#Baby High Chair Market size
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Happy birthday to my bestie, my mate, my Elriel sister @tswaney17
I wouldn't have joined this fandom without her. So if anything, blame her! Jokes aside, I hope you have a marvelous year and meet your own stranger in the night. Please enjoy!
One shot
Summary: Elain Archeron is celebrating her birthday and happens to meet an enigmatic and mysterious stranger who upends her world
She smoothed her black bodysuit over her hips, though it wasn’t wrinkled and then tousled her hair, in what she hoped, was sexy, beachy curls.
Anyone else would’ve told her that she looked great—well put together, elegant, and not trying too hard. But to her self-critical eye, she saw a slew of imperfections. Hips too wide, breasts too large, stumpy fingers...She could stand here all night and critique herself, but what would be the point? It was what it was, right? Some part of her though, liked what stared back. The black bodysuit hugged her in all the right places, and paired with strappy golden heels and some delicate gold jewelry, she looked...nice. Not quite her 31 years old. Her friends always said that she was a ‘young 30’. She looked about 24. But inside, there were days when she felt 78.
Oh well. Time to go. That’s not to say that she didn’t want to back out of her solo restaurant trip about 25 times today. Internally, she’s been telling herself that she is too busy, too tired, too poor, and that staying in with a bottle of wine and pizza would be just fine. Another part of her wanted to get out. Even if she looked like a loser, dining alone. At least it was a Wednesday night—not the weekend—so she could theoretically make up a story of being on a business trip. Not that anyone’s going to ask. But she needed that security blanket for herself: “I am eating alone, because I am here on business’. Yeah, that sounded legit. She was a successful, professional woman, determined and confident, and she was on business in Chicago.
She grabbed her clutch and headed out.
It was a warm evening by Chicago standards. The middle of April could be blustery or it could be blistering. You never knew. Tonight was lovely, actually. Trees were in full bloom—white, pink, yellow, assertive red, purple, even blue—bursting in flowers of every shape and size along the streets of her neighbourhood.
Beatrice was a quint restaurant in Fulton Market. Or as ‘quaint’ as a restaurant could be in the bustling, hipster corner of the city. She only knew it because she’d come here before with her stylish, popular co-worker, Morrigan. She recalled how Mor wore a pristine baby blue bodysuit, sky-high heels, and a sparkling silver belt studded with glittery gemstones. Mor’s hair was a waterfall of golden blonde, which cascaded sensually down her back. Her skin was flawless. Her makeup was perfection, and her nails the right shade of pearl. When they were seated, all the girls in the party immediately rattled off a list of things they didn’t eat, were allergic to, and ‘avoided’. Mor announced that she was ‘celiac’ in a tone that implied that obviously she was celiac! And then proceeded to order bread. When the waiter told her that bread has gluten, Mor said that ‘she was allowed to today’.
Back then, she’d ordered something called the Straight ‘A’ Salad, not wanting to tuck into something juicy and fatty in front of everyone. It ended up being empty and unsatisfying. But she still wanted to go back there, because the other items on the menu looked good, the vibe was nice and not overwhelming, and the drinks were inventive. If nothing else, she’d get her full in alcohol.
“Follow me, Miss,” the hostess beckoned her and she scurried quickly between tables, wanting to be seated as soon as possible.
It was nice. The table was by the wall, and she could see inside the restaurant and out the window. She laid her clutch on the table and exhaled. She was here. She was in her place, in her chair.
She made it.
“Are we celebrating anything tonight, Miss?” the waiter asked, when he approached with the menu.
“Oh no,” she laughed, “I am on a business trip.”
“And do you have any allergies?”
“No!” she stated decisively. No. She is going to eat what she wanted. No faux allergies for her.
The drinks menu looked a bit intimidating. Lots of things with Mezcal and Elderflower and words like ‘smoked’ and ‘hibiscus ginger kombucha’. After discreetly googling what kombucha was, she gagged and decided on a Lemond Drop. Safe and sound.
The waiter wasn’t exactly impressed by her choice, but she didn’t care. Instead, she ordered Cheddar Popovers with bacon butter, and green chili queso for appetizers. It harkened back to her California upbringing, where things were less formal, the food less complicated, and the loneliness less acute. She suddenly and desperately missed her sisters, who lived back home. She missed the sun, tacos, trips to Sacramento and the simpler life she had back home.
Sighing, she sipped her cocktail and looked around. It was fairly bustling, couples and friends chatting animatedly, drinking their complicated drinks and laughing. But...she felt okay. Not amazing, but okay. It was peaceful.
It felt peaceful until her eyes fell on a singular, solitaire figure of a man, who sat at the bar, with a drink in front of him. The reason she even paid attention to him was because he was literally breathtakingly beautiful. So handsome, her breath stalled in her chest. Big. So goddamn big, it felt like he was sucking the air into the vortex of a black hole that he’d created just by simply...being. He sat, unmoving, in a sharply cut suit and a white shirt, unbuttoned at his neck. The other reason why she looked at him was because he was staring back at her. Big, bold, unflinching stare. Those incredible, luminescent eyes almost glared at her, and she wished she’d know what colour they were. The man’s face remained impassive, but he continued staring, even once she’s averted her eyes and squirmed in her seat. And now, all she could feel was his stare, following her every move. It was suddenly hot, and she felt her nipples pop like tiny Whack-A-Moles beneath her bodysuit. Served her right for not wearing a bra! Jesus Mary and Joseph. Well, her evening was ruined just like that. Instead of being at peace with her lemon drop and her popovers, she was not being scorched by the gaze of this absurdly handsome man, and all she wanted to do was look his way and see if he was still looking at her. While she didn’t want him to be looking at her. But she wanted to make sure that he was. Oh, god. What. The. Hell.
She was on the verge of fanning herself, before realising that she’d be looking like she was having hot flashes, and it was too early for that. Her nipples were hard as bullets and she was forced to cover her breasts with her folded arms, just to maintain some sense of decorum. As she ‘busied’ herself with her drink, she snuck a momentary glance at the man. He was still there, but no longer looking at her. Instead, he was on his phone, and a deep sense of regret and longing washed over her at once.
He was interested in her for 23 seconds.
That was it.
But she supposed that for the most handsome man in the world to take notice of her for 23 seconds was sufficient enough.
“Miss, your popovers,” the waiter stepped up to the table, placing one plate down in front of her, and then the other, “and queso. Please be careful, it’s hot.”
The food looked fine, but somehow, she no longer felt particularly hungry. She wasn’t sure if it was because the man was no longer looking at her, or because he was looking at her before. Did she want him to look at her? No. No, she didn’t. He was entirely outside her comfort zone, with his piercing gaze and his unnaturally good looks and he was definitely a player, so there was no need for all of this.
On her birthday, all she wanted was peace and quiet. She didn’t need smouldering men giving her the death stare. Instead, she forced herself to concentrate on her food. The popovers were light and fluffy and crispy on the outside, and the bacon butter was to die for. Sinful, but so, so good.
She sunk into her seat, enjoying her cocktail and alternating between the popovers and then the rich, spicy queso. She was still deciding on the main course—penne with spicy vodka sauce? Slow cooked short rib?
“Miss,”
Her contemplation was interrupted by the waiter, who was holding a drink.
“From the gentleman at the bar,” he said and placed the drink in front of her.
Her mouth fell open. Whaaat...
Timidly, she allowed her eyes to travel to the bar and sure enough, there he was. Staring. A small, secret smile touched his beautiful mouth and he inclined his head just a bit. She didn’t exactly know how to act in these situations. Was she supposed to drink the drink that he sent? Invite him over? Go over there herself? Ignore him like a total douche?
Okay, first things first. She raised the pretty coupe glass to her lips and tentatively sipped the drink. Sour and smokey, with a touch of sweetness and heavy on lemon flavour, this was definitely a whiskey drink. And she didn’t like whiskey. But for some reason, she really liked this. She took another sip, a bolder one, and then glanced at the man. He was smiling, as he watched her drink, and when she swallowed, he winked at her. Approving? Enjoying watching her? Smug? Pleased? She wasn’t sure. But she...
“Ready to order, Miss?” the waiter was back, and she absently said ‘fish tacos’ which isn’t what she even wanted, but she was too scrambled to come up with a better idea. “Very good,” the waiter chirped, and before he disappeared, she said, “can you ask the gentleman who bought the drink to join me?”
Her throat was dry. Her underarms were sweaty.
WHAT was she doing??
She never did anything like this before? Inviting strange men to eat with her? Never!
“If he wants to,” she added quickly and the waiter nodded.
God, please say no. Please. Please god, let him say no. I don’t want it. I don’t.
There he was. Moving through the restaurant like the Angel of Death. Dark and tall and slim and muscular. Jesus. He was actually coming over! Oh. No. Nononononono.
And then he was standing at her table, how own drink in hand.
“I wasn’t sure if Whiskey Sour was the way to go,” he said—his deep, dark, raspy voice matching his appearance to a tee. "But it looks like I did well.”
She swallowed hard and then muttered, “Is that what it is?”
Yep, it sounded lame even to her own ears.
“Indeed,” he confirmed. “First time?”
Somehow, this made her blush. A simple question, and a correct assumption, but for some reason, it was laced with innuendo.
Their eyes finally locked.
Hazel. His eyes are a gorgeous greenish amber colour, spectacular like the rest of him.
He took a sip of his drink and slowly dragged the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, swiping the droplet and that made her even sweatier than she was before. Soon she was going to be sweating like a sumo wrestler—which of course is the most enticing look a woman could sport.
“No, I’ve had it before,” she finally managed to answer.
He smirked a knowing smile.
“Have you?”
As he was looming over her and attracting way too much attention from the females of the species, and even some males, she all but ordered him, “you can sit down!”
He smiled again, that smooth, secret smile, saying, “I thought you’d never ask”.
She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just watched him in silence as he slid onto a chair across from her.
“Thanks for the drink,” feeling awfully uncomfortable, knowing she was not great at small talk, and completely out of depth with this man, she thought that this was all a pretty bad idea. What was supposed to have been a quiet and nice evening alone, was turning into...well, she wasn’t sure what it was turning into, but it was something.
“You aren’t waiting for anyone, are you?” he asked, sounding curious. “I wouldn’t need to fight a boyfriend or something...I mean, I’ll win, but,”
She huffed, and snorted a laugh.
“So confident?”
He shrugged, “pretty confident”. After a pause, he pressed, “so?”
“No,” she blushed despite her best efforts to appear cool. “I am here alone. On a business trip,” she lied smoothly, grateful for having this little nugget in her pocket.
He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, lounging comfortably. Suddenly, he said,
“Nope. Try again.”
Startled, she glowered at him, not knowing what he meant. All the while, as she squirmed in confusion, he casually drank his whiskey, watching her closely.
“What,” she brought her glass to her lips and took a generous swig of the drink, “what do you mean?”
“Only that you are not being exactly truthful,” he shrugged, and then grabbed a popover and swallowed the whole thing easily. “You aren’t here on any business trip.”
“What?!” she exclaimed with indignation. “Excuse me! How do you know? What do you mean?”
His eyes slowly slid over her bare arms, her chest, her neck, and again, she blushed like a fool, but there was no stopping her body’s reaction to this strange man.
He was...enigmatic.
“A beautiful woman like you, wearing something so elegant and understated,”
Understated? Did he mean boring?
“is not in Chicago on any business trip. So, that makes me think—if you aren’t waiting for anyone, and you are dressed up, then you must be,” he cocked his head, considering, “celebrating something? A new job? A birthday?”
Most of his words rolled right over her head, because all she heard was ‘a beautiful woman like you’. He thought that she was beautiful? He? HE thought that?
“What?” she asked dumbly.
He chuckled, amused. “You are a little naughty liar, is what I am saying,”
“You can’t call me that!”
“Then don’t lie to me.”
She bubbled her lips and finished her drink. Finished already? Shit.
He noticed it too and motioned for the waiter.
“Another drink for the lady,” he ordered. “And I’ll take another whiskey. And,” he thought for a moment and added, “bring us a bottle of champagne.” He looked at her and asked, “what are you eating?”
“I think I ordered fish tacos,” she recalled, watching him in confusion.
“Want to eat them?”
“I dunno.”
“Mind if I cancel them and order us steaks?”
“Uhh...okay?”
He did just that, telling the waiter that he’d pay for the tacos as well.
Who the hell was this guy? He flicked his fingers and just got whatever he wanted. The waiter didn’t even question him! ‘Of course, sir’ ‘Whatever you want, sit’ ‘Right away, sir’.
“So, is it your birthday?” he asked once the waiter ran to fetch the drinks. Literally, ran.
“No.”
His brows knitted together and he pursed his lips.
Something about him and his look made goose bumps rise on her skin and she shifted under the table, crossing her legs. This guy and his unbelievable dominating bossiness were both scary, but also highly sexual. She knew that she was a bit of a submissive at heart, but that was mostly because she read way too many omegaverse books. But now, she was faced with a true Alpha. When they spoke of an Alpha Male, she suddenly became aware that she was in the presence of one. He wasn’t just tall, dark and handsome—even if he was a walking cliche with all of these attributes. But it was his undeniable, almost God-given natural dominance and superiority that she found so fascinating. And yes, so appealing as well.
“It’s not your birthday?” he repeated.
“N-no,” she bleated pathetically.
He didn’t respond immediately, but only drummed his fingers on the table, and she noticed that his hands were scarred. Rather extensively. Burns, from what she could tell. Jesus. How did he get these? And both hands, too.
“Lie to me again, and I will take you over my knees and spank that perfect bottom until you beg for mercy,” he warned, his voice impassive, his face unchanged.
Her mouth dropped open and she thought that she was going to slide under the table and dissolve into a puddle.
Was she supposed to cause a scene and slap him? Was she supposed to storm out of the restaurant? How does one reacted to being threatened by a spanking by a complete stranger?
Also, he thought that her ass was ‘perfect’?
“Let’s start anew, beautiful girl,” he proposed then, while she made silent gasping noises like a dying fish.
The waiter arrived just then, and only that prevented her from fainting or screaming out loud. He popped the champagne bottle with flourish and poured both of them a measure, while also setting their cocktails down before them.
“Don’t come back until the food is ready,” the stranger warned the waiter and the man nodded and left without saying a word.
“What is your name?”
She swallowed, but remembering his warning, she decided to go with the truth this time.
“Elain.”
“Gorgeous name,” he approved. “It suits you. I am Azriel.”
“Azriel,” an exotic name for an exotic man. “Nice to meet you. I think?” she ventured and extended her hand to him.
“Pleasure is certainly all mine,” he said, squeezing her hand in his huge, warm, powerful palm, watching her with strange, almost palatable hunger. “Whether you’ll receive pleasure from me or not remains to be seen,” he decided vaguely and she bit her lip, sensing that innuendo again and not knowing how to deal with it.
The one time a guy was instantly interested in her, and he is a dangerous weirdo. Figures. Just her luck.
He raised his glass and said, “Happy birthday, Elain! I hope it’s wonderful to you.”
“Thank you. That remains to be seen, I think,” she said softly and they touched their glasses. She sucked the champagne quickly, and with a sense of foreboding and some kind of desperation. She had no idea where this was going, or what he wanted from her. But she wanted it to continue. At least for the duration of this dinner.
“What do you do?” he inquired, dipping a chip into the queso, but instead of eating it, he held it out to her. She looked around, in some kind of futile hope that someone would save her from this, but there was no one. Only this stunning, somewhat insane man, who was feeding her chips and dip.
“Come on, beautiful Elain. Open up,” he urged soft, his voice smooth and husky and so tempting.
Numb, and only driven by the sound of that sensual voice, she opened her mouth and he gently pushed the chip inside. As she pulled it between her teeth, he brushed his finger over her lower lip and then brought it to his mouth and sucked.
“More?” he whispered and then concluded, “more.”
He dipped another chip and fed it to her again.
“So?”
“I am in marketing,” she answered, knowing in advance that hers was the most uninspiring answer in history. But she was more preoccupied by the fact that she was being fed chips by a strange man in the middle of a restaurant.
“And you live in the city?” he asked further. “Please don’t even start with the whole ‘I am here on business’.”
She sighed and admitted, “Fine, I am from the suburbs. But I work in the city. What do you do?”
He didn’t seem too thrilled about her question and took his time eating the last of the popovers.
“Do you really want to know?” he asked finally.
“Yes, of course. Why not?”
“You might not like it.”
“Why wouldn’t I? What do you do? Kill people?” she joked.
He smiled at her, but the smile was less of a smile, and more just a stretch of his lips. The smile didn’t reach his eyes
“And if I am?” he wondered at last.
She frowned and then it dawned on her and she laughed, “what? You kill people?”
“Maybe.”
A shiver ran down her spine and she gawked at him in shock. Until she dissolved in a flurry of laughs.
“You had me there for a sec!” she wiggled her finger at him. “A+ for a perfect deadpan delivery! I am impressed.”
He didn’t seem to be laughing, but he added, “but they were all bad”.
She stopped laughing and nervously shifted in her seat.
“Wait. What?”
“You wanted to know what I did for a living,” he reminded her.
As she processed his words, he just sat there, watching her intently.
“Oh my god,” she exclaimed at last, realisation dawning on her, “it’s a scam, right?! You are one of those guys who pretends to be an assassin, or a millionaire, or in the CIA and then I fall for it, and in two months you’ll start asking me for money and I blow all my savings on you and then never hear from you again.”
Shaking her head in disbelief she grabbed her napkin and then said, “thank you for the drink, Mr. Azriel. But I am not stupid. I appreciate the gesture—the razzle dazzle—but let’s part ways right here so that no one leaves here too traumatised.”
He listened to her impassively and in the next moment, the waiter arrived with their steaks.
She was hungry and upset, but she knew that she couldn’t stay here any longer and remain in his company. The whole thing was too bizarre and she didn’t want to get in trouble. And this man was clearly trouble. Or maybe troubled. Or both.
“Azriel, I am,”
“Sit,” he ordered, though his tone was soft. “You are safe with me. Don’t worry. But you did ask me what I did for a living,” he insisted again.
“Well, when I did ask you, I didn’t expect for you to tell me that you are some kind of a killer!” she snapped, her voice rising.
“I’d rather you didn’t yell,” he requested. “However, I wanted to tell you,”
“Why?!” she exclaimed. “Don’t killers usually try and keep their profession,” she made a quotation mark sign with her fingers, “a secret?”
“Normally, yes,” he agreed. “But, I want you to trust me and I felt that being honest is the best way to earn that trust.”
“Trust me? Why? And,”
“Because I want you,” he interrupted her and his tone was blunt, but calm.
“Wha,”
“I want you,” he repeated. “I saw you and you...well, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And now, I am obsessed with the idea of learning what you’d look like when I enter you. What sounds you’d make when you come on my tongue.”
At that, the big steak knife fell out of her trembling fingers and she wondered if she was having some kind of out of body experience. An ‘episode’? She wasn’t prone to episodes, but hell, there was a first time for everything, right?
He shrugged, and continued like this was a perfectly sane conversation they were having, “Sorry if this is a bit unorthodox,”
An understatement of the century!
“However, I am not one to mince words,”
Another understatement of the century.
“And when I want something, I go after it. And right now, I want you.”
She made a gurgling sound, but he ignored it, then cut into his steak, and chewed slowly.
“However, you don’t strike me as someone who sleeps around or who is used to the type of man I am,”
Was any woman?
“Therefore, I wanted to build a baseline of trust between us. Like I said, you have nothing to fear from me. I am simply a man, interested in a woman.”
He was anything but, but okay.
“So,” she finally found her voice which was lost somewhere in the bottom of her stomach, “telling me you are an assassin is your way of establishing a baseline of trust?”
He looked at her hand, which was clutching a butter knife, her knuckles white, and smiled faintly.
“I suppose so.”
She reached for the bottle of champagne, but her hands were shaking so badly, she could barely grasp it. Smoothly, he took the bottle and topped off her glass. This was probably the worst idea—to continue drinking—but she couldn't think of anything else.
“Why don’t you relax and eat,” he suggested. “The steak is cooked perfectly.”
“I don’t think I am hungry.”
“Nonsense. Lay down your weapon of choice, dig into your dish and relax a bit. Have fun. It's your birthday!”
He then raised his glass and mused, ‘what should we toast to?”
“Me remaining sane after this dinner,” she muttered under her breath.
He laughed.
“How about ‘to the future’? Because tomorrow with you is worth every yesterday I spent without you,” he said and she almost choked.
He couldn’t be for real.
No man talked like that. Ever.
“Listen, I know I could a little blunt, but in my line of work, I have to move quickly and I typically don’t get many second chances. And I don’t want to miss my chance with you,” he drank his champagne and watched her attempt to concentrate on her steak. “And when I said that you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, I am being honest. I saw you across the restaurant and you kind of blew my mind. It happens, you know,”
“No, it doesn’t,” she argued. “Only in romance novels.”
“Okay,” he shrugged, “so we have a romance novel beginning, so what?”
“It’s not real,” she insisted.
“Well, while you think on that, tell me when I can kiss you, because I’d really, really would like to kiss you right now,”
“Never!” she shrieked. “Stop talking like that!”
She desperately needed him to stop talking. Stop using that sensual, deep baritone to say deliciously sinful things to her. Because if he continued, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. She kept trying to shield her breasts from him, since her nipples were achingly sharp, threatening to poke through the top of her body suit. And between her legs—disaster. She was flooded. Every glance at his strong, powerful hands made her wonder what they’d feel like between her thighs. What his soft lips would taste like if he did get that kiss from her. And every word he said just made her wetter and wetter. She feared she’d have a stain on her clothes once she got up from her seat, and the thought alone was mortifying.
“I think you should let me kiss you,” he insisted, watching her intently.
“No, I am not kissing you!”
God, this steak was good!
“How about this then,” he proposed slowly, “I scoot closer to you, and you let me play with your clit, while you eat, and then you come all over my hand. I pay the bill and we go to my place and I’ll continue making you come. Because all I want to do right now is kiss every inch of your porcelain skin, and fuck your soft, lovely mouth and watch my dick disappear between those rosy lips. And then you’ll come on my dick in your perfect pussy and ask for more, while screaming my name. And if you let me, I’ll fuck that gorgeous ass as well and will make you come from that as well. And then you’ll sleep in my arms and in the morning, we’ll go get breakfast.”
She watched him in dull astonishment, her brain failing to work properly as she attempted to process his words.
This really couldn’t be real. At all. No man, in the history of mankind, ever said words like these to a woman.
Yes, he just sat there, with her perfect face and his perfect body, and waited.
“And then you’ll go and kill some people at work?” was all she managed to say to his explicit monologue.
She’s never been fucked anywhere, let alone her ass. So yeah.
“Well, not at work. For work,” he corrected.
“Uh uh,” she sighed. “And you are okay with me knowing about that then?”
“Like I told you, I want you to trust me.”
“Uh uh,” she sighed again. Then she set her napkin aside and told him calmly,
“Azriel, it certainly has been an interesting evening. I thank you. I am not sure I’ll ever forget it, or you, but...I don’t think that I am the girl you need,”
“All me to decide that,” he argued sharply.
She chewed the inside of her cheek, before clarifying, “I suppose I choose not to be that girl for you.”
“Why?”
“I like my boring little life. It suits me. And you...you don’t suit me or my life.”
She couldn’t even believe her own assertiveness. She was rarely like this.
“It’s unfortunate,” he said sadly. “Forgive me if I offended you,”
“Astonished, more like,”
“Better than offended.”
She got up from her chair and her knees felt soft and shaky, and for the first time she understood what ‘jelly legs’ were. She had jelly legs because of him.
“Thank you for dinner. I better be going.”
“I’d like to walk you to your car,” he offered.
“I think it’s a bad idea. Besides, I am getting an Uber. I drank too much. Goodbye, Azriel.”
She rushed out of the restaurant and onto the bustling Fulton Market, where there were hundreds of people milling around. Her fingers trembling, she got her phone out of her clutch and pressed the Uber button on the verge of hysteria now. She didn’t know where she was going even, so she pressed ‘home’ even though she knew this Uber would host like $60 at least. But she needed to get away. Away from here, away from him, away from making a bad decision. Very bad, terrible decision that she was yearning to make right now.
3 minutes.
3 minutes.
Okay, she just needed to make it for 3 minutes out here, until the car came.
She glanced at the phone frantically, over and over again, watching the little car move along the street diagram.
Suddenly, a familiar scarred hand reached over her shoulder and grabbed her phone.
“Wait! Give it back!” she demanded desperately.
Azriel smiled at her and then typed something in her phone.
“Now you have my number.”
A text chimed, and he added, “and I have yours”.
“We’ll never see each other again,” she promised.
“We’ll see,” he said simply.
Finally, Honda Civic! Blue! There she was!
She bounced on her heels impatiently, hoping he wouldn’t do anything, and yet hoping that he would at the same time.
Ugh.
“Goodbye, Azriel,” she said again.
He opened the door for her politely and before she folded herself into the car, he pressed his lips to the top of her head.
“Happy birthday, beautiful. I’ll see you later.”
-
Azriel ‘The Shadow’ Night had two problems on his hands.
As he watched the Honda weave in and out of busy traffic, he lit a cigarette—an occasional bad habit of his—and inhaled deeply.
Nothing that he told her was a lie.
He did find her to be incredibly beautiful. And his attraction to her was instant and hit him like an avalanche. He’d never felt anything remotely like this before. He wanted her with every fiber of his being and know, innately, that their paths were crossed forever and for a reason.
The only omission in his tale was that their meeting was not accidental. And that she was the target, who was his current assignment.
Now, he needed to figure out how to murder her, while keeping her alive.
#elriel#elriel fanfic#my fanfiction#my writing#elain archeron#azriel#azriel and elain#pro elriel#elain x azriel#elain#acotar fanfiction#Modern AU
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the reyes family ranch
the ranch . acres of open fields with patches of woodlands , the reyes family ranch is just over an hour outside of austin . it's medium sized and closed to the public , surviving mostly off of the angus beef market with the extra profits in sales of horses , puppies and goats . the entrance is clearly marked , a high wooden arch with the black iron sign proudly displaying REYES' RANCH with a silhouette of a longhorn incorporated in , matching the iron gates below . it's a long drive from the gate up to the house but gives a great sense of privacy and safety .
history . the ranch has been in carlos' family , on his dad's side , for generations . the family stories say for longer than texas has been american and while carlos isn't quite sure about that ( although he knows for sure that his family has lived in texas since before it was american ; they didn't come to america, his abuelo used to say , america came to them ) it has definitely been a long time . run by gabriels parents for over fifty years , the day to day the ranch is managed and run by the same foreman for the last 30 years .
the ranch house . the house itself looks small against the vast land that it sits on but it really isn't . it's all warm deeply coloured wood and carved stone with a decking that runs almost the whole way around it , littered with rocking chairs and porch swings . it's the definition of homely and lived in and loved . there's a pool , which is a fairly new addition , and a significant lack of fences around the house which made it difficult for all parents when the kids were younger . its far away enough from austin , far away enough from their neighbours that there is almost no light polution and at night the stars have never been brighter.
there's a guesthouse next door just used as overflow or for guests . when the grandchildren are older it's fair game for them to borrow for a few days if they want to and it matches the same feeling of the main house . warm, homely , loved .
removed from the main house and far away enough for privacy for all parties , there's a separate few cabins for the seasonal workers and ranch hands , a lightly larger cabin for the foreman and his family .
livestock & animals . for as long as the ranch has existed there have been longhorns . these days it's a smallish herd , raised for steer riding and the cultural image of texas . the main herd , roaming over acers and acers of fields , are angus --- raised and sold predominantly for beef . there is also a small goat herd kept mostly for clearing land inexpensively but occasionally sold for meat . there are dogs kept on the ranch as well ; three cattle dogs that help them with the herd and two great pyrenees as livestock guardian dogs for the goats . finally there are stables almost entirely full of horses . almost all of them are used on the ranch to travel the large distances to check up on the herd , raised and broken in on the ranch and looked after there all their lives . there's one horse in particular that carlos always had an affinity for , this tiny foal following nine year old carlos around turned into a young horse that carlos could ride bareback with no issues turned into an adult horse who clearly has a favourite and it's clearly carlos ----ten year old carlos called him spirit & he's carlos ' .
the ranch and carlos . growing up , carlos was at the ranch most weekends and seemingly every school break . it wasn't just a vacation of course , he was put to work in a way that he loved . when he was younger it was helping with the horses or feeding baby cows , as he got older the labour was more manual , reparing fences helping to round up the herd or train the dogs . he learned to ride at the ranch and his horsemanship was really good from a young age. when he was growing up the ranch was run by his grandparents but it was never just his grandparents house . he's always had a room there high in the eaves of the ranch house , as did his sisters and the rest of his cousins ( although some of them had to share ) , it was more like a second home . when carlos finished school he worked on the ranch as a wrangler for a three years before he decided to join the police . he loves it but he doesn't want to spend his whole life on it , he still has the drive to step out from his family's shadow . still , the ranch is one of his favourite places in the world even if there is an unwritten family rule that partners aren't allowed until after the wedding .
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Blooming with Potential: A Deep Dive into the Maternity Products Industry
The journey of motherhood is a beautiful and transformative experience. It's no surprise then, that the maternity products industry thrives on catering to the evolving needs of expecting and new mothers. From prenatal vitamins to comfortable clothing and post-partum essentials, this market offers a vast array of products. Let's delve into a comprehensive analysis of the maternity products industry, exploring its market segmentation and future outlook.
Market Size and Growth Trajectory: A Flourishing Industry
Global Market Value: The global maternity products industry is estimated to be worth a staggering USD 23.4 billion in 2023, showcasing its substantial size and economic impact.
Growth Projection: Exhibiting a healthy CAGR (Compound Annual Growth Rate) of 5.2%, the market is projected to reach a significant USD 33.2 billion by 2028. This upward trend reflects rising birth rates in some regions, growing disposable incomes, and increasing awareness about prenatal and postnatal well-being.
Market Segmentation: Catering to Every Stage of Motherhood
The maternity products industry caters to a diverse range of needs throughout pregnancy and motherhood:
Prenatal Care Products: Prenatal vitamins, maternity pillows, nausea relief medication, and pregnancy monitoring devices address the specific needs of expecting mothers.
Maternity Clothing: This segment offers comfortable and stylish clothing options that adapt to the changing body throughout pregnancy.
Baby Care Essentials: Products like baby bottles, diapers, wipes, and breastfeeding supplies are crucial for newborns and their mothers.
Postpartum Support Products: Breast pumps, lactation aids, postpartum recovery garments, and incontinence products cater to the physical needs of mothers after childbirth.
Nursing and Feeding Supplies: Breastfeeding accessories, bottle sterilizers, and high chairs are essential for feeding a newborn baby.
Market Trends Shaping the Future:
Several key trends are influencing the maternity products industry:
Focus on Comfort and Functionality: Pregnant and new mothers prioritize comfortable, functional, and stylish products that cater to their changing needs.
Rising Demand for Natural and Organic Products: There's a growing preference for natural and organic maternity clothing, baby care essentials, and personal care products made with safe ingredients.
Technological Advancements: Wearable technology for monitoring pregnancy health and smart lactation devices are innovations shaping the future of maternity products.
E-commerce Boom: Online platforms provide convenient access to a wider range of maternity products, allowing for easier price comparisons and product research.
Sustainability Concerns: Consumers are increasingly seeking eco-friendly maternity clothing, biodegradable baby products, and sustainable packaging options.
Market Players: Diverse Landscape of Brands and Retailers
The maternity products industry features a diverse range of players:
Established Maternity Brands: Companies specializing in maternity wear like Motherhood Maternity, Pea in a Pod, and Seraphine cater to the specific needs of expecting mothers.
Mainstream Clothing Retailers: Major clothing brands are expanding their maternity wear lines to cater to a wider audience.
Baby Care Product Giants: Companies like Johnson & Johnson, Pampers, and Philips Avent offer a range of baby care essentials suitable for newborns and their mothers.
Direct-to-Consumer (DTC) Brands: Online-first brands offering personalized maternity wear, subscription boxes for expecting mothers, and eco-friendly baby products are gaining traction.
Boutique and Independent Stores: These stores offer specialized customer service and curated collections of maternity products.
Looking Ahead: A Market Nurturing New Beginnings
The maternity products industry is a dynamic and ever-evolving landscape. By understanding the market size, growth trajectory, segmentation, and key players, businesses can contribute to creating innovative, comfortable, and sustainable products that support mothers throughout their pregnancy and motherhood journey.
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Spotting Trends Early: Latest High Chairs Market Research Report for Strategic Advantage
In the past few years, the High Chairs market experienced a huge change under the influence of COVID-19 and Russia-Ukraine War, the global market size of High Chairs reached the predicted milestone in 2022 with the rising CAGR from 2017-2022. Facing the complicated international situation, the future of the High Chairs market is full of uncertain. Report predicts that the global High Chairs market size will expected to achieve a constant upswing in 2028 with a growing CAGR from 2022-2028.
Since the outbreak of COVID-19, the world economy continues to suffer from a series of destabilizing shocks, many companies experienced bankruptcy and a sharp decline in turnover. After more than two years of pandemic, global economy began to recover, entering 2022, the Russian Federation s invasion of Ukraine and its global effects on commodity markets, supply chains, inflation, and financial conditions have steepened the slowdown in global growth. In particular, the war in Ukraine is leading to soaring prices and volatility in energy markets, with improvements in activity in energy exporters more than offset by headwinds to activity in most other economies. The invasion of Ukraine has also led to a significant increase in agricultural commodity prices, which is exacerbating food insecurity and extreme poverty in many emerging market and developing economies.
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Numerous risks could further derail what is now a precarious recovery. Among them is, in particular, the possibility of stubbornly high global inflation accompanied by tepid growth, reminiscent of the stagflation of the 1970s. This could eventually result in a sharp tightening of monetary policy in advanced economies to rein in inflation, lead to surging borrowing costs, and possibly culminate in financial stress in some emerging market and developing economies. A forceful and wide-ranging policy response is required by policy makers in these economies and the global community to boost growth, bolster macroeconomic frameworks, reduce financial vulnerabilities, provide support to vulnerable population groups, and attenuate the long-term impacts of the global shocks of recent years.
In this complex international situation, Report published Global High Chairs Market Status, Trends and COVID-19 Impact Report 2022, which provides a comprehensive analysis of the global High Chairs market , This Report covers the manufacturer data, including: sales volume, price, revenue, gross margin, business distribution etc., these data help the consumer know about the competitors better. This report also covers all the regions and countries of the world, which shows the regional development status, including market size, volume and value, as well as price data. Besides, the report also covers segment data, including: type segment, application segment, channel segment etc. historic data period is from 2017-2022, the forecast data from 2023-2028.
Section 1: 100 USD Market Overview
Section (2 3): 1200 USD Manufacturer Detail
Chicco
Evenflo
Fisher-Price
Graco
Peg Pérego
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Section 4: 900 USD Region Segment
North America (United States, Canada, Mexico)
South America (Brazil, Argentina, Other)
Asia Pacific (China, Japan, India, Korea, Southeast Asia)
Europe (Germany, UK, France, Spain, Russia, Italy)
Middle East and Africa (Middle East, South Africa, Egypt)
Section (5 6 7): 700 USD
Product Type Segment
High Chairs
Booster Seats
Application Segment
Baby Boutique Stores
Specialized Chain Stores
Online Retailers
Channel Segment (Direct Sales, Distribution Channel)
Section 8: 500 USD Market Forecast (2023-2028)
Section 9: 600 USD Downstream Customers
Section 10: 200 USD Raw Material and Manufacturing Cost
Section 11: 500 USD Conclusion
Section 12: Research Method and Data Source
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Table of Content
Chapter One: High Chairs Market Overview
1.1 High Chairs Market Scope
1.2 COVID-19 Impact on High Chairs Market
1.3 Global High Chairs Market Status and Forecast Overview
1.3.1 Global High Chairs Market Status 2017-2022
1.3.2 Global High Chairs Market Forecast 2023-2028
1.4 Global High Chairs Market Overview by Region
1.5 Global High Chairs Market Overview by Type
1.6 Global High Chairs Market Overview by Application
Chapter Two: Global High Chairs Market Manufacturer Share
2.1 Global Manufacturer High Chairs Sales Volume
2.2 Global Manufacturer High Chairs Business Revenue
2.3 Global Manufacturer High Chairs Price
Chapter Three: Manufacturer High Chairs Business Introduction
Chapter Four: Global High Chairs Market Segment (By Region)
Chapter Five: Global High Chairs Market Segment (by Product Type)
Chapter Six: Global High Chairs Market Segment (by Application)
Chapter Seven: Global High Chairs Market Segment (by Channel)
Chapter Eight: Global High Chairs Market Forecast 2023-2028
Chapter Nine: High Chairs Application and Customer Analysis
Chapter Ten: High Chairs Manufacturing Cost of Analysis
10.1 Raw Material Cost Analysis
10.2 Labor Cost Analysis
10.3 Cost Overview
Chapter Eleven: Conclusion
Chapter Twelve: Research Method and Data Source continued…
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#markettrends#marketresearch#marketreport#marketforecast#marketanalysis#marketgrowth#marketdata#marketdemand#imarc#imarcgroup
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Stylish and Functional Rattan Crib for Eco-Conscious Parents
Maisontini is a brand that creates stylish and functional furniture pieces for children. One of their most popular products is the Rattan Crib, a beautiful and eco-friendly option for parents who want to provide a safe and comfortable sleeping environment for their little ones.
The Rattan Crib is made from natural rattan, a sustainable material that is lightweight, durable, and biodegradable. It has a simple yet elegant design, with a sturdy frame that can support the weight of a growing baby. The crib comes with a soft and breathable mattress, ensuring that your child sleeps soundly throughout the night.
What sets the Maisontini Rattan Crib apart from other cribs on the market is its versatility. It can be used as a traditional crib for infants or converted into a toddler bed as your child grows. This makes it a cost-effective investment that can be used for years to come.
In addition to the rattan crib, Maisontini also offers a kids' rattan table that is perfect for playtime and study time. The table is made from the same high-quality rattan material as the crib and features a minimalist design that complements any decor. It is the ideal size for young children and can be paired with Maisontini's matching rattan chairs for a complete set.
Like the rattan crib, the kids' rattan table is a sustainable and eco-friendly option for parents who want to reduce their environmental impact. Rattan is a renewable resource that grows quickly and requires little water or pesticides to cultivate. By choosing rattan furniture, you are supporting sustainable practices and promoting a healthier planet for future generations.
Another benefit of rattan furniture is its durability. Rattan is resistant to water and can withstand exposure to the elements, making it an ideal choice for outdoor furniture as well. The Maisontini Rattan Crib and Kids Rattan Table are designed to last for years, ensuring that your investment pays off in the long run.
In addition to being eco-friendly and durable, the Maisontini Rattan Crib and Kids Rattan Table are also beautiful and stylish. The natural texture and color of rattan give these pieces a timeless look that complements any decor. They are the perfect choice for parents who want to create a warm and inviting atmosphere in their child's room.
Overall, the Maisontini Rattan Crib and Kids Rattan Table are excellent choices for parents who want to provide their children with high-quality, sustainable, and stylish furniture. They are versatile, durable, and eco-friendly, making them a smart investment that will last for years. Whether you are looking for a crib for your newborn or a table for your toddler, Maisontini has you covered with their beautiful and functional rattan furniture.
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Baby Furniture market Expecting the Unexpected future in 2028; SWOT analysis, investment feasibility analysis
Latest business intelligence report released on Global Baby Furniture Market, covers different industry elements and growth inclinations that helps in predicting market forecast. The report allows complete assessment of current and future scenario scaling top to bottom investigation about the market size, % share of key and emerging segment, major development, and technological advancements. Also, the statistical survey elaborates detailed commentary on changing market dynamics that includes market growth drivers, roadblocks and challenges, future opportunities, and influencing trends to better understand Baby Furniture market outlook.
List of Key Players Profiled in the study includes market overview, business strategies, financials, Development activities, Market Share and SWOT analysis are:
Goodbaby (China)
Delta Children (United States)
Strokraft (United States)
Million Dollar Baby Classic (United States)
Silver Cross Ltd. (United Kingdom)
Natart Juvenile, Inc. (Canada)
Graco, Inc. (United States)
Dream on Me, Inc. (United States)
In today’s modern world, parents are constantly concerned about getting the best quality products in the market and doing everything right so that their babies are safe and sound. Market players are also focusing on the development of most cutting edge products according to the changing customer demands. Moreover, changing lifestyle standards and rising disposable income in developing economies expected to fuel the market growth during the forecasted period.
Key Market Trends: Adoption of Experiential Marketing Strategies by Market Players
Emphasizing On Development of Safe and Durable Baby Furniture
Opportunities: Growing Demand for Portable and Multifunctional Baby Furniture
Rising Demand from the Developing Economies
Market Growth Drivers: Changing Lifestyle Standard Fueled by Rise in Disposable Income
Growing Number of Nuclear Families
Challenges: Increasing Number of Local Manufacturers
Customer’s choice on selective buying patterns
The Global Baby Furniture Market segments and Market Data Break Down by Type (Baby Cribs, Baby High Chair, Baby Bouncer, Other), Application (Household, Commercial), Distribution Channel (Online Retail, Offline Retail), Material (Wood, Plastic, Metal, Others), Operation (Portable, Convertible, Standard, Multifunctional)
Presented By
AMA Research & Media LLP
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chill out city claire andrews claireandrewss classic clout clout goggles college colour colourful country cowabunga dancing, skeleton dark blue dead head death designs disco dolphin donut doodle dorm down drake dude edm elephant elephants emoji eno equal pay eyes fall fat buddha fist floral flower flowers font four stars fries fruit fry funds fye gd50 girl gang girl girl girls
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Is My Beloved Home Office Chair Dead?
The Best Writers Chair in the World
Yes, I am sad to say I may be parting with my office chair.
There are lots of things that I love when it comes to writing and blogging, but one of the things I love the most has to be the fact that it allows me to work from home…Today I am inspired to write a blog post about my beloved office chair; it is not an ancient relic, but it is in decline.
If you could have any one thing in the world, what would you want?
I think it would be a very strange and unusual person who said, “I think I’d like a very comfy chair.” After all, who wouldn’t want a castle, a yacht, or a space ship?
Anyway, I digress…
My love affair with my chair started many years ago when I was trying to figure out how to get my ergonomic kneeling chair replaced.
It was one of those things that had been on the to do list for a while.
The wheels had almost fallen off my ergonomic kneeling chair and I had to admit to myself that I couldn’t stand sitting on it anymore. So, I thought I would take a look at what was out there. I was rather surprised to find there was a whole lot of really, really expensive office chairs out there.
And then I saw it...
For nearly ten years it has had pride of place at my desk, within an arms reach of everything I need to work and write. Everyone who visits my office makes a beeline for it and I have watched people’s faces light up as they sink into its deeply padded, racy curves.
I have referred to it at times as the ‘cockpit’ because of its supportive, high-back red and black seat. It doesn’t have a huge footprint, yet it is surprisingly deep and comfortable. It was an investment, the best office chair I ever bought; but not the most expensive. It is based on a race car design, so I feel like Mario Andretti when I sit in it.
Recently though, it has begun to die.
The fabric is peeling away terribly, sticking to me. The plastic bits aren’t disintegrating yet but I do wonder now, how long have I left? Honestly, I do feel we have some mileage left, a long ways to go. I will sit in this baby until it no longer supports me, or will I?
It is no longer making the same impression when clients come calling, even though its awesome padding is in tact.
Is it time for a new office chair?
If yes, which one? This is not an easy decision.
Sitting at a desk for hours every day isn’t fun without comfort and at some point a good chair can make all the difference. Someone suggested I get one of those standing desks and change my whole office set up, to help with my lower back ache. Apparently, its better for you and its trending. You can imagine what I thought of them.
Last weekend, I found myself in a homewares store and I paused to ask myself what should I look for in a new office chair. I mean, there are so many options on the market today, and they range from tiny, minimalist, folding chairs, to big, big, big comfy chairs that look like they’re meant for a king. Other than the fact that I sit at a desk all day, what is it I need to consider when buying a new office chair? And just so you know, I have been through a lot of office chairs. Including one of those weird ergonomic kneeling chairs.
I do kind of like the idea of a throne, but let’s not focus on that. I have thought about it long and hard, and all I could come up with is that I will sit in it. The last thing I need is a king sized office chair – something that’s so big that I have to request assistance to get out of it. I want a chair that’s as comfortable as possible. I need a chair that feels like luxury from the moment I sit down. And I will know when I see it. I will recognise that moment, when chair and me become one. It is destiny. Do you feel it too?
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Color:LinenWhatever you've got-kids, pets, or just a clumsy adult, the Delta Children Lancaster Rocking Chair featuring LiveSmart Fabric by Culp can handle it all. Upholstered in the most durable fabric on the market, this rocking chair features LiveSmart technology, which allows spills to bead up, sitting on top of the fabric until you're available to gently blot them away. Setting a restful tone with its thickly padded seat cushion and armrests, this chair sits above wood rocker feet that create a smooth swaying motion that will instantly comfort tired babies and parents. At home in any space that needs a cozy spot to kick back, the Delta Children Lancaster Rocking Chair featuring LiveSmart Fabric by Culp can effortlessly go from the nursery to the living room to the man cave. Available in a number of versatile neutrals that work well with everything. Delta Children was founded around the idea of making safe, high-quality children's furniture affordable for all families. They know there's nothing more important than safety when it comes to your child's space. That's why all Delta Children products are built with long-lasting materials to ensure they stand up to years of jumping and playing. Plus, they are rigorously tested to meet or exceed all industry safety standards.
Upholstered in LiveSmart Fabric by Culp; a performance fiber with exceptional clean ability and durability
This chair features a gentle and smooth rocking motion; Designed with your comfort in mind, tested for safety and expertly crafted for durability.Do not use bleach
Sturdy frame provides stability; Assembled dimensions: 30.75 Inches L x 34.75 Inches W x 34.75 Inches H; Seat Size: 20.50 Inches W x 21.75 Inches D x 19.50 Inches H; Seat to Backrest: 19.75 Inches H
Durable wood rocking base in a rich espresso (brown) finish
Seat cushion with pocketed coil spring construction for long lasting comfort and support
[amz_corss_sell asin="B078HGD5GD"]
https://www.decorishing.com/product/delta-children-lancaster-rocking-chair-featuring-live-smart-fabric-linen/?feed_id=32986&_unique_id=6277573979c43
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Curious Gazes
prompt: [CEO!Harry] four times harry has been spotted by employees being very unlike his demeanor at work.
word count: 4.3 k
warnings: harry is an asshole to everyone but is wife and baby.
**** <-- click for visuals throughout the story. ( because i love showing off how dumb rich harry is - i mean he’s a billionaire ffs)
notes: thanks so much for the love on the first part. I will be writing quite a bit for this trope. the next addition will be all smut. love you, enjoy.
PART ONE
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RESERVATION RUN-IN
Harry has over a hundred-thousand full-time employees. He has nearly ten-thousand at his London office at all times. The skyscraper was beautiful with clear glass, a reflective grey tone, and the structure screamed modern. It has eighty-three floors.
So with that being said, Harry does not know even one third of the people who work in the building nor does he want to. He couldn’t pick them out of a line-up if he tried.
However, having so many employees in the city means his staff members are bound to catch sight of their boss pretty often outside of the office.
Sarah, Lucielle, Jack, and Anya - all from the customer service department of Styles Media and Marketing Inc. - are all out to dinner. They decided to go all out and dish out a hefty amount to eat at Il Nascondiglio Segreto. It was a reservation they had made nearly a month ago.
As they’re enjoying their appetizer, Lucielle nearly chokes on her oyster, “Holy shit. It’s Harry,” She whispers, nodding her head in the direction she was staring with bulging eyes.
They all can’t help but turn subtly, a perfect vantage point from where they’re sat right across the way from the group of employees. Their boss was dressed in a bit more casual - not by much - attire than he’d worn to the office earlier that Friday afternoon.
He had an open blazer with a white, nearly see-through button up. Their eyes nearly jumping out of their skulls when they spot his butterfly tattoo sitting on right below his sternum. Jack’s hawk eyes catch that he has a name in cursive on his left pec.
Plus his normal tailored suit trousers were replaced with tight skinny jeans that hugged his crotched - making it unmistakable that he was well….endowed. Hair was no longer as styled and curled. Laying more carelessly on his shoulders. ****
But what was the most absurd thing they saw him wearing was a smile. His lips were curled up in a large, white grin that was big enough to cause little wrinkles around his eyes.
His hand intertwined with his wife’s until they arrived at their table, pulling out her chair for her, landing a soft kiss on her cheek before sitting down in his across from her.
He automatically puts an open palm halfway across the table and his date places her’s right on top of it. Her large engagement ring and wedding band sparkling in the low lighting in the restaurant. They were holding hands over the table.
The group had never actually seen the women they deemed Cruella Deville. They had envisioned his wife with bleach blonde hair, fake tits, and fish lips complimented with botox that made it so her forehead didn’t move.
But they were met with a beautiful, natural one instead. She had gorgeous curled locks trailing down her back, light neutral makeup with normal sized lips, small creases where they should be.
Her body was natural as well, breasts pushed up in a bra but obviously not manufactured by the way they sat, a bit of a pouch around her midsection - a telltale sign from her recent pregnancy, and a radiant smile to match her husband’s.
They looked so happy and in love.
She was dressed short, polka-dotted black dress with a pair of simple black shoes. She complimented with with a bright red lip which stood out against the dark fabric. ***
It’s not that they didn’t look like a match - she was absolutely stunning. It just wasn’t who they imagined for the boss they despised ninety percent of the time.
The group can’t keep their eyes off the couple - subtly, of course - for their whole time at the restaurant.
Harry was laughing loudly - different sound than when he laughed without a humor at bumbling, nervous employees.
It was light and higher pitched - but still gravely low; smooth like honey as his wife matches his laughs.
At one point, after their meal arrives - Harry offers her a spoonful of his food, playfully complaining that she took too big of a bite - but then immediately offering her more right after.
When she excused herself to the bathroom, Lucille catches Harry’s sneaky hand reaching out to give her backside a quick grope which earns him a warning glance that has him snickering.
Anya who was in the restroom nearly runs into her, Y/N apologizes instantly, “I’m sorry! Wasn’t watching where I was going! Are you alright?”
Anya nods, a bit at a loss of words, talking to Harry Styles' wife, “I’m okay, thank you.”
“I swear I have two left feet,” Y/N jokes, complimenting her dress before disappearing into a stalls. A completely lovely girl.
It’s pathetic but the group lingers around to watch their boss’s full dinner date. It was creepy but they were just so stunned at the man that was sitting by them.
The couples behavior had turned more flirty by this point, Y/N’s eyelashes fluttering at little bit more at her husband, her giggles flowing more often with licks to her lips.
By the clenched fist on the table, Harry seems to be falling prey to the teasing.
But when his wife whispers something - that must have been filthy - and leans forward so her cleavage is displayed more, Harry’s pulling out his wallet, pulling an absurd amount of bills out and throwing them carelessly on the table.
Y/N’s eyes are twinkling in victory as her husband stands and helps her out of her chair - ever the gentlemen.
It doesn’t seem very gentlemen like though when his hand comes to the very lowest point on the small of her back - pushing her into him. He leans down to murmur something into her ear before landing a damp, way too intimate for public kiss to her jaw and then throat.
In turn, she looks up at him with a mischievous tilt of her lip and a challenging raised brow. You could cut their sexual tension with a knife.
Y/N lifts up on her toes to kiss him before grabbing his hand and guiding him out of the establishment quickly - his eyes glued to her bum the whole time.
Jack breaks the bated silence, with a bewildered chortle, “What the fuck was that?”
Sarah sips her wine, “Maybe he has a twin? Like a good twin? And he’s the evil one.”
They all laugh and finish up their desserts.
---
MOTHER’S DAY SHOPPING
Kasey and Tom - from Human Resources - are out for the day. It was a week before Mother’s Day and they were both scrambling for a gift at the shops.
Harrod’s was nearly empty as they had came in a few minutes after the store opened. Kasey had gotten distracted from her mission and was trying on shoes.
There was a 40% off sale and she wasn’t passing that up.
Tom had wondered off to the electronics department very soon after the first five shoeboxes arrived next to her chair.
“Pink!” Kasey hears a high-pitched baby voice squeal with utter delight. She looks up to see a curly haired toddler pointing at a pair of pink baby shoes.
The little girl had the cutest denim dress on with white stripes ***, white tights on, and white Mary Janes. When Kasey looked closer she realized the Gucci emblem was on the dress - holy shit, she didn’t even know Gucci made baby clothes.
“Daddy, please?” The toddler asks in a sweet, small voice looking to the approaching man who scoops her up in the crook of his elbow.
“Ivy, y’can’t run away from daddy. Do you understand me?”
Kasey’s eyes widen as she recognizes that deep, raspy voice. It was her boss, Harry Styles, and with his little mini who looked like a cherub angel.
“No run, daddy,” Ivy grins up at him, looking for approval.
The slightly stern look dissipates from his face into a softer, relaxed smile at his daughter’s words. He kept her close against his chest.
“Daddy, please?” She piques up again, pointing at the small shoes on the wall.
“Y’want those shoes?” Harry asks, nodding towards the pink sneakers.
Ivy nods before pointing at the other shoes next to it, “All, please?”
Despite her father not having any manners in the slightest, his daughter seemed to have excellent etiquette.
Harry chuckles, smoothing a stray curl down from her forehead, “Y’want a pair of all these shoes?”
Ivy nods with wide doe eyes and one of her dimples popping in her left cheek.
“Y’mother’s going to kill me,” Kasey hears Harry mutter before waving a sales associate over.
“Good to see you, Mr. Styles - I’m Tracey. What can I help you with?”
Of course they knew him by name. He was by the looks of it one of their most appreciated customers, figuring he rarely wears the same thing twice.
“Can I please get a pair of all these shoes in a toddler’s size three? And can you please ring them up for me? Thank you,” Harry asks, his voice taking on the executive and firm tone with the associate who nods and turns on her heel.
“Daddy? Kissy?” The girl asks her father, her little palm patting his cheek and she’s puckering her pink lips.
“Yes baby,” Harry obliges, giving her a peck before blowing a raspberry on her cheek. He tugs down her dress that’s ridden up in true parent fashion.
As they’re waiting, Harry continues to talk to his daughter, “Y’know pet, we came here to shop for mumma for mother’s day. Y’always manage to get something out of it, hmm?”
“Mummy?” Ivy squawks, repeating her father’s word.
“Yes, mummy. I think she’s really going to like the necklace we picked out,” Harry taps at her nose, his eyes just read love and amazement for his little girl.
Kasey was dumbfounded.
This man had literally stormed into their offices yesterday, frustration seeping into his loud tone as he asked the room of employees if it was a lady's brunch club or a place of employment when he hadn’t gotten a report on his desk at a certain time.
They’d all stuttered and apologized but Harry had already slammed the door of his way out - the doorframe shaking. A nasty email being sent to their inboxes mere minutes later.
“Mr. Styles? We are out of two of the pairs,” The saleswoman appears and tells him, tablet now in hand.
Harry’s voice is calm but he looks her dead in the eye, “Do you not know how to ship them to a house? I don’t have time for this nonsense.”
She begins to apologize, pulling up a page of her tablet, “Your total comes to £6,309.45 for the shoes.”
Kasey’s eyes nearly pop from her head at the total but Harry merely blinks and states, “Charge it to my Amex on file.”
“Would you like me to add on the items you picked up downstairs? That would bring your total to £ 213,088.79. The necklace *** will be shipped within the next two weeks and will need to be signed for at your doorstep by an authorized person of your choosing, they’ll need to provide identification to certify their identity.”
“I need the necklace by next Sunday- it’s my daughter’s Mother’s Day gift to her mum - hence the pink diamonds,” Harry states to the woman like she’s stupid.
Did that woman just say that amount? And did Harry not even bat an eyelash at it.
Kasey’s brain couldn’t really comprehend it.
“Expedited shipping on this item would be…” Tracey looks down at her tablet and taps a few buttons, “It will be an extra £3,219 for expedited shipping as it’s coming from Swittzerland.”
Harry is distracted for a moment as Ivy is wriggling until Harry puts her down. Kasey didn’t see that he had a plush doll tucked in between his jeans and belt on his back.
“Baby doll,” Ivy pokes at her father’s thigh, too short to reach her toy.
Harry tugs it out and hands it to her, “Stay right here, Vee.”
Ivy unceremoniously plops on the ground next to her father’s leather boot while he confirms the purchases and signs off on them.
It was cute - the plush baby doll she was playing with was ratty, worn, and very visibly loved. It seems as if it’s been her favorite toy for a while.
After finishing up with Tracey, Kasey sees him slip her a few bills for her trouble and lugs Ivy back up onto his hip.
“Shake, daddy?” Ivy lisps hopefully, green eyes sparkling up at her father’s.
Harry lets out a chuckle, “No, baby. It’s only ten in the morning, y’can’t have a milkshake. Let go home, maybe mumma will make us some blueberry pancakes if we give her lots of kisses?”
“Mummy,” Ivy agrees happily, her plush held tightly against her chest.
“She’s going to love your gift, darlin’, even though y’the best gift we’ve ever got,” Harry murmurs lovingly, pressed a warm kiss to his daughter’s cheek.
Tom has wandered back to the shoe department, eyes unfortunately meeting his boss’ right away - widen with surprise.
Harry’s eyes narrow when he finds Tom staring, “Can I help y’mate?”
“Uh-no! Sorry, just, erm, I work for you?” Tom stutters stupidly at his annoyed employer who currently has his toddler trying to pulls his sunglasses off the top of his head.
“Then I’d recommend, if you’d like it to stay that way, you mind your own damn business,” Harry bites out with a warning tone, unnecessarily rude.
Ivy doesn’t seem bothered, delighted when she tugs the shades off his head and attempts to put them on. She begins huffing as she struggles and Harry gently takes them and slides them on for her.
Tom nods, still baffled, and scurries over to Kasey.
They both glance back when their boss isn’t looking. He hears him murmur softly, “Let’s go see mummy.”
“Pancakes?” Ivy chirps, looking at her dad for confirmation.
“Anythin’ for you, my little love,” Harry agrees, starting to walks to the elevator to the entrance of the store.
Tom and Kasey look at each other with unexplainable expressions as they watch their asshole of a boss clearly wrapped around a toddler’s finger.
—-
THE PARK
“Hi! Is anyone sitting here?” Savannah hears from beside her on the park bench.
She looks up to see a beautiful, young woman looking to be around her age looking at her expectantly. She has a backpack on her shoulders and a curly-haired toddler on her hip.
“Nope! You’re good!” Savannah replies kindly, moving over to make room on the bench for her to sit.
“Awesome, thank you. I’m Y/N and this is Ivy. Say ‘hi’,” Y/N prompts her daughter with a nudge.
Ivy puts on a beaming smile, white little blocky teeth on display, “Hi.”
“I’m Savannah and the little brunette boy in the green shirt is mine - his name’s Flynn.”
“Tell her how old you are, baby,” Y/N smiles, always trying to get her daughter to socialize as much as possible.
“Two!” Ivy giggles before impatiently squirming, “Mummy, play.”
Y/N laughs, “Just as impatient as your father. Go on, stay where mumma can see you, please.”
Ivy nods before speeding off towards the little jungle-gym to automatically start playing with the little group of kids.
“I wish I had their energy,” Y/N sighs, tugging a water bottle out of her backpack.
Savannah was obsessed with everything gucci - even though she couldn’t afford anything - so when she spots the flashy bag, she can’t help but ask, “Is that a custom Gucci monogram multipack?”***
Y/N takes a sip before answering, “Yeah, my husband gave it to me as a gift on ‘national stay at home mum day’ - which I don’t even think is a real thing. He just knows I’ll chew him out if he buys me things like this without reason.”
They both laugh, Savannah can’t help but glance over the woman a little bit closer. She had a ratty, vintage tee on, plain black leggings, and a pair of black Nikes on - nothing that screamed over the top.
But then she spots the engagement ring *** on her finger. Savannah thought it looked so extravagant it almost looked fake. But the way the faucets reflect so magnificently in the sunshine makes her sure it’s real.
“What was that?” Savannah snaps back, realizing she hadn’t heard what Y/N was saying - too busy deciding how much money she had which wasn’t right when the girl was being so friendly.
“Oh, just - do you know any mum groups around here? I was in a group but all they liked to do was gossip and bitch. And I think Ivy heard the word ‘cunt’ one too many times from them.”
Savannah barks out a laugh, Y/N turns out to be extremely funny and friendly. She has a bit of a foul mouth and a quick wit but is a good listener.
“And so I said to the dude -“ Y/N cuts off when her phone rings, digging it out and answering, “Hi H, yeah. The one with the big purple slide, okay.”
When she hangs up, she tells her new friend, “My husband is stopping by really quick. He has a business dinner later and won’t see Ivy before her bedtime. Or me before my bedtime,” Y/N laughs.
“That’s so nice of him!” Savannah says, knowing her husband enjoyed when everyone was asleep by the time he came home. Would never go out of his way like Y/N’s husband would.
Y/N says with a smile in her eyes, “Yeah, he’s really good to us.”
They continue to chat until they hear a loud engine revving into the car park, Y/N rolls her eyes and mutters, “Of course, he brings the loudest car today.”
A vintage car swings into a spot and Savannah nearly gasps at who exits the car and begins to stride towards them. No one other than her boss.
The man who had her doing her job by the book and when one hair fell out of place he knew right away.
The man who she avoided at all cost possibly - taking the stairs so she doesn’t have to be in the elevator with his intimidating presence.
It took her a minute to connect the dots. Y/N was married to Harry? Harry was Ivy’s dad? It through her through a loop - Y/N was just - so nice.
But it does explain all the gucci and the massive diamond ring. She did happen to work for a fucking billionare. Y/N didn’t come off as a billionaire or a billionaire’s wife.
‘Holy shit, this is wild,’ Savannah thought.
Harry makes his way over to the bench, Y/N standing up to hug him. Harry kisses her softly with a large palm coming to slip under the back of her shirt to rub at her bare back.
Uh - this man was being loving and affectionate? Proving all Savannah's preconceived notions about him wrong. Mostly that he was a robot.
“Hi darlin’, have a good day?” Harry asks his wife, still holding onto her and tugging her into his side - looking to Ivy who was obliviously - playing on the swing.
“Mmm, don’t want you to go tonight,” Yn/Ngroans dramatically, squeaking when Harry playfully pinches her side.
“Tell me and I won’t go,” He murmurs with surprising sincerity against his wife’s cheek, smiling when Ivy lets out a loud, carefree giggle with her new friends.
“Oh! I’m being rude. This is Savannah, Savannah this is my husband Harry,” Y/N introduces the two, unknowing of their connection.
Savannah swallows harshly and gives him a timid wave, “Hello.”
Harry shows no recognition that he knows her but gives her a curt nod and rasps out a “hello.”
Y/N rolls his eyes at her husband, patting his toned stomach, “He’s always a little crabby after work,” She jokes as he smirks at her - he’s rarely ever crabby with his wife and they both know it.
After work? How about from the time he stepped foot through the lobby doors everyday? He only had one mode at work - crabby.
“It’s ok-“
“Daddy!” A squeal interrupts them, a blur of brunette curls crashing into her father’s legs - full force with excitement.
Harry is bending down and tucking her into his arms for a hug, “Hi baby, y’bein’ so good for mumma?”
His tone had shifted into a low, relaxed drawl that Savannah had never heard. His words are kind and caring towards his daughter.
“Good for mumma,” Ivy parrots her father, dimples popping as she pushes at Harry’s face when he attacks her with kisses.
“You taste so good I could eat yah!” Harry growls playfully, Ivy giggling delightedly at her fathers antics until her cheeks are flushed pink with laughter.
“Swings, daddy,” Ivy motions with green doe eyes. Grass and mud stains the outfit her mother had dressed her in - cute striped overalls with a white tee underneath *** and little sneakers ****.
“Oh dove, I wish I could. I have to go back to work,” Harry frowns, his thumb coming to caress her sweaty cheekbone.
Her brows furrowed and her full pink lips turned down - Savannah has to contain a laugh by how much she looks like her father with the displeased grimace on her face.
“No, no, Daddy,” Ivy argues adamantly, her eyes brimming with sad tears.
“Vee, c’mon, my love. I’ll be home later,” Harry soothes, starting to rock her from side to side to calm her.
But Ivy is in her terrible twos and doesn’t like the word ‘no.’
Y/N comes up to her husband’s side, tucking a hand into his back pocket to rest.
“Ivy Elizabeth, we need to let your father go. Come to mummy now, please,” Her mother asks in a soft but firm tone.
“No!” Ivy absolutely shrieks with a awfully high pitch, “No mummy, daddy swings!”
The couple shares a look before Y/N is gathering her backpack on her shoulder, looking back to Savannah, “Hey! Text me, it’s about nap time for this one.”
Savannah agrees and gives them both a wave off as Harry totes his tantruming toddler to a sleek, teal SUV. It takes her a moment to scoff internally - off course it’s a Bentley ***.
And because Savannah can’t help but be nosey she googles the price of the car and quickly locks her screen when she sees the base price is £ 210,000.
Harry is planting little pecks on his daughter’s face and murmuring to her until her tears have dried up and she’s laughing at her dad once again.
After Harry straps her into the car seat and shuts the door, he gently pushes his wife back against it. His body is crowding hers, arm over her shoulder against the car.
The talk for a moment before Harry’s ducking down to pull a few kisses from her lips before she’s giggling and pushing him off.
Savannah couldn’t wait to tell the old women at in her customer relations department tomorrow.
—
THE GAME
Cassie didn’t mind Harry actually. She made his coffee nearly every morning and she secretly knew he was the one who left those hefty tips.
She’d fumbled over his orders a few times when she’d started and apologized profusely but Harry had just looked up from his phone and said, “S’fine.”
Yeah, that’s not much but compared to some of the horror stories she hears, but she was grateful for another reason.
—-
One day he had found her crying in a empty corridor that he used to walk to his car at the end of his day.
“Y’alright?” Her boss asks gruffly, pausing to look down at her - no clear emotion on his face.
Cassie nods sheepishly, “M’sorry, I’m just really stressed out.”
Harry’s eyes flash a tad darker, “Is Carole giving you trouble?”
Carole was her manager.
“N-no. I got declined for my school financial aid. If I don’t come up with the money I’ll have to drop out. I-I have a son and I do-don’t have the money to go without help.”
Harry doesn’t say anything, rustling into the inner pocket of his suit and fishing out something - a checkbook.
He clicks the pen and moves his hand quickly across the pad before ripping it out and handing it to her, “Good luck and use the extra on your family. Don’t go spreading it around that I did this.”
Cassie goes to thank him or refuse it but when she looks back up from the check he’s already striding away down the hallway away from her.
She lets out a loud sob as she sees a check written for £150,000 right in front of her.
—
Cassie still works at the Starbucks part-time while attending college with the help of her secretly kind boss.
The extra money she’s stowed away in an education fund for her son after he graduates.
Anyways, she was at Man U football game that she got invited to with her boyfriend - Jacob. His dad won tickets for box seats from his work in a raffle.
Cassie soon realized that their box was right by the Styles Media and Marketing one. The way they were placed, she could see right into their area.
It was just Harry and a woman in there.
They were obviously a couple and this was the Cruella Deville. Cassie didn’t refer to her as that as she had a bit of a different perspective of the man.
His wife was sipping on a water bottle and cheering loudly with the rest of the fans. Harry watched her with amusement at her excited behavior, at one point pulling his photo out and snapping a picture of her.
When the exciting bit is over, she seats herself on his lap and wriggles until her back is against his chest - comfortable and cozy.
His large palm comes to cup at her stomach, Cassie now seeing that she is clearly pregnant as he cradles the noticeable bump protectively.
For most of the game, his hand never leaves her belly - rubbing circles with his thumb. His head came to rest on her shoulder to watch the game.
They seem so happy together - giggling and talking animatedly throughout. His wife constantly tilting her head back with her lips puckered requesting kisses that Harry happily supplies each time.
At one point, Cassie witnesses Y/N eat two huge corndogs in a row while her husband watches her with humor in his eye. Then goes on to order her a massive spool of candy floss that he feeds her throughout the game.
It was a late game and it was now in overtime. The clock reads nearly eleven at night. Harry’s wife has dozed off against his shoulder and when he notices he gently rouses her.
As she blinks her eyes open, Harry shucks his jacket of his shoulder and helped her slip it on. They must decide to call it a night because he’s helping her up, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, and guiding her out of the box.
Cassie never tells anyone that she saw him that night or what he did to help her family.
The End.
Hope you bubbbies enjoyed. Send me requests for this verse. Smut is up next for this trope.
#Harry Styles#harrystylesfanfic#harry styles smut#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x you#harry styles x reader#fan fic#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fluff#harry styles dad#dad!harry#husband!harry#husband harry styles#ceo!harry#ceo Harry#harry styles fic rec#harry styles request#harry styles writing#harry styles writing request#harry styles masterlist#harry styles drabble#harry styles blurb#dark harry styles#one direction
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Not related to the other two Bio!mom Harley AUs that I did. Just... similar. I wrote this instead of sleeping, as per the usual.
—*—*—*—*—*
“I need your help.”
No accent, no threats of violence, no beating around the bush (figurative or otherwise). No fighting or unconscious bodies.
Just Harley Quinn with her hair down, no makeup, and completely serious, in the center of the Bat Cave. Even though her usual exaggerated Brooklynn accent (circa 1950s) had become a pretty inseparable part of her personality over the years, every now and then she forcibly stuffed it down and used her mostly unaccented voice. The one reminiscent of days with less colors on her face, a high bun, and a pristine white lab coat.
Every single one of the Bats and Birds present, fresh from an interrupted patrol thanks to her, could count the number of times they had seen Harley like this on one hand. Bruce would have the most recollections, but everyone else would have plenty of fingers left on said hand. So they all knew, especially when Bruce willingly pulled down his cowl so he could look Harley in the eye, that this was the start of something they were not likely to forget. And maybe their chances of survival were slim too.
“Harley,” Bruce’s voice was still gruff, seeing as he was still mostly Batman at the moment, but his eyes were soft. “Maybe you should tell us what you need help with first. And sit down. You look exhausted.”
Sure enough, there were dark circles under Harley’s eyes. She let Bruce-man lead her over to one of their debriefing tables and sit her down. She let out a huge sigh, her fingers tangling in her loose blond locks.
“I have a confession, and it isn’t gonna leave this cave, capiche?” The slight return of her accent relieved a little of the tension, but not much. Taking this as their cue, the rest of the bats spread out into their usual seats at the table. Bruce stayed near Harley, keeping a hand on her shoulder in silent support. Harley didn’t continue talking until he gave her a solemn nod in agreement. She gulped— an action that immediately returned the tension.
“... fifteen years ago, back when I was still with Joker, I disappeared off the Gotham scene for a few months. I’m sure a few of you remember,” she looked up, and a couple of the older vigilantes nodded. Really, Jason has still been Robin back then. But the memory stuck out in his head now that he was thinking about it.
“Yeah, you were breaking away from him a little bit, which was weird at the time,” Red Hood mused aloud, arms crossed. “I think you helped us out a couple times and did some of your first team ups with Ivy before you vanished. Then a few months go by and you were back in action with Joker, so we mostly ignored it as you just being you.”
Harley nodded. “Ah, my Ivy’s a lifesaver, even back then. She helped cover up the timeline by keeping me in action for longer than I should’a been without putting me at too much risk.”
“Timeline…” Red Robin spoke up, eyes huge even behind his mask. “You don’t mean—“
“Harley,” Bruce breathed, having also caught on. “You were pregnant?”
The air went still. Harley sniffed, eyes watering even as she smiled.
“Oh yeah. Shouldn’t have been possible, ya know? Me ‘n Joker being dumped in that damn acid should have made us both more sterile than an operatin’ room. But I knew I couldn’t raise a kid, so after she was born—“
“You kept her?” Damian interrupted, earning a gentle cuff over the head from Dick. Harley just snorted.
“Yeah. Not gonna lie, I thought about abortion. But the baby didn’t do nothin’ wrong, and I was still in love with Joker back then so I was ecstatic that I was able to make something new with part ‘a him in it. Still, I knew a baby didn’t deserve to be raised in Gotham. Especially not my baby, not with my enemies and history. Not with who her father was. I knew he’d never want her, never let me keep her. So I spent the last five months of my pregnancy lookin’ around for the best possible family to take her in. And I found them in Paris, France. A sweet couple, both of them bakers. Sabine, she’s both adorably sweet and super kickass. Comes from a Chinese family that is crazy about teachin’ their women martial arts. But nothing shady about it, I triple checked. Just bonding through kicking people in the face. Which is perfect, I wanted my baby to know how to defend herself. I knew she’d need those skills eventually. And Tom, that’s Sabine’s wife, he’s a gentle giant. Same size as Bane, but as harmless as a puppy and makes the best croissants ever. Seriously, the best.”
“Harley,” Bruce gently prodded, but there was a tiny grin on his face. Seeing her behaving so… so normally, so proud and reminiscent, was a rare treat. Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of how far the woman had come. How she had freed herself and become a better person, mostly on her own.
“Right, right. The point,” Harley took a breath, rubbing her forehead. “I came clean to Tom and Sabine, but apparently they knew who I was the whole time. They just didn’t care— did I mention they are perfect? Anyway, once I explained everything, they agreed immediately to adopting my baby. They’d been wanting kids, but it would’a been too risky for Sabine’s health. That’s how I found them anyway, they were in the market to adopt. We named her Marinette. She took Tom and Sabine’s last names, hyphenated. We decided Quinn would be her middle name. And after that, I came back to Gotham and told myself that she was in good hands and I needed to forget about her. Cuz I was no good for her. I knew that. I went back to my old tricks. And then…” Harley chuckled, but it was self-depreciating.
“Then a few years passed, and I started breaking away from Joker for real. Then we broke up, I blew up Ace Chemicals while you guys were outta town doing Justice League and Young Justice shit. I started dating Ivy. And—“ she smiled softly at the table, clearly seeing something the rest of them couldn’t. “Then Ivy convinced me to go see her. Visit my baby, see how she’s been. And I did. Marinette was seven years old, but damn it to hell she was gorgeous. And say whatever you want about me and Joker— most of it will even be true— but neither of us are stupid. And she inherited all of our intelligence. All of it. She got my blue eyes. But she got his hair, which meant Sabine teased me relentlessly about ‘are you sure she isn’t that Wayne’s kid?’ And don’t make that face Bruce, you’d be lucky to have a kid half as beautiful as my Mari-pie. No offense, Damian. Anyway. Anyway, this is the important part. Or part of it.
“She sat there and listened to everything I had to say. Everything. A little seven year old, who could barely understand English at the time, and she listened without interrupting once. She never threw a fit, she wasn’t angry or confused. I told her about the things I’d done in the past— well, G rated versions— and she didn’t care. She called me Momma Harley right away, said she wanted to meet Aunt Ivy sometime soon, and started telling me everything about her that I’d missed. From that day on, she became my sunshine. The light of my life, and I still call her at least once a week every week. When I disappear for a few days out of the city? I’m visiting her—“
“You’re banned from international travel, Harley,” Dick scolded, but he sounded way too amused for it to work. He knew she had her ways, anyway. Nobody could actually stop Harley damn Quinn from doing whatever she wanted.
“—Ugh, she tells me the same thing every time! Disappointed glare and everything. I don’t know how I gave birth to such a goodie goodie, but somehow I did. Not important though! The important thing is, I’m always the first to hear when something new happens in her life. And we had decided that she wouldn’t visit me in Gotham until she was at least eighteen, but apparently she disobeyed me— which I should have expected honestly— and entered you guys’ WE international scholastic competition.”
“Oh no,” Bruce pinched the bridge of her nose. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng? The contest winner?” He finally pulled out a chair and sat down. “The winner gets an all-expense paid trip to Gotham for them and their whole class.”
“Exactly!” Harley threw up her hands. “Mari told me last week, and I’ve been trying to talk her out of coming ever since. But she’s inherited both of our stubbornness too, and she isn’t budgin’ a bit. ‘Momma Harley, I wanna see you and Auntie Ivy though!’ And ‘Momma, Gotham’s nothing I can’t handle,’ or my favorite, ‘Maybe you’ll finally get to see me dropkick someone three times my size then, and I’ll prove it.’”
“So that’s what you meant by you need our help,” Tim said as he leaned forward over the table. “Joker just broke out of Arkham yesterday. You want us to protect her.”
“I’d prefer if one of you was with her outside of the mask too, as often as possible,” Harley confirmed. “I can’t stop her from coming here anymore, but I also don’t trust Joker for a second. As soon as he sees her, I’m afraid he’ll make the connection.”
“She looks like him?” Damian asked, scrunching up his nose at the ugly mental image of Joker as a teenage girl. Harley shook her head, solemn.
“She looks like a dark-haired mini-me,” she corrected. “She even keeps her hair in pigtails as her way of showing support for me. And I know Marinette can kick ass, Sabine’s trained her well. But Marinette inherited more than I’d like from me,” Harley ran a hand through her hair. “I didn’t notice it until she was thirteen. She got a crush on a classmate, and it was almost like watching videos of me back during the early days of— well, of Harley Quinn. Just without the crime and insanity. She didn’t even realize that she was almost stalking the poor kid until I pointed it out, and luckily I was able to put my doctorate to good use and we nipped that right in the bud ASAP. She never meant it that way, anyway. As soon as I explained things to her, she was horrified and immediately asked me to help her learn how to have a healthy relationship. That was a fun discussion,” Harley grimaced. “But she still gets attached to people really, really easily. Once she grew out of her crush on that boy, she adopted him as her unofficial brother. She already calls Selina “Auntie,” even though I’ve barely mentioned her to Marinette. She gets attached fast, and deeply. And I’m afraid that even after all the warning I’ve done, all the stories I’ve told her—“
“You’re afraid she’ll get attached to Joker just like you did,” Bruce finished for her, closing his eyes. “Because she knows he’s her father.”
“Yes,” Tears were slowly dripping down her face already, her hands curled into fists so tightly that her knuckles were paper white. “You know how he is. If he finds out she’s his biological daughter, he’ll immediately try to take advantage of that. And he’s far too good with his words for people like me and Mari. I’m worried outta my mind. Please. Help keep my baby safe from him.”
“We will,” Jason no longer had his helmet on, or the domino mask that he usually wore underneath it. All of them knew masks were merely formality with Harley nowadays. And he needed to look her directly in the eye so she could see how serious he was. “I can sign up as a bodyguard for the class. It won’t be weird, seeing as they’re tourists and this is Gotham. They also have several rich kids in their group if I remember right.”
Bruce nodded, agreeing with Jason. “That’s a good idea. I can lead the class on their tours of WE personally. That’ll serve the purpose of keeping an eye on her and shutting up the investors that keep begging me to make more public appearances for the sake of the company. Marinette’s name is already released to the news as the winner of the contest, so we can’t keep her out of the spotlight long. Tim, you’ll have to keep an eye on any and all pictures of the class. Try to erase or doctor the images with her in it well enough that connections between her and Harley can’t be easily made. Dick, you and Damian will be in charge of keeping an eye out for any activity from Joker. The slightest hint, and you notify all of us. We’ll decide on a case-by-case basis who is necessary to stick with the class and who goes after the clown.”
“She’s gonna sneak out of her hotel to stay with me and Ivy,” Harley admitted, bringing the (now slightly judgemental) attention back to her. She raised her hands up in surrender. “She didn’t tell me that, and I didn’t approve or suggest it! I just know my baby too well to not realize that that’s her plan. Could ya provide an escort?”
Bruce sighed. “This is gonna be an eventful month.”
#maribat#ml x dc#mlb x dc#soulmate-game#bio!dad au#bio!mom harley quinn#bio!dad joker#maribat fanfic#maribat fic#platonic Harley x Marinette#platonic Ivy x Marinette#platonic brucinette
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Quantum Entanglement
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader
Words: 6.4k (oops)
Rating: 18+ (get outta here ya children)
Summary: Steve Rogers decides to disappear, take some time for himself in the solitude of a small town where he meets you.
Warnings: p in v. oral fem receiving. size kink (reader is much smaller than Steve in more ways than one). soft (very very soft) fem dom.
AN: This is stupid soft. Just simping all over the gd place. I'm so sorry but my baby Steve deserves nothing but the purest, sweetest form of love and that's what he's getting, though I imagine he likes to be ordered around. Took me way too long to feel good about this.
---
There had been the snap. And then the resurrection. Steve had lost everyone he loved and then had most of them returned, and it felt good to go back to normal, in some ways. In other ways, it was stifling.
As the world reeled and tried to figure out how to "be normal" in a time that was anything but, normalcy felt forced, rushed, exaggerated. He wanted to be in this world, of course. The 1940s were no longer his home, and Steve had everything he wanted here. But he didn't feel complete. A piece was always missing, something from a past life, that he couldn't quite name but knew he had to find.
So he disappeared. Went undercover as some might call it. Bucky knew, of course, and Sam on some level. But to the rest of the world, he had slipped quietly back into the past to live the rest of his life. In reality, he'd slipped into Herrington, Massachusetts, a small coastal town where he was invisible to the world.
He'd found a little house, a cottage on the beach, and settled in completely. He didn't need a job, the government was more than willing to pay him a severance check of some sort, but he took one anyway, stocking the local grocery store and delivering groceries to the elderly when they ordered. It was just antiquated enough to remind him of a faraway time, of the past, but didn't force him to give up his wifi and color television. That was something he'd come to love.
And that was where he met you. You, the petite spitfire with a bone to pick with the entire world. Fierce, loyal, and slightly terrifying when double-crossed. The first time he met you, you had come out of your great-aunt's house shaking a fist over the groceries.
"I told Mr. Pierce," you were yelling, "not to skimp me on the meat." Mr. Pierce was the grocery store owner. And the meat in question was a roast, for what purpose, Steve wasn't sure, but one that apparently did not satisfy your desires.
You hadn't been the one to answer the door, that was your great-aunt Agnes, a kind, leather-faced woman who liked to tip Steve a healthy amount for "carrying all those heavy groceries for a silly old lady like me."
"It's no problem ma'am," he'd replied and stepped back toward his motorcycle, recently decked out with a basket on the back to transport deliveries. Then you'd chased him down the road until he noticed you and stopped, shouting all the way.
"When you see him," you said, your finger wagging in his face, puffing and out of breath from your yelling and running, "tell the bastard that's the last time he gets away with making me pay for his shitty cuts of meat."
Steve didn't really know what to say, but then your face softened, your voice calmed, and you took a deep breath. Maybe the panicked look on his face had made you have a change of heart. "I apologize for yelling at you, I know you're just the messenger. But that slimy son-of-a-bitch is going to get what's coming for him someday."
"I'll let him know," Steve replied with half a smile on his face.
"You aren't from around here are you?" you had asked, a sudden look of curiosity in your bright eyes.
Steve nodded. "Just moved here."
"Look, I'm really sorry." You stuck out your hand and introduced yourself, and Steve had found that hand to be surprisingly supple and calloused for its tiny size. "Let me make it up to you. Aunt Agnes seems to like you. We're having a potluck tonight, her place. Why don't you come by and meet the neighbors? I'm sure they'd love a new face, especially one as handsome and friendly as yours. Maybe make some friends, even."
You were being surprisingly friendly and sincere, and Steve had no choice but to accept the invitation.
So that's how he ended up in an old lady's backyard, handing off a bowl of his mother's jello salad (it was a potluck after all), and accepting a beer from a man who looked similar enough to be your brother (a cousin, it turned out). You didn't even notice his arrival, flying about, getting everything set up, taking part in the appropriate amount of small talk. Earlier, when you'd chased Steve down the road, your hair had been flung all about your head, wisps of it sticking out from all directions and looking positively a mess. You'd been wearing jeans with mud on the knees and a t-shirt that had more holes than necessary for your arms and head. Now, your hair was pinned back and tamed and you floated about in a soft blue sundress, revealing a delicate plane of skin across your shoulders and tan arms and legs.
The calloused hands and muddy jeans made sense now as well. The backyard of Aunt Agnes' house was primarily a garden, not only beautiful rose bushes and creeping wisteria but rows and rows of fruits and vegetables, cucumbers, tomatoes, watermelon, strawberries. The work was obviously the product of a talented gardener.
Aunt Agnes was the one to welcome him in, having noticed Steve before you did and taking his arm. She began to talk, of you and the neighborhood and her many, many family members. She introduced them one by one, though most of the names he immediately forgot. But it was a blessing to not be recognized and he relished the feeling. Sure, he'd grown out his beard and his hair was a bit longer than the standard military high and tight, and he wore a flannel with the sleeves rolled up instead of red, white, and blue spangles, but it still amazed him that he could pass through the world like this.
Eventually, the conversations became too much, and Steve excused himself to the kitchen to find a drink while he waited for the food to be ready. Really he just wanted some silence, a relief from society. But you'd beat him there, and, ever the busy bee, were scrambling to fill a cooler with more ice.
"Steve!" you exclaimed when you saw him, pleasant surprise plastered across your face. "I'm so glad you came."
You reached out and gave him a hug that took Steve so much by surprise he almost forgot to return it. It was shockingly warm, your arms around his neck, and though he had to stoop down to your level, he wrapped his arms around your waist anyways.
"I hope they didn't overwhelm you out there. My family can be a lot."
"No, not at all. Just needed some quiet. I'll let you get back to work."
"I could actually use your help if you don't mind."
You directed him into the front room toward a stack of boxes, cases of drinks he assumed. When Steve returned to the kitchen, all four boxes piled in his arms, you nearly dropped the glasses in your hands in shock. You recovered quickly, trying to remain polite despite your poorly hidden astonishment, but Steve could already tell you were trying to compute how he had managed to carry over a hundred pounds of drinks in one go.
"You can, um, put them on the counter I guess," you managed to stutter out. Your sudden flustered state was amusing, and Steve noticed he liked the way you seemed almost embarrassed, cheeks flushed pink, though he had no idea why you should feel that way.
But then you picked back up with your normal bubbly chatter, and Steve found himself lingering longer and longer in the kitchen with you until he realized neither of you were doing anything but talking, the work abandoned in lieu of discussions about the town, your stall at the farmers market, and eventually, very naturally, the passing of your parents. The slip into deep conversation was easy, surprisingly easy, easier than it had ever been with anyone else, even though Steve felt himself having to lie a bit about his past. Sure, he could admit to being from Brooklyn and having no family and his stint in the military, but that was about the extent of it. He found himself wanting to tell you more but refraining.
When your cousin called that food was ready from the backyard, the jolt back to reality was abrupt and almost unwelcome, until you smiled and allowed him to put a hand on your back, pulling Steve out to enjoy some food.
As night fell, lights twinkled on in the backyard, and the summer heat reduced to a light thrum as the breeze from the ocean swept through the town. Fireflies glowed in the darkness of the low trees behind the house and you seemed to glow as well, good food and friendly conversation lighting your face up with joy. You caught Steve's eye several times during the night, noticing him watching you from across the garden, but he didn't care. He liked that his attention made you smile.
Finally, the party began to dwindle, as parents with young kids trickled out, followed by the older folks, heading off to bed. Soon, even Aunt Agnes turned in and only the cousins close to you in age remained. They pulled out the stronger bottles of alcohol, sitting in plastic chairs and passing shots around the barbeque that still glowed hot with coals. Steve accepted every pass of vodka that came his way, despite knowing it wouldn't get him even remotely drunk. But the camaraderie of the moment helped ease a bit of that gaping hole in his soul so he clung to it as best he could. And you were sitting next to him, insisting he take a sip, and again he couldn't turn you down.
"And then Jack nearly sunk the boat in the bay," you were saying, telling the story of one of your cousin's finer moments. "Your dad almost killed us."
"Oh you want to bring that up?" he teased. "How about the time you snuck out and Aunt Agnes caught you making out with Michael on the beach."
You blushed bright red at the reminder but protested that was years ago. Then another cousin brought up his own late-night escapades and you devolved into a fit of giggles, leaning so far out of your chair that Steve had to catch you before you slipped right to the ground. Your hand gripped his to recover but, to his surprise, you never removed it, even as you righted yourself in your seat. Your hand just remained in his, your small fingers wrapped in his large ones, as you turned to pester him into telling a story.
"What about you Steve? Tell us an embarrassing story."
He looked around at the group and they leaned in expectantly, curious to know more about the stranger who was quickly becoming a friend. Steve didn't know what to say, most of his stories involving things he wasn't yet ready to reveal about himself. So he picked one from long ago.
"I once picked a fight with a guy at a bar. He was a bit of a Nazi. Got my ass kicked. Fortunately, I had a friend to back me up or he definitely would have killed me."
Everyone looked shocked. "But you're so strong," someone spoke up. "Look at you. How could anyone beat you in a fight?"
Steve shrugged, not wanting to admit to it being a pre-serum story. "Guess I'm a bit of a pacifist."
He turned to you to gauge your reaction. Your eyes were wide, sparkling with mischief and curiosity and a hint of disbelief. For a moment Steve thought you had figured it out, figured out who he was, but then you started giggling again and the only thing keeping you in your seat was his hand in yours.
"That's not embarrassing Steve, that's just the most fucking noble thing I've ever heard. Making us all look bad."
Your teasing words made his heart flutter in his chest and he felt like he could get used to this crowd.
Eventually, the coals of the barbeque started to wink out, and the cousins excused themselves for the night, heading home on foot to the various houses they had come from. It seemed no one lived too far apart in this town. Suddenly, the backyard was quiet.
"Can I give you a hand cleaning up?" Steve asked, not wanting to leave you with the job that looked a bit overwhelming to him.
You looked around and shrugged, a little tipsy but fully aware that it was a big mess. "I'll probably just take care of it in the morning. Can you just help me get the dishes inside?"
Steve obediently gathered up plates and cups, filling the dishwasher in several trips. Finally, the last were inside and you stood in the kitchen filling the sink to wash the pots and pans while Steve tried awkwardly to find a way to say goodbye.
"Um, thank you," he said at last, "for welcoming me into your community. It means a lot. I'll, uh, see you later I guess. Have a good night."
You stopped your scrubbing to look up at him, bubbles up to your elbows, your face flushed from the warm night air and the alcohol.
"Steve?"
"Yeah?"
You paused, hesitant, eyes searching his face for confirmation of a mutual feeling. "Do you ever feel like you were meant to meet someone? For a reason?"
The question hit him like a ton of bricks, and he realized that this night had made him feel exactly that way, that somehow he was meant to end up here and meet you, of all people. Why else had there been an instant connection unless this was just the way you were with everyone?
But your question made him think otherwise. You had to be special. Steve, in that moment, could do nothing but nod in affirmation. And then, like you had both had the same thought at the same moment, you were meeting him halfway, rising on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck, and kissing him. Really, truly, kissing him.
It was like that missing piece had found itself. You slotted your soul into his and Steve was pressing you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you, and lifting you so he didn't have to bend down to reach you. Your wet hands tangled into his slightly too long hair, pulling him impossibly closer, tasting one another's tongues.
And that was the start of it, of late-night motorcycle rides down the causeway, of Saturdays spent on the beach that tapered into drinks with friends, of dinners filled with your chatter and smiles and laughter, and Steve couldn't believe how lucky he was. He was not used to this feeling, of building friendship and companionship and perhaps even love. And he certainly wasn't used to the intense desire to reach out and pinch your ass every time you showed up at his house wearing those gardening jeans, high-waisted and tight and so goddamn cute.
But he never did, was never sure how you'd react. You kissed him, a lot in fact, every morning that he came over and every night that he dropped you off at home. And you never shied away from telling him how handsome he was, how much you liked his hands and his arms and his short beard, how sweet he was and kind and soft and gentle. So many words, words that made his head spin and his world wobble and sway. But it never came to be more than that, never late at night when he was thinking of you most. And oh lord, did he think about you, how your small frame might fit against his in bed while you spooned and slept, or how tight you'd be if he fucked you until the sun rose. He didn't particularly like sleeping in bed, it was too soft for his taste and he tended to take the couch or even the floor most nights, but he would sleep in bed for you if you would just tell him that was what you wanted.
It was like you were waiting for the right moment. And apparently, that moment was July 4th, during the annual celebration. Steve had whispered to you that it was consequently also his birthday, and had begged you to keep that a secret, but it seemed you had simply forgotten the fact entirely. The day passed without mention that Steve was turning 39 (105 if he'd been really counting) and you kissed him as the fireworks exploded over the ocean, sitting in the sand, hands tangled together. He thought the two of you would sit through the show, but then you were standing and pulling him to his feet as well and slipping away as everyone else's faces were turned to the sky.
At your house, you pulled a small cake from the fridge, just big enough to split between two people, and lit a couple of candles as you sat next to him at the kitchen table. Of course, you hadn't forgotten.
"Make a wish," you said with a happy smile. So he did, hoping this summer would never end. "What did you wish for?"
"Can't tell you, otherwise it won't come true," he replied. But then you pouted and he lost all resolve. "How about I show you instead?"
The look on your face said it all, shock mixed with intrigue and the mischief he had noticed that first night almost a week ago. So he reached down and tugged your chair closer, forcing you to face him with your knees between his. And then he leaned over and kissed you, taking your small cheeks in his large palms, putting all the power of his suppressed feelings behind it. He hoped you understood that he wanted more than to just kiss you, he wanted to occupy space inside you, fill you, complete you. Steve could feel your smile against his lips.
You pulled away. "Did you wish that I was dessert instead of the cake?
"I might have. Should we make my wish come true?"
Again you smiled, bright and guiding like a lighthouse torch, and something in your demeanor changed. Instantly, you were relenting to his touch, letting him pull you further into his lap, straddling his waist and settling into him like that was where you were meant to be. The quiet house, probably as old as him in this New England town, creaked in the silence of the night, only occasionally disturbed by the bang of a firework. But it all faded away with you in his arms.
You fit perfectly, just as Steve had hoped.
"You gonna be gentle with me, big man?" you whispered, that same brilliant smile on your face, wiggling as close to him as possible, the fingers of one hand tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck, the others tracing down the point of his sharp nose and pressing against his soft lips. "You gonna fuck me good? Be a good boy?"
Oh, Christ. Steve nearly lost his mind with your hips so tight against his, lost it at your words that made his heart race and color rise to his cheeks. He could be good. Really damn good. You seemed to know something about him that Steve didn't even know about himself, of how much he liked your praise, your commanding tone. If there was anything he was good at, it was taking orders.
"You just keep telling me what to do and I'm all yours," he mumbled against your fingers, the thump of his heart beating in time with yours somewhere deep in your chest, echoes of one another in the silence of the house. Your hand came to grip his chin, pushing another kiss against his mouth, a kiss with lips parted in a sigh, the mingled palate of you and him, like a glass of wine on the beach and chocolate melted on the tongue, sweeping over taste buds and breathed into starved lungs.
"Mm, you taste so good. Like you were created just for me, don't you think?" you asked.
"Built from the best material, just for you." Built to love you, he wanted to say. Steve shut up instead.
You hummed with pleasure and the hand on his chin gripped a little harder, a little more suggestively. He opened his mouth obediently as you slipped your thumb between his lips, and he let you press it against the soft muscle of his tongue. You wanted him to taste you, so he did, his teeth biting gently down on the pad of your finger, another pleasant hum running down your body and straight to his groin.
He waited for your instruction.
"Undress me."
He complied, obediently. Steve's large hands hiked your sundress up around your waist, revealing the softness of your hips. His fingers smoothed up the length of your thighs, kneading at the flesh of your ass that he had so longed to touch. Your reaction was music to his ears, a soft moan leaving your lips and breathed against his, and Steve closed his eyes, arousal spreading through his body at the thought that he was making you react this way. His length hardened, tight in his pants, pressed against the thin layer of fabric that covered the heat of your core. The thought that he might not fit flickered through his mind but it dissipated at the feeling of your fingers pressing into the rough stubble of his jawline.
Steve's hands continued to travel further up your body, taking time to release the zipper of your dress down the length of your spine, and you answered his quiet, "can I?" by pulling slightly away and lifting your arms over your head. The dress landed somewhere in the kitchen and Steve dragged you close again, arms wrapped around your back to encompass you completely, his lips finding purchase against the skin of your neck.
"Look at you, so perfect," Steve mumbled, face pressed into your hair. If he had looked up he would have seen you blush, but he was too preoccupied letting his senses discover every piece of you he could touch, smell, or taste. He wanted to envelop you, inch by inch, roaming and discovering and satiating his curiosity, but you dragged his attention back to your face.
"Hey, eyes up here," you said, pulling his face toward yours and locking gazes. The intensity of your eye contact was stunning, but there was something else behind those eyes, something other than intense attraction and unsatisfied arousal. Was it doubt? Insecurity? The reason why you kissed him for so many nights and never asked for more? You were searching for something, and it came in the form of a question. "You won't leave me after this, right?"
There it was, the bit of insecurity, a fear of loss, of transience, of lacking control. Someone had hurt you before. Maybe that's why you approached everything in life with such ferocity and sincerity. But Steve would never hurt you like that, never let you feel that way again. He hoped you could see it in his eyes the way he felt about you, but words would be more reassurance. "I'm yours tonight. And tomorrow. And the day and week and month and year after that, if you'll have me that long. Whatever it is you need, I'll give it to you."
You blinked and then smiled and pressed another quick kiss to his lips before murmuring, "touch me" against them. So he did, trailing his hands over every sliver of skin before him. He felt the goosebumps rising in their wake, the downy hair on your legs and arms, the heat of your core against him, grinding almost imperceptibly to find some kind of friction, any friction. He wanted to touch you so desperately, but he got the sense that you needed to take the lead, that it would give the control you felt you lacked. So he slid a hand down the plane of your stomach and stopped just shy of dipping into your panties, waiting for your word. But you were no longer interested in playing games. Your hand found his and pulled him lower, using his fingers to press into the seem of your cunt, and he found you slick and warm with desire.
You urged him forward. "Rub my clit, baby. Slowly. Gently."
Slowly and gently. That he could do. His fingers crept absentmindedly closer to the swollen bundle of nerves and when he landed there, touch soft and circling, you jerked against him, your whole body moving with the force of anticipation and a cry leaving your lips. And though it seemed to burn, seemed to be torture for yourself, you demanded he do it again. Your forehead leaned against his, eyes shut tight, and Steve watched as your face contorted in pleasure as he flicked and circled again and again and again.
"Yes, baby. Perfect. So good. So. Fucking. Good."
Every bit of you was soft, from your neck where he placed his kisses to the curled hair hiding the swollen bud of your clit where his fingers played gently and rhythmically. Even the orgasm that gushed from your smooth cunt and stuttered from your lips was soft. You came with a choked cry as your hand pulled him closer by the back of his head, your tits pressed to his chest. Steve looked up to watch you devolve into pleasure, eyes squeezed tightly shut, your hair messy and swirling about your face, the straps of your bra slipping from your shoulder.
"Bed. Now. Right now," you demanded before you even had a chance to come down from your high. He would have been just as happy to have you in the kitchen, just like that, but Steve picked you up, with you latched to his chest like a koala, and carried you upstairs. You felt feather-light in his arms, easily tossed onto the mattress, your hands reaching out to pull his white t-shirt overhead and grab at the plane of his chest. Even as Steve kissed you again you couldn't stop tracing your fingertips over the lines of his torso, the ridges of his abs, the v-line that led tantalizingly toward the waistband of his pants. He felt his cock twitch and strain against the fabric of his boxers, the rough cotton not enough to stimulate him but enough to make him ache for your pussy. Your fluttering hands were not helping and Steve pictured your thin fingers wrapping around his length.
"Look at you," you said. "You're fucking perfect." It was Steve's turn to blush.
Steve wasn't...inexperienced. But it had been a while, to say the least, since he'd had the time or energy or capacity to even feel attracted to anyone. And even longer, perhaps never, since he felt the way he felt about you, like a bee to a flower, drunk on sweet nectar and high on honey. That was you, the delicate flower, so small and tender beneath him, yet as stunning and resonating and thunderous as the fireworks bursting somewhere overhead.
Fighting to survive was all Steve had known for so long, standing up to the bully and helping the fallen to their feet, that it was a relief to not have to be that man for you. You didn't require protection or help or anything from him at all, and yet you welcomed his presence endlessly. Steve realized he was not a need for you, but a want, and for the first time he felt valued for something real, something that wasn't just his brute strength, but something almost bordering on love. This he understood as he stared at your sweet face, caging you beneath him in bed.
"Earth to Steve," you said softly as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling his pelvis down toward yours and dragging a deep groan from his lungs. He hadn't noticed he'd stopped kissing you and was getting lost in drinking you in amidst his reverie until your small hand pressed to the back of his neck and gently guided him back to your lips. But you stopped just shy, your eyebrows knitted in concern, taking his leisurely manner for uncertainty. "We can stop if you want."
"No, definitely not."
"Good. Then stop staring and kiss me."
"Where?" he teased.
"Everywhere, big man."
Everywhere was doable. So he started at your lips with one so big and breathless it rivaled Mount Everest. For a moment he let himself forget about everything except how long he could go without oxygen against your lips. But there remained more of you to taste.
Steve's lips connected with your chin and slid down your jawline, taking time to kiss the pulse of your neck and the dip of your clavicle. The fan of his breath tickled across your skin and you giggled, the purest sound of joy bubbling from your lips at his touch. More of that he wanted. So he continued down to the valley between your breasts, full and round despite your stature, removing your bra as he did so, nibbling lightly at the peaks of your chest before replacing his teeth with his pinching fingers and moving lower again. Lower toward the edge of your ribs, arched upward to meet the movement of his mouth, toward the slope of your hips, his sharp nose following each kiss as your underwear joined your bra into the abyss.
Your thighs he kissed, top to bottom, left and right, but it was your ass he couldn't get enough of, filling his grip with handfuls of your flesh, using it to pull you toward the edge of the bed where he kneeled, lifting your hips toward his face, your legs slung one over each shoulder. Steve sunk his tongue into your folds without warning and you gasped, your thighs suddenly squeezing tight around his head.
"Yes, right there," you hissed between ragged breaths.
He responded by burying deeper, gripping you harder, and moaning with delight at your overwhelming taste and scent bombarding his senses. You squirmed but didn't pull away as Steve's hands worked their way back up your stomach to cup the tissue of your breasts, the width of his palms capturing the flesh in one big handful. Your hands covered his, holding them there, forcing him to press you into the bed while his mouth left you twitching and bucking beneath his touch.
And in spite of the urgency with which Steve wished to devour you, he continued on leisurely, doing his best to build you up slowly and gently pick you apart bit by bit the way you had asked him to do it before. Your body betrayed its delight, evidenced enough by the way your legs hooked around him and held him down, but you praised him anyways, rapture falling from your lips between sporadic moans of pleasure.
"Fuck, Steve, you're so good, oh God yes, baby, you're doing so good, taste me like that," you cried, and the words spurred him onward, hurried his movements just slightly, his tongue circling your clit, fingers circling your areolas. He would do whatever you asked, jump off a cliff, take a bullet to the chest, drown himself in a river, if only to please you. But you would never ask anything of him that he couldn't give, and Steve knew the moment you asked for his heart it would be his heart you'd receive. And with that intent in his mind, he made you come undone with a silent cry.
Eventually, the trembling ceased, even as he continued to drink your release with the ministrations of his tongue.
"Oh fuck, you like the way I taste baby?" you asked. His affirmation came out muffled and sloppy between your legs. Even you were breathless, barely getting out the words, but you pushed him nonetheless. "I wanna hear you say it, Steve. You like eating me out? Like drinking my juices?"
"Fuck, yes, you taste like goddamn heaven, darling."
"Kiss me, Steve."
"Yes, ma'am."
He complied without a second thought, crawling back up your body to lean over you, giving you a taste of the heaven he had just dipped into. When your fingers found his belt, he helped you remove the rest of his clothes. And then your hands were roving down his chest again, searching blindly until they found what they were looking for. Steve groaned at your touch on his swollen cock.
You gasped. "Oh, God."
Before Steve could respond you pushed him over onto his back and straddled his thighs, eyeing the length on display before you, fingers around it as if testing the girth and finding them unable to wrap all the way around.
"Oh God," you repeated. A short laugh bubbled up from your throat, the controlling front you'd managed to maintain this whole time slipping from your tone.
"Something wrong?" he asked, feeling slightly inadequate under your scrutiny. Steve sat up to meet your eyes, hands finding their place on your hips.
You gazed at him, eyes wide and glassy. "You're gonna split me in half with that thing."
"We don't have to. Not if you aren't comfortable."
"Oh baby, I'm gonna get real comfortable sitting on your cock." Your sultry grin was back and you rose up on your knees to look down at him. Your other hand swiped between your legs, two fingers gathering the warm, wet juices of your orgasm, before joining the first around his cock. You pumped, rolling a drop of precum off the tip with your thumb and rubbing it down his length, mixing the release of your pleasure with his. Steve barely held back from bucking his hips into your hand. He would save that for your pussy.
"I want you to fill me," you whispered. "I wanna be so fucking full. Just go slowly, okay?"
"Slowly. I got you, baby girl. You can take me. Let me fill you."
Steve lifted your hips and guided you forward, aligning your entrance with his length. You moved at a crawling pace, letting gravity sink your pussy around him, pausing every inch to adjust to his intrusion. His biceps stung with the grip of your fingernails in his skin, but it was a welcome distraction from the rush of pleasure threatening to tip him over the edge prematurely. Agonizingly you dipped further, a cry falling from your lips, until you were fully seated, the tip of him pressed into the cavity behind your cervix. You were warm, so, so warm, and soft and tight and you fit perfectly, just like he knew you would.
"Fuck, Steve, you're so big."
"Am I hurting you?" he asked, wiping away a tear from your cheek with his thumb.
"No, fuck, no, you feel so good. I just--I can't move."
"I got you, darling," Steve whispered, his face falling to your chest and burying it in the soft flesh of your tits. And then he wrapped his arms around your waist and did all the moving for you, lifting you up and sinking you down again, just fast enough to make you gasp for air and whine his name. With every thrust, you cried out in pleasure.
"Don't stop, Steve, please, baby, don't stop."
The fingers of one hand tugged at his hair dampened by sweat, nails scratching lightly across his scalp, as the other fell between your legs. You pressed your fingers around your clit and along your entrance, feeling where Steve's thick cock was pushing in and out of your tight pussy, feeling how big he was, how much he filled you. The meandering touch of your fingers almost sent him straight over the edge.
But it was the slick warmth of your cunt that was too much, and Steve found himself resting his forehead more and more heavily against your chest, willing himself to give you everything you wanted before he even thought about himself. The satin scent of your skin, like talcum and rose and his cologne, intoxicated him with every breath, and he sucked and nibbled on one breast and then the other, mindlessly attending to the most sensitive parts of you. A drop of sweat rolled down your sternum and Steve chased it with his tongue, licking a warm stripe up the center of your chest.
"Tell me what you need, darling."
"Fuck, that's perfect," you whined. "You fuck me so good, baby. Don't stop. Gonna make me come--make me come so hard."
Your fingers pressed against your clit once more and then you were clenching around him, your already tight pussy settling into a pulsing vice grip, your body shaking against his while he kissed the sweat from your collar bones. Steve felt you pumping the life out of him, riding out your orgasm and dragging him closer to his. The hand that had been on your clit moved to cup the weight of his balls, pinching and massaging as they pulled in heavy with the need for release.
"Where do you want me, darling, you gotta tell me."
You practically ordered him to come inside you, told him you wanted to feel him sticky between your thighs all night and it was suddenly Steve's turn to come undone, his hot seed pumping deep inside you, his twitching member finally finding release. He moaned your name against your lips, pulling you into a final searing kiss.
When, after a good twenty minutes of not moving from that position, of breathing heavy and kissing softly, you finally pulled away to lean down and lick his cock clean, the sticky mingling of you and him on your tongue, and he had to fight the urge to get hard again. And when you kissed him again, he tasted that mingling, two souls becoming one, as they were meant to be.
He slept next to you for the first time that night, your small frame encased in his, even though there was no need to share body heat in the dead of summer. But he actually slept, no dreams, no nightmares, no waking up in the middle of the night. Just deep, heavy sleep, your head tucked beneath his chin, back to his bare chest, his hands holding your breasts, and your hands holding his. Tangled together. Souls as one.
#steve rodgers x reader#steve rogers#captain america#captain america x reader#avengers smut#captain america smut#steve rogers smut#simping for steve rogers#steve rogers fanfiction#captain america fanfiction
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