting with a Well... to get the table submitting again to conversation full of bubbling giggles and blushing cheeks, teases of Stavros's name and Emma's story telling about their time together so far. Even Francesca, after shooting (Y/N) a small smile, became invested in the chronicle of Emma's love life.

Falling into silence, satisfied at the reroute of the conversation, (Y/N) finally tried the food in front of her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry observing her with calculating eyes, a pinch in his brow.

Suddenly, she felt more exposed than when dozens of cameras were posed in her direction. Was she not supposed to interfere like that? Was this new topic somehow equal to the one Emma had initially embarked on?

Honestly, (Y/N) had almost forgotten about Harry's presence when she stepped in and redirected Emma into safer territory, but now she was wondering if she would have benefited more from keeping her mouth shut. Who knew what he would report back to her father with; how he would spin these events.

"(Y/N), don't you know his cousin? That Ferrill girl we met in Milan?" Francesca's voice chirping out her name had (Y/N) dropping back into the conversation, grateful for a distraction from what she was overthinking in her mind.

"Oh, yeah, Ferrill! She's Stavros's cousin?..."

—————

"You really have to go home?"

Kita's over-pouted lips and pleading pulled a laugh out of (Y/N) as she pulled her into a hug.

"I know, I'm sorry," she started, reciprocating her friend's hold, "You know I'd love to go with you guys if I could, but I already promised I'd call my stylist later today."

"I know," Kita whined, pulling away with her hug still around (Y/N)'s middle, "I just feel like you barely talked this morning, and I miss you."

Despite being around them and having spent the better part of two hours with these girls, (Y/N) missed them too. Kita wasn't wrong in that she barely talked for the morning, Harry being a constant, extra fine sifter that filtered her thoughts before she even had them ready to go. It was hard to talk as freely when she knew he was analyzing every single syllable on her lips.

"I'm sorry," (Y/N) pouted, playing along, "But, I'm sure I'll see you again soon. And, if you want, you can FaceTime me later so I can see what you got."

Kita seemed satisfied with that answer, pulling (Y/N) in for another hug before joining the rest of the women who were beckoning to join them as they started down the sidewalk. Hugs and goodbyes had already been shared amongst the rest of them, Francesca promising to text her before she even had a chance to make it home.

With a final wave from the three of them and calls of "Bye, Harry!", (Y/N) was left by Sully's car with an extra shadow.

The truth was, she couldn't imagine trekking down Fifth Ave with Harry following behind her. It was uncomfortable enough to have him sit and eat with her, even more so thinking about him watching as she chattered with her friends and tried on different pieces of clothing.

"Ready to head home?" Sully asked, hand poised on the handle of the back passenger seat for her.

"Yes, please," she sighed, eagerly stepping in when he pulled open the door for her.

Following behind her, Harry settled in beside her in the back seat, the faux-leather soft under their weight. Sully smoothly integrated himself within the New York traffic, maneuvering around in ways that made (Y/N) that much more grateful that she wasn't the one in charge.

Decompressing, her eyes fluttered closed with her shoulders untensing. It wasn't until now that she realized just how tightly she had been wound during the meal. No wonder she could feel the beginning band of an ache forming in her head.

Breaking the static silence in the cab, Harry asked, "Is it always like that?"

"Like what?" (Y/N) pressed, brows knitting together in the middle though her eyelids didn't flutter.

She could hear the sound of him shifting against the leather. "Like, everything going on at once?"

"A little," (Y/N) admitted, the words leaving on a breathing laugh, "This was on the tamer side. Usually, Toriana will try to debate everyone into agreeing to get a mimosa tower for the table—that's when things start happening all at once."

A beat passed, (Y/N) assuming he was fine with the stopping point of the conversation until he spoke again.

"Y'didn't drink today."

Though it was less of a question and more of a statement, she still answered with, "No."

"Why not?"

Shrugging, her clothing shuffled against the faux-leather. "I don't really like drinking this early—it makes me too tired, so I don't usually do it."

Despite the fact she didn't hear his voice again, (Y/N) could feel Harry's eyes on her through the remaining drive to her apartment.

—————

Laid flat on her back on her bed, (Y/N) raised her hand to look at the time on her phone once more. The closer the clock numbers to ten a.m., the more she wanted to curl up in her sheets.

Dressed in her pastel pink workout set with her hair braided back and tennis shoes on her feet, (Y/N) was more than ready to head to her pilates class. She wanted to luxuriate in her poses and breathing, get a smoothie afterwards as her cooldown, and live her normal routine. The only problem was Harry.

Though she loathed to admit it, she knew he was supposed to accompany her. Even if he wasn't policing her at home, she knew there were no exceptions to the rule of him going with her throughout her day should she chose to go out and about. That was the whole point of his job.

She wanted to do as Francesca had told her—that she still needed to live her life even if it was with an extra shadow—, but, even with the fact that the Sunday brunch had gone well enough, taking Harry to her pilates class was completely different. She lacked friends in her class anyway, and this wouldn't make it any better. Most of the women already judged her enough, adding Harry into the mix wasn't going to help her case in not looking as pretentious and spoiled like they thought.

Maybe, she could get away with only sending him a text? It wasn't as if she were going to an event or a high-profile dinner. Maybe her dad wouldn't care, leaving Harry to not care either. There wasn't much trouble she could get into while controlling her breathing and wiping sweat off the back of her neck, anyway.

Looking at the time once more, she saw the minutes click that much closer to the start time for her usual session. Her chest rose as she pulled in a deep breath.

If she wanted to get there on time and get a good spot, she was going to have to text Harry and move on. Sully was on the way anyway, she had to make her choice now before she had to cancel the car and instead curl up in bed just like she had been for three days since brunch.

The sound of (Y/N)'s nails tapping at her phone screen filled her room as she made to sit up amongst the folds in her duvet.

morning, harry! just wanted to let you know that im headed to my pilates class right now. it should end around 11 and i'll probably grab a smoothie after, so i'll be on my way back to my apartment after that. lmk if you need anything like to get into my apartment or anything like that before im home !

As soon as she pressed send with the blue bubble inflating against the dark background, she locked her phone. She couldn't overthink this whole thing anymore. She had plans she needed to stick to if she wanted to stay normal.

The notification that Sully was downstairs waiting for her couldn't have come soon enough, not when she finished packing her things much too quickly.

"No Harry?" Sully asked once she was secure in the back seat, the morning sun shining on the grimy streets of the city.

Avoiding his gaze in the rearview mirror, (Y/N) shook her head. "Not today."

—————

Buzz-buzz.

(Y/N) cinched her eyes closed tighter at the sound of a phone vibrating deep in someone's bag. her breathing came in even waves, chest rising and falling in even measures.

Buzz-buzz.

One of the other students faltered on their breathing, the teacher pausing just a second too long in-between instructions as everyone heard the incessant noise.

"Now, take a breath and stretch into your high plank," the morning's instructor directed, voice calm in the middle of the studio, "Keep the height to your comfort, no reason to strain past a slight burn."

Taking in a deep breath, (Y/N) listened with her hands planted solidly on the mat under her. Her back stretched slowly, legs keeping her steady as she fell back into the rhythm of the session.

Until another round of buzzing started, this string clearly from a phone call that was going to be ignored.

The strength in her core faltered with her eyes cinched to a tight close at the sound.

(Y/N) knew good and well that it was her phone that was going crazy at the bottom of her bag, but there was no way she was going to make that obvious to anyone else in the class. She was sure a good chunk of them already assumed it was her anyway, but that didn't mean she had to admit to it.

Instead, she kept up with the poses and the directions given, ignoring the device as best as she could. She was going to enjoy this class as much as she could before she would be forced to renter her reality.

She already knew what kind of notifications were waiting for her, anyway. Either Francesca and the girls randomly decided to start up another group chat, or Harry wasn't pleased with her decision to head out for the day with nothing more than a text sent his way. Either way, (Y/N) didn't want to deal with either of those things at the moment.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but would the owner of the phone that keeps going off, please, either silence or turn off your phone for the remainder of the class? I'm sure the class would appreciate the chance to keep their focus without any more interruptions."

Despite her tone of voice being respectful and calm as ever, (Y/N) knew the instructor was pissed. No matter how well-paying her clients were, there was no way she could keep standing for disruptions like this. Blinking her eyes open, she saw the rest of the class on the same level as their instructor: just as annoyed but feigning calmness as if the last half hour hadn't been spent ignoring phone call after phone call with text messages in between.

She couldn't get up now, (Y/N) thought. Not when everyone was waiting to see who the culprit was so they could shoot daggers with their gaze. She could only imagine what the post-class powwow of complaints would sound like.

(Y/N) cringed when her phone went off once more, the device rattling against a tube of lipgloss to make it that much lounger.

Fuck. This was worse than waking up and seeing drunken photos of her posted. At least then she didn't have a dozen other people staring at her in the process.

When her phone went off once more in what she hoped was a reminder notification and not another set of messages coming through, (Y/N) couldn't take it anymore. She had to fix this if she wanted to at least be welcomed back.

Just as she went to break her pose, a clatter could be heard on the other side of the door. Muffled voices broke through the curated tranquility of the studio, sounding more and more aggravated as they drew closer to the room she was in. The doorknob twisted, resistance found on the other side when a clear "Sir!" was called through.

A beat later, that resistance was broken, Harry barreling through the door. With a furrow pinching his brow and a blaze in his eyes, he looked just as bitter and grumpy as a stereotypical bouncer and not the seasoned security detail he was. His usual uniform of all black was crumpled and creased with his hair a mess on the top of his head.

"Sir, there is a class in session!" A voice (Y/N) recognized from the front desk of the studio burst in behind him. Harry didn't flinch back for even a second.

The second his gaze landed on her, his jaw hardened. "(Y/N)," he gritted out her name, "Come here, now."

Having crumbled from her pose to sit with her legs folded underneath her, (Y/N) felt stuck where she sat. She could practically spot steam coming from the top of Harry's head. Her skin heated when she felt others' eyes land on her.

This was definitely much, much worse than if she had just answered her phone.

"Harry," she started, unsure of what exactly she was going to say but feeling as if she needed to say something anyway.

His nose flared. "Sully is waiting outside. Let's go."

There was a finality in her tone that had her scrambling to collect her things as soon as possible. The room was silent as she messily rolled her mat and clumsily stepped into her shoes.

A mumbled thank you was offered to the silent instructor as she passed, a matching apology being told to the class though she was sure both sentiments fell on deaf ears. (Y/N) was definitely going to have to switch studios again.

She wasn't surprised to see the rest of the studio having fallen in line, patrons and classes quiet and paused after the ruckus caused on her behalf. (Y/N) could only imagine the photos others snapped of her following after Harry like a puppy with her tail between her legs. She already knew what this was going to look like—the loud scene as well as following after Harry the way she was.

Sully didn't say anything when (Y/N) quickly slipped into the backseat, Harry coming after with a loud slam of the door behind.

The interior was almost humid with the way Harry fumed beside her, his arms a tight cross over his chest and his jaw anchored closed. From the corner of her eye, she could see the way his fingers were curled into fists under the shelter of his arms.

(Y/N) felt silly to be sitting there with her cardigan and leggings, hands in her lap like a reprimanded child.

The silence stretched on as Sully pulled away from the curb, routing directly back to her apartment without question.

It wasn't until there was a stop in the traffic that any of them dared to speak a single word. Of course, it was Harry.

"I don't know what you were thinking this morning," he started, voice deceptively calm, "But, you almost cost me my job with that stunt."

Staying quiet, she didn't know what to say. Honestly, she hadn't really thought about it like that when she left without him this morning. She had only been considering the pit in her stomach and how much she hadn't wanted to disrupt her own life. She acted just as selfish as she was sure Harry thought her to be at her core.

From the corner of her eye, she could see the way Harry's gaze on her profile sharpened. She kept her eyes on her hands.

"I thought we had a good understanding after this weekend, but I think I need to make a few things especially clear for you," he started, (Y/N) finally chancing a look at him. Harry's gaze steeled when she matched him. "When I was given this job, I was told to go with you everywhere, and 'm sure you were told the same thing. I don't care if you think your fathers's company, or the 'public' or whoever you think is my client, because that is not the truth. You are my client, and if you make trouble like this again, I will lose my job. Because of you."

(Y/N) had never been reprimanded like this before, not as fat as she could remember. Her father's scoldings had never been this effective, even when she was young enough to still care what he had to say.

Her throat was dry as she piped up, hoping to explain herself, "It was just my pilates class. I didn't think it would be a big deal."

That seemed to be the very worst thing she could have said with the way Harry's shoulders tensed with hot air with his jaw quirked. His eye contact was unwavering as he glared at her.

"I knew I was going to have to babysit you, but I didn't think it would be this much of a problem. Going forward, I do not care where you are going, I am going with you. I know you don't want me here, so the quicker you follow this and get over whatever princess complex you have after getting everything handed to you, the quicker we'll both be free of this contract. Please keep that in mind the next time you decide to go off with just a text."

Harry's tone was harsh and grating, flaming hot underneath the calm facade he was just well-versed with as her own bubbly princess role. He could rival her father in just how much disdain he held for her.

She couldn't blame his perception of her, really. With the way both her father and the media spoke of her, she could only imagine the kind of person she looked to be in his eyes.

Nonetheless, (Y/N) could still feel that sting of hurt.

But, he was right. Now, she knew where they stood. Now, she could try harder to get over her princess complex and show her father she didn't need a ghost and everything could go back to normal.

If she tried hard enough, she could hopefully still make it to spend the winter in Francesca's family's Swiss cabin free of an extra shadow. That was a goal she could work towards this summer.

"I understand," she told him, checking out of the conversation now that she had her own plan working in the background, her own terms to follow, "I'm sorry I put you in that position. I didn't mean anything by it, I just didn't think it was the kind of thing to bother you over."

Deflating some, Harry blinked, his gaze falling down her features. "Okay," he settled, golden flecks swimming in his irises, "Now, we're both on the same page."

(Y/N) quietly agreed with a small nod.

The rest of the car ride was silent.

—————

Without a second thought, (Y/N) stowed the newest heavy, photo-laden envelope into her drawer of the others. She already knew what kind of pictures would be inside and the kind of story her admirer had spun in her honor. It would be the same photos that had been distributed by the same anonymous Instagram blog that always posted them along with the same story that all the tabloids picked up the next day.

According to the internet as well as a few gullible publications, (Y/N) had shown up drunk to her class and Harry had come to collect her. Harry was also no longer her mystery man, and now her affair partner that she had cheated on Damien Moore with. Damien was also reportedly very hurt to be seeing her with Harry after everything that had gone down. Broken-hearted by the ice queen, one publication had been so bold to claim. Blurry photos accompanied the articles and tweets, with her looking to Harry with watery eyes ("alcohol-glazed") like a reprimanded child as she followed him out.

Her admirer had no doubt clung to the claims that she was in a romantic relationship, their own version of events meandering around it all to erase the legitimacy of the claims along with photos of her back at her apartment without him to solidify their theory. While they would be right this time, that she and Harry were not linked in any way but professional, it still didn't make her feel very safe knowing they had gone to the length they did to verify as much as well as send a letter to prove it all.

It'd been days since the incident and one day since the news hit the circuits, and (Y/N) was more than comfortable hiding out at her apartment to ensure she wouldn't have to deal with anyone, including Harry, until her nail appointment on Thursday. The whole thing was more than stupid, full of baseless claims and low-quality photos. It didn't deserve her attention.

The only thing that had truly caught her off guard, was the lack of phone calls from her father. A full day had passed with the story being tweeted and mocked, and yet there was no scathing text message or berating call sent to her phone. This was just the type of story that would have him up in arms and fuming all throughout the mansion. The longer it didn't come, the more she felt on edge.

Her father was built on being predictable, so when he deviated from the norm she couldn't help but to fear the worst.

Ignoring it all for the time being, (Y/N) returned to her kitchen eager to take her mind off things in the form of trying out one of her stored up recipes.

While she didn't usually have the chance to share it with others, cooking was one of (Y/N)'s favorite pastimes—a therapeutic hobby. She liked putting flavors together and the technique that went into making everything just the way she liked it. There was structure to it all—even the bendable rules gave her guidelines.

Especially when she was attending her private school and spending her time in dorms and weekends alone at her parents' home, food was the one thing she could control that gave her a routine. She liked making cute meals and lunches for her friends at school and taking advantage of the illustrious pantry and fridge she had at home. It was easy to nurture her love for it when there was no other outlet open for her feelings.

While there was nothing special she could imagine herself doing with her passion like she was sure that her father would have wanted, it didn't cheapen the love for her at all. It was the easiest way to fill herself with love even when she felt as if everything around her was hateful.

Turning her phone to silent, (Y/N) happily turned on a rerun of her favorite cooking competition show, and started on her own meal.

—————

élan is a French word that describes the sense of a movement coming; the grace with which time moves towards the next chapter

eeeek! thank u sm for reading! sorry for any mistakes and please lmk if theres any fun ideas or thoughts you have!

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