#otherwise he never would have tried to leave in the first place
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Human Buddy the 5 year old and Sunstreaker being their new guardian
SFW, Platonic, Familial, Slight Angst, Human reader
IDW
Sunstreaker had known Buddy since they were a baby.
Sideswipe and he were good friends with Buddy’s parents, who worked with the Autobots.
How did they all became friends? They don’t even know.
It was just decided that they were going to be friends one day and no one objected to it.
Buddy’s parents showed him Buddy first since Sideswipe was out on patrol when they came in with the baby.
“Sunny! You’re back!”--Sideswipe
Sunstreaker transforming and stretching one of his arms.
“Yeah I’m back.”--Sunstreaker
Sunstreaker looks at Sideswipe holding something in his servos.
“What you got there?”--Sunstreaker
“Remember the baby?”--Sideswipe
“Yeah? Weren’t they due…”--Sunstreaker
Sunstreakers optics widen.
“No… Sides that not…”--Sunstreaker
Sideswipe just smiles and shows his twin the tiny baby.
Sunstreaker looks at the tiny organic.
“They’re so small…”--Sunstreaker
One of the parents comes to the two.
“I see you’ve met the baby Sunny. You want to hold’em?”—Parent 1
Sunstreaker is about to say ‘no’, but Sideswipe already places the tiny being in his twin’s servo.
Sunstreaker freezes looking at the baby.
He raises one of his digits and raises it above the organic.
The baby, with a tiny bit of drool on their chin, raises their hands to the digit.
They giggle a bit patting it.
“…As long as they don’t ruin my paintjob, I guess the kid’s fine.”--Sunstreaker
“Sure Sunny, sure.”—Sideswipe
Sunstreaker sends him a look before looking back down at the new parent.
“Where’s—”--Sunstreaker
“They’re at home resting. Buddy was quite the fussy kid.”—Parent 1
“Buddy?”—Sideswipe and Sunstreaker
“That’s their name.”--Parent
Sunny loves the baby so much.
Not that he would ever say it out loud.
So does Sideswipe, but he is a bit rougher in dealing with the baby.
Meaning until Buddy gets a bit older, Sunstreaker is the one who carries Buddy, or it has to be under his supervision.
Sunstreaker claims a lot of the time to not care too much about Buddy.
That car seat and booster seat says otherwise.
“Are you sure that the car seat is strapped in correctly Verity? I swear it’s still loose.”--Sunstreaker
Verity annoyingly tugs the seatbelt harder.
“Hey!”--Sunstreaker
“It’s strapped in Sunstreaker. Nothing’s going to move it.”--Verity
“It better not.”--Sunstreaker
“Aww, Sunny you do care!”--Sideswipe
“I just don’t want the kid to smear their insides in me.”--Sunstreaker
Sideswipe and Verity having a flashback to Buddy fingerpainting on Sunstreakers pede and him encouraging their work.
“Sure Sunny, keep telling yourself that.”--Verity
Buddy’s parents started getting on more patrol together.
Which means babysitting.
Of course, there’s other reliable bots around the base who would love to babysit Buddy.
But if Sunstreaker is around, Buddy wants to be around him.
Does this strike up his ego?
Of course it does.
But he loves Buddy so there isn’t much complaint.
As they get older Sunstreaker sometimes takes them out of the base for a little drive around the neighborhood.
Sideswipe tried one time to sneak Buddy off into a drag race.
One time.
When Sunstreaker found out, there was just a yellow blur seen leaving the Ark.
Sideswipe racing with the other contenders.
“Buddy! We’re almost to the finish line! Can you see it? Can—”--Sideswipe
“SIDESWIPE!”--Sunstreaker
Sideswipe looks at one of his mirrors seeing a familiar yellow Lambo coming his tailpipe.
“SIDESWIPE I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! PULL OVER!”--Sunstreaker
“NEVER!”--Sideswipe
Ironically, Sunstreaker won that race, but he didn’t notice being too busy hunting down Sideswipe.
Miraculously, Buddy was asleep the entire time.
Buddy’s parents soon start going on more and more ‘missions’, leaving Buddy alone with the bots.
As much as Sunstreaker loves babysitting Buddy, he does make a point with Buddy’s parents about being more present in Buddy’s life.
They simply brush the comments off.
Sunstreaker doesn’t like it.
Soon Buddy being in the base suddenly becomes a regular appearance.
Even if Sunstreaker or Sideswipe were out on a mission Buddy would still be let in the base.
The first time no one was let known that Buddy was going to be at the base, they just wandered around.
Sunstreaker nearly had a spark attack seeing Buddy on Teletran Ones desk looking downward.
His paint job was scratched that day.
Sideswipe is very concerned and angry too.
Shouldn’t Buddy’s parents be with them?
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe marching up to the human couple with Buddy by their pedes.
“Aren’t you two forgetting something?”--Sunstreaker
The pair look at each other.
“… I think we forgot to get the yogurt from the store—”—Parent 1
“Your kid! You forgot your kid!”--Sideswipe
“No one knew Buddy was in the base! They could have gotten seriously hurt if we didn’t come in.”--Sunstreaker
One of the parent’s huffs and waves their hand in dismissal.
“They’re in one of the safest places in the world. They’re fine.”—Parent 2
“And they’re FIVE! They need their parents around more.”--Sideswipe
“Again, with this? Look Sides, they’re still breathing and not bleeding, completely fine. And there is always someone on base, so they are never really alone.”—Parent 1
“But—”--Sunstreaker
“Hey, Buddy isn’t your kid Sunstreaker, so stay out of it. We are their parents, what we say goes. Your opinion doesn’t matter.”—Parent 2
Sunstreaker clenches his servos to his side but keeps quiet.
“Now, it’s date night and we have a reservation we need to get to. Buddy’s overnight bag is in the main room.”—Parent 2
“Wait, this isn’t over—”--Sideswipe
“Can’t wait gotta go, thank Sides! Thanks Sunny!”—Parent 1
The human pair races out the Ark in their car, leaving the Lambo Twins with Buddy in their car.
Buddy pats Sunstreaker’ digits.
“Sunny? Where are they going?”--Buddy
Sunstreaker glared at the direction of the couple before softening his gaze as he looked down at the child.
He reaches down and scoops them up.
“Lets just get you too bed Buddy.”--Sunstreaker
They pout a bit.
“I’m not tired.”--Buddy
“Sorry kiddo, it’s bedtime. Don’t you want to see the new room Wheeljack made for you?”—Sideswipe
“… Okay!”--Buddy
Sunstreaker feels his energon boiling.
After Buddy parents bring them back home, the five-year-old is absent from the base.
As much as it feels good for Sunstreaker to get his point across, he misses Buddy being around the base.
Two more weeks pass, while on patrol when he gets a message from Sideswipe about coming back to the base.
“Sunny! You need to come back to base now!”--Sideswipe
“Now? I am literally across the city.”--Sunstreaker
“Don’t care. Come to the med bay now.”--Sideswipe
“Med bay? What is it that I need to come back so quick—"--Sunstreaker
“It’s Buddy.”--Sideswipe
“… I’m on my way.”--Sunstreaker
Sunstreaker is lucky that there were no cops or cameras on the roads he was using.
He is rushing into the base scanning for Buddy in their usual spots.
Reaching the med bay and is greeted with the sight of Buddy playing patting cake on Sideswipes chassis.
Also, by the number of Auotbots in the room.
Optimus, Prowl, Bumblebee, Ironhide and Ratchet are present.
Sunstreaker gently picks Buddy up.
Buddy is just happy to see all their friends in one room, unaware of the danger they were just in a couple of hours ago.
“What happened?”--Sunstreaker
Prowl steps forward.
“I was out on one of my patrol routes when I saw Buddy on one of the park benches near an intersection.”--Prowl
“Now? At this time? But its almost midnight!”--Sunstreaker
“Hush!”--Ratchet
“As I was saying, I saw a suspicious looking van nearby and took them inside and drove off.”—Prowl
All the bots in the room tensed.
“A van?”--Ironhide
“Oh yeah! There was a big white van! I kind of got scared seeing it, it smelled funny. But Prowl was there so I wasn’t scared anymore. And I saw a raccoon too! It was fluffy.”--Buddy
“I have already have a report on the van if you are wondering.”--Prowl
“I got drive thru on the way here!”—Buddy
Buddy pulls out a little yellow plastic car.
“Look Sunny! It looks like you!”--Buddy
Sunstreaker just looks down at the little kid smiling widely at him.
“Yes, Buddy that’s a nice car.”--Sunstreaker
He pulls Buddy a little closer to his chassis.
“Why were they out so late?”--Bumblebee
“From what they told me, their parents left them on the bench until they came back with the moving van, am I correct Buddy?”--Prowl
Buddy looks a bit sad at this.
“Yeah, they said they would come back. They promised!”—Buddy
Buddy looks at Optimus with slightly teary eyes.
“Optimus do you know where they are?”—Buddy
Optimus comes up to the child and softly pats their head.
“I’m sorry Buddy, I do not.”--Optimus
Buddy looks down a bit.
“Do you remember at what time they dropped you off at that bench Buddy?”--Optimus
“Hmmm… I think it was lunch time. That’s why I was so hungry when we got the food.” --Buddy
Everyone is furious at the news.
Sunstreaker wants blood.
He doesn’t care if those guys were once his friends, he wants justice.
The bots end up keeping a closer optic on Buddy until they eventually fell asleep.
Ratchet takes them to their room on the Ark.
It was now time to talk about what to do with Buddy.
It was clear that their parents had deliberately abandoned them.
“I remember hearing about the adoption system—”--Prowl
“No.”--Sunstreaker
Everyone looks at Sunstreaker.
Prowl raises an optic.
“No? And what do you suggest then? You adopt Buddy?”--Prowl
“…”--Sunstreaker
“Oh Primus your serious.”--Prowl
“Sunny—”--Sideswipe
“I want to, that if the system can even allow it. Let’s faces it, I’ve been more of a parent than they have ever been.”--Sunstreaker
Prime places a servo on Sunstreaker’s shoulder.
“Maybe Verity can look at that.”--Optimus
“Really?”--Sunstreaker
“Really?”--Prowl
“Yes, that if Sunstreaker understands the weight of taking Buddy in and raising them. Then I see why not.”--Optimus
Sunstreaker firmly nods with determination.
“I do.”--Sunstreaker
“Well, if Sunny thinks he can, I’m behind him. Anyways someones gotta look after the two of them.”—Sideswipe
“And someones gotta look after you guys too! I’m in too!”—Bumblebee
Ironhide places a servo on Sunstreaker’s shoulder.
“We’re all behind ya Sunstreaker. You won’t have to raise them all by yourself.”—Ironhide
Sunstreaker smiles at this.
“Well you can all save your voice box with Verity.”--Prowl
Prowl opens one of his subspaces with a data pad.
A data pad with the digital version of adoption papers.
“Prowl? How…”--Bumblebee
Ironhide chuckles.
“Why was that in your subspace?”--Sunstreaker
“Something that you don’t need to know.”--Prowl
#transformers x reader#maccadam#human buddy#idw transformers#tf sunstreaker#tf sunstreaker x platonic reader
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i think a lot of people (especially those who haven’t read the books) are underestimating Hades
yes, he presents as the sassy queer uncle who’s done with his family’s drama, but he’s not “just some guy”
when his Helm is stolen, no one knows about it. he uses his own resources and orchestrates a plan to bring Percy to the underworld alive, all while managing an entire freaking kingdom
he doesn’t threaten war because he doesn’t have to and he knows it. unlike Zeus, he keeps a level head and thinks about the situation logically
think about Percy’s priorities throughout the show, look at what the flashbacks are teaching us about him and his relationship with others. think logically. this is a 12 year old kid who grew up with a single mom and no friends
his priority is his mom, it’s always been his mom and Hades knows that. Percy’s worst fear is losing his mother and Hades uses that against him
he takes Sally before Poseidon claims Percy because he has eyes everywhere. he already knew who Percy was and he already had a plan formed before Percy even set foot in camp
when he greets Percy and Grover he isn’t surprised, relieved, or agitated because he planned this. he knew that Percy would come to him whether by force or by his own choice (for my book readers, think about this in comparison to how Zeus reacts to the situation. Zeus comes off as desperate and angry, whereas Hades is at ease. annoyed, sure, but never panicked)
when he offers them pomegranate juice it’s in the guise of politeness and humour but it has an underlying meaning. Percy knows the stories about Hades and Hades knows that he knows. the pomegranate juice is a reminder, it’s Hades demonstrating his power without outright threatening Percy. it’s him going “I can make something as small as a pomegranate seed into a weapon” it’s him asserting his dominance and control over the situation
he leads them to a seating area clearly made for their arrival. another reminder that he knew they were coming and Sally stands, frozen in the middle of it as a reminder of what they have to lose
when he learns that it’s Kronos behind the robberies he immediately offers sanctuary to Percy, Grover, and his mom. Kronos, the king of titans, the father of all Gods, and a being who could once tear the world in two with the snap of his fingers, wants Percy, and Hades offers to protect him because he’s that powerful
so yes, Hades makes dad jokes and he talks in a way you wouldn’t expect an all-powerful being to talk, but he isn’t “just some guy”
he’s powerful, he knows it, and he shows just enough of that power to absolutely terrify Percy
#the only reason percy is able to stand up to him (leave without his mom) is because he can see that hades isn’t bad#he can see that hades actually cares about people and that he won’t kill him when he tries to leave#otherwise he never would have tried to leave in the first place#because hades makes it very clear just how powerful he is#hades pjo#pjo tv show#pjo spoilers#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#long post
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Howl Pendragon Gets a Little Feral
Pairing: Howl Pendragon x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, marking, scratching, jealousy, possessive sex, clothes ripping, outdoor sex, shifting (just his hands), feral Howl
A/N: Yes, he's pretty as fuck but I want him pretty and feral.
Pride and charisma were big parts of who Howl was as a person. His charisma and charm got him to a lot of high places, and a lot of trouble, the scales varied. His pride was something he was willing to get into arguments over, and it certainly got him into more trouble then otherwise.
Howl's pride was why you didn't even make it into his castle, just to the door before he couldn't wait to kiss you anymore. Howl's pride could easily turn into jealousy, with very little provocation at that. Like a soldier asking you for a dance. He didn't have to fly you away after kissing you in front of the soldier, his kiss was enough of a statement, he didn't have to push you against the rail and grunt as he tried to get clothes out of the way but he did.
"I never took you of all people to be the jealous type Howl." You helped him get your dress out of the way because seeing him this forceful almost never happened. Howl was a gentle and giving lover, you never thought that would be influenced something as simple as a dance.
"It wasn't the dance. It was the way he and his friends looked at you." Howl pushed the tip of his cock against your pussy, "Like... like you owed them something. It made me sick. You're not theirs, you don't owe them anything." He kept still, only a few inches of his cock sinking in, his hands shaking on your thighs from both anger and lust.
"You're right. I'm not theirs. I'm yours. Your girl right?" You impaled yourself on his cock, taking the whole length at once. Howl's hands shifted, his black feathers growing up his arms, up to his elbows, his sharp claws leaving lines on your thighs.
He never marked you like this, with kisses sure, almost always, but this was a first. "Yes. My girl." His breath came out in deep, quick, labored pants, "Shall I mark you as such?" Soft hands moved down your thighs to smooth over the marks he's made but still twitching along your skin.
"By all means, mark me as much as you want." Claws dug into your skin again, this time sneaking from your thighs to your arms and gripping them, pulling your body taunt while he started moving in and out. You could feel those sharp claws dig into your skin. "You can mark me on the inside too."
"I-Inside." Howl grunted at the thought, the smacking of his hips slightly dampened by the clothes that kept getting in the way, "Fuck." The sound of clothes ripping made your cunt clench so hard, you couldn't even be mad, "That's much better." His voice shifted more towards a growl towards the end as his thrusts also grew in speed and ferocity.
You pulled yourself closer to the railing to give yourself more stability, your legs shaking with every impact. Howl followed you not wanting to lose the warmth around his cock even for a second. His hands gripped the railing, almost caging your body.
"Still alright to do it inside as well?" He nibbled against the outer shell of your ear, looking for your approval. You nodded and made your pussy ripple around his cock, inviting him to finish. Just a few rough thrusts later and the railing under his hands bent as he painted your insides white with his cum.
You moved against him, hands going over his, feeling the feathers prickle and relax under your touch. "Howl. I'm all yours." You moaned, as if hoping that everyone would hear you as you came and went slack, letting him catch your exhausted body in his arms. The soft kisses and touches were back, his words of love making you twitch around his cock, milking the last couple of drops from his cock.
#howl x reader#howl pendragon x reader#howl x you#howl pendragon x you#howl imagine#howl pendragon imagine#howl fanfic#howl pendragon fanfic#howl smut#howl pendragon smut#smut drabble#x female reader
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NO ONE LIKE YOU // t. riddle
RATING: R / 2.1K WORDS
Tom Riddle x Fem Reader Insert
+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* (Thank you to @orphicmortala for the request!) After having a very difficult meeting with his followers, Tom decides to take some frustrations out on you. He ends up getting a little too enthusiastic. (Smut, Angst)
+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (For the first part), piv - no protection, hair pulling, oral - m!receiving, mention of blood, Tom is kind of mean, rough sex, (very slight) pain play, dom!Tom, Reader eventually uses safe word, language, not fully proofread, fem reader (lmk if I missed anything)
+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -
Animal - Troye Sivan
- - -
The final light of day flashed through the Head Boy’s dorm room. It cast a honeyed glow around you for only a moment before pitching the whole world into blackness. When the sun disappeared behind the mountains along the edge of Hogwarts, it was always a very quick descent to dark. It wasn’t very gradient, just sudden.
Almost as soon as the light had dissipated, the door flew open, nearly hitting the stone wall behind it. You shot up from the bed you were lounging on. A chilled wind blew in from the hallway, sending wild flickers through the fire in the corner.
“Tom,” you breathed.
The man in question stood in the doorway, fuming silently. His jaw was clenched and ticking, his eyes dark and frenzied. You swallowed thickly at the animalistic energy pouring off of his body. What had happened?
He slammed the door shut behind him, a slight flinch shocking through your body at the loud sound. He stomped across the room, barely paying you any mind. He came to a stop in front of the blazing fireplace. His hands began roughly ripping some papers. You got to your feet.
“Tom?” you called gently, waltzing over to him. Your hands reached out to press a comforting touch to him when he turned abruptly.
“What?” he growled. You stepped back, dropping your hands immediately. He had never looked at you like this before. The fire in his eyes nearly reflected the blaze within the stone in front of you.
“I–I’m sorry, I was just…”
“Darling, I’m sorry,” he sighs, blowing air through his nose. “It’s been a rough day.”
“What happened?” you asked, stepping closer to him again. You wanted to comfort him. A small groan leaves him as he tosses the remains of the shredded papers into the flames. Your eyes flickered to the fiery confetti, wondering what it once had been.
“What was that?” you ask, finally coming to place your hands on his shoulders.
“Nothing, do not worry yourself with matters of the Knights,” he whispered.
“What can I do to help?” you ask, staring up at him with such quiet adoration. His eyes found yours, basking in the innocence pooled within them. He could hardly bear to see you so concerned with him, especially when his anger came from such a vile source. Those pathetic boys tried to impress him by insisting they’d found new information for him and presented it before the whole group. They’d laid out more information of his lowly bringing-up, discussing new details about his mother they may have found.
He’d slammed his fists on the table, demanding to know why they’d been looking into his family history. They had immediately snapped their jaws shut, unsure how to respond. Perhaps they’d thought he’d be happy with them for finding more information on his parents. He couldn’t care any less about his worthless parents. All he cared about was his plans. He thought that had been obvious, but apparently, these boys had thought otherwise. He was in a mind to completely expel them from the group and obliviate them.
“My love,” he whispered, placing a gentle but firm hand beneath her jaw. He’d never loved, and he never would. You knew this well and accepted it for what it was—you and Tom weren’t ‘dating,’ but he was yours, and you were his. It wasn’t necessarily love, but it was in your own way. You couldn’t really explain it, but you both felt it.
“I need you, darling,” he whispered against your ear, placing his lips to the skin there. You felt the electricity humming beneath his flesh. Your lips shuddered a bit in anticipation. You nodded, accepting him into you.
That was all he needed to roughly grab your face and press hot, fast kisses to you. He satiated his every need against your tongue, taking what he wanted. You sighed against his lips, feeling the way he shattered you and held you together.
He walked you back to his bed and let you fall down against it. He kept you pinned beneath his weight, his hands hungry and wanting. They gripped and spared you, leaving hard, peppered bruises in their wake. He was always rough with you, fucking and biting and choking. He didn’t make love, and you didn’t want him to. You’d come to him for the dark passion he exuded through his body. If you’d wanted something gentle, you’d have looked around Hufflepuff. That wasn’t an insult to your house, of course. You just knew exactly what you wanted.
His hands came up to rip the front of your shirt open, ignoring the way a button or two flung across the room. He’d get you a new shirt later. A low groan sounded in his throat as his fingers tightened around your breasts, kneading them with his long, deft fingers. He placed his face against your chest, inhaling deeply and pressing painful bruises on you. You whined at the feeling, beckoning him away from your pained skin.
“Shut up. I’ll do what I want,” he growled, continuing to mark you as painfully as before. His sharp teeth seared into your flesh, pulling blood to the surface and occasionally past it. When he finally pulled away, a small drop of bloodied saliva dripped from his lips as if in slow motion. You sighed at the visual, the heat beginning to pool rapidly between your legs.
He crawled up your body, quickly unbuckling and pushing his belt through the loops in his trousers. When it was free, he slid the button through its slit and shoved his pants down to his knees. He dropped his bottoms and released himself against his stomach. The hot skin was reddened and beating with his heart. You gasped at the sight, wanting to feel him within you so desperately.
“You know what to do,” he groaned. He curled fingers into your hair, roughly shoving your face toward him. You glanced up at him through your eyelashes, watching as he panted in anticipation. His pupils were blown wide, and his lips were parted, a hint of your blood still tattooed over his perfectly white teeth. Fuck, he looked gorgeous.
As your tongue came forth to swipe over his length as slowly as he’d allow you to, you realized you wouldn’t be finishing with him anytime soon. He intended to go as far as you could and then some. The anger built up in his chest was enough for seven men, and he loved nothing more than taking it out on you.
“Ah, you perfect fucking girl,” he groaned as you took him completely into your mouth. Despite his size, you did your best to push him to the very back of your throat, allowing him to caress you in places you’d never been touched before. His hands were tight against your scalp, forcing you to stay completely still as he bucked his hips into you. It wasn’t comfortable at all, but the feeling of being able to please him had you staying planted in place.
“You always take me so well,” he sighed, head angled toward the ceiling. Your thighs pressed so tightly together you thought they might combust. He was so perfect. “No one like you, no one like you, no one like you…” He mumbled endlessly, pushing those words into your brain.
You wanted him so badly—all you could think about was him. All you could see, smell, hear, taste was him. He surrounded you, forcing you to take him in every way you could. Every sense was blinded by him. And that was just how he liked you—drowning in him.
He pulled you from him before he could finish. He wanted to finish within you, just as he always did. You knew him well enough to turn yourself around and ready yourself to accept him. He tended to follow a bit of a pattern when fucking you, one you’d started to catch on to. He never had to ask you for anything anymore; you just did it.
He flipped your skirt over your ass, revealing the lack of bottoms beneath. Another groan left his lips as he placed his fingers over you, working every part of you apart like clockwork. He moved you open, lathering you in your arousal, marking your insides with his claim.
When he removed his hand from you and placed both of them on your hips, you bit your arm, preparing for him to split you down the middle. No matter how often the two of you had sex, you seemed to never adjust to his size. He always had to move as slowly as he could to work you apart gently. Perhaps you were a bit more sensitive down there than others, but he was always patient. Except for today, it seemed.
With little more than a brief hesitation at the start, he slid himself into you all in one go. A strangled gasp left you at the feeling. He wasted no time beginning to pound himself into you. He cared nothing of the pathetic whines and screams coming from your lips. Your hands white-knuckled the sheets as you begged him to slow down, to be gentler, anything. He didn’t fucking care. He wrapped a hand into your hair, using it as a bit of leverage. He was going to take out every bit of pent-up frustration on this tight cunt.
“Fuck, Slytherin!” you shrieked, the tears beginning to roll down your cheeks. He stopped immediately, his hips halting inside you. As if he was in a daze, Tom blinked rapidly and shook his head a bit. It felt as though he had been under a spell, the way he had been fucking into you.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered. He gently pulled himself out of you, a pitiful whine leaving your lips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Hearing him say those words alone was enough to convince him how serious the situation was. Tom didn’t say sorry unless it was to a professor or to generally get someone off of his back. Usually, it was fake. This time, it wasn’t, and it rushed out of his lips before he could stop it.
He gently wrapped himself around you, slowly turning you and laying you back against his pillows. He kicked his pants down the rest of his legs and slipped the both of you beneath his comforter.
The cool green satin pressed softly against your hot skin, softly soothing it. He laid himself down behind you, his soft breath barely tickling the hairs on the back of your neck. Hesitantly, his hand slid over your stomach. It seemed as though he wasn’t sure exactly how to comfort you, but was trying his best.
“Darling?” he whispered against your back.
“I’m sorry, I just—”
“Don’t ever apologize to me,” he said. “I’m sorry that I…I shouldn’t have been so rough with you.”
A soft sigh left you. You’d never had to use your safe word with Tom before—had never even wanted to. Every aspect of the way Tom fucked had always intrigued you. The ways he handled you as if you were nothing to him but an outlet for his pleasure, the way he insisted on doing everything, the way he was genuinely concerned about your pleasure, despite himself. It often left you breathless.
Tonight, however, had been different. You felt less than you usually did when beneath him. Usually it was a nice feeling; like you were smaller, something for him to take care of. But tonight you’d felt pure hatred coursing through his body. You were scared that it was directed toward you.
“It’s not that, Tom,” you sighed. “I was worried that you were angry with me.”
His hands gently wrapped around you and helped you to turn toward him. His eyes watched you sternly. He wanted to put any affection that had built up inside him completely into you.
“I have never been angry with you—I was angry with my worthless fucking followers, always insisting they ruin my life in the most embarrassing ways possible.”
“Why would they do that?” You gasped, shocked that they’d even think of doing such a thing.
“They think that they’re helping or something,” he scoffed, jaw clenching. You could feel the anger radiating off of him.
“I’m so sorry,” you sigh, slipping your eyes shut. “I hope I didn’t upset you further—it was just a bit too much, I suppose.”
He nods understandingly, saying nothing more. The quiet and safety you felt when with Tom had you falling into a particularly deep sleep. Though you tried to fight it off, you could feel Tom’s eyes on you, watching as you slowly drifted off.
The last thing you remembered before slipping fully into sleep was Tom’s hand gently against your cheek, his cold thumb caressing a hair away from your face.
*Tag List: @lilymurphy03, @mypolicemanharryyy, @angelfrombeneth, @clairesjointshurt (if you would like to be added to the tag list, please comment on this post, send me a dm, or message in my inbox. Thanks!)
#fanfiction#creative writing#fanfic#writing#reader insert#harry potter#harry potter fanfiction#oneshot#slytherin#harry potter smut#tom riddle#tom riddle smut#tom riddle x reader#fem reader#request#requests are open
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SMTH WITH USHIJIMA preferably nsfw
Ushijima Headcanons (18+)
Minors do not interact ⚠️ This material is for 18+ readers only. Thank you
Now without further ado
• Getting to the physical stage with Ushijima can be difficult at times. He tries his best to balance volleyball with his romantic life, but often times he has a lot on his mind and you have to take initiative. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, of course he does, he’s just not overly needy.
• If you want to get him worked up, mess with him. Wear his oversized clothes. Dress up for him. Make him jealous. Use his competitiveness to your advantage, that man is possessive.
• He’s dominant and firm, but he’s also loving. Majority of the time he’s very vanilla, his large hands handle you with care and he’s determined to leave you satisfied no matter what. He does tiny things like forehead kisses or brushing your hair from your face. <3 I hc that he has such an intimidating exterior, but really he’s a sweet guy. He’s never one to joke during sex, he values the intimacy of it. If you make it to that stage with him, he really truly has romantic feelings for you.
• As expected, he’s not particularly vocal during the deed. He doesn’t like to talk—he would rather show you how he feels physically. You may get an occasional groan from him, but otherwise it’s a lot of ragged breathing and low humming.
• Power bottom. He likes letting you take the reins. You’re so small against him, and he’s so strong that it takes little effort for him to get you off. He loves holding you down against his lap and watching you squirm, or even watching you ride his thigh. He holds eye contact so well it embarrasses you, and it sends you over the edge every time. He knows it.
• Big. So big. Did I mention that he’s big.
• He honestly takes some getting used to. You’re nervous the first time, and he can tell, but he’s done this before and he knows how to be gentle. He properly prepares you and makes sure you’re relaxed enough when the time comes.
• In the case that he is rough with you, it tends to be after a tough loss. You understand, and you encourage him to use you to feel better. He’s always very tentative afterwards, making sure to hold you gently, massage you, or help you clean up.
• When it comes to oral, he prefers to receive. Something about seeing you look up innocently at him while struggling with his size sets him off, he may have a size kink.
• He sees masturbation as a natural need, so he does it fairly often. On rare occasion, if he’s at an away tournament, he may even call you for help. Asking what you’re doing, or what you’re wearing.
• He’s very traditional, so he mainly prefers to keep it in the bedroom. He isn’t a fan of quickies, but very rarely you can manage to provoke him in the car or a semi-public place.
• He has a LOT of stamina. If he’s in the mood, he’s in the mood, and you’ll be sore for the next few days. ;)
~~~~~~~~~~
This is my first general nsfw hc post, I try not to be overly explicit, I hope that’s alright! Thanks for reading. :)
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✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ being wrapped in your arms feels like coming home ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
wc: 1,820
minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.
notes: here is a little drabble in honor of toji's birthday! this piece was originally titled as "adoration" but I changed it to this instead. I'm taking a small posting break, but I'll be back to my regular schedule within a week! I'm sorry if I haven't been responding to tags or messages, but I will do so soon <3 I hope you're all having a wonderful time and I'm sending all my well wishes out to you! xo
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: widow toji; age gap (reader is 30 while toji is in his early 40s); a little angsty; toji attempting to break up with you but failing because he's oh so in love
toji overstayed his welcome which was only supposed to last the scorching heat of summer, but he found himself lingering through the quiet stillness of fall. winter came in with a brisk chill and gloomy skies, and that's when toji knew it was time for him to end things with you.
he’s lost interest far quicker in previous relationships. they served their purpose of healing over the wound in his heart, of soothing away the ache of loneliness. he oftens forgets that he was once a loyal, loving husband whenever he abandons yet another fling.
the difference, however, is he at least had the guts to verbally cut things off before.
fucking pathetic, he thinks as he scolds himself. he's been a coward, reducing his actions to disappearing before the sunlight peeks through the horizon, and avoiding any chance of waking you up. he ensures that he is never there to see the way your brows furrow with concern when your hand meets the cold pillow, because otherwise he would falter in his attempt to escape.
this has been going on for over two weeks now but last night was the first time you've actually snapped at his cold, detached behavior. he approached the argument with nonchalance to wither you down, shrugging off the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach and then walking out halfway through the fight.
he stayed at a motel thinking that maybe you have finally taken the hint that he's done.
he arrives back to his apartment only to be met with unfamiliar silence. the entrance of his home is dark and lifeless, and it's so quiet he can even hear a pin drop. there's a tightness in his chest, followed by a wave of disappointment that runs over him like a feverish shiver.
despite his hard headed decision, he's still anticipating on hearing your lovely voice to greet him as he walks through the door.
he knows it's selfish.
toji expected many things to happen after last night's fight. he figured the reaction to him leaving you (again) would be far bigger. a screaming phone call or a string of cursing text messages to call him out on his shitty behavior.
after all he deserves it for acting like an insufferable asshole.
he tries to swallow his guilt but it remains lodged in his throat when he acknowledges that this might actually be the end.
the expression on his features falls.
it’s better this way, he consoles, dragging his feet across the floor to approach his kitchenette. he shrugs off his beaten up, oversized coat and tosses it over one of the chairs. he opens one of the cupboards, and grabs a mug to prepare himself a cup of tea.
she’s too young to settle for a guy like me, he continues. widowed with two kids who he barely sees anymore, working paycheck to paycheck just to make ends meet…
a deadbeat.
he exhales, swirling his brew in his ceramic cup. the aroma of sweet leaves dances up the spiral of steam to kiss his nose.
she deserves more than me.
he places the kettle down but stares at the cup mindlessly, losing all train of thought as his hands grip onto the edge of the counter.
he can acknowledge that his insecurities are clouding his judgement on something truly special, even though this was only ever meant to be purely physical.
except, the sex was growing more intimate. the experience wasn't about pleasure for him anymore. he would find himself losing all focus to the depth of your pretty eyes, stealing kiss after kiss like your mouth was the source of where all his happiness belongs.
belonged.
belonged.
it’s over now, he thinks again. it has to be.
a faint patter of footsteps distracts him, prompting him to ease his hold on the counter as the muscles on his face relax. his heart steadies itself, and he draws in a breath when he feels two arms delicately twine around his waist.
“you’re...still here...” he points out in shock.
he feels you press your forehead into his back. “of course, where else would I be?”
he clears his throat to release the guilt then spins on his heel to face you.
"I thought you might have taken off," he bluntly states as he rests his lower back against the counter.
his heart swells, emanates flurries of golden sparks when he meets your gorgeous irises. the will to carry on with his decision crumbles when he catches the corner of your mouth tick into a slight grin.
"I thought about it," you reply casually, loosening your grip to place your palms flat on the side of his stomach. "but the truth is I'm worried about you and I just…want to talk things out…make sure you're okay...”
“I’m the one acting like a jerk and you’re worried about me?” he blurts.
you quirk your brow at the slip of his question. “so, you know you’re acting like a jerk?”
toji’s eyes widen slightly, a hint of pink tainting his cheek. “I asked the question first.”
you purse your lips playfully, aware of the crack that's been revealed and ready to swing once again with another blow.
“it’s because you’re acting like a jerk that I’m worried about you,” you explain, “you’re not yourself when you’re unsettled about something…”
his face warms, the hue of pink deepening into a stronger blush. the familiarity of pointing out his personal traits feels all too homely. seven months shouldn’t feel like a forever but in this bubble with you time ceases to exist.
you trail the pads of your finger tips up his torso, your hands clasping around the back of his neck as you press all your soft and sweet parts right up against the frame of his body.
the brush of your lips on his scar prompts him to flutter his eyes close. he fails to stop himself from holding you then, his firm hands reaching for the outline of your waist
“so,” you murmur with a tempting kiss as you return to your question, “you know you’re acting like a jerk then?”
please don’t make me say it, he thinks, please don’t make me unravel right in front of your eyes.
he squeezes your side, whispering a defeated “listen…”
“did I do something wrong?” you question, a hint of pain laced through every vowel which only makes his heart ache further. “did something happen?”
toji shakes his head.
“it’s not you,” he grumbles. “look, you asked me a couple of weeks ago if this thing between us was serious and…it shouldn’t be.”
you narrow your gaze, tilting your head with adorable confusion that makes toji want to kiss you right there on the spot.
he can feel you pluck at the fabric of his sweater nervously, “why not?”
toji drops his head and sighs.
“c’mon, doll, let’s be real. I’ve got nothing to give you other than a good fuck in this shitty apartment. you're better off finding someone else and I don't want to waste your time”
you press your mouth into a firm line. “your behavior…” you reply, nipping your bottom lip slightly as you gather your thoughts. “are you acting like this because you…want to end things with me?”
toji has never felt smaller. you’ve reduced him into a shriveled pea rolling around his scuffed up boot. “look, it’s better this way, alright?” he admits with a raise of his head, still refusing to outwardly say what you easily deduced. “it's better to move on before things get too complicated…”
the silence hangs heavy in the air, the tension so thick toji feels like he can’t breathe properly. his heart rattles with no restraint, and he finds himself suddenly lightheaded. an apology rests on the tip of his tongue, ready to take back everything he just bombarded you with but his throat simply tightens once more when your hands cradle his strong jaw.
“I like your apartment,” you quietly speak, “your bed sheets always smell so good, and you fixed the water pressure after I complained that it sucked…”
toji blinks back his surprise.
“I also notice that you burn the candle that I got you and that you switched laundry detergents when your old one gave me that weird rash,” you giggle and toji couldn’t help but huff out an embarrassed laugh himself. “the windows let in the best kind of sunlight, and it’s always so cozy in here…”
you press your lips against his mouth to leave a chaste kiss, “as for the company…” you add on, nuzzling the tip of your nose over his, “I consider you more than just a good fuck.”
toji can physically feel himself wilting underneath the heat of your gaze. “I’m just looking out for you, doll.”
"you can look out for me by making me breakfast instead of running away from me..."
he looks serious but his eyes are sincere, holding a level of tenderness that he only reserves for you. his palm moves to seek out your lower back, a hint of pressure pulling you back into his warmth.
your lover has stayed tight lipped about his past, but over his period with you he's found himself spilling out a few secrets here and there.
"I haven't done this in a long time," he vulnerably admits.
"I know," you reassure him, "but...the real question is, do you want this?"
he parts his lips ready to seal the last nail in the coffin, ready to give you the chance to walk out of his life for good. but you're gazing up at him from underneath your eyelashes, your determined stare an opening of your own mercy. your plush, supple lips summoning his cowardice into oblivion.
"toji?"
his breath hitches, his apprehension silenced by the urgency of his desire.
you're so lovely, he thinks. you feel like home.
"I want you," he reveals, his deep voice smoky and untethered, releasing enough sentiment in those three words that he can feel you tremble in his arms. "I just don't deserve you. I don't want you getting caught up in my bullshit..."
""you're a lot sweeter than you look, you know?" you run your fingers through the streaks of his black hair, combing it back to reveal his forehead. "you deserve to be happy, toji, and...and I think I can make you happy..."
your aura beams with delight when he flashes you a wolfish grin in return. a smile you've grown to adore so deeply. his apology comes in the form of a kiss, one that's gentle and slow. a stroke of fire burns up the back of your neck, making you quiver in places when he glides his tongue across yours. you hum softly into his lips while he releases a content sigh, the barrier he's been keeping up turns to ashes beneath your feet.
#toji x reader#toji x you#toji fushiguro x reader#toji fushiguro x you#toji x y/n#toji fushiguro x y/n#toji fluff#toji angst#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen angst#peach is {offline} ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
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would you be able to write something about chubby!reader having body issues and thinks she doesn’t deserve miguel because he’s so sculpted and beautiful, but miguel reminds her how perfect she is? (in whatever way you think is best)
i just love reading these types of fics and they really help boost my confidence 🥹
tysm! <3
hope you like it<3
aphrodite
pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader
warnings: fluff, established relationship, body dysmorphia
summary: you start feeling self conscious right before your date, and miguel isn't having any of it
translations are at the end
Miguel had finally made time to take you out. You are well aware of the fact that he is a busy man, and had decided against pressuring him to abandon his work overtime.
But tonight was for you. He had planned out the perfect date, from the restaurant, reservations, to the tiniest details; what day would be best in terms of weather, your job, and his duties.
To say you were overwhelmed with excitement was an understatement. He had always been so caring and considerate, looking for ways to make you feel valued and appreciated even when time itself stood against his efforts. Finding unadulterated joy in asking you out like it was your first time getting closer to each other over and over again, the 'honeymoon phase' spark never once leaving your relationship, contrary to popular belief.
And so here you are, in your shared home, getting ready for yet another date with the most handsome man you've ever seen.
He's already fully dressed, fixing himself in the mirror. His black suit sits oh-so perfectly on him, hugging the shape of his large back and shoulders, tight enough around his biceps, so that they still bulge through the material when he brings a hand up in his hair to tame some dark strands that had fallen out of place. It accentuates the line of his abdomen, having his large thighs finish off the whole look.
He stands in front of the bedroom mirror, in his striking royal height, the man that ancient Greeks probably had as a muse when they sculpted the ideals of the male body. His dark, cocoa brown hair is brushed back, silky and soft. His perfectly contoured face is dimly lit by the low, warm bedroom lights, his features prominent: the bridge and line of his nose, squinted piercing eyes along with a downright intimidating set of brows His sharp jaw is held up high while he works with his tie, expert hands skillfully experimenting around an array of various knots, pondering upon which fits best.
He truly is quite the sight, you melt at the tableau before you, holding back a sigh seasoned with nothing but the very heights of being irrevocably enamoured.
His whole presence screams strength and mature dominance, with a hint of incontestable luxury.
Resuming your own outfit, your own body still only adorned in nothing but a pair of panties and a bra, you head to the closet for the one dress you have been imagining yourself in for the whole week since he offered you the invitation. You couldn’t be more excited to finally try it on and admire yourself with it, have people look your way while wearing it, with an arm hooked around the one and only Miguel O’Hara.
Putting it on and adjusting its stretchy fabric over your curves, your smile starts to fade. This isn’t what it looked like the first time I tried it on, you mentally conclude, and the more you look at it, the more things you wish you hadn’t noticed. You pull at the material, the hem, the sides, the neckline, anything you can think of that maybe, just maybe, could fix it. Panic starts to drip into your nerves, what will you do now if it just won’t look good? Screw it and go out with it anyway, and then feel all eyes on you for the rest of the evening? What will people think when they see you, merely decent, next to him? And otherwise, what other option is there? To pick some other dress that can’t possibly be more appropriate for the occasion, since you had bought this one specifically for the place you’re going, and still not look the part?
Your breathing starts to quicken as you keep fumbling with the textile around your shape, attention half directed to the open wardrobe, scanning every shelf and hanger for a second option.
Suddenly, the floor creaks, bringing the echo of incoming footsteps. And there he is, standing behind you, hands on your tense shoulders. You almost despise the image before you; his impeccable, calm and stoic image, next to you, discouraged and deeply insecure in evident comparison.
“What were you thinking about just now?” his words river down over the shell of your ear on a hot breath that has shivers shot down your spine.
“Nothing, I’m getting ready”, you cover it up in a sing-song voice, not wanting to dig deeper into letting him know that you don’t deem yourself pretty enough for him, let alone expect him to find you more attractive than you do yourself. Unfortunately, he’s too smart for your little diversion.
“Don’t lie to me.”, his tone serious, voice deep. His eyes rank up and down your body in the mirror, and you feel an acute need to just disappear. “Que guapa.”
He presses a kiss to your temple, and you feel rosy heat rise to your face.
Your mouth speaks before you think.
“Does it look good?”, he senses the hesitancy in your voice.
“Baby, you’d look like a goddess wearing a potato sack.” he speaks matter-of-factly, as if his statement equals water is wet, the honesty in his declaration evident with the speed with which the words left his mouth. You can’t help but let a giggle break through your disconcerted face, surprised with the association.
“What, like Marilyn Monroe?”
“No, mi alma, like you.” He wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you back into his embrace as you look at eachother in the reflection before you. His expression softens, visibly relaxed and happy to have you close to him.
“These curves, every part of you, I know them as I know myself.” His palms slide over your hips, and all the way back up to your shoulders, effectively chasing away any hint of doubt and worry, cleansing you of anything that isn’t love.
“Eres la mujer de mis sueños.” He bends down, his lips reaching the crook of your neck. “No hay nadie como tú."
You let yourself fall back into his tempting embrace, knowing that he’s exploiting your weakness for him speaking Spanish so low and deep into the vulnerable skin of your pulse point, completely forgetting about the date and the dress.
“And if you don’t like the dress, I’ll gladly rip it off.” He exhibits his talons as a warning, the curved edges of the claws grazing your bare shoulders intently. “If anything, the dress isn’t good enough to be worn by you.”
translations:
que guapa - how beautiful
mi alma - my soul
eres la mujer de mis sueños - you're the woman of my dreams
no hay nadie como tú - there is no one like you
a/n: again, if any native speakers see anything wrong with my Spanish please let me know🤍
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara x reader#atsv miguel#miguel o hara#miguel o'hara imagine#miguel o'hara x reader one shot#miguel ohara#miguel o’hara x reader
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Are you scared of me, Princess?
Jasper Hale x human!reader
Summary: The reader sees the scars on Jasper's arms, prompting him to tell her the truth.
Words: 1,646
Warnings: talk of murder, vampire stuff idk, scars, cursing
Author's note: God this is angsty. Someone get 8th-grade me in here right now because this is what she thought she was reading at her age.
Masterlist <3
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Jasper sat in the bed placed in his room, his mate resting her back against his chest. His arms were wrapped around her waist and his face found its way into her hair. Her hands were placed on top of his on her waist, relishing in the feeling of comfort he gave her.
They were a strange pair, the two. The bloodthirsty vampire fighting his instincts to feed and the helpless human girl who wouldn’t be able to fight him if she tried.
But she trusted him with her whole heart. It had been hard at first. She had to marinate in the knowledge of the existence of vampires, and he suffered the constant smell of her sweet scent, calling out to him every second.
It was so hard for him, even on a good day. Her smell of her blood always drew him in.
The only thing holding him back from draining her was the feeling he knew he wouldn’t fight the minute her body became lifeless: dread.
But now, they laid in each other’s arms in complete trust.
Her hand wandered up his forearm, stopping at the unevenness of his skin. She looked down, pulling his sleeve up briefly.
Bite marks and scratches laid all up and down his forearm. She didn’t want to know how far up his arm it went, thankful for the sleeve.
She felt him shift. He felt uncomfortable. Scared of her reaction. But above all else, he cared for her. She could practically feel his gift poking at her emotions, intertwining them with his. A sense of calmness fell over the two of them before words could form.
Her hand still laid against his arm gently, her thumb brushing one of the bites to comfort him in her own way.
She felt his head move away from hers, leaning back against the bed frame. She used this opportunity to turn in his grip, now facing him. Once there, she pulled his arm into her lap, her eyes inspecting the scars in front of her.
He simply watched. He couldn’t hide them, and he would never lie. Not to her. So, he simply sat there to let her ask him or draw her own conclusions.
She finally looked up, her eyes locking on his. She’s thankful of his gift, because otherwise, she may have been teary-eyed. “T….Tell me, Jasper?”
His eyes softened. God, she was so good to him. So perfect. So innocent and pure. Everything he knew he wasn’t.
Her blood would be so easy to take. The feeling of adrenaline would be worth the-
“It’s… a long story, Princess. I don’t think you wanna hear it.”
She was visibly hurt by his answer, her hand retreating from his. “Oh. I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry… I just… just thought…”
He chuckles to himself, teasing her, “Thought what, Princess? You really wanna know?”
She nods, her eyes glossy, holding an unreadable expression.
He sighs. He wanted to hold off from telling her this. That was his plan. But now, she had ruined the perfect plan in his head. Not that he could be mad at her. His heart couldn’t do that.
He pulls his sleeve up his other arm, showing her the scarring. “D’you know much about the Civil War, Darlin’?”
She nods, her eyes never leaving his forearm.
He smiles, “Good girl. Knew you would.” He took a deep breath, not that he needed to, but it allowed him to collect himself and decide what to say. “I was turned during the Civil War. A woman named Maria convinced me to help her train a vampire army. I was foolish and naive. I thought she was doing the right thing.”
He looked up at her to gauge her reaction. She simply stared at the scars, her head low in thought. He took this as a sign to continue.
“You know.. I was, uh, a major, in the war?”
Her head perked up at that, her eyes meeting his. “A..a major?”
He smirked, “Yeah. Major Jasper Whitlock.” As he said so, she felt a wave of pride come from his body. She didn’t need Jasper’s gifts to sense it, for it had come so plain.
He continued, “I trained them myself. Her army, I mean. I know you don’t know much about us, but newborn vampires are more dangerous. More deadly. They’re stronger than most.” As he said this, she could feel his tone becoming sharper.
“Stronger than Emmett?”
He nods, “Yes, Princess. Much stronger. You stay away from a newborn.” It had meant to be advice, but it came out a demand. “They’re more deadly than you can imagine. I’ve watched them do…” his eyes look off in thought, “…unspeakable things…”
A small silence overtakes them before she breaks it. “And you trained them?”
His eyes quickly move back to hers, the amber color glowing, “Yes, ma’am.”
“How?”
“Not easily. They don’t take too well, as you can see,” he said, his head motioning forward at his arms. “I punished them, too. Killed them when they got out of hand or weren’t what we needed.”
He feared to look up at her, but he couldn’t resist. Her gaze was on the window. He didn’t often wish for a gift different than his, but at this moment, he wished he could read her mind. See what was going on in that lovely little human brain of hers. But he couldn’t. He sensed she wasn’t distressed. He had to see her eyes to be sure. Not for his gift’s sake, but for his own. His hand outstretched to grab her jaw gently, pulling it towards his own. “Are you scared of me?”
Her eyes catch his, their faces a foot apart. “…Sh…should I be, Jasper?”
He considers her question quickly with a nod, his voice low. “Really fucking scared.”
She blinks at his wording, her brain struggling to comprehend everything in front of her.
He wanted to joke, take the dark mood away, but he knew this was serious. “I killed before this,” he gestured to himself, “I killed during this…. I’ll probably have to kill sometime after this. I’ve murdered many with no remorse, their bodies laying at my feet. Innocent lives and murders, too. I overpowered the strongest vampires with ease, ending them mercilessly. My heart holds no mercy. So, I’ll ask again. Are you scared of me?”
She wasn’t sure what to think. She couldn’t put it into words. Was she scared? She supposed so. Any sane person would be. But she trusted him. She trusted him. She trusted him. “You… You won’t hurt me, Jasper.”
He wanted to laugh at her sweet response. How naive of his little lamb. She said it so sure of herself. Of him. She didn’t know of the constant, deep thirst of blood he fought back every time their eyes met. She didn’t know of the pain he felt when she parted from him. She didn’t know of the horrors he had endured. And most importantly, she would never understand the terrors he had caused.
“You don’t know that, Princess.”
She took a quick breath in at his response. Every reasonable thought she ever had was gone. She should run. She should hide. But she didn’t. She wouldn’t. Her body remained here, on the vampire’s bed, his hand gripping her jaw while staring at her like she was prey. Every reasonable thought was gone.
She reached her hand up to place on top of his on her jaw, flinching at the cold feeling of his skin on hers. “You won’t, Jasper.” She began to even sound confident.
He smiled at her, his sharp teeth peeking out. This girl believes in him that much. What a stupid girl. Too trusting. Too hopeful. Too pretty. Too good. Too perfect. He could absolutely ruin her. But he wouldn’t. “C’mon, Princess. Admit you’re a little afraid.” He needed to hear her say it.
Her hand gripped his, pushing it down her jaw lightly until it rested over her throat. His hand now wrapped around her neck, her hand lightly resting on his.
He was speechless at her touches. Her movements. Her willingness. Her loyalty to him. His eyes stare at his own hand, admiring the view in front of him. Her hopeful eyes staring into his while his hand rested above her only source of oxygen. It was intimate. It was scary. It was perfect. She was perfect.
His thumb brushed her throat lightly, feeling her heartbeat quicken at his touch. He could practically feel the blood running through her veins. And she trusted him still.
They sat there in silence for a while, simply admiring the other.
She was perfect. Too innocent for her own good, but so loyal and willing for him. Her pretty face was the perfect view for him. He could stare at it until the end of his days. And she trusted him with her life.
She trusted him with the one thing his body thirst to destroy. And he loved her all the more for it.
He was strong. Resilient. An open book for her to read at her leisure. Protective was a word she was familiar with. She felt like his arms were the only thing she needed to live in the world. She trusted him with her life.
His other arm moved up her body, his hand getting lost in the hair on the back of her head. He pushes her forward, capturing her lips in his.
The hand on her neck stayed. But it never twitched.
They pulled away from each other to let her catch her breath. Their faces were close as they tried to think of the right words to say.
“You’re not afraid of me.”
It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. She wasn’t afraid of him.
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#twilight imagines#twilight fanfiction#twilight#twilight x reader#twilight x y/n#jasper hale#jasper hale x reader#jasper hale imagine#jasper hale x you#jasper hale x y/n#major jasper whitlock#vampire#vampire imagine#vampire fanfiction#jasper hale fanfiction#the cullens#vampirism#light angst#fanfiction#fanfic
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Mother and Father moments.
Aka more mommy reader x Arlecchino! This time with comfort!
Perhaps you sometimes forget your husband is a harbinger. She’s just so kind to the chikdren at times. Your presence has helped her become more patient and gentle with them. You had been with her for awhile now. Lynette and Lyney had grown up into full on adults, going on missions leaving you to worry. But they came back each time. As your original set of kids grew so did the dangers. You knew they were raised for this yet your heart still hurts at the thought. Unfortunately some didn’t make it. Some may think its hard to care for so many children emotionally but it didn’t matter to you, you felt hurt when they were. Each and every one of them you raised and cared for became your child in their eyes. Lucky your husband despite not being the most emotional vulnerable still let you cry over each. Her gentle whispers reassuring that it was not your fault.
She knows your heart, she knows its that empathy and vulnerability that strengthens your bond with the children, sometimes she envies that. But she still tries to make up for it to the best she can.
So when The twins and Freminet were imprisoned you became worrisome. She with held that it was for a mission because she knew you would demand to join them. Still she held you.
“Could I send tea bags to Lynette? Letters? Oh god poor Freminet he always loves diving! He can’t dive anywhere!” You paced as you were planning a gift to be sent. She watched you with a smile.
“I assure you they will be fine. They’re barely serving a few months for a petty crime that likely won’t end up on their record. They have each other afterall. You know Lyney, he will not let any of them get hurt.” She said calmly,
“Still he’s my boy and I worry about him!” You say panicked.
“And the prophecy! Oh god they’re so far down underwater they wouldn’t have a way out!” You paced even more as her smile faded.
“My love,” she held you in her arms making you still, “I assure you, everything will be okay. They’ll be back when their sentence is over, and they’ll have all sorts of stories to tell. Freminet can handle himself, and Lyney is a good protector of the two. They will be fine. As for the prophecy, I have my own methods ready.” She said kissing the back of your neck. You sighed as you finally calmed down.
“You’re right. I need to relax..” you say melting into her touch. “I just… oh I can’t help it. Lyney was the first to call me mom.” Arlecchino smiled as you looked at one of the baby pictures of the twins.
“You’re always their mother. With you waiting here I’m sure they’ll strive to make it back.” She says calmly.
“They better.” You huff. “That Wriothesley better be kind to my kids otherwise-“
“Relax dear. Don’t think anymore about the impossible. Besides, I’m sure they’ll be treated as any other prisoner is. Afterall, Fontaine is currently under alot of pressure, I’m sure he wouldn’t be confident enough to pull a stunt like that.” She says. “And if he did, then I’ll handle it.” You sigh in relief as she holds you closer to herself.
“You’re right I know I know.”
“If you would like you can send them a letter. Of course you can’t send any gifts but you’re more than welcome to wri-“ Arlecchino stopped as she watched you pick up a pen and looked for a piece of paper. “Here.” She handed you a piece. Quickly you started to write down your thoughts as she smiled behind you. “You should slow down. They might not be able to read your writing otherwise.”
“You’re sure i can’t send gifts? Not even a blanket? Oh Lynette hates being cold! That place must be so cold too, so far down under the sea.. oh my poor baby.” You moped.
“I’m certain there’s accomdations for such. I doubt they’d let their staff down their freeze. Besides I hear it can actually get too hot down there.”
“But what about Freminet then! He isn’t good handling intense heat. He burnt his hand on the kettle once and he’s never trusted them since. He always uses a oven mitt or glove even when its not necessary.” Your fingers tapped worriedly.
“Darling please try to not assume the worst. Our children are not hostages right now. They simply are being disciplined for a small amount of time. Their sentences are only two or so months.” She repeated trying to soothe you. You pouted even more.
“Still I’ll miss them. I even bought a new dessert book to try and make some for Lynette. She always comes by to visit when I even imply there’s new desserts. She’s become my little taste tester.” You smile. “She doesn’t smile but her tail wags impatiently when she sees me preparing a new sweet.”
“You know them so well.” She smiles and brushes your hair, helping to alleviate some tension held within your shoulders. “I’m sure they miss you too. You know they wouldn’t want you to worry so much about them.”
“I’m aware. Still I love them all so much.. it hurts that I cannot protect them all from everything in life.” You lift your head to look at her as her arm rests on your waist.
“I know my dear. Its why you’re the finest choice for me.” She kisses you. “Now just relax and I’ll write the letter for you.”
#genshin imagines#genshin x y/n#domestic fluff#comfort#slight death but not of named characters#arlecchino is so hot please step on me#arlecchino x y/n#alrecchino#arlecchino x you#arlecchino x reader#pls come home now arlecchino#arlechinno genshin#wlw x reader
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happy april fools day!
what would april fools day be like with the them?
Lucifer
he doesn't look like he enjoys it, but he's behind several pranks that nobody else has laid claim to. when you get pranked when you least expect it, that sly smile on his face says it all. when you confront him and ask, he simply replies, "oh? is that today?" cheeky bastard lol
Mammon
he tries really hard, but somehow it never works out. they always backfire on him no matter what he does, especially if they're directed at one of his brothers. but he tries every year. can't help by admire that determination.
Levi
he's not leaving his room for sure today. he's seen the way it goes in his household and he wasn't about to get caught in the crossfire. not again. he might not even let you in if he thinks you don't have a good enough reason
Satan
he takes it seriously, but only when it comes to pranking lucifer. yeah, that's literally it for him. he just wants to be an ass to lucifer and he's happy. he would much prefer to spend his time doing something he deems worth it, but if belphie wants help pranking lucifer and others, he will contribute. do not prank him though. that's a time bomb waiting to go off
Asmo
he thinks it's fun as long as nobody takes it too seriously on him. yeah it's funny when it happens to someone else, but the minute someone messes with his things is the minute it's over. like satan, don't make him mad. that won't be pretty
Beel
he only knows about this holiday thanks to belphie and his love for it. otherwise, he could care less. to him, it's just another day. as long as the prank isn't having to eat solomon's cooking, he's fine. prank his food? he's good he'll eat it anyways lol
Belphie
watch your back today, he’s a menace. if you just plead, he might spare you at the cost of a cuddling session. however, if he forgets to disarm one of his pranks, or forgets to let you know not to touch a certain thing, you can request something in exchange as well
Diavolo
pulls all the cheesy pranks and is overjoyed when they work out it's always so obvious that they're about to happen and where they are based on his reaction, and how he's always conveniently nearby. don't burst his bubble please haha
Barbatos
Not amused with a capital N. it's not an issue until it interferes with his work. he works hard to keep everything tidy and in place, and it really messes with him when someone decides to swap to the salt and sugar (diavolo), but won't say anything since he knows exactly who did it
Simeon
he will join in if someone asks, but he's more than happy to just sit back and watch. he'll get popcorn and relax as mammon yet again fails to prank lucifer. he's another one nobody expects, so if you can't figure out who played that prank on you, look to him, since he's even more unassuming than lucifer
Luke
let's be real, he's probably on the receiving end of most pranks just because everyone loves to poke fun at him thanks to the reaction he gives. however, when he tries to give pranks back, it's almost endearing and most people just let it happen to them even if they see it coming to make him happy
Solomon
he understands this human custom/holiday the best, so his pranks, if they can even be called that, are minor at best. expect something simple and cute, like gifting you chocolates he claims is dark chocolate but it’s actually milk! haha how evilly cute
Mephisto
he doesn’t get it at first, but once he does and sees that dia is invested, he’s too into it. he’s the type to cut all the bristles off your toothbrush and then not understand why you’re mad. do something just as devious back to make him see why what he did was just infuriating
Thirteen
she’s probably the most invested out of everyone! her biggest competition is belphie, so he gets the most pranks his way. however, there’s something hidden around every corner for everyone. not even you’re safe, so say your prayers, or just ask lucifer haha
#obey me#obey me!#obey me x reader#obey me satan#obey me asmo#obey me beel#obey me levi#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me belphie#obey me simeon#obey me barbatos#obey me diavolo#obey me luke#obey me thirteen#obey me solomon#obey me mephisto#obey me shall we date#omswd#obey me! shall we date
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the other woman
->warnings: yandere themes, cheating, manipulation, divorce mention, afab! reader, implied nsfw (but it’s very very implied.), reader’s husband is named vincent (oc), regis and Amelia have another kid.
->request by anon! Hello can you do Mistress Pregnant reader and Yandere Regis Adri Floyen when Regis is still with Amelia and Mistress reader is actually Jubellian real biological mother? I want something fluffy TVT
->a/n: fluff but with a touch of angst, my favorite thing to write. and remember, cheating is never okay and if you do that, everyone will hate you :) I know you said mistress, but I got carried away while writing this one, so please forgive me.
-> when regis married amelia, everyone was so surprised. none of the workers nor his friends expect to a man who loved another woman to marry her, it made many wonder of why of that decision. the servants whisper to each others about their theories of the suddenly marriage between the two of them.
-> what few people did knew it was how the true love of regis is you. a noble woman from another nation who meet him during a visit to the empire. he was enchanted with your actions, voice, speech and gentle touch on his skin. he would’ve ask you to marry him immediately if you weren’t already married to another. a man named Vincent who is a Duke back there.
-> the moment he realize that you were married was his down break point. regis cried to himself instead of sleeping and of course, he begged you to divorce and marry him instead. In the end, that failed and in return, you told him you have one more night before returning to your nation.
-> and he took advantage of this. regis and you spend the night together in his bedroom, you thought that would be the end of the little meetings with him, yet regis knew otherwise.
-> once you returned back to your nation, you quickly find out to be pregnant with his kid and as much you tried to hide from your husband, he found out about it. Vincent cried so much and screamed at you for doing such act with another man.
-> you knew you are the one to blame and even asked him if he wished for a divorce, but vincent decided to stay married with you and let you give birth to a little girl (whose appearance is literal a copy of regis). the three of you become a family, much to vincent coldness at beginning, he warmed up seeing the little girl calling father.
-> as the times goes on, you alongside vincent and jubelian travel to the nation where you met regis. you desperately tried to avoid that place by anything, yet with the invitation of the emperor, you had no other option than going back there and met regis.
-> regis knew you were pregnant with his child before you left him years ago, yet he never expected to see you again and still married to vincent. his bright eyes were full of shocked when seeing his daughter calling that man father.
-> he wanted to throw everything and walk to you, yet amelia and his son were next to him. both unaware by the fact that you and regis had an affair years ago that lead to jubelian existence. The man can only watch you from afar, dancing with another man who isn’t him.
-> vincent, in other hand, is aware that regis still in love with you. the black haired man loves you so much, although you hurt his heart by sleeping with that man and he hopes that you won’t leave him, not now that you guys are going have another child soon.
-> the little bump in your stomach is more than enough to shake regis back to reality, you aren’t coming back to him, aren’t you? he loves amelia and his son, yet you were his first love that he can’t seem to forget anytime soon…he is living a curse and no matter how hard he tries to forget you, you always will be in his dreams for as long he lives.
@lyomeii stuff || don’t repost
#yandere headcanon#yandere imagine#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere male#yandere manhwa#yandere manhwa x reader#manhwa x reader#regis floyen x reader#regis floyen imagine#yandere regis floyen#regis floyen#yandere regis floyen x reader#yandere father i don’t want to get married#father i don’t want to get married x reader#father i don’t want to get married imagine#father i dont want to get married
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Angel
Summary: Based on 14x09 where BAU!Reader recounts how working the case reminded her of Spencer's addiction
a/n: tbh this is trash, just trying to get some motivation back
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Fluff)
Content Warning: references to Spencer's Dilaudid addiction
Word Count: 1.1k
Masterlist | Navigation
There are flowers on the table.
That's the first thing Y/n notices and the only thing out of place in their otherwise tidy house. Spencer's always been a clean person.
The kid clutter- books, coloring pens, tiny shoes, the occasional Lego figure- that clutter, he's proud of.
Next to the vase is a bowl of pasta in a tomato-based sauce, and she guesses because of that, there's at least one child-size shirt soaking in the laundry with a stain on it.
"Hey, beautiful." Spencer makes her jump with his silent footsteps, followed by sudden voice. He touches her shoulders, massaging them softly.
She turns around, placing a quick kiss on his lips. "Hey. Missed you."
He pulls her forward, resting his head on top of hers. "Missed you too. Glad you made it back safe."
Things are different since the bureau mandated Spencer take time off as part of his reinstatement after prison. After the births of their three kids, Y/n stayed home, naturally, on maternity leave while Spencer continued going out on cases with the team. In between, and for most of their relationship and marriage, they worked at the BAU, spending almost every minute together. But this is different. Now, Spencer's the one that spends more time in DC, and in his 30 days not working at the BAU, he does an excellent job as a househusband.
Y/n pulls back, admiring his features for the first time in days."Sleeping angels?" She checks.
He scoffs lightly. "Not so much." She raises her eyebrows, humored. "Water, bathroom, another story, you know how it goes."
She chuckles. "Oh, yeah, I've heard that song before."
"Love them, though." He adds. "Are you hungry?"
"Starving." She turns to the delicious-smelling pasts on the table while his hands stay on her waist. Spencer's learned a lot while being a dad but his learning to cook has been very rewarding for her.
They move to the couch, needing to be closer than they would be if they were sitting at the table.
Her smile dimmers after she's complimented his cooking, and he's called her beautiful again. It's an easy difference in demeanor to spot for Spencer as a husband rather than a profiler.
"The case?" Spencer guesses.
Y/n takes a deep breath in and shrugs. "One like that wouldn't get to me usually." She tries to dismiss her feelings.
He catches it, having used the same technique many times. If it's bothering her, they're going to discuss it. "It was Tara's ex-husband that discovered a pattern?"
"Mm-hmm, uh, Daryl, he brought it to her, thinking there was an angel of death unsub killing people in the recovery community." She recaps, although he already knows from their discussion on the phone.
Technically, he's only allowed to know the basic details, not offer advice, but as long as Emily doesn't officially know that the occasional case-solving tip comes from Spencer, it's okay.
"What was his vice?" He asks.
Tara didn't want to spill all the details, but Y/n had made a few assumptions. "Alcohol, drugs later, I think."
"So why was this one more difficult than usual?" Spencer asks, frowning then it hits him. "Oh."
Y/n feels a pang of guilt in her chest at Spencer's expression contorting. "No, I don't mean-" She pauses, not knowing what to say. Neither can deny that her feelings are connected to what Spencer went through.
"Comparing the victims to me?" He guesses again.
Her selfishness feels even worse than her guilt. "No. Tara had to give a heart-wrenching speech. And we were in very different situations, her and Douglas and you and I, but it made me think about that time." She tries to explain it.
Spencer understands, and he nods solemnly. "We never talk about that in relation to you." He realizes that it's something he feels guilty about.
"I don't like to talk about it." She shrugs. "Just hearing what Tara said struck a chord." She could feel Tara's pain through Emily's repeated words, and it was all too easy to remember the heartbreak of seeing someone she loved struggling.
Spencer takes her hand, squeezing it lightly. "We can talk about it whenever you want, you know?"
"Not now." She shakes her head. "I missed you."
He smiles softly, resting against the couch and spreading his arms out. Y/n rests her legs over his and tucks herself under his arm. "I missed you too." He kisses her forehead and holds her closer. Things feel better when they're all under one roof. "Y/n, it's really important to me that you know how much I appreciate you staying through that. You're an angel, you know?"
"Spence." She coos, touching his cheek softly and momentarily getting caught in his eyes. "It wasn't a hard choice to stay with you and support you through that. I love you, and I'll always be here for you."
He takes a deep breath in. "I love you too. I could talk about how grateful I am for you forever, you know?"
"I know." She laughs lightly, having heard those speeches from him more than once. It never gets less heartwarming.
Spencer shuffles slightly, reaching out to take something off the coffee table. She raises her eyebrows until a look of recognition takes over her features.
"A photo album?" She asks curiously. "Why's that out here?"
"It's our first." He explains as he opens it, tracing his finger over the cover page. "Tillie wanted to see it." He finds the page he's looking for, showing her a photo of them.
Y/n grins, looking at it, remembering the exact second it was taken. "You look so little." She coos, touching the glossy picture of them. They're not much older than 25, fresh-faced, innocent, and dressed nicely. Spencer's smiling the adorable smile he still smiles today. It's stayed the same through every challenge they've faced.
"You've always been so beautiful." He mumbles, stroking her hair with his spare hand.
Her cheeks heat as she taps him on the shoulder. "Stop." She whines.
"Never." He shakes his head. "You're gorgeous, and I'm going to make sure you know it. I have no idea how I got so lucky."
She chuckles, shaking her head. "I'm the one that got lucky, marrying a genius."
"I married a genius too," Spencer claims, and he pulls her even closer to him like there's any chance she wants to move.
"Can we just sit here a while?" She asks as she relaxes more into him.
He leans down to kiss her forehead. "For as long as you want, angel."
#spencer reid#criminal minds#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid fandom#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid one shot#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fandom#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds fanfic
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Band-Aids are for Speed
Lando Norris x Reader
Genre: Fluff, Street Racer AU
Summary: The five times she patched Lando up, and the one time he patched up her.
Warnings: Injury descriptions, broken bones, cuts, bruises, blood, illigal street racing, car accidents
Notes: Author is not a doctor but has watched medical dramas... don't judge my knowledge!
Side Note: I hope le requester enjoys this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi
The first time she met Lando, he was siting in the emergency room waiting to be stitched up. She quietly hums to herself while setting up as the other nurse changes places with her.
The deep gash on his arm makes her wonder what he did to get it, but she also knows better then to ask. He doesn't look like he's in the mood to talk anyway.
It takes approximately three minutes for her to retract that statement. "So, you come here often?"
The question takes her so of guard that she doesn't know what to do with it aside from take the next few seconds to process. Is it not obvious that she works here?
"Do you mean the hospital? Or in this room specifically?" She laughs lightly at the ridiculousness of her patient and blames the minor blood loss.
"Nah, I mean in my presence." He smirks.
She tries to focus on her work. "Can't say I have."
"Would you like to be in it more?"
He gives her his number before he leaves. He dots the 'i' in his name with a heart.
She texts him the second she gets him to ask if he's bless her with his presence again.
♡♡♡♡♡♡
In the few months they've been seeing each other she's learned that Lando is obsessed with cars. It's cute when he jumps into excited rants about his favorite subject.
With the amount they've been talking, it's not shocking that Lando texts her in the evening. She assumes it'll be another silly joke. Instead she's met with frenzied sentences and misspelled words about need medical attention.
She doesn't hesitate to drive to his place. In hindsight, she really should've asked him why he didn't go to A&E when he's bleeding all over the bathroom floor.
"Please tell me you didn't get jumped." She kneels down and sets about getting him a position where she can see what she's doing.
He groans in pain as she moves him. "Nope! It was spectacular though."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I crashed the car but still won." He lets out a triumphant hoot.
This man can never give her all the details at one. "You got in a car accident?! How is that winning?!"
"Because I won the money... duh." He's definitely delirious now. Probably has a concussion. "Oh, I didn't tell you? I street race."
There's that strange part of her that is intrigued and curious to know more, specifically because that adds to his sex appeal (like he wasn't hot enough already). The logical side of her brain that is currently staring at Lando bleeding says otherwise. "Uh, no... you didn't."
"Well isn't that unfortunate! You coulda seen me crash today if you had."
Lando is half asleep by the time she is done. She's barely able to wrangle him into bed with how uncoordinated he is. It's useless keeping him awake.
She turns the lights off and is about to leave - "Will you stay?"
"I can, yeah, do you want me on the couch or is there another bedroom?"
"In bed with me. You can stay here - with me."
Against her better judgment, she does.
♡♡♡♡♡♡
She doesn't usually work the weekend shift but one of the nurses is on vacation and she could us the extra hours. She leaves her phone on vibrate in her pocket in case of a 'family emergency.'
Said emergency being Lando who is more accident prone on the weekends. Somehow, less accident prone in the car and more when he's doing normal people tasks.
Sometimes she wonders if her gets hurt on purpose just so he has an excuse to see her. She keeps telling him he doesn't need one - just in case - but he still calls and she goes. It's not like she has much else to do with her time aside.
She really shouldn't be shocked when he ends up in emergency clutching his arm. He gives her a bashful smile and tries to awkwardly wave. "Hi."
"And what, my love, are you in for this time?"
"I slipped on the stairs..."
Another male, a tall brunette who she knows as George, hits him playfully on the head. "No he did not! This idiot decided it would be a brilliant idea to tie a skateboard to the back of Alex's car and sit on it while Alex drove."
She throws a stern look at Lando and his smile goes from bashful to downright embarrassed. "You're lucky it's just you're arm."
By the time he's set free into the world to make more impulsive decisions, she makes the executive decision to make him wait until she's done working. He puts a pout on his lips, but it goes away when she sends him to the cafeteria.
They drive home listening to the indie station. The one he's made her fall in love with.
"Thank you, again."
"You've got to stop thanking me, Lan. It is literally my job." She laughs a little at herself for that one.
"Yeah, but, that's not all. You're the only person who doesn't freak out on me for doing stupid shit. Like I know I shouldn't do it but it gives me that adrenaline that racing does." The sincerity in his voice nearly takes her off guard.
"I can't tell what to do, but I'll always be there when you need a patch job."
"And I'll be there when you need a ride." He winks.
♡♡♡♡♡♡
The first time she's at one of Lando's races, she can feel the thrumming in her heart. The excitement of the start and the fear that he could possibly die doing this.
He jogs over to her right before the start. His hands clumsily find her waist and he smash his lips on hers. "For good luck." He whispers as he pulls away.
She doesn't let go, however. She pulls a band aide out of her pocket and sticks it to his hand. It's a crayon, but she highly doubts he'll care to much.
"What's this for?"
"I had a little girl today who told me that Band-Aids give you speed. I thought you might try it."
"When I win, it'll be all because of you."
Lando does win. She buys more Band-Aids with some of the prize money.
♡♡♡♡♡♡
She's there when the crash happens. The boys had deemed her the official medical personnel. Which she's glad for, since they are the ones getting her to the crash site. In record time - it has to be - she's sure she's never gone this fast before.
She dives out of the back of the truck to the driver side door. Lando sits there, a few visible cuts, but he's smiling at her. She has half a mind to give the boy an earful, but refrains since he did just crash.
It takes her, Alex, and George to get him out of the car and into the truck. She stitches him up before they go home. In her car, mind you, since the one Lando drove is out of order.
"I'm sorry..."
"Don't be - just - please remember that I can't fix every kind of injury."
They curl up in bed together. The long night having drained them both of their energy.
"Maybe, but at least my odds of surviving until my thirties have gone up with you around."
"At this rate, you're more likely to die doing dishes then driving."
"That was one time!"
♡♡♡♡♡♡
It wasn't supposed to be this way. She was supposed to go home, not end up back at her job.
Granted, she's here for a different reason now. One that's not her fault and she's pissed about it. She's going to explode with emotions. Her body hurts so much.
Fucking drunk drivers. Who gave them the right to say it's her fault? Telling her she's lucky it wasn't worse.
A soft knock at the door draws her attention. Lando stands there look mildly disheveled. Still, he has his hands on his hips and rolls his eyes. "Whatever am I going to do with you, my love? Always getting into accidents!"
He comes to lay beside her on the bed and she wiggles to make accommodate him. He pulls out a box of bandages from his pocket and proceeds to put them everywhere she has a new mark.
The stress of it all finally breaks through. She sobs into his shoulder and clings to his sweatshirt. "Thank you."
"Hey, none of that. I owe you for all the Band-Aids you've used on me and all those times you've patched me up."
"Does this mean I can drive your car now? Since I have extra speed?"
Lando raises his eyebrows. "Maybe not drive, but I can think of other things we can do with speed." He wiggles said eyebrows suggestively.
"How about, a speedy recovery? You have plenty of those."
"Alright fine, a speedy recovery - and I'll be here for all of it with a plethora of crayon Band-Aids because I bought them all just for you."
#x reader#formula 1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#fanficion#racing#formula one#lando norris#lando norris f1#mclaren formula 1#f1#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#lando norris imagine#lando x reader#lando norris fanfic#lando norris x reader#lando norizz#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#ln4 fluff#ln4#ln4 x reader#ln4 imagine#ln4 fic#mclaren#street racer au#mclaren lando norris#mclaren racing#street racer lando norris
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i can request Meangirl!lottie? I think she would be sooo mean, I think she would love overstimulation! I love your posts!!!
Lottie Matthews x F!reader
Warnings: oral, desagration kink, strap referred to as dick, DUBCON, no aftercare, corruption kink? lottie blackmails you about your videos! recorded sex
A/n:I wrote this while eating a whole oreo egg, and I was listening gee , sorry anon I forgot about overstimulation:((( this has been rotting for months...
Lottie didn't know what it was about you...but you were different from the others, she doesn't know if it was because your eyes didn't shine when she passed in the hallway or if it was because you looked hotter than she would like to admit
at first it was just a "revolt" because when she "accidentally" dropped her food during break time and she got suspended, it was the first time that a stupid, nerdy person wasn't intimidated by the rich, intelligent queen bee of the school.
I mean, not that smart, otherwise she wouldn't need to be talking to the director for the 10th time, and this time it wasn't because she was caught intimidating the newbies
" Charlotte, you know that your father pays a lot for this tuition, I'm going to give you extra classes, But that's not enough, you'll have help from someone in your class. and I know the right person for that."
when lottie saw you she could feel all her blood boiling, she didn't know, you were too stupid and you were a bitch to her, she could shut you up with anything, if it would make you stop talking back to her criticisms
and she knew what she was going to do when she called you to her house on the weekend, apologizing via text about all the unrepentant threats (she didn't regret it )and saying he was going to make it a girls' night, when her parents were working all week and you even brought pajamas in your backpack, the stupid one was you who really thought that jackie and natalie were going to a slumber party, you were automatically forgiven when lottie saw how your breasts showed and she knew the water with medicine had worked , she saw how your face turned red, how you rubbed your thighs together as you tried to focus on duty
lottie comes close to you and places a hand on your thigh and leaves it there, she can feel yours eyes narrow, she feels you look visibly tense while look at the notebook, but you continues trying to speak "so you divide what m-multiplied...and"
"you seem tense darling...are you a virgin or something?." she says in a visibly mocking tone and continues "sorry, it must be embarrassing" lottie can feel you visibly trying to leave as your body say you to continue.
lottie lowers her hand to your clothed pussy and feels you moving away "w-what are you doing!"
" Shut your fucking mouth and enjoy, I know you want this.." she murmurs without looking into your eyes and rubs her pussy while putting her face on your neck and bites " you are very ungrateful...I know your nerdy friends want this...that's why you were staring at my ass while I was training, right?..." she asks a rhetorical question
and you weren't looking at her ass...god you have respect! "w-what?...n-no...never" you let out a shaky sentence as you feel her roll her eyes "liar" she drops her hand down your panties "jesus...you're really wet" she lets out a loud laugh as she feels you squeeze the nothing "fucking whore" she growls without pity at you as she collects your wetness from your entrance to your clit
she feels you moving away and bites your neck "if you leave..I'll tell everyone that you're a pervert" Your friends will love seeing this...you know.." Tears well up in your eyes, wide with fear as you feel Lottie try to stick a finger inside you. she raises an eyebrow "oh...you're a virgin!" she laughs as she sticks her finger faster than she should, in your little hole "stop...lottie...i-im..." you stumble over your words as you feel your damn legs shake unconsciously with pleasure..betraying your mind “I’m s-sorry...Sorry" You mutter pleas of pain as you try to move away from her and she simply ignores while sinking her fingers deeper inside your sticky walls
You like this right? to be used...who knew..." then as if gods had heard you she finally removes her fingers with the excuse that it was her turn to gain pleasure and I put her fingers with your excitement in your mouth and make you suck
she looks at you and forces you to kneel in front of her, while she not-so-subtly points her phone camera at you " you know what to do, little bitch" and without waiting her put your face in her pussy, god her smell was so good and in a minute you were smearing yourself, alternating between sucking her clit and her entrance, You didn't know why you were doing this, your mind was hazy with pleasure without your permission and she was more vocal than you thought, she puts her hand on the back of your neck, you couldn't breathe as she smothered you with her pussy "oh shit..yes..." she moans as she raises her hips to your mouth, trying impossibly to have more pleasure
You could feel tears welling up in your eyes as you struggled to breathe, and you could feel the burning in the back of your neck, from Lottie's nails.
how much more you alternated between sucking on her entrance and her clit you could feel her body getting tense and her moans getting louder with each movement of her hips and then you are trapped between her thighs, your ears ringing with the force that She squeezes your head and you can taste her on your tongue, pulling away from her you feel filthy when you see the phone still recording you, and Lottie with messy hair, panting and looking at you
she licks the drool that was dripping and an arrogant smile drips on her lips "I've never seen a virgin like you..." she murmurs then realizes that she was too kind "you're a whore" she stands up and looks at You "take off your clothes" and you can feel the shame rising in your veins, would this really be your first time? what a shame, you think when you say it before you think "no" you blurt it out accidentally
Lottie's eyes narrow, her smile fading. "Don't push me," she warns, her voice low and dangerous. "You know what will happen if you do." She steps closer, her breath hot against your face. "I'm not a woman you want to make an enemy of."
She grabs your chin, forcing you to look into her eyes. "You have two choices," she says coldly. "You can either do what I say and keep your mouth shut, or I can make your life a living hell. It's really up to you."
You feel a lump forming in your throat, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You don't want to do this, but you also don't want to face the consequences of defying her. Lottie releases your chin, stepping back. "Make up your mind," she says, her voice hard. "The clock is ticking."
You swallow hard, looking away. You know what you have to do. You can't afford to make her angry.
With a heavy heart, you nod reluctantly. There's no other choice. And so, you allow Lottie to take control once more, submitting to her demands in fear and desperation. She smiles wickedly, her eyes gleaming with victory. She pulls you into her arms, kissing you fiercely
she undresses you, her touch rough and demanding. You try to pull away, but she only grips tighter, reminding you of her threats. The guilt and shame consume you, but her promises of revenge hang over you
lottie tilts her head forward and sees how transparent your panties are with excitement
Lottie chuckles, her fingers teasing the damp fabric before slowly pulling it aside. Her gaze lingers on your wet slit, a satisfied hum escaping her lips. "You're already ready for me," she says, letting her fingertips trace along your folds gently, causing you to tremble underneath her touch. "But I want more than just that." She reaches down and grabs a bottle of lube from the nightstand, squirting some onto her fingers before guiding them inside you.
Her movements are slow and deliberate, stretching you open as she adds another finger, then another. Your breath hitches with each thrust, your body responding eagerly to her command " I thought you didn't want this..." she murmurs teasingly, while inevitably groan when see how much you squeeze her fingers " I think that shouldn't be enough for a greedy little slut like you"
Lottie smirks, spreading her fingers wide within you. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through your core, your hips rocking up into her hand. "That's right, let me have you." She whispers, increasing her pace until you're moaning softly, your nails digging into her shoulders.
As she continues to finger you, she pulls out her strap-on, slicking it generously with lube. "Are you ready for this?" She asks, her voice thick with desire as she positions herself above you."w-wait.." you mumble when you see it was bigger than you thought, it wouldn't fit. With one smooth motion, she slides into you, filling you completely. You cry out, your legs wrapping around her waist as she begins to move, setting a steady rhythm.
The camera captures every moan, every thrust, every moment of pure bliss. "Look at yourself, so perfect and wet for me." Lottie murmurs, reaching up to pinch your nipples, you could feel yourself squeezing her without your will, your stomach was burning and you felt so full it was strange, you shouldn't be enjoying this, it was wrong, you raise both your arms and try to pull her away from you
No, don't hold back," Lottie growls, her pace picking up as she feels your inner walls gripping her cock. "Let go, bitch. Let me hear you scream my name." Each thrust is harder now, your cries becoming louder and more desperate. The camera captures every twitch, every shiver that races through your body.
And then, just as you're about to reach your breaking point, Lottie changes tactics. She pulls out abruptly, causing you to whine in protest. But there's no time to complain as she quickly flips you onto your knees, guiding you onto her cock once again. "Come on," she orders, slapping your ass gently. "Show them what they came for."
You obey, bouncing on her cock while still gasping for air. The new angle hits nerves you didn't know existed "f-fuck...s-shit!" you murmur shakily feeling your walls burning.
Yeah, that's it, scream for me, babe!" Lottie encourages, thrusting deeper into you. "Let everyone know how fucked I've made you, how hard I'm stretching that tight little pussy of yours." She grips your hips tightly, fucking you relentlessly. Each thrust causes your body to rock on the bed as she takes full control. "You're mine now, aren't you? My virgin whore who loves nothing more than my big cock shoved inside her."
She takes a look at your red and swollen clit "There we go," she coos, rubbing circles around your sensitive nub. Your hips buck wildly beneath her, your moans muffled by their kiss. She picks up the pace, keeping one eye on the camera even as she focuses on pleasuring you.
"Oh fuck! Stop...stop stop..." You cry out, your climax crashin over you like a tidal wave. Lottie continues to play with your clit, milking every last drop of pleasure from your bod, You close your legs unconsciously when it becomes too sensitive and she immediately moves away, slapping your thigh for you to open it again.
"Keep those legs spread," she instructs, rubbing the head of her toy against your entrance. "We're not quite done yet." You nod, trying to catch your breath as she enters you once more, this time at a slower pace. Her free hand finds its way to your clit, rubbing it slowly at first, then picking up speed as you beg for more.
Every movement is captured on camera, the sound of your gasps echoing in the room. Lottie thrusts harder
Lottie's breath catches at your enthusiasm, her cock twitching within you. "Like that, baby?" She says, thrusting harder, faster. "You love being taken like this, don't you? Wanting more of my cock?"
The sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the room as she pounds into you, her body moving in perfect synchronization with yours. She can feel you getting closer to climax, and it spurs her on.
"Cry for me, baby," She hisses, her voice thick with lust. "Tell me you love my cock, that you can't live without it inside you."
Soon enough, your entire body is shaking under her, your cries growing louder. She knows your climax is near; she can feel it in the way you grip the sheets, your inner muscles clenching around her cock. And then, just as she predicted, you explode, crying out her name.
Lottie feels her own release building up, her clit slapping with just the right pressure against the strap, and her old orgasm only helping her more
your walls milking her cock mercilessly. "God, you're tight," She moans, burying herself deeper inside you. "Take it, take all of it!"
Your hips jerk wildly, your back arching off the bed as you reach your climax. Lottie keeps up the pace, drawing out every last drop of pleasure from you. The room is filled with the sounds of your moans and the clicking of the camera, capturing every twitch and spasm.
lottie walks away from you, panting and you feel an emptiness inside you, you hear another click from the camera then she stops the video and throws her phone on the floor, taking off her strap and placing it anywhere in the room, leaving you destroyed on the bed
"I'm already done with you, I hope you don't tell anyone this...or you already know"
#yellowjackets#lottie yellowjackets#yellowjackets x reader#anon・ω・#lottie mathews#lottie matthews x reader#lottie matthews#lottie Matthew smut#lottie matthews smut#lottie mathews x reader#lottie matthews x you#yellowjackets fic#yellowjackets smut
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épanouissement
élan final part: there was no place like home, even if the people there tried to wreck it
wordcount: 22k+
—————
"You think this is going to make it stop?"
Harry slammed the boot of the car closed, their bags packed away with the sun low on the horizon. He didn't seem particularly optimistic when he gave (Y/N) a curt nod, but she couldn't blame him.
"'S the best I can think of right now," he murmured, "They at least won't know where you are or where to send anything. We jus' need to get through until we can make it back to New York, then we'll have more options."
She could tell Harry was still frustrated with the fact they couldn't fly back home at the moment, her father being the very obvious roadblock. That had been his first iteration of this plan; that they leave Paris behind and get back to the high-rises where she had the rest of her letters stowed away. Harry wanted to file something, go public with this kind of information and make it known that she wasn't safe—do anything to get this person off of her back if there was nothing that could be legally done with only the letters as evidence. But, to get back would require either her father's jet, or her very public return—two things that would rattle his cage and cause something she wasn't willing to deal with on top of everything else.
That was how they made it here: bags packed, and car heading out of Paris for the time being.
This had been Plan C (right behind A, that consisted of Harry hunting down this person and ending this mess in a rage, and B, heading home and gaining proper protection from authorities or otherwise). Searching through vacation listings in rural villages bordering Paris, Harry had found something far enough away he could buy her privacy while waiting for the chance to make it back to New York. It had been decided he would rent the cottage under his much less recognizable name and they would hide amongst the fields before an opportunity for something more concrete presented itself.
(Y/N) had never lived in a small town before, the mansion upstate with her parents having been the least populated area she'd resided in, but that had nothing on the tiny village Harry had pinpointed. His reasoning came from the fact that it would be incredibly hard to blend in while out there, no crowds around to slip into and no real reason anyone should be carrying around a professional camera. At the very least, it would provide a challenge for someone who was so used to herding (Y/N) into crowds and peeping through windows to get a glimpse.
It didn't take much convincing for her to go along with the getaway plan, Harry having urgently pitched it to her with his own duffle bag already half packed by the time he shared the details. She had enough time to pack her essentials (and maybe some non-essentials that came in the form of the bouquet of roses Harry brought her, now dried and preserved carefully in her bag), sleep on the idea, then they were off. Though she knew the purpose and was actually kind of excited to actually get away for the first time in her life, it was an odd feeling to see the structures and people of Paris pass outside of the window, growing smaller in the rearview the further Harry drove them out.
Her only hope was that no one was following them, thwarting their plan before it had even sprung into motion. This person was no stranger to camping around her home and spotting her as soon as she appeared. (Y/N) just had to trust Harry; he wouldn't have suggested this upheaval if he didn't believe the outcome would be the one he wanted, ending with her safe and happy as he had told her time and time again that was all he wanted.
Looking at him from the corner of her eye, the shine of Paris passing by the window in whizzing blurs behind him, she saw him with that new filter that had lingered since the night they kissed. Everything was just a little bit softer, a little hazier. Even with the sharp set in his jaw and the thinned line of his lips, she knew if she plucked just a hair closer she would see the ridges of his mouth that had been pressed against hers, the tip of his nose that brushes against her cheek, the sun-dappled stubble that had grazed her chin and was soft under her hands when he deepened the seal of their lips. She no longer only knew what he looked like, she knew what he felt like.
Though, they hadn't kissed since, instead leaving a blurred line between them. Harry no longer seemed to hold many reservations about that professional line that had developed, those grazes of his hand over hers or the way he hovered around her in the kitchen were no longer reserved for only the times that he was leading her through packed situations or acting as the security he was hired on as. He no longer shied away from her the same way he had before, the buffer of space having dissipated. He had even stolen a bite of her dinner right off her fork the night before, sharing a glass of wine where he pressed his lips into the same space she had supped from just before.
There was a level of intimacy they now shared, even if they hadn't touched the limits of the barrier since.
Even now, (Y/N) knew that if she peeled his hand away from the steering wheel, pressed her palm against his and laced their fingers together, Harry wouldn't hesitate to reciprocate that hold.
But, she wasn't sure how to do it.
She'd never been shy around a man before, not since she was a teenager. No attraction was ever serious enough for her to feel as if she were silly for acting the way she did or looking the way she did. She didn't lack confidence when it came to those she wanted, but Harry was different. He made her flustered and shy, sheepish and fluttering under the skin and she didn't know how to feel about that.
He made her feel like she needed to journal about him, add the night in the kitchen to her diary so she would never forget about the way his voice wrapped around the words sweet girl and how he promised he cared for her.
Even spying him now, the lines of his profile being haloed with the buttery light of the fringes of the city, (Y/N) felt her heart skip in her chest.
It was worth it to be flustered by him.
—————
After over an hour of golden fields and rose tinted air, the paved road making way for a gravel trail, the cottage of Harry's choice came into view.
Along the way, (Y/N) had been enamored with the scenery outside, spotting farms with grazing animals, swaying stalks of lavender, and the neighbourhoods growing smaller and smaller, actual neighbours getting few and far between. If Paris smelled like butter and wine, this rural area smelled of lavender and fresh linen. (Y/N) wanted to bask in the sunlight pouring over the land.
While Paris was one of her great loves, a place she was happy she could show Harry, this was exciting to her. The idea of experiencing this place for the first time with him at her side was enough to have her tummy fluttering into delicately ribboned knots. A new first together, she thought.
Just like the photos online showed, the cottage was small, showcasing just enough space for what the listing entailed. The frame was built with tan cobblestones, sandy shades emulating the wheat fields they passed on the way, warm and sunny. A small chimney was stationed on the side of the house, white trim outlining the windows and coloring the door. From where they were pulling in, she could see just the corner of the back porch. Bushes of deep greens and wine red roses were blooming against the buttery backdrop, standing low next to the croppings of lavender. Up the small chimney, ivy vines traced the brickwork, tiny white blooms fluttering in the wind. It was like a storybook, (Y/N) thought.
"This is beautiful, Harry," she whispered in awe, eyes the size of her heart as she took in the whole place.
"I saw the roses and figured this would be the place for us," he told her, his voice low though she could still hear the tinge of pride.
There was that fluster in her chest, the sheepish feeling that had her skin warming. For us, he said.
Pulling her gaze from the home, (Y/N) watched from the passenger seat as Harry pulled them into the tiny gravel drive. Her lips curled into a soft smile.
"I love it."
As soon as Harry had them parked in the drive safely, (Y/N)'s jittery excitement couldn't be contained. She was excited to check out their designated safe house, skipping out of the car and heading towards the storybook porch, saddled by bushels of lavender and roses. Harry hung back, grabbing their bags from the boot.
"(Y/N)," he called, his voice carrying over the lavender-scented breeze, "Before y'go in, there's only one bedroom."
Stopping in her tracks, (Y/N) turned on her heel. For a split second she thought about what it would be like to share a bed with him, to feel his arms wrapped around her waist and head nestled in her shoulder the way he always did when he held her. She saw that in the morning often, but she wondered if it would be different to wake up next to him, to see the mess of curls on his head and the bleary blinks of his eyes. She didn't hate the idea at all.
Staying put, she canted her head as she looked at him, hoping she was playing it cool. "Oh?"
He nodded his head, pushing the trunk closed with a fist full of two duffle bags (both hers). "I was planning on sleeping on the couch, but I want to tell y'before y'saw."
Harry caught up with her as she stood in her spot, shifting her weight with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. "Are you sure?"
Meeting her eyes, the flecks of gold in his irises shimmering like stars in this light, he remained resolute. "'M sure. I jus' want you to be comfortable."
There's a part of her that wanted to argue that she would be more than comfortable with sharing the single bed with him, sleeping with the window open and sharing body heat under the linen. Though, that part of her didn't have a chance before Harry was forging ahead and unlocking the front door.
He went inside first, leaving (Y/N) to follow after with a view of his broad shoulders. He dropped the bags quietly in the tiny tiled space in front of the door, already peering around the cottage.
"Wait here for me," he murmured, getting that set in his gaze she remembered from the first time he had toured her apartment.
Kicking off her shoes, she stayed put while he cased the space, checking for any and everything. From where she was, no cameras could be found, or any open windows or cracked doors. Nonetheless, those closed windows were now locked, the closed doors were blown open, and every corner was double checked for any kind of camera that could be hiding in plain sight.
"Is everything okay?" she asked after Harry disappeared into the main bedroom.
Wandering out a moment later, he gave her an absent nod, his gaze stuck to the ceiling as if one of the dust motes in the air would suddenly start recording their conversation. "I think 's alright, jus' let me know if y'notice anything weird, please."
"Got it! Thank you," she beamed, feeling a bit too excited to start traipsing around the place. She hadn't felt like this since Francesca offered her a spot on her family's annual Switzerland trip and she saw the levels of the cabin they owned.
Taking in the small common area that would double as Harry's bedroom, she was endeared by the small television propped on the vintage wooden stand pressed against the wall. She could imagine sitting with Harry before bed, trying to watch an episode of Julia Childs and figuring out what exactly it was that she said before dropping the duck into the pan. It was cozy and small, complete with an overstuffed couch, a crocheted doily across the back and an uneven coffee table. There was a small space designated as the dining area just behind the couch, looking into the kitchen that was tucked away from the serenity of the living room. A huge pantry was the back wall of the kitchen, space left for any and everything (Y/N) could imagine.
There was another small hallway past the kitchen that led to the bathroom as well as what would be (Y/N)'s bedroom. A large window had been molded into the wall of the bedroom, giving a view into the back garden, complete with the small porch on the backside of the house. On the bed was a fresh pile of linen to be stretched across the mattress, fluffy pillows at the head. Inside the bathroom hung an ornate mirror, complete with a golden frame and a clawfoot bathtub. An even smaller short has been tucked into the corner, the tile matching the sunny, buttery tones throughout the cottage.
Everywhere she went smelled like powdery fresh linen, rosewater and lulling lavender. She'd never been so far away from a bustling city to experience something like this. The space was cozy and secluded, warm and inviting. She felt like she was sitting in a fairytale—this home fit for Beauty And The Beast. Bread should be baking somewhere, a pristine rose encased in glass.
She had thought Paris was the best place to be exiled, but even the city couldn't compare to this. Though she didn't have much to compare it to (thankfully) she figured this had to be the best of the best when it came to safe houses.
The best part? Checking her phone, she found she had limited service when not connected to Wi-Fi. Though it was small, that detail made it that much harder for someone to get into contact with her.
"Like it?" she heard Harry ask from where he sauntered through the doorway, his expression easy and warm as he gazed at her.
"I love it," she answered through a beaming smile, grazing her hand over the fresh linens waiting on her bed, "Thank you." Watching the spring back of the sheets against her hand, the fluff of the pillows waiting to cushion her head, she tried again, "Are you sure about the couch? Really sure?"
The bed was big enough for the both of them, she wanted to tell him. She wouldn't mind.
It was the half of a heartbeat's worth of lag before he answered her that had (Y/N) looking up to intently watch him. But, he was a master of a stoic face, giving nothing away as per usual. "'M sure, really," he cemented, "It'll make it easier for me to be right there in case anything happens, anyway. This looks like the kind of best y'could get lost in if you're not careful."
(Y/N) made a point not to think too hard about his words before she was relenting with a soft okay. Glancing out the window that made up a third of the wall, she fixed her eyes to the blossoming roses.
"Should we go check out the garden? Maybe there's vegetables we can use to make something."
The roses couldn't hold a candle to the way Harry's lips bloomed into a smile, complete with dimples and bright eyes the color of healthy, thornless stems. He held a hand towards her, "Yeah, c'mon."
This place was perfect, she decided, slipping her hand in his and allowing Harry to parade her through their temporary home. Just the flowers and Harry.
—————
Sitting on the overstuffed couch that doubled as Harry's bed, (Y/N) had her legs curled up underneath her and the T.V. in front of her showing an animated movie in French. Harry was at her side, legs spread with his arm laid across the back of the furniture, eyes squinted as he tried to decipher what exactly was playing on screen.
"What did they jus' say?" he asked, his question muttered as he craned his neck forward as if that would make him understand any better.
(Y/N) let out a soft breath of laughter, her eyes on the movie with a small rat skittering through the sewers, cookbook in tow. "We just finished watching this in English, you know what they said."
"I don't know what"—he added a jumble of letters accented in French, essentially speaking gibberish to prove his point—"means," he pointed out, shaking his head.
A peal of boisterous laughter left her lips over his half-hearted attempt, rolling into his chest with her eyes squeezing closed.
"You're not even trying anymore," she laughed, settling into Harry's side as he curled around her.
She fit against him like a puzzle piece, her head on his shoulder and his arm falling from around the couch to cocoon around her. Despite no more than a single kiss being shared between them, this intimacy, the comfortable touching and casual affection, had been the level they had reached, the outcome of that night in the kitchen.
"Do you really want to know what they're saying?" she asked, a touch breathless once her laughing settled down.
"I do, yeah," he murmured, his nose grazing the top of her head as he dropped his chin. He spoke to her like he was sharing a secret, something only for her to hear, and not a quiet request for translation.
(Y/N) translated for him, sharing the English version of whatever string of gibberish he had let out. Her voice was low, matching the volume of his own.
"How do you say it the right way—in French?" he asked after a beat, his tone lulled into something softer.
A small smile curled her lips. She loved it when he asked her to do something like this, to share the language with him. Bubbling it off, she shared the flourish of the sentence that he had already heard on screen just moments before.
A beat passed, Harry's arm around her tucking her into the cove his body was making around hers. "What did they say now?"
And the game began.
Despite the way he was asking about the movie, looking for translations and the French flourish to be slowed down for him in her voice, it wasn't about the script or the plot anymore. This was one of his favorite games to play with her, and (Y/N) indulged him every time. She liked reciting the lines for him, having him repeat them back at times if he wasn't too eager to fire off another excuse for her to speak French to him. More than once, he pulled away from her just enough to watch her speak, see the way her mouth formed around the words and the accent trolling off of her tongue.
"Have you learned how to say anything since I started helping you?" (Y/N) teased, her smile easy as she gazed up at him with her head resting on his shoulder.
His gaze lingered over her features, the tip of his tongue peaking out to wet his lips. "I know a few things," he said, decidedly more serious than her own tone.
"Like what?" she pressed through her soft-lipped smile.
Harry started off easy, reciting off words that he'd garnered from his time in the kitchen with her. "Tomate, carotte, ail, soupe, poireau," he listed off, counting on his fingers with each one, even as (Y/N)'s laughter rose.
Of course he would remember all of the food related words she'd taught him—he always paid a lot more attention when she was making him dinner.
Twisting on the cushions, (Y/N) turned to face him, her side now pressed against the back of the couch with Harry's arm around her with his hand settling on her hip. He watched on as she bubbled with laughter, her features bright and laugh filling the small cottage.
"That's all you know?" she giggled.
"I know a little more," Harry promised, looking a little smug before his gaze started tracing over the planes of her face. As her laughter died down, she wished she knew what he was thinking as he looked at her. She wondered what he saw in moments like these. "I know rose," he started, his words drawling and lingering a little more this time, "Pétale. Magnifique."
He went on to describe another color when he locked eyes with her, his gaze shifting over her skin and hair, more descriptors following after. Everything was said with a lingering flourish, as if they were more than just colors and little words he'd picked up, but more like a poem he was reciting. She watched as his raspberry lips wrapped around every word, even if he fumbled the pronunciation just a hair. More and more gentle, tender expressions left his lips, his eyes warming and deep as he looked at her the whole time.
"Douce," he finished with, his eyes lingering on the shape of her mouth. The room suddenly felt charged the longer he gazed at her, (Y/N) warming under his eyes.
"I never taught you those," she murmured, smiling with a cant to her head, trying her best to keep her head straight.
"I know," he answered on a soft exhale, his attention obviously taken elsewhere.
"Where'd you learn it then?"
"Myself."
"Yeah?" she asked, the corners of her lips lifting that much more, "When did you do that?"
She could only ever recall him reciting things she had taught him, never anything like this. Though it wasn't that complicated, some of the words he'd shown off with, it was more than he'd come to the country with and she was proud of him for learning any at all when he easily could have relied on her for translation the whole time.
Harry shrugged casually, though the silence suggested anything but. The audio of the movie had become nothing more than white noise, a vague French song in the background of this scene.
"I—Um—I wanted..." he started, words fumbling and distracted. The full of his bottom lip became trapped between his teeth, a slight pause before he regained himself with a clearing grumble of his throat. Harry looked at her through his lashes, "I want to know how to describe you if I ever needed help to find you."
"So you learned sweet and gorgeous?"
(Y/N) wanted to tease him, give him an easy smile and laugh with him, but her voice stuck in her throat. There wasn't anything to tease him about, anything that could cut through the breathless tension. He was admitting to thinking she was pretty, and that was enough to stutter her lungs.
"Isn't that you?" he deadpanned, with genuine intensity sitting in his eyes.
The heart shape of his lips fell into a soft gape as he gazed at her. The hold he had on her hip tightened that much more. If not for the fact that she was hyper-aware of everything him, she doubted she wouldn't have noticed the minute way his breathing hitched, his throat slightly bobbing.
Maybe she needed to give it a second thought, allow a moment of pause, but (Y/N) didn't hesitate before she was reaching across and pressing her lips to Harry's. Only a beat of lag came from him; his neck stiffened under her hands she had looped around to connect at his nape, the fingers on her hip flexing. It didn't take long for him to lose himself in the kiss, melting against her and tipping his head to reciprocate.
Slotting his lips against hers, he cradled her top lip between his two and kissed her with everything that had been waiting since the last time they had a moment like this. He was able to curl himself around her, cupping her hip and using the bar of his arm to tuck her against his chest. (Y/N) kept her hands locked around his neck, fingers twiddling with the baby hairs fringing his hairline.
Deepening the kiss, she tipped her head, the tip of his nose brushing the apple of her cheek. His chest pressing against hers as he pulled in a deep breath, the warm fanning across her skin when they broke away for a heartbeat. Harry followed her, sealing his lips against hers once more, shifting that much closer to her on the couch. His hand on her hip skated up her side, creasing and bunching her shirt up her side as he came to rest his palm on the ladder of her ribs. His grip strengthened there, matching the intensity of his kiss as he slid the tip of his tongue across the seam of her lips, hugging her to his chest with her arms bundled between. She clung to his shirt, fisting the fabric as if he could slip away if she wasn't careful.
"Harry," she whispered, pulling away. She just wanted him to open his eyes; she wanted to see him again, remember that this was the man she was kissing, the same one she met in her father's office.
Drawing away just enough to match her gaze, she watched intently as he opened his eyes with a flutter of his lashes. His pupils were dilated, his eyes increasingly dark compared to the mossy jade that typically made up his iris. His lips were kiss-swollen and cheeks rosy with a heated flush.
She had done this to him, the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the way he couldn't seem to look away from her for even a split second.
The thought had her throwing herself back into the kiss, her hands around the back of his neck shifting until she was cradling his jawline in her palms. The stubble covering the skin prickled against her palms, the soft skin of his cheeks moving with every heavy kiss he planted upon her lips. Harry's free hand that had been carefully resting on his thigh abandoned post, coming up to cup the side of her throat, his thumb circling the hinge of her jaw. He held her steady as he pushed against her, giving and giving and giving while her soft mouth cushioned the full of his kissing.
"C'mere," he murmured against her lips, his voice a heated breath fanning across.
With that, he used his arm he had wrapped around her, holding her hip, to pull her to his lap. He helped position her atop him, her thighs splitting to fit his hips between, her feet folding underneath to hook under his thighs. His own legs were still spread, with sifting heavy and hard bulging in his lap. Both of his hands came to cup her bottom, keeping her steady on his lap with his fingertips digging into the plush skin there.
(Y/N)'s fingertips curled in the baby hairs bordering his hairline, her brows coming to a furrow as she rested heavily on his hard cock. His hands on her ass held her flush against him, until he seemed to grow restless and started using his leverage to roll her hips against his in slow grinds.
There wasn't anything urgent in the way he moved her, gripping her and lifting her until she slid down the bulge in a lingering stroke. It was indulgent. It matched the lingering kisses, the heavy breaths in the air, the way (Y/N) couldn't seem to have him close enough and Harry couldn't taste her enough.
While their first kiss had been entirely romantic and revealing, backlit by the Eiffel Tower and scented with confessions of adoration, this was different. She had been missing him before she had even kissed him. Now, combined with every moment she had wished she had him after that night in her kitchen, it was all coming together and fueling this moment.
She couldn't help the small, breathy moan she let out against his mouth, Harry's fingers flexing against the plushness of her bottom. He pulled away then, though his lips never left her skin. He turned to messy, streaking kisses splayed over her cheek, down her jaw, and over the column of her throat.
"Feel good?" he asked, his voice a smear against her skin.
(Y/N) threw her head back, feeling his cock twitch between her legs. God, she had never been more grateful for the thin fabric of her sleep-shorts and the fact it seemed Harry didn't like to wear any boxers under his sweats.
"Uh-huh," she breathed, her neck stretching under his lips with more space for him to make his mark.
Harry did just that, his teeth scraping against her skin with a sharp nip, her body tensing against his. (Y/N) was melting, melting, melt—
Until something outside seemingly crashed on the ground, a clattering noise ringing across the patio out back.
(Y/N) startled in her skin, clinging to Harry in a different way with her chest rapidly rising and falling against his. Her eyes were wide, the vignette that clouded her vision and sunk her deeper into this moment with him dissipated in an instant. Harry held her for a moment, seemingly startled himself, until he sprung into action.
"Wait here," he murmured, twisting her off his lap and settling her into the couch cushion.
He didn't look back when her hands dropped from him, her body curling in on itself as he disappeared. She knew he had gone through the kitchen, reaching for something in a cabinet before the backdoor was thrown open and Harry stomped outside.
She wished she could get a glance of him somehow, shakily rising to her knees. She looked over the back of the couch, hoping to spot him through the small trio of windows that lined the back wall of the dining area.
They both had the same suspect in mind, she was sure of that. And, by the direction the last photos she had looked at began taking, her admirer—stalker, she reminded herself—was starting to turn on Harry. She didn't want him getting hurt.
There was no telling how long he'd been outside with the way time seemed to stand still then. (Y/N) knelt there, waiting, watching, worrying her lip between her teeth and finding anything to worry her hands with.
It could have been hours by the time the back door opened once more, Harry stomping through and reappearing. This time, she saw him with a gun in his hand, something she'd never seen him with but figured he would have had given the nature of his job. He took a moment to leave it on the dining table, the barrel facing away from her before he turned to face (Y/N).
His eyes were wild, hair a mess.
"What was it?" (Y/N) asked, even her whisper feeling too loud for this moment.
Harry shook his head, seemingly decompressing when she shuttered his eyes and took in a deep breath. The sharp set to his shoulders didn't deplete, but the lines beside his eyes finally relaxed. He ambled towards her on slow feet, his demeanor defeated despite being her saving grace in that moment.
"Some animals got into a fight in the garden," he told her. He stopped to stand in front of her, placing his hands on either side of her where she still knelt with her own fingers digging into the backing cushion of the couch. He looked down at her with hooded eyes, coming down from the skyrocketing adrenaline that had pumped through both of them. "'M sorry."
"For what?" she pressed, dumbfounding that he would be apologizing then. It wasn't as if he made the noise that spooked the life out of her.
He rolled his neck, his eyes dropping down to the curve of her throat. "I didn't mean to interrupt," he explained, his choice of words careful as they fell from his mouth, "I jus'..."
"No, don't be sorry," she insisted, a furrow to her brow as she laid her hand atop his. Though she felt a bit shy thinking about what exactly had been interrupted, she didn't want him to hold any guilt for something that was far from his fault. "I don't blame you, or anything. We're hiding for a reason, even if it's been really easy to forget these last couple of weeks. You still technically have a job to do instead of just watching movies with me and doing the dishes while I nap."
She was trying her hand at being light-hearted, hoping to alleviate the fatigue that had entered his system. She wanted him to smile again.
Unfortunately, all he did was shake his head again. The man she had been snuggling and kissing on the couch was out of commission for the time being it seemed.
"I need to be paying more attention," he told her, his tone resolute as if he had failed her. He stepped away then. "'M going to see if I can find any temporary security cameras I can put up outside."
With that, the conversation was seemingly over while he rifled through his duffle bag for his laptop.
Reality was sinking in against once more, the rose petals falling around her.
This wasn't a vacation, she had to remember, a lusty getaway with a dreamy man. There was a reason—a good and important reason—that they had to flee the way they did.
—————
"Are you going to bed?" (Y/N) asked, meeting Harry's eyes from where he stood in the doorway of her bathroom. He had lent against the jamb, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her through the mirror.
"Yeah," he said after a beat, seemingly coming alive from where he was watching her twist her damp hair into a braid. "Jus' wanted to come say goodnight."
Harry had been decidedly quiet after the clatter from outside, a distance having been put up between them despite the intimacy they shared just moments before it had been shattered. (Y/N) hadn't expected him to visit her after the sun went down, assuming she would have to wait until the morning to see him again and hope he was less in his head after a night's rest.
The fact he came to see her at all, waited until she was out of the shower and readying herself for bed, brought a wide grin to her face.
Turning on her heel, she met his eyes head-on, no longer having to go through the mirror. "Goodnight," she murmured through her smile, "I'll see you in the morning for breakfast?"
Harry's eyes lingered over her. Her skin was especially soft and warm after her shower, scented with Miss Dior and the rose petals that seemed to follow every room in the cottage. The high points of her face were coated in a dewy shine from her moisturizer, her hair soft from her conditioner. A set of silky pajamas slid over her freshly exfoliated skin, softening Harry's phantom hold she pretended she hadn't been thinking about all afternoon.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, "I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight, (Y/N)."
Expecting him to head out to the living room to sleep then, (Y/N) was surprised when he did the opposite. Harry reached out and settled a heavy hand on her waist, pulling her to him with a gentle tug. Dipping down, he pressed his lips to hers in a tender kiss. Everything was innocent, nothing heated or deepened. He kept his hand on her waist and lips sealed her hers for a breath before he fell away. The tip of his nose skimmed hers before he pulled back completely.
He looked at her with flushed cheeks and wide eyes, as if he couldn't believe he'd done the same thing.
(Y/N) only looked up at him with a wide smile touching her lips, reaching her hand out to clasp his for a moment. That disbelief in his eyes melted then, knowing that she wanted that kiss as much as he did.
"I'll see you in the morning."
Harry squeezed her hand in his before giving her a quiet nod, dimples in his cheeks.
Her eyes were on him until he left her room, though he was on her mind for the rest of the night.
—————
"Yeah, I'm fine. We just decided to leave the city for a bit. I realized I'd never been anywhere but Paris, and Harry was able to find this cute little cottage available for a few weeks so we took it."
(Y/N) prattled with the crocheted doily on the dining table, tugging at the edges and slipping her fingers through the knit, with her phone pressed to her ear. Francesca had called as soon as she read the text (Y/N) had sent, apologizing for the delay in getting back to her here weeks with her spotty service so far from the city. Fran had plenty of questions, too many for a text she decided.
"How far from the city is it that you barely have service?" Francesca pressed, the mortification easily detectable in her voice. (Y/N) couldn't blame her, the lack of consistent bars on her phone was rough the first few days, but the WiFi was good enough to stream movies and that was all she could ask for.
"Pretty far," (Y/N) mused, tiptoeing around the details for no other reason than she liked the level of anonymity she was gaining from this spur of the moment flee. Telling Fran seems like it would ruin the illusion.
Looking up, (Y/N) saw Harry quietly smiling to himself as he stirred the roasted tomato soup he had going on the stove. She had watched him prep for a half an hour, carefully slicing and sautéing ingredients he plucked from the garden along with the few he picked from the Farmer's Market he went to earlier in the week. That was how he was landed with dinner duty for the night, Harry having claimed he picked out the perfect things for a grilled cheese and soup—and he wanted to show her.
She smiled too, watching him stir, stir, stir just like she taught him was important. (While it may not have been as vital as she made it out to be when she had him as her sous chef, it was cute thinking he had clung onto that and used it for his own meals).
"Everyone's been worried about you," Fran shared, her words coming out on a sigh, "There's even been blogs trying to claim you died or something, all because there hasn't been anything posted about you since that date with that guy. And, because you haven't posted anything since before the Gala."
(Y/N)'s smile stretched at the new information. If there was nothing new for over three weeks to be shared about her, not even off-hand pap pictures or a blurry fan photo, there was no way anyone could know where she was. Her stalker wasn't the patient kind, if they'd found her already, there would be no way they'd keep it a secret to her or the press.
"Well, I'm not," (Y/N) joked, "There's no reason to worry or anything, though, seriously. I'm really happy."
From where Harry stood at the stove, that smile on his face widened, a deep dimple on his cheek.
"I'm sure you are with your bodyguard," Francesca laughed, her bright voice rising over the phone, "But, are you coming home soon? I miss you—New York is boring without you."
"I don't know," (Y/N) answered, dropping her eyes to her twiddling hands, "I haven't really talked to my father or anything about coming back, so... But you'll be the first to know when I know."
Honestly, (Y/N) didn't think she was ready to return to the city. While she knew this was temporary—the cottage, Harry's doting, everything so tranquil about this space—until they could make it back to the city and do something productive to end this stalker's obsession with her, she still couldn't help the way she was falling in love with it. Everything was easier here; lavender followed her like rose petals and even the sunshine seemed to have this clean smell. Even with the noise that rattled the cottage, that had been the one isolated incident that had put them on their twos, everything else solidly safe.
All (Y/N) did all day was ease into herself and into Harry—into the person she was when she was with him. Even he had begun loosening up; his job was still incredibly serious to him (he really did end up going out and grabbing these small security cameras he could access through his phone, the gadgets set up outside of the cottage to catch anyone approaching), but the slow-pace of the countryside was getting to him, she could tell.
Kisses were even shared freely between them now, less of a production of built up tension and more of a gift they could give—a reminder the other was there and was thinking of them.
She didn't want that to change if they were to stray from this cottage.
"Well, you need to come back soon," Fran started, the sounds of a pout in her voice, "Besides, I heard Dami—Oh, shit, I'm late for a nail appointment. I have to go!"
(Y/N) couldn't help the laugh that bubbled to her lips at Francesca's sudden plans. She couldn't remember many times she was ever on time for any kind of appointment.
"Okay, text me later, then," (Y/N) said.
"For sure, for sure" Francesca bubbled, "I'll talk to you soon, love you!"
"Love you, too. Bye, Fran."
Francesca barely said her own goodbyes before she hung up, leaving (Y/N) shaking her head as she pulled her phone from her face. Looking up, she saw Harry looking to her with a soft smile on his face, his features molded into soft curves.
"Everything alright?" he asked, his eyes following her as she stood from the dining table and joined him in the kitchen.
Peeking inside the pot, seeing all the herbs and spicing floating through the soup, (Y/N) took in a deep breath. "Needy," she joked, reveling in the small laugh Harry let out for her, though his stirring never ceased, "She just misses me, she said. People are starting to think I'm dead apparently, since I haven't posted anything and there haven't been any more pictures coming out of me."
"Yeah?" he pressed, brows raised as he looked at her. Now he stopped stirring the wooden spoon, his direct attention on her.
"Yeah," she smiled, excited to share the news, "I think we're doing good. I don't think anyone knows where we are; we're doing good."
Pride found a home on Harry's features then. "We're doing good, yeah," he affirmed, smile growing on his lips.
Everything felt good in that moment.
For the first time in a while—years, even—there wasn't the threat of eyes on her that (Y/N) had learned to live with. She didn't have the urge to look over her shoulder and catch someone in the act with a camera in her face. Here, she was able to indulge in the small moments with Harry: watching him cook a simple dinner, watching movies she hadn't seen in years, going over a week without wearing a single spot of makeup on her skin.
Just as (Y/N) snatched a bit of cheese Harry had left over on his cutting board, a firm hand wrapped around her waist tugging her to a firm chest. Harry's familiar lips were pressed to hers in a breath, soft and giving. (Y/N) couldn't help the smile that formed against his mouth.
Pulling away (Y/N) gave him that same smile he felt, letting him see it for real. She would never not see a model when she looked at him, feeling that much more lucky to be with him here, knowing he cared about her.
"Ready for dinner?" he muttered, his voice dancing through his quiet, dimpled smile.
A teasing edge entered her lips. "What are we having?"
Her smile only widened when Harry answered her with gummy French words, nothing at all like she had taught him to say just a few hours prior.
"Almost," she laughed, biting back her smile with her bottom lip between her teeth.
"Yeah? You'll have to teach me again," Harry cemented just before he pressed another kiss to her lips.
—————
Harry looked at the grocery list in his hand with intensity, his brows in a furrow.
"This is everything we need?" he asked looking at (Y/N) through his lashes.
"Mhm," she hummed, running through what she had written down one more time in her head, "But, if you find anything that looks really good, just grab it and we'll make something with it. Please."
"Okay," he sighed, sounding unsure despite the fact the trip to the farmer's market was his idea.
He got this way, mood shifting, every time he had to head out without her since coming to the cottage. It wasn't his favorite thing to leave her behind, numerous worst case scenarios floating around his head when he had to, but it was an even worse option to take her along. Having her seen out and about would defeat the whole purpose of running to the countryside. It wasn't something either of them were willing to sacrifice.
Nonetheless, it didn't make it easier for him.
"You'll be fast, H," she reminded him, reaching out to lay her palm on his forearm, "I'll be okay."
"I know," he answered automatically, though (Y/N) could see the gears turning, his head spinning just under the surface of his stoic calm.
Stretching to her tiptoes, she pressed a small kiss to his cheek, right where his dimple would dent if he were smiling. "Come home soon, okay?"
This time, when his eyes met hers, she could still see the intensity though it was dulled by something soft and dazed. "Okay," he murmured, his answer simple.
"Then go," (Y/N) prompted him with a small smile, standing back to usher him towards the door before he could change his mind, "The faster you leave, the faster you can come back to me."
Harry didn't leave until he pressed a grazing kiss to the tip of her nose, then he was out the door with another promise to come home within the next hour. She sent him off from the front door, waving to him as he backed out of the drive and entered the main stretch of road towards the village center.
She hoped he found some roses to bring home with him.
—————
Tucked into bed, bright moonlight shone through (Y/N)'s bedroom. Looking through the windows, she had never seen so many stars in the sky. How could so many of them exist and her never actually seeing more than a handful at a time?
(Y/N)'s breath caught when she heard her door knob rattle, the sound aggressive compared to the tranquility of the night. Harry wouldn't do something like that, would he?
She didn't have to question anymore who it could be when the door slammed open a moment later. A faceless man barged in, heading directly towards her bed with rough hands reaching out towards her.
Though she wanted to scream, to feel her throat burn with the breadth of her voice, nothing came out. Her light linen bedding was too heavy for her to move, clinging to her body and tying her down. She could do nothing as the man approached, her being his only target.
Where's Harry? That was all she could think about. Where was he? Was he okay? He never would have let anything like this happen to her if he could stop it. Horror wretched through her body at the thought of him giving himself to be gravely injured in an attempt to save her. Her eyes burned with tears.
Where is he, where is he, where is he—
The man's rough hand closed around her throat.
Shooting awake, (Y/N) was drenched in sweat. Her breathing was heavy, her eyes burning from tears she had shed in her sleep. No moonlight snuck through her windows like in her dream, the only light coming from the small night light plugged into the wall.
She sat with her head in her hands as she came down, willing the nightmare out of her mind. She was so tired, wanting nothing more than to return to sleep and wake up at a real hour, but she knew she couldn't do that yet. If she returned to dream land now, she would have to spend another terrifying time with the faceless man until she woke up like this again.
Her mind was chugging along, running too fast for her slow sense-of-self to keep up. The only clear thought was the same one she had during her dream:
Where's Harry?
That feeling she had as a little girl when she would wake up from a nightmare and just wanted someone—a nanny, her mother, anyone who might care—to coddle and coax her down returned in that moment. She wanted Harry.
He could protect her, she knew that. He'd said he cared about her. He always told her to grab him if she needed him, no matter what it was that was setting her. He'd be there for her, he promised.
It was on those juvenile instincts that (Y/N) climbed out of bed and padded towards the living room. She sniffled as she opened her creaky door, peering out to find Harry asleep with the television on, scrunched onto the couch. A loose blanket was draped over his form, a pillow tucked under his head as he slept on his side, his hair a mess of loose curls.
There was a part of her that didn't want to wake him, that already felt a bit guilty over the idea of pulling him from his sleep when he didn't really have any responsibility to care for her when she was like this. That was why she hesitated for just a moment before crossing the room. She needed him, she thought, remembering the faceless man in her dream that had struck a fear in her that felt something close to primal. Harry always told her to get him if she needed him; he cared about her. He wanted her to be happy, not like she was now with teary eyes and a sniffly nose.
"Harry?" she asked, standing awkwardly off to the side of the couch, still a tad nervous over waking him at such a rough hour. When he didn't stir, she tried again, raising her voice just a hair.
At that, Harry startled awake, his eyes fluttering open in urgent blinks. When his gaze focused around the room, he took her in with her watery eyes and unsure stance before him.
"(Y/N)? What's wrong?" he grumbled, forcing himself awake through bleary eyes.
At his question, (Y/N) felt a bit silly. He most likely imagined something serious, like a new letter, someone having found the cottage, anything of real danger, when in reality she just had a bad dream and didn't want to be alone.
"Are you okay?" he pressed, urgent now that she wasn't answering him. He moved to get off the couch before she stopped him, panicking some.
"Yes, yes, I'm okay, sorry," she rushed out, flustered, "I just... I had a bad dream and..."
She didn't finish her thought, rolling her lips between her teeth instead.
Though she wasn't sure he was entirely awake still, Harry didn't hesitate before he was settling back into the couch and scooting back as far as he could before opening up the blanket. "C'mere."
(Y/N) stood still, eyes following the cave he'd made with the blanket draped over his arm to welcome her in.
"'S okay, (Y/N)," Harry murmured, patting his free hand on the space beside him, "C'mere."
Her heart jumped in her throat as she gave into his direction. While this had been what she had asked for—hoped for—she didn't really think about the reality of getting just that.
With the way Harry had crammed himself against the back of the couch, there was just enough space for her to slip in beside him, her arms bundled between them. There was no part of them that wasn't touching, the warmth of shared body heating intensifying when Harry laid his arm around her waist, blanket fluttering down. He helped her settle into him, his ankle hooking around hers, hand flat on her back to keep her steady on the sliver of cushion, and his other arm laid out with his bicep as her pillow. He curled her into him, becoming that furled rose once more, the protector of his worried bumblebee.
He placed a hand on the back of her head, tucking her under his chin with her forehead resting on his throat. (Y/N) breathed into the hold, melting against him and welcoming the cage of his arms.
Now, nothing could get her.
"What happened, sweet girl? Your dream really this bad?" he murmured, voice giving away the fact that he was clearly much closer to sleep than he was giving off.
(Y/N) snuggled closer to him, enjoying the way she could feel his voice in his chest as much as she heard it with her ears. She nodded against him. "It scared me," she sniffled, "I don't want to go back to sleep in case it starts again."
His hand on her back moved in a soothing circuit, fingers spread out wide. "What happened?"
The details of the dream were still too sharp for comfort, none of that fuzziness that usually followed after waking. "It was the stalker," she told him, aware of the way Harry's arms locked around her that much tighter, "I don't know how I knew it was them, but it was. He found the cottage while we were sleeping and he did something to you I think. Then he came into my room and I woke up when he started choking me."
Harry nosed at the top of her head, a frown apparent on his lips. "(Y/N)," he crooned, "That's terrible. Were y'thinking about them a lot today?"
"I don't think so," she answered, voice small. "I don't know why I had a dream like that."
"'S alright," he soothed, voice fanning through her hair, "'M happy y'came and got me—I don't want you to deal with this stuff by yourself."
(Y/N) allowed her eyes to flutter closed as she laid in his arms. It was nice knowing he wasn't upset with her after she scared him awake.
"Y'don't want to fall asleep again?" he asked after a moment, scratching his nails gently over her back, her t-shirt softening his touch that much more.
"Not yet," she shook her head. It was all still too fresh. If she fell asleep again, would she see that faceless man again? Would he chase her through the cottage this time? Force her to see whatever he'd done to get Harry out of the way. "Definitely, not yet," she repeated, her voice thick over the reminder of her fear.
"Okay, okay," he crooned, "We won't go back to sleep, yet then. We'll stay up and talk a little, instead. Do you think that'll help?"
"Yes, please."
Petting his fingers through her hair, Harry sighed. "Good, good," he murmured, the sleep still thick in his voice. Nonetheless, that didn't keep him from saying, "I don't think you've ever told me how you met Francesca."
The abrupt change in topic was perfect for what (Y/N) needed, pushing her mind in the complete opposite direction of what had transpired in her dreams.
"I met her at private school, when I was, like, thirteen," she shared, fondly looking back on the days of her youth with her best friend. "We met on orientation day, moving into the same dorm."
"Dorm?"
"Yeah," (Y/N) confirmed, "It was also a kind of boarding school my father picked for me after he and my mom filed for divorce. But, anyway, we were in adjoined rooms, sharing a kitchen. I was definitely shyer than her, but after we found out we had almost the exact same classes, we started hanging out in the kitchen and doing our homework together all the time. She's been my best friend ever since.
"We did pretty much everything together when we were younger. I spent a lot of summers with her, and her mom invited me to go on trips during the holidays with them." She thought back to the amount of time she spent at Francesca's when her parents were dealing with their divorce, fighting over the prenuptial agreement and who got what assets. Those summer-long sleepovers were some of her favorite memories. "Did you know that she had a bodyguard when we were sixteen?"
"She did?" Harry mused, his fingers still working through her hair.
"Mhm," she hummed, "His name was Barry. During the school year, photographers started showing up at our school trying to get pictures when we were outside for gym class, or lunch, or whatever they could catch of us. I remember Fran telling her mom how much it scared her because they would yell at us or say whatever they could to get us to react. The school was able to get them off the property after a while, but when we were out for the summer, her mom hired Barry to look out for us so that didn't happen again."
"You were sixteen when this started?" Harry pressed, his voice decidedly tender, carefully breaching the subject.
"Yeah. But it only got really bad after I turned eighteen," she shared, thinking back to the way paparazzi changed when she became of age. Rules no longer seemed to apply when it came to how close they came to her or how rowdy they got in order to get a reaction. That didn't matter though, she reminded herself. It was too long ago to care about, anymore. "Barry was really nice, though. He didn't talk a lot when I was around, but Fran really liked him."
She was sure Harry wasn't impressed with the backstory of her tabloid fame, resenting the age of which her entire life changed. She couldn't blame him. Nonetheless, he stayed composed with only a deep breath inflating his chest, his hold on her staying strong.
"That's good, 'm happy he was good to you," he told her, his hand rubbing her back, "I didn't know that y'knew Francesca for so long. She's a good friend to you, isn't she?"
"The best," (Y/N) answered, smiling against Harry's throat, "I love Emma, Toriana, and Kita, and all, but Fran's been there through everything. Her and Sully are the only reasons I haven't actually lost my mind the way everyone thinks I have."
"Sully's good to you, too, isn't he?" Harry started, steering her to more happy thoughts, "You're close with his family aren't you?"
"A little, yeah. I've met his wife a few times, and I give his daughter a lot of clothes and everything."
"You gave her a prom dress, right?"
"I did, yeah." (Y/N) smiled. She still needed to get pictures from Sully of her in the Dior gown she passed on. "She's so sweet. She goes to a private school upstate, and Sully told me one time that she felt like she didn't fit in because all of the other girls had all these fancy clothes, so I started buying a bunch of stuff I hope she liked and then told him I was giving them away so she could have them if she wanted. From what I hear, she absolutely loves them."
"You did that with her prom dress?"
As much as (Y/N) tried to fight it, Harry's lulling questions were so soothing to her. The rumble of his chest and the soft way he handled her, petting her hair and rubbing her back, she was getting more and more sleepy as they went, her lips looser and stories more and more personal.
It was easy to share with him like this.
"No, her prom dress was one of my favorite Diors I had when I was sixteen. I only wore it for one night for a school event, then never again. I loved it, so I figured she would love it too."
"That's very kind of you, (Y/N)," he told her after a beat, the praise being spoken against her hair with the tip of his nose skimming her scalp. "I'm sure she really appreciates it."
"I hope so—it was vintage," (Y/N) laughed, feeling Harry smile against her hair. Her hands that were bundled between their chests twisted until she was fisting his shirt in her hands, the planes of his chest smooth under the fabric. "Who else do you want to know about?"
"I'll listen to anything y'want to tell me," he crooned, unashamed over being caught in his pointed game of misdirection and distracted. "As long as you're not too tired, 'm here to listen."
If she was being honest, (Y/N) knew she could go back to sleep and slip into a new dream no problem at this point. She barely remembered her nightmare, the only details she could recall being ones that she had shared out loud with Harry. Everything else was a fuzzy blur.
But, she didn't want to sleep yet.
She was telling him things she hadn't really told anyone, for no other reason than there was no one there to listen. She couldn't really share to Sully and Fran the retelling of her favorite memories with them, or how much she loved them without crying. Harry was the first person to genuinely ask her these things and care about what she had to say. It was a comforting thought; that she wasn't alone.
She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted him to know exactly who she was.
Starting with the reason they even know each other in the first place, she decided.
"That whole thing with Damien Moore didn't happen the way the magazines said," she started, unsure of where exactly she was starting this story, but knowing she wanted to share it. "He's the son of one of my father's investors, and even though he's a few years younger than me, our dads always wanted us to be together for some reason. I only really met him a couple of years ago, and he seemed way more okay with the idea of being set up than I was, but I couldn't reject him or anything because he'd tell my father.
"I started seeing him more earlier this year, but nothing ever happened, of course. But, with the pictures and all, his dad had made us reservations at this restaurant but I told Damien I wouldn't be able to stay long because I was meeting Fran later to go out in the Upper West Side." (Y/N) wanted to roll her eyes at the memory of Damien's reaction, not regretting a single thing about the way she handled him. "He got really upset then, saying I would embarrass him if I left and he started saying terrible things about Fran—like, how I shouldn't be friends with a slut like her, and she was tainting my reputation, and I shouldn't be friends with someone like her since I was better than that. Just stupid stuff. Obviously, I got mad and that was why I threw my drink on him."
(Y/N) paused. "I'd do it again, too."
A breathy laugh fanned across the top of (Y/N)'s head, Harry's smile apparent through the strands of hair he nosed at.
"I don't blame you," he murmured, "I'd do the same thing." He held her closely then, mulling over the silence that filled the room, the only light coming from the flashing television with whatever French program he had tuned into. "You're a good person, (Y/N)," he crooned, pressing a hard kiss to the top of her head, ensuring she felt it even as she teetered closer to sleep, "'M happy I got a chance to know you."
Snuggling closer to him, (Y/N) couldn't help her own quiet smile from plucking at her lips. She pressed a small kiss to the column of his throat, reveling in the warmth.
"Thank you for wanting to know me."
—————
Adjusting the clip in her hair, (Y/N) paused where she stood in the back garden of the cottage. The sun had been shining brightly since it broke over the horizon, only small puffs of clouds drifting through the blue sky. It had been her idea to prance through the space, taking advantage of the sunshine and celebrate the fact that they'd been able to evade prying eyes for so long.
And, she wanted Harry to pick some vegetables to be used for dinner tonight.
With him on his hands and knees, grabbing vegetables and tending to the garden as best he could, (Y/N) was free to play around and enjoy the space around the cottage. While she knew it was in her best interest, not being able to really leave the place at all in hopes of avoiding anyone catching sight of her or posting about her online had made her stir crazy. Any time she could spend outside with Harry was time she savored.
Brushing baby hairs out of her face, she smiled as she took in the sprawling wild roses that sprung up around the backside of the cottage, growing past the bordering lavender. It reminded her of the small hedge maze at the country club back home, though the blooms were much freer and untamed. The toes of her white sneakers were now dirtied as she traipsed around the blooms, her skin warmed and sparkling with a sheen of sweat.
A butterfly with gorgeous purple and orange designs spanning across her wings floated through the garden, (Y/N)'s attention stolen by the creature. She'd never seen anything like it back home. She didn't even know butterflies could be purple outside of nail art photos she found on Pinterest.
Flapping its wings, it came close to landing around (Y/N), not even scaring when she reached a hand out as if she could coax it into settling on her finger. It was a bit silly, the way she had the urge to chase it, but she couldn't really find it in her to care about looking juvenile.
When the butterfly finally did land on a thick green leaf, (Y/N) paused, slowing her steps before lunging out with her hands cupped into a makeshift net. She wasn't sure what she would do with it if she managed to catch it, but she at least wanted to touch it, pretend to be a princess for a moment with a little companion.
It came as no surprise when the butterfly flapped away before she came too close, though (Y/N) was suddenly determined to make a new friend. She didn't stop with her lunge, instead giving into that urge to chase and following after the insect. She had her eyes in the sky, watching as the sun shimmered over the purple glazed wings, showing off the intricate patterns nature had given the butterfly.
Reaching her hands up, (Y/N) thought she had bounded around the edge of the wild roses, but learned the hard way that she definitely hadn't.
With only a small linen skirt covering the top half of her thighs, her bare legs were left to the punishment of the thorny rose bushes. The sting of the barbs only came after she had sunk a few steps deep into the bushes, the pain registering after a lag. She yelped at the feeling, her shoelaces even growing stuck amongst the spiny greenery.
She froze in place, unsure of how to make it out of this mess without further injuring her legs.
In an instant, after most likely hearing the cry she gave out, Harry was rounding the side of the cottage, brows furrowed and jaw tensed.
"(Y/N)," he sighed, deflating a bit when he realized what exactly she had gotten herself stuck in, "What happened, sweet girl?"
He stepped towards her, his own arms sparkling with sweat and hands dirty from digging through the garden. Though he had a small hair clip fastened to the edge of his shirt, he left his curls to run wild, a few loose ones falling over his forehead. His skin looked especially tan under the sun, freckles dotting his skin with his tattoos deep and dark across his muscles.
"I was chasing her," she explained, feeling a bit silly now that she had to say it out loud as he pointed at the shimmering butterfly flying high in the sky.
"Yeah?" Harry laughed, his pink lips stretching into a smile, "And that got y'stuck in the roses?"
"I thought I could catch her," (Y/N) offered, looking down towards her legs, "But, now I think I'm bleeding."
Just then, it seemed to register to Harry that the flowers she got herself wrapped up in her roses, complete with thorns.
"Shit," he murmured, reaching a dirt smudged hand out to her, "I didn't even realize, (Y/N), 'm sorry. C'mere."
Taking his hand, she braced herself for the feeling of more paper-cut like slices being made over her legs. She hissed as she tried to step out of the bush, Harry's grip on her hand steadying.
"'M sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry," he recited as her face twisted at the feel of the thorns scratching at her legs, catching on her skirt and tennis shoes.
"It's okay," she assured him, stepping both feet onto the solid grass with a rough kick of her foot to dislodge it from the thorns.
Harry steadied her with his hands on her biceps, standing far enough away that he could assess the damage on her legs. Looking down, (Y/N) saw the tiny scratches littering her legs. Some were nothing more than a raised red line, the skin unbroken, while others were deep with blood running in small rivers down her skin. There were even small droplets that had marred the hem of her previously creamy white skirt.
"Oh, (Y/N)," Harry crooned, his eyes rounding out as he looked at the mess she'd made, "Let's get y'cleaned up."
Leading her back inside the cottage, they passed the pile of vegetables Harry had to have abandoned in his effort to get to her as soon as possible. While she wanted to feel guilt over distracting him over something so trivial and completely her fault, when she saw the stretch of his shoulders in front of her, arms bare from his sleeveless top, she let those thoughts dissipate. His attention wasn't something she was going to regret catching.
"Is there any kind of band aids here?" Harry mused, taking her through the kitchen with his steps slowing.
"Maybe in my bathroom? I'm not sure—I never really looked." And, she wasn't currently looking either. She'd never seen the small palm tree inked on the back of his arm before. It was cute.
Diligent as ever, Harry led her through to her bedroom. He deposited her on the edge of her bed, mumbling for her to wait right there for him before he was heading towards the bathroom in search of anything to clean her up. With her hands in her lap, one of them with the phantom of Harry's touch warm against her palm, she heard him rifle through the cabinets.
Soon enough, after hearing the sink run and all the cabinets dropping closed at least twice, he emerged with a small navy blue bag, the flap top opened with Harry's scrutinizing eyes going through the contents. "There isn't much," he mused, "but I can get you cleaned up and the worst ones wrapped up."
"Thank you," (Y/N) smiled sheepishly, feeling every bit the child that gave into the urge to chase bugs around the garden, "Sorry."
"Don't be," Harry countered immediately, "I would have chased her too if I hadn't been busy." Kneeling at her feet, he laid the kit at his side, with his now dirt-free fingers pushing through the supplies. He plucked out a roll of individual alcohol wipes, ripping open the first in the pack with a concentrated set in his features. "I didn't even know butterflies could be purple."
"Me neither," (Y/N) chirped, goosebumps rising over her skin at the feel of the cold wipe gliding across. A slight burn lingered after he swiped over her cuts, the pad growing marred with drops of blood. "I thought I had gotten away from the roses before I started after her."
"Jus' gotta be more careful, that's all," he told her, his voice a small mutter as he concentrated. He worked over her calves, getting the small droplets that had worked down her skin and cleaning the barely there grazes. His hands were gentle as he worked over her skin, holding her steady with glances of his skin over hers. Moving up her legs, he slowly parted them as he made his way up towards her thighs where snags now appeared in the fabric of her skirt with crimson spots marring the creamy white.
Harry stopped at the inside of her knees. He looked up at her with hooded eyes, fluttering lashes framing the forest of his irises. (Y/N) was brought back to the day of the 132 Gala, Harry helping her into her shoes, but not before explicitly asking for permission. He handled her much like that day with lingering holds and soft hands, completely unhurried as he steadied her and appraised her like a diamond.
She watched as he ran his tongue over his lips. "Is it alright if I go higher?" he murmured, gaze intense on hers. His hands were stopped on her knees, not going an inch higher.
(Y/N) nodded. "It's okay."
It wasn't until he helped her spread her legs, her skirt tightening across the plush skin, that she realized she might have given the wrong answer. Under her skirt was nothing more than a soft pair of panties, the fabric a shiny blush with a white rosette stitched to the waistband. With the way Harry was going to have to push and prod around the hem of her skirt, wiping at the highest cuts, there was no way he wouldn't notice.
She must not have hidden her nerves well with the way Harry's hand placed just above her knee squeezed the plush of her thigh. He blinked up at her, brows raised. "Y'alright?" he asked, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, "Am I hurting you?"
"No, no," she shook her head, her mind running for an excuse, "I just didn't realize I had some so high up."
Harry frowned at her words, focusing his attention on the graze sliced across the top of her thigh. "I know, I'm sorry, sweet girl. I'll get y'cleaned up quick."
True to his word, Harry resumed his work. Pushing up her skirt that much more, he cleaned the highest of her cuts while his other hand kept her spread legs steady. The pad of his thumb circled the inside of her knee, a distracting touch. That would be perfect, (Y/N) thought, if his touch wasn't the exact thing she needed a distraction from.
"Last one," he murmured, pulling out a clean alcohol wipe as he tackled the biggest of the cuts on her thigh, a swipe of blood marring the soft skin on the inside. This sting was more noticeable than the rest, (Y/N) rolling her lips between her teeth to keep from pouting like a child at the stinging feeling. Once all cleaned, Harry leant forward, pressing a delicate kiss to the skin just below the graze. "There," he declared, "Jus' need to bandage the worst of them, then you're all done."
(Y/N) wanted to be paying attention, truly. She was grateful to Harry tending to her superficial wounds and being so kind, but her brain was too busy running miles away into fantasy land.
He'd kissed her thigh like it was nothing. He kissed her thigh like he didn't know it would get her squirming in her spot, goosebumps to pop over her skin, and her head to get a little foggy. She hadn't forgotten the second time he had kissed her, the way they clung to one another on the couch, her body in his lap and his cock hard under her core. He couldn't just touch her so sweetly, reaching up under her skirt and holding her thighs open without (Y/N) inching closer and closer to losing her mind.
She couldn't remember the last time a man she actually liked had touched her like this, someone who had intentions of staying for longer than a night and who knew her for more than what the tabloids said. Maybe that was why she had to fist her hands in her lap to keep from reaching for him, tensing her thighs to keep from squirming, and averting her gaze from his to keep from pouncing on him.
It only took a moment of rifling through the ill-equipped first aid bag before she felt his hands back on her skin. Tiny bandages had been pulled from the package, a single found pinched between Harry's fingers.
"Gotta stay still for me, (Y/N)," he murmured, concentrating on a cut just above her knee.
"Sorry," she rushed, trying her best to keep from clenching her thighs and squirming in her spot. With the warmth she felt between her legs, this was proving to be a harder task than she anticipated.
When she still couldn't seem to stay still, Harry slipped his free hand underneath her thigh, his palm pressed to the back with his fingertips denting the plush skin. "I don't want to mess up, (Y/N)," he reminded her, voice a tad firm, "Stay still, then I promise I'll be fast."
"I can't!" she blurted out, already regretting the outburst as soon as the air left her lungs.
Harry stopped what he was doing, looking at her with raised brows and wide eyes. His grip on her loosened though his hand stayed right where it was, warmed underneath her thigh.
"Why not?" he gently prodded, concern dripping from his tone.
There was no articulate way to describe what was going through her mind. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to share with him what exactly had brought her to this state, but she wasn't sure if she was really going to have a choice against the unwavering eye contact he was giving her. It was the same way he looked at her when he told her he cared about her, just wanted her happy. How could she deny the truth to eyes like that?
"You," she decided on, zipping her lips as soon as the syllable was out.
Pausing, Harry processed her answer. "Me? Y'can't stay still because of me, but you're also not hurting?"
(Y/N) gave him a short nod.
A pinch appeared between his brows. "I don't think I understand."
How he couldn't understand his effect on her was beyond (Y/N)'s comprehension. He was sitting between her legs on his knees, with her skirt pushed precariously up her thighs and his hands gently caressing swaths of her skin, and he didn't understand? Would she have to pull her skirt up entirely and show off what exactly his touch did to her?
Suddenly, his expression fell the longer (Y/N) stayed quiet. His hand under her thigh wiggled away, cutting contact with her skin.
"(Y/N)," he started, his voice soft and apologetic, "I thought y'promised me you'd always tell me if something was making you uncomfortable."
"No, no, no—that's not it!" she bubbled off, reaching out to take his hand and placing it back on her thigh. "You're not making me uncomfortable at all. I like how you're touching me." Her skin burned as she processed her own panicked words. "I think I like it too much considering you're only cleaning me up after I hurt myself."
Realization seemed to dawn on him then. His gaze dropped to his hand on her thigh, practicing that touch she praised with a flex of his fingers against her skin. She gave way under his grip, soft dents appearing under his fingertips. With all of her scrapes freshened up, he was left with a view of clean skin before him, a canvas for him to paint his hands across.
"Want me to keep touching you?" he asked, voice decidedly lower than she last heard.
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She couldn't remember the last time someone made her nervous the way Harry did. How did she say yes without saying yes?
"O-Only if you want to." That was fine enough, she thought.
Harry kept his eyes on his hand as it slowly slid up the expanse of her thigh. "I want to," he cemented, "I think I have an idea of how to make y'feel better. Y'jus' tell me if you change your mind."
(Y/N)'s mouth ran dry at his words, drawing her hands from her lap to lay at her sides as he placed both his hands high up her thighs. With the way he spread her legs before, he was able to easily fit between them. His fingertips disappeared underneath the hem of her skirt, his eyes on her as if awaiting any kind of objection to his touch. When none came, he continued up until she felt him nudge the waistline of her panties.
Her breath caught in her throat, hands fisting the bedding on either side of her.
"This okay?" he murmured.
"Uh-huh."
Hooking his fingertips underneath the band of her underwear, he dragged down the small article over the length of her legs. There was a moment of lag as he tugged, the seat of her panties sticking to her folds. (Y/N) wanted to be mortified when she saw just how sodden the center was, full of her reaction to the most gentle of touches. But, that thought went out of her head when she saw the way Harry gazed at the moisture, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.
He helped her shuck the underwear from her legs before he bunched her skirt at her waist, leaving nothing in the way of his view. The warmth of his palms pressed against the inside of her thighs, keeping her legs spread wide open for him. The broad of his shoulders were the perfect wedge he helped her drape her calves over, blinking his eyes up to match her own as if he awaited her objection.
When none came, he pressed a delicate kiss to the inside of her knee. (Y/N)'s hands clenched in the bedding at her sides. The tip of his nose skimmed over her skin in a fleeting pass, following after his lips as he grazed up the inside of her thigh. She could feel her insides twisting at the feel of his breath fanned over her skin, enough to take her own breath away. He had her already and he'd barely touched her in more than a few light grazes and fleeting touches.
Harry dragged his lips up the inside of her thigh, smearing kiss after kiss until he reached the very highest point before her pussy. (Y/N) could feel herself clench just at the fact he was so close. He lingered there, his eyes hooded with his spit-slicked lips parting just enough for his teeth to glance over the soft skin.
"Wh-Why'd you stop?" (Y/N) pressed, her thoughts coming out of her mouth before she had even made the decision to speak.
She could feel him smiling against the sensitive spot, his teeth giving a sharp nip before he pulled away. He looked at her with hooded eyes, fanned lashes and dilated pupils. "Want me to keep going, sweet girl?"
His voice was a rumble against her. Maybe she was imagining it, but she swore she could feel the depth of his voice fanning over her core, wetness dripping down.
With her bottom lip worried between her teeth, she nodded her head. Baby hairs fluttered around her face, the messy updo she did with her clip not holding as well as she needed, though she didn't really find it in herself to care. As long as it didn't take away from her view in front of her, she didn't care about anything else.
The smile he gave her was a lopsided curl she was so familiar with. "I'm gonna make you happy, love," he murmured, hooking his hands underneath her thighs until they fit just under the curve of her ass, "Don't worry."
Dipping his head down, (Y/N) could feel the ghost of his touch settle over her core, his breath fanning over her silken skin. She couldn't take her eyes away, especially not when he placed a tentative kiss just above her slit. She shuddered at the touch, the graze not nearly enough but still eliciting a zip through her spine.
Glancing up at her through his lashes, Harry was spurred on by whatever he saw on her face—whether that be the dazed eyes, the gaped lips, or the warm skin, she wasn't sure. He planted a harder kiss to the same spot, his chin pressed against her folds. He gauged her reaction, squeezing his hands underneath her thighs as he dipped lower over her core.
The first graze of his lips over her clit was enough to have a small hitch hinder (Y/N)'s breath. He didn't do anything more than a quick peck over the bud, but it was enough to have her toes curling in her tennis shoes.
Parting his lips, he took her clit between them, kissing and licking at the peak. She almost crumbled then, feeling her throat run dry while her core grew even wetter. She practically strangled the bedding in her hands, the linen stretching around the length of her nails.
His hands around her thighs clenched, keeping them open as his fingertips dented the plush skin. He snaked his tongue out and laved a stripe up through her folds. (Y/N) fell into stunned silence, nothing leaving her mouth as her lungs were stunted, giving Harry his turn to moan against her folds. He spread her wetness around with his tongue, wet sounds filling the sunshine filled cottage.
Harry no longer had his eyes flitting to her face, his lids fluttering to a close as he sunk himself into the moment with her. Instead, he focused solely on pushing his tongue through her folds, skimming her entrance, and ensuring his face was tucked tight against her center. She could feel the mush of his nose against her clit, his chin growing slick with every wag of his head against her. He kissed and licked and sucked on her pussy, taking everything there was to be offered.
(Y/N)'s breathing came out in heavy pants, lingering and hot, as she could focus on nothing more than his touch and the way he explored her body. Every press of his nose against her clit or sucking kiss he gave to her folds was enough to have her head spinning, her balance shifting as if she were only a second away from falling back onto the mattress. But she couldn't do that, she had to pointedly remind herself, because she wanted to see him. She wanted to see Harry as he worked on her, hair in swirling curls with sunlight pouring through to highlight him in gold. She wanted to see the way his brows furrowed and cheeks hollowed when he sucked on her clit or gave a particularly heavy kiss to her hole. She wanted to see him enjoy her.
His hair was a mess on the top of his head from tending to the garden, anyway, but the way he threw himself between her thighs was enough agitation to have those curls dropping over his forehead. He didn't pay them any mind, instead drawing away just enough to give her a handful of long licks through her folds. (Y/N)'s thighs clenched at the pressure of his heavy tongue over her cunt, heavy wet sounds being compounded by the absent moans Harry let out as he tasted her.
Unraveling her hand from the sheets, (Y/N) racked her nails through his hair, keeping the strands out of his face and out of her view of him. She didn't want to miss a single detail; she didn't want to miss the flush that came to his nose with the tip sodden, the rosy glow that blushed his cheeks, the way he couldn't seem to get enough of her even when she could feel his panting breaths for more air.
At the feel of her hand going through his curls, Harry fluttered his eyes open for the first time since sinking between her thighs. He saw her through dazed eyes. Whatever he gauged from her expression, he must have liked it if his lips curled into a smile, his tongue liking up her slit.
Her feet dangling over his back pressed into his shoulder blades, keeping him close as he started kissing over her clit in harsh presses once more. He was much too proud of himself, she could see, but she couldn't blame him. He had barely started and she was already short of breath, whimpering, and scratching at his hair. Even the bouquet of roses on the bedside table seemed to want a closer look, petals falling from the buds down to the floor at his feet.
"H-Harry," she cried, her grip in his hair tightening when his tongue dared to press against her entrance.
"'M here, sweet girl, 'm here," he mumbled, his voice thick and heady.
He barely had enough time to get his words out before he was prodding at her hole once more. He watched her reaction as he did so, hesitating for only a second when he saw her lashes flutter through her blink. As soon as he had her eyes on him once more, he pushed through, slipping his tongue inside.
Pressing deep, she could feel the length of his tongue against her walls, slick and heavy as he tasted her like wine. His nose was smushed against her clit, nudging and circling with every shift and tilt of his head.
Her brain was jumbled, (Y/N) throwing her head back on instinct. "Oh mon Dieu," she slurred, slipping into French as a reflex.
Harry stuttered in his movements only to let out a loud moan against her, the sound vibrating through her core. He resumed his efforts tenfold when he recovered.
This was enough, (Y/N) thought. The pressure against her clit, the tight hold on her thighs, the way his tongue wriggled inside her pressing and licking one her most sensitive spots. He was taking all of her, touching, worshipping, coveting every bit of her that he could get his hands on.
Her heels dug into his back, thighs unable to close around his head through she did still try. She kept him close, her hole pulsing around his tongue in an effort to keep him near.
"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum," (Y/N) whimpered, feeling desperate as she teetered the edge.
Harry blinked up at her, eyes dark and vignetted with thick lashes. He didn't ease up at her declaration, continuing to give her more and more.
The final straw came in the form of him shaking his head, his tongue deep inside her with his nose nudging against her clit. (Y/N)'s eyes rolled to the back of her head, her hand in his hair tugging at the roots, and her feet digging into the plains of his back.
Her eyes watered at the intense rush sinking through her form, unable to remember a time she could ever recall feeling this much with anyone. She fought to keep her eyes on him as she came, her stomach tight and unyielding and more wetness seeped around his tongue. Harry took it all in stride, luxuriating in the feel like a devout follower taking whatever their deity would give.
(Y/N) came down in a mess of sparkling skin and rouge hairs, her bottom lashes clumping with the moisture from unshed tears. Her system was shot, fingers cramping as she uncurled them from his hair.
Harry took his time to separate from her, dragging his tongue through her sodden folds with his own wet face glimmering in the light. (Y/N) jumped at the overstimulation that came from his absent lick, Harry huffing out a small laugh at her reaction. He backed away just enough, looking at the mess he made on her with her cum and his saliva having been spread over her lips and towards the inside of her thighs. His own breathing was heavy as he took her all in, eyes distant and dark.
"Harry?" (Y/N) murmured, her voice small and shaky as she found her footing in the real world.
Brought back to reality, he blinked up at her, that bleary film clearing from his gaze. He took her in wit his expression going smug. "Yeah? Y'alright?"
She bit back a smile as she brought her hand back through his hair, only to push him away. "You're the worst," she laughed, not meaning a single word of what she said. "Come here."
Using the hem of his shirt, Harry wiped his face as he stood to the full of his height. (Y/N)'s shaky legs stayed wide open for him, even as he adjusted her skirt to fall over her thighs. The open space allowed him to plant himself atop her as he pushed her to lay flat on her back with his hands on either side of her head, palms flat and pressing into the mattress. He hovered above her, his gaze clearing despite the fact she could feel his own arousal pressing against her hip. He was observing her again, taking in each of her features and the minute expression and twitches muscle gave.
"Really, this time," he started, voice a quiet secret between the two of them, "Are y'alright? I made you happy?"
Looping her arms around his neck, (Y/N) didn't try to hide the smile that crossed her features and squinted her eyes. "You did," she beamed, "Really happy."
"Good," he settled, using one of his hands to cup her cheek before leaning down and pressing an affectionate kiss to her lips.
He lingered there, resting his forehead against hers as he slipped his fingertips into the soft strands at her hairline. He basked in the afterglow with her, remaining until (Y/N) no longer heard the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.
"'M gonna clean you up, okay?" he said, planting one more kiss on the bridge of her nose before he started backing away from her.
"Wait," (Y/N) bubbled before he could make it too far away.
Stopping where he stood, he looked to her with raised brows. (Y/N) felt his eyes on her as she reached for one of the short-stemmed roses that had been sitting on the bedside table, the bloom ripe and full. The greenery was clear of all thorns, making it perfect for the job she had in mind.
With Harry just close enough, she was able to reach and place the rose behind his ear, nestling it amongst the curls. The petals caressed his temple, velveteen soft and deep red against his tanned skin.
Harry gave her a soft-lipped smile.
"That's what y'needed to stop me for?" he asked, bringing his hand up to brush his fingers over the petals.
"I've always wanted to do that," she smiled, gazing affectionately up at him.
Harry only shook his head with a fond smile on his lips, dimples and all. He kept the rose in his hair for the rest of the day.
—————
(Y/N) swore she could feel her blood running ice cold as she looked at the photo laying on the coffee table.
She was still dressed in her pajamas, breakfast nothing more than prepped ingredients on the kitchen counter. The time hadn't even blinked passed nine-thirty.
Harry was already sweeping through the space, his phone pressed to his ear as he argued with whoever was on the other line. (Y/N) thought it was her father, but she couldn't remember. Harry had said something about arranging a way to fly back to New York as soon as possible, but she hadn't heard a single syllable of the details.
She couldn't think about anything other than the photo in front of her.
Having been taken through a window, in perfect detail, was a photo of Harry laying atop (Y/N) with his lips sealed against hers. She was laid under him in her linen skirt, hair a mess, with her eyes closed in gentle bliss. Harry's sleeveless shirt showed all of his muscles, including the sheen of sweat that had collected over his skin.
The photo had to have been taken days ago, right after Harry had been on his knees between her legs. The worst of her fear came from the fact that she couldn't rule out the possibility that whoever had taken this also had photos of what happened just before this kiss.
Slashed across the top in stark red ink was a declaration labeling (Y/N) a BITCH.
The whole thing was unhinged and terrifying.
Neither of them noticed anyone outside, and there was no telling just how long they'd been found out.
She wanted to cry the longer she looked at it.
This person took a special moment from her, shrouded it in something evil and degrading.
Harry paced about the cottage, her duffle bag in hand as he repacked everything in sight. His features were severe as he spoke in rushed commands, his voice having no give compared to the way he spoke to her.
"I do not care," he muttered, "She's not staying here. We're coming back to the city now, and you're going to help us."
With that, he hung up the call. He didn't slow down as he bundled each of her belongings into her bags, his own already stashed away.
"Harry?" (Y/N) whispered, her voice just a note away from breaking.
"Yes?" he asserted, zipping up her bag without looking at her.
(Y/N) didn't know what to say, she just wanted him. She was scared, her lip quivering as tears pricked her eyes. She didn't want to look at the photo anymore, didn't want to analyze what someone could be thinking to the degree that made them think that this was okay.
He finally slowed when she didn't answer him. He took in a deep breath before looking at her, eyes softening the second he took in her appearance.
"(Y/N)," he sighed, crossing the room in large strides until he was lowering to one knee. "'S going to be alright, okay? I promise you." Harry took her hands in his, his grip tight and absolute.
Her fingers were stiff as she reciprocated his hold, trying her best to keep from shaking. "Why would someone do this?" she cried to him, eyes burning with tears, "Th-That picture—We—"
"I know, I know," he soothed her, his thumbs running circles over the backs of her hands. She could tell he was putting exponential amounts of effort into keeping his cool. "We're going home today, okay? Then we're going to do something about this. I don't know how, but we're going to make this stop, okay? No one's going to keep doing this to you."
Tears fled down her cheeks then. She shook her head, her expression crumpling. "Th-They did it to you, too," (Y/N) sobbed, "They're taking stuff from you now, too."
Harry didn't hesitate to bundle her against his chest, taking her form where she was sitting on the couch and into his arms. She cried into his neck, mourning the privacy she had curated with him and the fact that she couldn't protect him nearly as well as he could for her. It was scary enough to have someone taking terribly personal pictures of her, but it was now her fault that she had dragged Harry in, with no way out.
If that person had photos of them in the middle of the act, Harry's life could be ruined. Her stalker was obviously angry enough at the both of them now to do something worse than just following her around and invading privacy.
"Don't worry about me," he crooned to her, nosing at the top of her head, "'M going to be okay, 'm only worried about you."
"B-But—"
"Don't," he stopped her, his voice firm with his ever-soft hold, "'M going to be okay, (Y/N). You are the only person that can be hurt in this, and 'm not going to let that happen. But, we have to go, okay?"
He pulled away just enough to look at her, cry-swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Her view of him was blurry and refracted. She clung to him even harder.
"I don't want to be here anymore," she breathed, trying to clear her gaze against the mounting tears.
Harry dipped his head down and pressed a harsh kiss to her cheek, nose skimming her skin. "I've got you, sweet girl," he promised, "'M going to take you home and we'll make you safe."
(Y/N) clung to him, ignoring everything else in the room. She knew there was a photo degrading her, her father angry on the other side of the world, and a cottage that she really hoped she could still look on fondly after this.
"I've got you, (Y/N)."
And, she believed him.
—————
The flight back to New York had been a tearful one, but since touching down on the tarmac, Harry hadn't left (Y/N)'s side for anything. He had taken up residence in her apartment, sleeping at her side when either of them managed to find the peace to do as much. He cooked with her, supported her, and calmed her in the night now that there was a real threat lingering around them.
Harry had been shocked to see the amount of letters she had been hoarding, majority without the seal having been even picked at. There was only a thin amount of composure that kept him together when he leafed through the pages, glossy photos that even (Y/N) hadn't peeked at hinging his jaw tighter with each picture. The letters were the worst. Harry had to lock himself in the guest room as he read them, unwilling to share his reaction to the disgusting things this person dared to type out about her, only coming out when he had calmed and was able to think rationally.
"We have to do something—there has to be something we can do with these. There's so many," he had told her after, his shoulders tightly set with his arms heavy across his chest.
(Y/N) had sat across from him, hands pathetically limp in her lap.
"I don't know if there's much we can do," she had murmured, her brows knitted into a worried stitch, "I looked into it once. Since I don't know who's sending them and they've never tried to hurt me, there's not a lot that anyone will do."
She remembered the way his hands had formed into fists under his arms, as she spoke, heavy and white-knuckled. His knee bounced as his unfocused eyes blinked off in the distance.
"We can file something at least, right?"
(Y/N) gave a small nod, remembering the limited options she had researched way back in the beginning. "A police report. It won't do much, but it stays on record in case something more... serious happens."
His jaw seemingly hinged tighter at her quiet words.
"Then that's what we're going to do," he decided. The gears in his head kept turning, an absent nod bobbing Harry's head. "Reports like that are public," he mused, a plan coming together as he spoke aloud, "Someone will pick up on it, some magazine or whoever will post about it—they love stuff like this. That might be enough to scare this person off, knowing you're doing something about it now."
Rolling her lips between her teeth, (Y/N) found herself stuck on the word public. "Will the pictures be out there, too?"
Flashing his gaze up to her, he matched her eyes intensely. He knew what photos she had in mind.
"No. I'll make sure they're not."
She didn't doubt that Harry would keep his word. When he was cemented in an idea, he was too stubborn to let up.
"You think this will scare them?"
"I can't be sure," he admitted, "But, I think it's something. Obviously, ignoring them isn't working, so maybe letting them know that you're not going to let it happen anymore will make them reconsider."
While she felt more comfortable ignoring this person—this problem—, she knew he was right. Despite not feeding into whatever delusion they had, it wasn't enough to make them move on. There had to be some kind of pushback.
Slowly nodding her head, (Y/N) let go of her lingering hesitations. "Okay," she breathed, "How do we do this?"
Harry rolled his neck. "I think we need every bit of evidence we have, and we take it to someone who can help. From there, they'll tell us what we can do, 'm sure."
"Okay," she repeated, "I have more letters at my father's house."
"Yeah? Where?"
(Y/N) shrugged. "Somewhere in my bedroom. We should probably get those too, right?"
"Probably," Harry agreed, though she was sure he was just as hesitant as she about running into her father.
Even though he was well aware of the fact she was back in the city considering the jet had been chartered to get her home, her father hadn't reached out to her at all. She didn't remember exactly what had been going on between he and Harry when they were on the phone together back at the cottage, only vaguely remembering the way Harry had shouted at him and hung up. He knew she was back here, knew that something severe enough happened that she had to flee Paris, but not even a text had been sent.
He didn't even care enough to be angry at her.
"But, we'll go together, okay?" Harry had murmured to her, taking her out of her head. (Y/N) remembered the way he leant across the dining table to reach out for her, cupping her cheek and running his thumb along the height of her cheekbone. "I'll be there. We won't even talk to him, if you don't want to."
"I don't want to," (Y/N) answered immediately.
Harry breathed out a laugh at her automatic response.
"That's what we'll do."
It was days later that they ended up at the front door of her father's mansion. Sully was going to be waiting in the drive, car running, promising that as soon as (Y/N) was ready to leave, there would be no lag on his end. Harry was at her side, his hand clasped in hers while she shakily input the door code to twist the locks.
Her father was given no heads up to her visit, hoping he would be out for the afternoon anyway. She worried if he knew that she was coming to snoop for more letters that he would do something with them, or somehow convince her that going through with Harry's plan was the wrong thing to do. She didn't want to risk either outcome, instead barging through the mansion with her heels clacking over the marble floor up to her room.
Harry was her silent pillar of support, following after her the whole way. He stood back and watched as she took them to her teenage bedroom, unearthing the hidden compartment under her bed that her friends used to use to hide alcohol. Instead of tiny bottles of liquor, under the floorboard were now letters addressed to her with no return label. These were the few she had ever read before she retired the act, their seals broken with photos (Y/N) remembered as if she had seen them only yesterday.
There were only a handful that were here before they started showing at her apartment, whoever had been stalking her finally realizing that she didn't live with her father like they had assumed.
"Okay," (Y/N) started, fishing out the last of the envelopes, "I think that's all of the—"
"What are you doing?!"
That was her father's voice that boomed through the room, causing (Y/N) to jump where she was kneeling on the floor.
Turning to face him, her heart in her throat, she saw Harry had sprung into action, stepping between the two of them as her shield.
"We were jus' about to leave," Harry said, voice resolute and unwavering, "Right, (Y/N)?"
That was her cue to collect her things and scurry away before her father could get any more involved.
"Right," she peeped, grabbing her purse and the letters before standing to her feet.
She didn't dare look at her father as she came to stand at Harry's side, allowing him to take the lead and get her out of here before her father's next words had her panicking in her tracks.
"Are those the letters?"
She had hoped he hadn't seen them.
"Ignore him," Harry whispered to her, tossing an arm over her shoulder as they brushed past him and out of her bedroom.
"(Y/N)! Do not ignore me, are those the letters I told you to forget about?! Why are you taking them?!" Her father chased after them, his anger rising the longer he garnered no reaction. "What are you doing with them?! You can't take them from my house!"
Despite it being his very own advice he was going against, Harry couldn't seem to stand by any longer when it came to the way her father treated her. Reaching the landing of the staircase, Harry turned to face her father head-on as he followed, going toe-to-toe with him. Her father stumbled back.
"We're actually going to do something about it," Harry grumbled back, his words biting and sharp, "They're hers, and we're taking them. We'll make sure to mention that you insisted that she never share them either—maybe add you in for some kind of coverup if it comes to it."
Though she could see her father trying to stay hardened, keep from showing Harry that anything he said was getting to him, but she saw the signs. Color leached from his face, his lips thinning just enough. His fingers twitched.
"You don't need to report this, (Y/N)," he called, switching tactics and speaking around Harry. "I don't know what he's been telling you, but you don't need to worry about this. You're going to regret overreacting like this."
She could see Harry gearing up for a grating response, but she beat him to it.
"No, I'm not," she cemented, her voice nowhere near as concrete as Harry's no matter how hard she tried, "Th-This isn't some fan, or admirer, or whatever you called it before. This person is stalking me, and taking private pictures of me, and saying terrible things. I want this to stop, I don't care if you don't like it.'
Her father gritted his teeth where he stood behind the barricade that was Harry. A beat passed before he eyed both she and her bodyguard—a man on his payroll. "Come to my office."
He turned swiftly, leaving them behind as he scaled the stairs. Harry turned to her with a neutral expression, thinly veiling the chattering anger the interaction had left in him. "We don't have to," he reminded her, "We can leave now."
While the smartest part of her knew Harry was presenting her with the best choice, to take the letters and leave while he was stupid enough to turn his back on them, there was another part of her that was intrigued by his reaction. Her father was a calculating man when it came to everything but her. With his daughter, he was always reactionary before rational. The invitation to his office was something that her curiosity urged her not to ignore.
There was no way he had any real part in this, right? Harry threatening to add him into the conspiracy was nothing more than a rage-fueled bluff, so why did he seem so rattled by the idea?
"I-I think we need to see what he has to say," (Y/N) murmured.
"You're sure?" Harry pressed, face staying neutral.
She swallowed. "No, but I feel like I have to know what he wants to say."
Harry rolled his lips between his teeth before giving her a curt nod. "Okay," he told her, reaching his hand out for hers, "I trust you—if you think we need to hear this, then we'll go. But, if things change, 'm taking you out right away."
(Y/N) didn't hesitate to agree to the conditions, taking his hand. There was a huge chance she was wrong about this, that this was nothing more than the little girl inside of her pining for her daddy's affection and hoped that doing what he asked would earn her just that. She needed Harry to be there to take the lead if things went south.
The trail to his office seemed longer than ever. The door was left wide pen with her father already seated at his desk, hands clasped and eyes calculating and cold. She took a seat across from him while Harry stayed on his feet at her side.
"What do I have to give you to leave those letters behind and do nothing with the others I know you have?" her father opened, his voice detached.
"What?" she deadpanned in response, her grip tightening on the letters.
"What do you want?" he pressed once more, enunciating every word as if that was the problem with this situation, "If you leave the letters here, and don't make any kind of report or talk to any press, I will give you whatever you want. Name your price."
Silence filled the room like a heavy blanket, (Y/N) just barely able to keep her mouth from falling open in shock.
"Are you kidding me? Are you actually joking right now, or are you seriously asking me this?" That complete detachment she had felt for years had thinned, allowing every bit of bubbling rage she had kept siphoned away to rise to the surface.
"(Y/N)," he snapped, "Now is not the time for an attitude. I want to know what it will take to get you to stop obsessing ove—"
"I'm obsessed? Me? You have to be fucking joking." She almost wanted to laugh. This was a terrible comedy, too dark for her liking. "I have someone following me around, taking pictures of me all the time—even when my boyfriend is going down on me. You can't think for a single second about anything other than yourself and how you look to your idiot country club friends and investors. But, I'm the one that's obsessed? Because I'm tired of being taken advantage of? Because I feel like I deserve privacy and the opportunity to think for myself?"
It was satisfying watching the way he flinched at her words, most notably so when she spat out the fact that there were photos of her in a compromising position with Harry. At her side, Harry's hands were clenched into fists.
"You don't understand," he pushed once recovering, "Let it go, (Y/N)."
"No!" she shouted, feeling her skin heat, "I'm not letting this go!" She was tired of him condescending her and thinking for her despite the fact she was a grown woman who never even depended on him as a child.
Her father visibly began to boil over, his jaw clenching and nose flaring as he looked at her. "(Y/N)," he hissed, "You need to think. There are people who will be very upset if you keep pursuing this, a—"
"That's really what this is all about?! You're protecting your image? Over me?! You're a fucking coward, I—"
Her father slammed his fist into the top of his desk, the sound reverberating through the room before he shouted: "That's not what this is about, (Y/N)! I could lose a lot if you report Damien, an—"
"Damien?" (Y/N) blanched. From the corner of her eye, she could see Harry's patience thinning. This conversation had flown south enough that he could pull her at any second. But, she couldn't leave now, not when her father brought up Damien Moore out of thin air. "What do you mean if I report Damien?"
The outburst seemed to catch up with him then, his breathing going heavy with his eyes wide. "I misspoke," he tried to recover, suddenly backtracking, "I didn't mean to say his name—"
"Yes, you did," While her father was an idiot, he was very calculating when it came to his thought process. He never did things by accident. "Why did you bring up Damien?"
Everyone knew the answer to her question. She just wanted to hear him say it.
"(Y/N)," he started, his eyes closing with his jaw rotating.
"You knew it was him this whole time?" she pressed, her voice decidedly smaller than the shouting from before. "You've been covering for him. That's why you never wanted me to say anything."
Her father didn't say a word, not even a blink in her direction.
The longer (Y/N) looked at him the less and less he looked like the man that she used to follow around in hopes of catching his attention. He didn't look like the man she idolized when she was a child. She didn't recognize him anymore.
"You left me scared for years all so you could keep his dad's money," she continued, the gravity of the situation sinking into her bones. Her eyes burned as she looked at him. "I hate you."
That seemed to snap her father back into reality, his eyes sharp when he matched hers. "Watch your mouth," he spat, standing from behind his desk, "You do not get to disrespect me in my home, you litt—"
Harry stepped in immediately. He effectively cut her father's view of her, his hand harshly landing on the older man's shoulder before pushing him to sit back down once more.
"Sit," Harry commanded as if speaking to a dog.
Her father flustered at the interference, taken aback that anyone would have the audacity to do anything to keep him from degrading her.
"I don't know who you think you are, but sleeping with my daughter doesn't me—"
"You don't get to talk to him," (Y/N) shot off, cutting off her father.
More than anything, he couldn't seem to wrap his head around the fact that either of them were daring to talk back to him, to stop him in his tracks.
"I could ruin you, you know," (Y/N) started, gaining the full of her father's attention, "I have more on you than anyone else—I could go to the press and you would be over."
"No one would believe you."
"Maybe not, but people love a story. The crazier the better, right? It would be everywhere." (Y/N) steeled her grip on the letters. "I could end you and Damien so fast. You would have nothing."
She watched the way her father seemed to realize the fact that he truly held no power in any of this. (Y/N) had all the cards and he was going to bend to her will, whether he liked it or not.
"What do you want, then? My offer still stands: leave the letters and keep your mouth shut, and whatever you want is yours."
"I don't want anything from you. I just want this to stop, I want him to stop taking pictures of me—or hiring people to, or whatever it is that he does."
"I can do that," was her father's swift response, "I'll make it all stop. You have to leave the letters and promise that you won't say a single word to anyone."
"We're not promising anything," Harry piped up, taking the words out of his (Y/N)'s mouth. She wasn't in the mood to compromise for anything.
Her father's anger peeked out once more then. "Why should I do anything for you, then?"
"Because I said so."
That had his steely gaze shifting to land on her, hard and unforgiving.
That was exactly the same thing that he used to tell (Y/N) when she would question him. She was the one giving orders now and there was no room left to argue. He would listen because she said so, and there was no other option she was going to accept.
The standoff between them continued with unwavering eye contact until her father glanced at the letters in her hand. He crumbled then. She held everything this time.
"Fine," he spat. "I trust that you're going to do the right thing, (Y/N). Just as I am."
"Right," she settled, unwilling to give any more energy to this man.
She stood from her seat, gently placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. His eyes were still blazing when they met hers.
"Let's go," she told him.
That was all it took for Harry to disconnect himself from the interaction, taking his hand in hers and following her lead out of the office.
No words were shared or glances cast backwards as they made their way out of the mansion (Y/N) used to live in. Outside, Sully waited just as he promised he would.
Harry opened the backdoor for her, helping her slide in first before he followed closely behind.
"Back to your apartment, Ms. (Y/N)?" Sully asked, already pulling out of the driveway.
"Yes, please," Harry answered for her, helping her buckle into her seat before silence rained down in the cab.
Until (Y/N) started sobbing.
One moment she was running on adrenaline and disbelief and anger, the next she was crumbling in her seat with tears pouring down her cheeks and her hands shaking. The letters fell into a mess on the floor, but she couldn't care at that moment.
All she knew was that her father knew for years who was terrorizing her, and covered for him. Her father cared more about money and his reputation than he cared about her, his only child.
She felt as if she was in mourning—for who, she wasn't sure, but something died back at that house that she was never going to get back.
Harry silently wrapped his arm around her, tucking her against his chest as she sobbed in heartbreaking puffs. He nosed at her hair, offering nothing more than his presence.
She cried until she fell asleep in the back seat.
—————
"Y'should be proud of yourself, you know."
Harry's murmured words blended in with the noise of the city happening stories below them. Laid under the duvet at her side, he shared her pillow with her as he ran his fingers over the curve of her side in a soothing motion. (Y/N)'s eyes were still swollen from the afternoon she spent off and on crying, takeout containers thrown away in the trash with hers barely touched.
(Y/N) hiccuped, feeling her lip begin to quiver. "I know I didn't do anything wrong, but I still feel guilty."
His observant gaze softened. "That's because you're a good person," he crooned, sincerity dripping from his words, "Even though you expected the worst from him, it's never easy learning something so terrible form someone you're supposed to trust."
"M-Maybe I shouldn't have yelled at him, or—"
"No, don't do that," Harry cut her off, his grip on her side pulsing, "Today happened the exact way it was supposed to. You needed to say those things to him to make him understand. You were never going to be in the wrong for anything that happened today, (Y/N). He did this to himself."
"I just want to forget any of it happened," she whispered, wiggling closer before Harry pulled her into his chest.
He held her, her head under his chin as a fresh wave of tears bubbled in her eyes. She was going to be okay, she knew that, but she never imagined cutting her father off and telling him the things that had been on her mind for years would affect her like this.
"I know," Harry cooed, petting his hand down her hair with his chest rumbling a lullaby, "But 's going to be okay. I jus' want you to know 'm proud of you, and think the absolute world of how strong y'are. No one gives you enough credit."
With every bit of armor shedded from her heart, Harry's words sunk deep.
Once again, he was there for her when she needed him the most. He never shied from taking care of her, putting back her jagged pieces, and standing by to let her have her own choice. While she knew it was the bare minimum, Harry never made her feel crazy or stupid, or anything but completely herself. The second he learned the kind of person she was, he never looked back.
She squeezed herself harder against him. Maybe today was the day for finally saying things that were on her mind.
"I love you."
Her words were smeared against his neck, but she was sure he still heard her with the way his soothing hand through her hair paused.
"What did you say?"
Swallowing, (Y/N) strengthened her resolve. She meant what she said, even if it was scary to admit.
"I love you," she repeated, voice clearer.
Harry pulled her away from his chest then, fitting a hand on the side ochre jaw to tip her head up to face him. His ever observant gaze traced over each of her features, softening until there was nothing left of his irises but melted jade pools. Even in the dark she could still see the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose.
"(Y/N)," he sighed, his thumb running along the soft skin of her cheek. "You mean that?"
She gave him a small nod, a light smile setting on her lips. "I'm all about telling the truth today, remember?"
He didn't budge at her attempt to joke, staying ever serious. His lips parted, a soft puff of air fanning across her features.
"I love you, too."
Before she had a chance to respond, Harry was pushing his lips against hers in a searing kiss. It was messy and unorganized, but there was nothing urgent behind it. It was nothing more than an expression of devotion, filled with everything that simmered beyond what they could find the words for.
"I love you, too," Harry repeated, pulling away just enough to smear the words across her mouth, "So much, sweet girl. Best thing that ever happened to me."
(Y/N) couldn't contain the smile that took her features at his words.
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, mon amour."
He couldn't wait before he brought her in for another kiss.
—————
"I'm so happy you're home," Francesca said, squeezing (Y/N) tighter, "I'll see you soon, okay?"
"Really soon," (Y/N) cemented, feeling just the same to be reunited with her best friend. While she wasn't able to catch her up on everything that she had learned since making it back to New York, (Y/N) didn't plan on keeping it a secret for very long—especially not since she and Harry already decided they were going to file a police report anyway. Her father's word be damned.
"Text me when you get home," Fran smiled, pulling away.
"I will," (Y/N) promised, inching towards the waiting SUV, "Love you."
"Love you, too!"
With that, the door to Sully's car was pushed open from the inside by a hand with a tattooed cross. (Y/N) gave a single wave back to Fran who made her way towards her own car. Her mother was taking her to another gallery opening, pitching that this was going to be the one to finally cause Francesca to realize her dreams. No wonder her friend was dragging her feet.
Climbing into her own car, (Y/N) was greeted with the relieving sight of Harry waiting for her, his arm stretched across the top of the seat for her to fit right underneath.
"Hi," she greeted, feeling lighter to be with him again. It was odd not having him follow her everywhere all the time, anymore. Though he was still her bodyguard in spirit, especially with the unfinished business that was Damien Moore and the potential retaliation that could come, they were learning to relax some of that paranoia. Francesca was a safe boundary to test that with.
"Hi, love," he crooned, pulling her in next to him.
As soon as (Y/N) was buckled in at his side, Sully started off in the opposite direction of the apartment. There was a farmer's market Harry had found outside of the city that he wanted to bring her to (not quite as rustic as the ones in Paris, but they should be alright, he promised). Sully eyed them from the rearview mirror.
"Francesca's doing okay?" Harry asked, his hand on her shoulder squeezing the cuff.
"Yeah," (Y/N) smiled, "She's happy we're home now. Her mom's taking her to a gallery opening tonight."
"Not excited about that then," Harry laughed, remembering those details (Y/N) had shared about her friends all that time ago.
"Definitely not," (Y/N) shook her head, "I almost told her I'd go with her, but I figured my plans were a little more important."
"I'd hope so," he murmured, dropping his head to press a quick kiss to her cheek.
(Y/N)'s easy laughter blinked through the car, Harry's smile extending.
"Mr. Harry?" Sully called from the driver's seat, taking advantage of the lull in conversation.
"Yes, sir?"
Sully's blue eyes glimmered in the reflection of the mirror, the corners creasing that much more with a smile (Y/N) couldn't see. "I take it that you'll be staying with us longer than initially expected?"
A memory sparked to the front of (Y/N)'s mind, months prior before she knew Harry and Harry knew her. Sully had asked how long Harry would be with them, shadowing (Y/N) and monitoring her movements. Harry had put an expiration date on the arrangement, citing the end would come when she could convince her father she was a grownup.
This time, Harry gave an easy smile, full of dimples and white teeth.
"Yes, sir. I'll be staying for a while."
—————
épanouissement is an untranslatable French word that describes the flourishing and blooming of a person growing into a new and more beautiful stage of life
and thats the end of bodyguard h! I had a lot of fun w this one exploring a different kind of female character than im used to and getting to do the writing process a little differnt! thank u so much for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if theres any ideas for anything thar you want to see next please sent them in!
#writing#harry#harry styles#harry one shot#harry imagine#harry blurb#harry au#bodyguard harry#harry x reader#harry smut#harry styles one shot#harry styles imagine#harry styles blurb#harry styles au#bodyguard harry styles#harry styles x reader#harry styles smut#love on tour#pleasing#harrys house
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ordinary, corrupt human love. | chapter 1: written in blood.
Warnings: this series will include highly disturbing/dark topics such as stalking, unhealthy obsession, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, manipulation, gaslighting, large age gap, emotional/psychological abuse, dom/sub undertones, bad BDSM etiquette, etc.
this is a dark fic, written in john's pov and a glimpse of how his mind works. if you still continue to read and get triggered, that is not my responsibility.
Summary: John finds himself a new obsession.
Author's note: this is my first ever fanfic for this fandom and i am beyond excited to share this with you guys! though i must say before you begin, english is not my first language and there might be a few errors in my writing here and there, so i apologize in advance.
but either way, i still hope you enjoy this piece, and i can assure you that once i finish writing this series there will be more to come! i really enjoy writing john wick be a merciless bastard who kills everything that breathes, and i hope you enjoy it too as much as i did.
please, please, PLEASE tell me what you think in the comment and reblogs and likes would be so appreciated. it motivates me to write even more :)
(also this is not edited so all mistakes are on me and i apologize)
Word count: 8.1k
also read on ao3.
It’s one of those days again.
The sound of his watch ticking is the only thing keeping his car from being too quiet. His eyes watch every single movement of his target, never leaving his sight. It won’t be too long for John to finally strike, he just doesn’t want too many civilians seeing the horror that’s about to happen right before their very eyes.
His mind is thinking of many things he could do with this target in particular. A lowlife thug that got himself involved with a very dangerous Italian mob, but then again that’s not the reason why John’s murderous intent is at its peak at the moment.
He’s angry at something, he just doesn’t know what. And this target of his isn’t helping his situation at all. Reading his criminal record made John think this could be a chance to cure his boredom. This man is not only a sex trafficker, but also a pedophile who has a history of targeting teenagers to rape and sell to the black market that’s as fucked up as him.
He doesn’t normally take his time thinking of ways to kill his targets. He points, shoots, leaves. This one in particular though, got him facing a side of him that John himself doesn’t want to face.
He would start by breaking every single one of the man’s fingers. And if that doesn’t do any justice, he’ll cut them off.
One by one, let the man savor the feeling, let John relish the nightmare.
He could slit the man’s throat, watch as life drains away from his body, watch as the man clings to his legs for mercy. John could even pull out the man’s dick, step on it, fucking cut it off and shove it so far down his own throat that he couldn’t scream for help if he tried.
It’s John’s version of Colombian Necktie. A classic, only ever tried it out four times, hopefully this would be the fifth.
John is never the one to take pleasure in killing people, but these past few months have proved him otherwise.
Maybe it’s because of Helen’s death, and the way he was basically forced to sculpt the demons he buried back into himself. His only remaining bit of humanity was taken from him, and he’s coping in the most unhealthy way possible. Perhaps Winston was right about dipping his pinky a little too much into the pond, but it was inevitable.
John has gone back to his old ways. Taking contracts here and there to distract himself from the void in his heart. He remembers how burying a knife into someone’s throat for the first time in many years has ignited something in him he didn’t even know he had.
That’s why he’s here, exiting his car in a swift move, following his target as quietly as possible into a narrow alleyway that stinks of garbage in piss. This would be a nice place to kill a guy like him – right where he belongs.
John’s movements are so discreet the man couldn’t even sense him until John wrapped his right arm around his neck and his other hand went to cover the man’s mouth. He walks them both to the back of a building as the man struggles, where John’s sure no more people are present, and he kicks him on the jaw to stop the man from making any more noises.
John can make this quick. Pull out his gun and blow his brains out. But there’s that sinister glint in his mind that’s telling him to do something unimaginable – grotesque even – a death a man like him deserves.
The man tries to swing his arm at John but misses pathetically. The poor guy’s already shaking and John hasn’t even begun.
John doesn’t respond to the pitiful attempts of questioning who he is and who sent him here, he simply pulls his knife from his pocket and wastes no time slashing it against the man’s throat, the blood spraying all over his face. The man tries to stop it by shakily covering the deep cut with his hand, but it’s useless.
He’s gargling, choking on his own blood, and John’s watching it all unravel with a familiar glint in his eyes.
John is contemplating if he should follow the plan he made in his head or just leave it like this. Somehow, the sight looks rather incomplete to him. He knows what he’s done is not enough, but that could be just the rage talking. The man’s already dead, and surely cutting off his dick and shoving it so far down his throat it comes out of the wound would leave an ugly reputation on his name.
Would that be a good thing? John is already feared enough, would it be a good thing to make people fear him even more? But then again, this won’t be the first time he’s done it. Doing it again one more time wouldn’t make any difference.
He glances down at the dead body on his feet before he kneels down to do the unforgivable.
Slicing off a man’s cock is easy. Too easy. John’s knife is perfectly sharpened and stoned, he merely uses any strength to cut it off. The sight is so fucking ugly, too much blood, but nothing he can’t handle.
Once that’s done, John uses his other hand to force the dead man’s jaw open, immediately greeted by the foul stench of blood as he shoves the unpleasant dick into the man’s open mouth. The genitalia is definitely not long enough to reach the throat, but that won’t be any problem for John.
He grits his teeth as he forces his hand in there, not bothering to care even if the jaw breaks and the hole becomes even wider, his goal is the only thing in his mind.
The blood continues to drip and he has never been so grateful for wearing an all black uniform for this occasion. Soon enough, after a few minutes of such a brutal wrongdoing, John sees the tip of the cock reaching the deep wound on the man’s throat as it continues to peak its way out.
A sick, small smile spreads across John’s face. The smile is barely there, but he’s fucking enjoying this more than he’d like to admit. He can only imagine how the news would spread across the assassin underworld like a wildfire.
The Boogeyman’s back in business and he’s scarier than ever.
Perhaps this might be the way to lay his point across. This is a way to show them that it was not a good idea pissing him off, killing what’s his, and bringing him back in business. They’d regret it, but it would be already too late for that.
John uses his other hand to pull the cock right out of the man’s throat but not completely. Half of it is hanging out and John thinks he could even consider this as a masterpiece. There’d be flies and maggots that would make the scenery better, but the cleaning service is there for a reason. He can’t just not use it.
John stands up from his position, pocketing his knife back into his pocket before retrieving his phone with the other. He dials a number, waits for them to pick up, all while admiring his work on the ground.
His previous contracts these past few months all ended in such an unimaginable, ugly way. He figured that by showing them that he’s capable of such brutality, it would increase the numbers of people calling him in for more jobs, because this is exactly what they wanted. They wanted Baba Yaga, the ruthless killer of the underworld who stops at nothing to finish his job, and he’s simply giving it to them.
Someone picks up the call and he straightens his posture, checking the time on his watch before speaking.
“This is Wick. John Wick, yes. I would like to make a dinner reservation for one.”
The news spread faster than anticipated.
The notorious man John Wick, the hot topic of the criminal underworld at the moment, even gained the attention of The High Table, and it all happened in the span of one day. That’s how quick the news spread amongst his fellow assassins, though that’s exactly what he was going for.
John expected it so he isn’t surprised when he receives a call from Charon saying Winston wants to meet him.
He inserts a coin in the door and the small window opened briefly. The guy on the other side immediately recognized him, not wasting a single moment to open the door and let the man of the hour in. All eyes are on him the moment he steps into the club, but no one dared to murmur anything to anybody – not when the man himself is here.
They know better.
John spots Winston at his usual spot drinking his usual order, signaling John to sit beside him where a glass of bourbon is already present.
“Jonathan,” Winston greets, raising his glass. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”
“I figured,” John replies, though not interested. He slides himself to the booth and takes a sip of his own drink. “I don’t understand why though.”
“Are we really playing this game, Jonathan?” The manager raises a brow.
“I was just doing my job.”
“In a way you don’t normally do,” Winston then adds. “Or should I say, in a way you don’t even do.”
John gives him a look, but he could tell Winston doesn’t know how to interpret it. His face remains emotionless, not letting the mask slip and grant Winston the privilege to take a peak. John will continue to play this game until he’s satisfied, until he feels something again. Surely he’ll find what he’s looking for while doing the only thing he’s ever good at – slaughtering.
“Let’s just say I was trying out a new technique,” John says, voice deep and almost sinister. Winston’s scared, though he doesn’t show it, John knows.
“I have known you ever since you started, Jonathan. Not once did it cross my mind you would do something so.. horrifying as this. You discarded the body like he was some sort of pig, so believe me when I say I couldn’t believe it at first.”
John has no idea why Winston’s whining about him being horrifying, when that’s all they’ve been saying about him ever since he joined. He didn’t gain this reputation for no reason, now he’s just simply showing them what more he’s capable of.
“You should’ve seen his record.” His tone is menacing, swirling the drink in his hand as he stares deeply at Winston’s eyes. “He’s worse than a pig.”
The drop of the curse word takes Winston by surprise. “So is that what it is, then? You killed him that way because you think he deserved it?”
“Not really,” John simply sighs, leaning back on the leather seat as he takes another sip of his bourbon. He really isn’t planning on staying longer, but Winston seems to be taking his sweet time asking him a bunch of stupid questions. “I couldn’t care less of what he’s done. I was simply… bored. Saying that I did that because I think he deserved it gives people a reason to think that what I did was justifiable.”
The look on Winston’s face says enough. He’s afraid of John, afraid of what he has become. Hearing John say he did such an unforgiving thing just because he was bored is beyond frightening. No man has ever inflicted so much fear on him before – at least not until John.
“I think we’re done for tonight,” Winston finally says, not wanting to hear any more disturbing thoughts of John, but he remains polite and calm for the sake of their friendship. “You have a good night, Jonathan.”
John gives him a nod, standing up from his seat and downing his drink in one go. “Goodnight, Winston.”
He exits the club with an eerie aura following behind him, not caring about the way people are looking at him like he’s got Death himself walking beside him.
It makes him wonder that maybe death doesn’t follow him after all.
Maybe it is him.
Someone offered him five million to fuck up a man who allegedly stole a fuck ton of kilograms of cocaine from their warehouse, and really, who is John to decline the offer?
Hunting the man is easy. It didn’t even take a day to locate where the man lives, and John’s already breaking into his apartment to shoot the guy and leave. There’s no point in rummaging the place for the cocaine, all of it is already up the man’s system by the looks of it, and killing him is John’s job.
John wants to finish this one fast, he’s got other business to attend to. As he backs up the frightened, pathetic excuse for a man against the wall, he takes his gun out of his holster and aims directly at the head, right between the eyes, and he watches in great pleasure as the residue of his brains splatter against the walls and the floor.
This man didn’t even put up a fight. John thinks this is a waste of time.
He exits the apartment with disappointment heavy on his shoulders, slamming the door shut. Although the gun he used has a silencer, the rooms are too close to each other. He’s sure there might be other people who heard the shot of his firearm.
The apartment building is located at the filthy side of New York, where most known drug dealers and junkies do their nasty deals. It’s no surprise that as soon as John steps a foot out of the worn out building, all eyes are on him, but mainly on the clothes he’s wearing. They’re planning on mugging him out, and John would like to see them try.
Just as he’s about to walk to his car, his phone rings abruptly in his chest pocket. He retrieves it in one swift motion, not noticing that a gold coin fell out as he does so, and he continues walking to not waste any more time.
“Sir! Excuse me, sir, you dropped something!” John hears from behind. He doesn’t bother looking.
The call isn’t nearly as important as the business he needs to attend to, so he hangs up the call and pushes his phone back into his pocket. As soon as he does that, he feels a small hand touching his shoulder.
John’s hand immediately flies to wrap his large hand around the person’s wrist, turning around to see a young woman with a bewildered expression on her pretty face, little fingers holding his golden coin that looks far too big on her hand.
She looks scared, terrified, and oh how fucking awful that makes John feel. Like he’s been punched right in the fucking gut. He’s enthralled.
“I wasn’t–you dropped it and I’m just giving it to you, I promise!”
She’s looking at John with big, doe eyes. She also looks freshly showered, wrapped in a black puffy jacket that makes her even smaller than she already is. John lets his eyes linger on her lips, so plump and glossy. Her voice sounds sweet, soft, something John isn’t used to hearing.
John can’t help but to stare.
“Are you–are you gonna let me go, mister?”
The way she stutters triggers a hot feeling in John’s guts, and can’t help but to rub his thumb on the girl’s dainty wrist before slowly letting her go.
So delicate, he could snap them in half.
“Sorry,” John apologizes, taking the coin from her hold, and his fingers itch at the way her skin feels so soft against his rough hands. “Force of habit.”
“It’s okay,” she smiles a little, and there goes that hot curl in John’s stomach once again. “That thing looks expensive so be careful next time.”
Just like that, John doesn’t get the chance to reply back. She makes her leave and patters away from him, and he watches. He watches until she’s out of the view, taking a turn to a corner, leaving John with something he can’t quite figure out yet, but he soon will be.
For the first time in a while, he feels something new.
Suddenly, everything is too good to be true.
John will find himself staring at his hands for too long, still feeling the ghost of her soft skin on his fingers, fantasizing about her pretty face and soft, plump lips.
It’s scary for him to feel something again because that only means destruction. John likes to believe he has a gift of ruining everything he touches, especially the pure ones – like her. It’s a proven statement. Just look at Helen and Daisy.
This little one won’t be any different, he’s sure of it. John’s whole body is heating up everytime he thinks about her. The look on her face when she saw John’s chilling expression, her wide eyes, so glossy and innocent.
John wants to see her again.
His fingers itch, yearning to touch her again.
Why he’s suddenly interested in a young woman he just met a few days ago, he has no idea. John’s a bit confusing – fucked up, even. He long accepted the fact that his mind is nowhere near healthy years ago. He tried to push those thoughts away when he met Helen, but now he’s out of his shell and back in business, there’s no need to.
He’s always been one of the wolves, and now that he’s laid his eyes on his next meal, he will make sure there’s not a single thing that will get in his way to hunt her down.
He had a crisis for two days before doing the unexpected. It didn’t take long for John to find her.
Now, John has been following her around for a week, and he noticed a certain pattern his little one likes to follow as she goes on her day.
The very place where they met is where she lives, surrounded by a bunch of goons who have no idea what to do with their lives. John begins to wonder why she’s living in a place like that. He could take her, put her somewhere safe, under his care and protection. Make sure no one will dare to lay a finger on her.
John knows where she works. At a veterinary clinic not too far from her apartment, which is why she walks to work every three in the afternoon, but not without stopping by in her favorite deli and getting a large order of her favorite sandwich. She’s a part-timer. She’d be at school from seven to twelve, and at work from three to eight.
John finds the little things she does amusing. He’d be seated in a cafe right across from her work, watching how she moves around her office through a big window, petting and cooing at the animals who come and go.
She’s so perfect, so pure, so naive. She has no idea that a monster is lurking ten feet away from her, watching her every move like a hawk, thinking about the ways he could destroy her, make her his.
John is not delusional. He’s fully aware of what he’s doing and he’s aware of what people might call him.
Stalker.
Creep.
They don’t know him though. They don’t know why he acts this way. They’d do the same if they were him, that’s for sure. He’s not the bad guy here, he’s simply just protecting her little one, even from afar. John went as far as destroying a whole Russian Bratva for a mere puppy and a car, he’d do even worse if she’s somehow taken away from him.
John sees her exiting the building and his first thought is to follow her. He stands up from his seat, the cup of coffee long forgotten as he makes his way out of the café and keeps a safe distance between the two of them. It’s risky, especially in the broad daylight, but John knows she’s too oblivious to notice.
She’s with her friends this time, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by John how she clings at the shirt of her co-worker as they cross the street, small hands fisting at the fabric. He thinks about how he won’t ever let go of her hand once she’s his. He’s not big on physical affection, having to grow up with no parents and a rather strict orphanage, but maybe he could be gentle. Engulf her hand in his, stroke it with his thumb, tuck her hair behind her ears, show everyone that she’s already owned.
They wouldn’t dare to lay their hands on her again.
John walks in the middle of the sidewalk, not bothering to move away despite seeing people approaching. He doesn’t need to, the look in his face is enough for people to give him the way. It’s interrupted however, when someone does try to get in his way, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back a little.
John clenches his jaw, pissed. He takes his eyes from his little one and on the person who so rudely interrupted what he’s doing – it’s Marcus.
“John? I was just looking for you at the Continental.” Marcus has a small smile on his face, clearly not aware of John’s expression.
His eyes dart behind Marcus, where his little one is supposed to be, but she’s gone. John feels something curl in his stomach, his fingers itching again, eyes rapidly searching for her in the sea of people.
He looks at Marcus again, deciding he’ll just find her later, but he worries that something might happen to her now that John’s attention isn’t on her.
“Why?” he almost snaps, voice deep and laced with no emotion.
“Why? Because it’s been quite some time, John. I haven’t heard from you since the Iosef situation, but I did hear you’re back in business,” Marcus replies, but when he sees how distracted John looks, his voice falters. “You working?”
“Yeah.” The lie comes off smoothly. “I’ll see you around.”
John taps Marcus’ shoulder, trying to sound as polite as possible even though he badly wants to break a couple of his teeth for taking his attention away from her. He knows Marcus is probably noticing something, but John’s never the one to care.
Marcus drops the subject. “Alright, John. I’ll see you around.”
With that, John disappears in the crowd with no looking back.
It’s been awhile since John last took a job.
He can’t seem to take his eyes away from his little one. He can’t stop fucking stalking her from morning to night time.
John’s afraid that once he takes his attention from her even for a second, something bad might happen to her. It’s engraved in his mind that she can’t protect herself and he’s solely there to be the protector.
No one would understand. He’s doing this for her own good.
John’s absence at the Continental doesn’t go unnoticed by Winston and Charon. They’re his favorite, after all. Watch his every move carefully ever since that ugly murder John did. Perhaps he could make his next kill even uglier. To them, it’s vile and grotesque. For John, it’s special and unique.
This time, it took a good self-beating before John decided to take a contract. Three million to hunt down a rival crime lord, nothing he can’t handle, but somehow it brings an unusual feeling on his shoulder he isn’t fond of. Perhaps because John’s leaving his little one for a while and he isn’t quite sure what to feel. Worried and pissed – but mostly worried.
That is why he hired someone to trail his little one on his behalf. Everyone in business would do anything for a coin despite how fucked up disturbing it is. John offered a generous amount of coins to keep the assassin’s mouth shut, but he also held him at gunpoint and gave him a good talk before he sent the dog out in the field.
His only job is to keep an eye on her, report everything he’ll see to John, and maybe even take pictures for safety purposes.
John has been overseas in the last three days, and everything that’s been sent to him has been his only form of entertainment. There’s videos of her giggling with her friends, videos and photos of her in the library, outside her school, her work, and even in her apartment. There’s also information sent to him about the background of her friends – every single one of them, because John didn’t pay so much for nothing.
There’s one particular friend that ticks off John in all the worst way possible. He’s young, around her age, and the way he hugs and touches her just fucking sets him off. John wants to break his fingers in half. He reminds himself that once he’s home, he’ll make sure to take care of that boy himself.
“What else have you got?” John questions through the phone, and it doesn’t take long for his precious dog to respond.
“Oh, he is one creepy motherfucker. I’m starting to understand why you’re so riled up with this guy, boss. The urge to strangle him every time he gets in the picture gets stronger and stronger everyday.” He hears a laugh at the other end. The guy that’s working for him – Alex, if he remembers correctly – is young, new in business, knows not to fuck with John so he keeps his job adequate. If Alex ever notice how fucked up John is for making him follow a young woman to keep his life in order, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Just tell me when I can shoot this guy and I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”
“Leave him. Keep an eye on him, but don’t kill him,” John advises, his tone leaving no room for discussion. “I’ll handle him myself when I get back. For the meantime, focus on Y/N and keep any troubles out of her way. Fail that task and I’d serve your head hot on a platter.”
“You got it, boss.”
John is playing nicely.
He’s not going to force his way into her life. He’s gonna be welcomed, with open arms, desired.
There are times he’d thought about giving in to his desperation and act with his dick instead of his head. There are times he’d thought about following her to a dark street, where no one’s around, he’s on the prowl and ready to pounce. He’d put a fabric against her mouth and nose, laced with enough chemicals to make her pass out and for him to carry her in his car with no problems whatsoever. John thinks about how he’d make it look like he’s just picking up his very drunk and passed out girlfriend and no one would know a goddamn thing.
John would keep her in his house where she won’t need anything but him.
But of course, he’s not that cruel.
They’re only thoughts. Thoughts that he tries hard to keep away, but at the end of the day he reminds himself that he’s better than that.
John is not going to force his way into her life.
He’ll make sure to get her addicted enough to come crawling at his feet herself. She’ll be dependent on him, won’t be able to live without him. John will make sure his plan will go out smoothly or otherwise he’ll be the one bringing Hell with him on this land and seek as much havoc as he possibly can.
The death emissary himself will strike tonight.
A Friday night out with her friends has John on high alert. That’ll only mean she’s constantly surrounded with people, god knows what could happen if John even takes his eyes off her for a second. He lurks on the side, blending himself with the crowd as much as he can all while keeping his gaze on her.
He doesn’t need any drugs to keep his mind insane, because the sight of a specific man getting very close to what’s his is enough to make him visualize all the ugly and twisted ways to kill a man.
She’s wearing a thin silky dress that’s low on her cleavage and shows her perky breasts. She’s currently the flame in a room full of moths, John included. Everyone’s eyes are on her, observing the way she sways her hips and sings along to the loud music – John’s fingers itch.
The itch to kill is back again, driving into his veins, his hands twitch on the table. John wants to pull out his gun and shoot everyone in this fucking room. He wants to stab them in the eyes one by one and make them feed it to themselves. He wants to grab this guy on the neck and slam his head against the wall repeatedly until his brain scatter all over the fucking place and there’s nothing left for him to ruin.
This guy is getting on his fucking nerves.
John watches as the man smoothly brings his arm on her shoulder, whispering something in her ear that doesn’t make her look so impressed. In fact, she looks disturbed, uncomfortable, tense. Despite the guy being her friend, John could tell she doesn’t feel comfortable with the way he’s showing her affection.
It’s hard to see her like this, but he knows he can’t just jump in between the two of them and beat the shit out of the guy until he chokes on his own blood. He’ll have to wait, maybe after this party, he’ll strike and discard the body in a way that’ll make even Winston spook in his sleep. It’s not a major offense to kill a man that’s not in the game anyway – or at least that’s what John tells himself.
This guy wouldn’t be able to be three feet near his little one once John’s done with him. He’ll be six feet under.
John sees her swiftly moving away from his touch, trying to make her rejection look as polite as possible, which receives a not-so-amused reaction from her little friend.
This guy doesn’t deserve her at all. No one does. Except maybe John, but that’s because he knows he’s capable of actually taking care of her and keeping her safe. Nobody would understand what he feels, what he yearns, what he wants.
Good girl, John thinks. Walk away.
His gaze follow her as she makes her way to the backdoor and out to the cold air of the city. John follows in a hurry, keeping a safe distance between the two of them, then opens the door as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t let his presence known.
There are a few people on the street, either having a smoke break or making out against the piss stained wall, but she stays just beside the busy road as she wraps her arms around herself.
His gaze burn daggers on her exposed back, the urge to cover her up with his jacket and take her home. A drunk man comes stumbling out of the club, accidentally tripping over his steps and he pushes her hard enough to make her yelp as her heels lose balance and almost making herself get run over by a passing truck.
Almost.
Everything happens so fast. One moment John is standing five feet from her, the next is he’s grasping her wrists in his hand and pulling her back to her feet and dragging her back to the curb. He was already on the act once he saw the man exiting the club, he knew exactly this would happen.
The scene looks strangely familiar, one John could never forget. The same position, same hand placement, same rough fingers around her wrist and dark eyes boring into hers – their very first meeting.
“You!” she gasps, not caring about the fact that she almost just got hit by a fucking truck. “I know you! You’re the guy outside my apartment that day! What are you doing here?”
John stares. Predictable. Of course she’s talking to him like they’ve known each other for years. She’s too friendly.
“Hello to you too,” John replies, though his tone is blank as well as his face. “You remember me.”
“‘Course I do,” she giggles, a little tipsy, pupils dilated and licking her lips nervously. “You’re pretty hard to forget. I remember asking my neighbors around the area if you’re new there, turns out you were just visiting.”
John furrows his brows, hand still not letting go of her wrist. What does she mean by she’s asked around the area about him?
His face must’ve looked confused, he sees her grinning childishly. “It’s a coincidence that I see you again!”
Not a coincidence, but fate.
John doesn’t believe in a lot of things, but he believes in fate. Fate brought him Helen, and now fate is bringing him another angel. If she really went as far as asking the neighborhood about his existence, then it must be fate.
“I’m Y/N. I figured if we keep bumping into each other then you should at least know my name,” she says, completely oblivious that John already knows everything that has to be known about her. From her little mannerisms to the last name of her fucking grandmother. “May I know yours or are you just gonna stare at me all night?”
“It’s John,” he gulps, not wanting to look like a loser in front of her, not after everything he went through for her. “It’s really nice to see you again.”
He sucks at this. He fucking sucks at this.
“You haven’t answered my question, by the way. What brings you here?”
It hangs in the air, John lets go of her wrist. Luckily, he thinks fast enough and says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Work.”
“Ah, work,” she nods. “You work here? In the club? What are you, a bouncer or something?”
“I don’t. Someone I work with is in the club.” A lie, but it’s not like she would know. “We had a talk.”
“Not really a man of words, eh?” she raises an eyebrow teasingly.
“This is the most words I’ve said in the past few days,” John says. “I’d say you’re special.”
The look on her face is enough to make his entire night even better. Blushing, lips opening and closing, not knowing what to say. John wants to graze his thumb on her lips, thinking about how good it would feel stretching over his cock.
He blinks. Where did that come from?
“For someone who doesn’t talk much, you sure make it sound smooth when you do. Are you always this slick, John?” she giggles again, music to his ear. “That’s actually better than what I heard from my friend earlier, so thank you.”
“That’s good to know.”
Before she could say anything back, the door of the club opens once again and her friends appear, waving a hand at her and beckoning her to get inside. She looks at John, gives him a sympathetic look, as if apologizing that their talk gets cut off too soon.
“I’m really sorry but my friends want me back in there. Hopefully we can continue this again, yeah?” she smiles cheekily, tucking her hair behind her ear. “If you want, you could give me your number so we can talk someplace else? You know… with no one bothering us and all that.”
There it is. John didn’t think it would be this easy to sink the hook in. All he needs to do is pull and take what’s meant to be his.
“Sure.” He enters his number swiftly, feeling that familiar burn in his guts once again when he sees the wallpaper being her pretty face. “Feel free to message me whenever you want. I’ll make time for you.”
She looks at her phone and smiles before starting to walk away from him, waving a hand goodbye, but it doesn’t feel like a goodbye. John knows it isn’t. She’s already his the moment she started talking to him again.
“Of course! Get home safe, John! I’ll see you soon!”
“You too.”
She doesn’t know John won’t be heading home any time soon until he knows she’s safe and sound in her apartment.
Jay Lopez.
The name burns on his tongue. Bitter and resentful. He stares at the photos his precious dog sent to him and he has to stop the impulse to burn every single one of them.
Jay Lopez is the guy that’s been leeching on his girl since the dawn of time, and thankfully John is here to put an end to it.
He’s hideous. It’s interesting how John stooped this low that he’d be willing to kill a college student for being too near his little bambi, but alas, he’s never the one to care for such things. Morals and righteousness have never been in his book, not now, nor ever.
It’s only a matter of time until he gets rid of this pest. He’s fucking creepy, follows around not only Y/N but a bunch of other women.
John doesn’t want his death to be quick and simple. He wants to do it in an ugly way, make sure his body will never be found, make sure he’ll never get to lay his hands and eyes on what’s his. The way Jay stares at her in these pictures ignites something evil within John’s veins. It’s been awhile since he felt something like this.
“Alex.” he looks at his pet standing by the door, waiting for the next command. “Bring him to me alive.”
“Can I at least rough him up a bit?”
John doesn’t answer at first, looks back at the photos on his table. “Do what you want, just make sure he’s still breathing when you bring him here.”
“On it, boss.”
Truth be told, John doesn’t need a pet to order around for this job. He has himself – a labeled attack dog of the Tarasovs for years, their hellhound, chained and muzzled unless they need him to kill. He’s a one man army as some would say, he doesn’t need Alex running around doing tasks for him, but it sure does make the job a lot faster.
It’s not a way to downgrade his reputation nor skills to hunt, he really just needs this Jay guy gone as fast as possible.
On the same day, Alex manages to haul a very brutally violated Jay to the floor of his basement. He stinks, pants wet from piss and a face John is having a hard time recognizing.
“You said rough him up a bit, not make him look unrecognizable.”
“Same thing.”
Jay is sobbing his eyes out, his cries of pleas falls to deaf ears and John just wants to fucking bash his skull with his own foot. “W-who are you guys?! What the f-fuck did I do?! Get me out of here or I’ll tell the fucking police–”
John kicks him on the chin hard to stop the goon from rambling. “You’re not telling anybody any shit, tough guy.”
“So, what are you planning to do to him? Can I watch?”
“Can you handle it?”
Alex shrugs. He’s in the presence of the most dangerous assassin in the underworld, wouldn’t hurt to learn anything from his skills and techniques, doesn’t matter how fucked up it is.
John nods towards the chainsaw sitting at the corner of the room, and Alex turns to face him with wide eyes. “Jesus Christ, man. You serious? Last time I heard you’re a hitman, not a serial killer.”
“Same qualifications. Same thing.” John grabs the man by the arm then drags him to a chair. He takes a rope from the table and swiftly ties him up securely. “We start with the head, then arms and legs. It would be hard to put his entire body in a drum full of acid, so we need to cut him off one by one.”
Alex looks like he’s about to run off somewhere safe from what he’s witnessing. “You’re talking like you’ve done this before, holy fuck.”
John gives him a look, and Alex immediately shuts his mouth. Right. He’d done this before. This is completely normal.
“I’ve been following you for a while, Jay. You’re a creep who befriends pretty girls, then you’ll drug them and make them have sex with you,” John taunts, the sound of his heels hitting the concrete floor is enough to send shivers down his spine. “Is that what you’re also planning to do with Y/N? Be her friend and fuck her once she’s drugged up and vulnerable?”
It’s a bold statement coming from John himself since he’s no better man than Jay, but at least his intentions come from a different place.
“You-you’re fucking sick!” Jay spits.
“I’m sick? I’m not the one going around making girls uncomfortable now, am I?” he picks up the chainsaw, then watches in enjoyment as Jay widens his eyes in fear. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, Jay. You won’t be able to use your pathetic little dick of yours to any woman ever again, and most importantly –”
John fires up the chainsaw, adrenaline coursing through his veins when he sees the horrified look in the man’s face as he tries to get up and scream for help.
“I can finally sleep well at night knowing you’re not in Y/N’s life anymore.”
As John steps into the light, a roaring chainsaw in his hands, Alex could only watch in horror as the basement gets painted with blood in mere seconds.
There’s a vacant apartment just across her room, giving John the perfect view of what she’s doing while she’s alone.
Most of the time, John will pull up a seat beside the window and take pictures. The other half of the time is just him staring, observing. It seems that she’s too comfortable knowing there’s no one across the building so she doesn’t close the curtains, leaving John no choice but to keep his eyes on her.
He found this place just three days after following her. He couldn’t help it. Following her to school and work suddenly wasn’t enough for John that he had to find a way to somehow watch her even in her sleep.
He should be ashamed of himself. He should feel guilty for what he’s doing – he should stop, but he just can’t. John’s already done too much. This is like being pulled back into the underworld all over again but this time, there’s something good that’s waiting for him on the other side.
Maybe it’s the delusion that comes with it that’s not stopping John from whatever he’s doing. Lately, he’s been thinking about how life would turn out to be if his plan goes out smoothly. They’d live happily ever after, she would end up loving him just the way he planned it out to be, and John will make sure no one will ever dare to take those peace away from him again.
He’d make sure no one will ever come close to her again once she’s his. She’d be isolated but protected. Just how John likes it.
It’s been two days since John gave his number, but he knows she’s just giddy and nervous to text him. He’d seen her staring at her phone, biting her bottom lip anxiously, thinking if it would be a good idea or not. He knows she’ll give in one way or another because he sees it in her face. She’s too easy, too gullible, too naive.
She’s lonely, just like him.
John could tell she’s waiting for someone – she’s desperate, no wonder she asked for his number the second time they met. She wants someone to take care of her, to hold her, tell her that she deserves the world. That someone is John whether she likes it or not.
This isn’t just any unhealthy obsession. John finds himself too deep to get out. He knows her little mannerisms, studied her every action, has a red room full of her pictures and no one can’t say he’s not ready to give up anything for her. John has already given up his sanity ever since he mutilated a man for being too close to her.
She’s his life now, his everything.
John watches intensely as she shreds her clothes in her room, baring him the full view of herself naked, and John grips the side of his chair too hard his knuckles turn white. This is the first time he’d seen her naked, it’s so sudden and so… perfect.
His cock fattens in his pants as he observes every curve of her body. Her waist is fucking perfect and her body is thick yet delicate. John thinks about bruising her sensitive skin, leaving a mark that will show everyone that she’s owned. He would love to see her in a collar, hear it jingle when she crawls.
She’s completely fucking naked that John wonder just how naive she is to think there would be no one seeing her like this. What if John isn’t the only one watching her? What if somebody else sees her like this? His fingers itch, jaw clenching.
He’d kill them. He’d kill them in front of her, and the thought somehow made his cock hard even more. He grimaces, disturbed at the reaction of his body.
John doesn’t really understand the sexual aspects of killing, but now he’s thinking about how she would react if she sees him working. He’d kill someone in front of her and he’d see the look of disgust and betrayal in her face. He can already imagine how her eyes would well up with tears and fuck, his dick shouldn’t be this hard.
She’d fear him, and John would be turned on. How fucked up would that be? Just how fucked up can his mind get?
He resists the urge to wrap his hand around his cock because fuck no. He would not stoop this low, he is not a teenage boy. No matter how strong the thoughts get, the thoughts of wrapping his own hand around her neck, squeezing it hard and cutting off her airflow as John forces his cock in her cunt, hearing her mewl and scream and beg to just –
John sucks in air, eyes back on her in her room, wrapping a robe around herself and heading to the bathroom. This is fucked up. His cock is incredibly hard and leaking, and his mind won’t stop thinking about how good her pussy would feel around him.
He’d talk her through it. Whisper sweet nothings in her ear as she releases around her cock, praising her for being such a good girl. Then he’d fuck her again, in a different position, debauching her in different ways not even the devil himself could think of.
John would ruin her, and she will have no choice but to accept it.
He brings his hand to his face as he sighs deeply. He wonders what Helen would feel of what he’s doing. Disgusted, no doubt. This is not the same man she fell in love with years ago. He would never do something like this, but fate has its plans, and John believes everything happens for a reason.
She was brought into his life for a reason and it’s up to him whether he takes.
John doesn’t realize that he’s been staring at nothing for too long until she comes back in his view once again. Her hair is still wet, still wrapped up in a fluffy pink robe, and John’s fingers itch to grab, squeeze, possess.
He sees her picking up her phone, staring for a moment before her fingers start typing. John has been anticipating this moment for so long, the time has finally come.
In his chest pocket, his phone buzz silently, the vibration sending excitement in his whole body.
There it is.
13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : hello! this is Y/N from the club the other night
13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : also that Y/N who returned your super expensive looking coin hehe ;) i hope you didn’t forget about me!
There it fucking is.
John’s lips curl into a small smile. His efforts are finally paying off.
All he needs to do is to get what’s his.
#john wick#john wick x reader#john wick fanfiction#john wick imagine#john wick fanfic#john wick chapter 4#john wick x you#john wick 4#keanu reeves#john wick smut#ochl#my works
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