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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 2 months

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summary: While Price's injury is healing nicely, you're growing needier by the minute. But you're not the only one. With the doctors order in mind, you and Price attempts to stave your hunger by having you cockwarm him in his office.

pairing: cpt. John Price x reader (sunshine universe)

tags/tw: afab!reader, depiction of canon related injury, NSFW, mdni 18+ please and thank you, cockwarming, p in v, teasing, masturbation (f), unprotected sex, creampie, implied age-gap

a/n: Well, that little valentines blurb really helped to get the writing going🫡

Sunshine universe MASTERLIST & John Price MASTERLIST

Christmas passed just as slowly and cosy as you'd predicted, perhaps with one slight change of plans.

You'd returned home the night you'd dropped John from the hospital and helped him settle in somewhat. Despite debating whether to stay the night, your soldier urged you to head home to rest properly after spending so much time away.

You understood he tired of your company. In fact, he had a point, seeing how you wouldn't sleep soundly with him, constantly worrying if you would disturb his sleep by sharing a bed. And you needed a fresh set of clothes anyway. But you also noticed that being hurt took a toll on John. He'd accepted that you would be there to help him, but something told you he needed time to brood over the fact he was on med-leave for the upcoming months.

Once you returned to the flat you'd left in a hurry almost two days ago, you wandered aimlessly, trying to finish setting up your Christmas lights. However, whatever adrenaline the past 48 hours provided finally seemed to ebb, and you crashed on your couch shortly after finishing your task.

By the time you woke up again, it had been dark outside. Dinner that night hadn't been glamorous, partly because you didn't have any finished food in your fridge and partly because you were yet to be hungry from the late lunch you shared with John before leaving his place. Still, the bowl of instant ramen warmed the cold feeling settling in your body from merely looking outside your window and down at the snowy streets.

You slept in the next day, waking up with a warm body and nose slightly chilled from the cool temperature in your room. The rest of the day was slow. You checked in on John with a message around noon, accustomed to reaching out to anyone in your closest circle around that time, seeing how no one usually was up earlier on the weekend, even if John definitely didn't categorise as one of those. He'd given you the awaited broody reply, grumbling about a horrid night of sleep and a dull ache even after taking his prescribed meds.

You stared at his message for a minute until deciding to give him a call rather than answer it.

'Hell, love'.

'God, you really sound worse for wear', was your instinctive response as John greeted you with a rough voice.

'Cheers', he huffed in return, a groan following shortly after. At that moment, you rubbed your forehead, an ache settling in your heart at not being there with him.

'How about I come over today already? Christmas is approaching, and we already said we would celebrate together. Wouldn't hurt if I stayed with you in the upcoming days with your shoulder and all...', you trailed off at the end.

'Know you have no problem with it, but I don't want to take up all your time if you have other things planned', he responded tentatively. 'I've managed worse on my own'.

'Don't have to do it alone anymore'. You reminded him, and with that, he didn't argue.

'Pack your bags, then'.

And you'd packed your bags for a week. Although, by now, you'd stayed two, with the occasional trip back to your flat to swap out some clothes.

John's shoulder healed nicely, even if the process was arduously slow, but at least it meant his injury wasn't inflamed. God forbid you would've seen it like that. While you never counted yourself as squeamish, the first time you'd helped John rid himself of the bandages and the surgical tape that, for a seeable future, needed to be changing once a week, you also remembered that neither had you ever seen a freshly sewn-together wound.

His skin was a deep pink, and the sewn-together parts puckered and elevated from the surrounding areas. You almost shied from pulling the surgical tape the rest of the way when first laying eyes on the injury. Upon seeing the scrunch of your nose and worried glance up his face, John made you step back and do the rest, reassuring you it didn't hurt, just strained unpleasantly if he moved wrong.

While it may not have hurt while gently cleaning the wound the first time and that John now could go without the sling, it didn't mean you didn't notice the pull in his features when he did make a too-fast movement or a shift that pulled at the stitches and deeper-torn tissue. He's still instructed not to carry anything heavy, making you catch a grumble of 'a goddamn month more' as you passed by right before your name was called numerous times.

You didn't chide him from initially thinking he would manage on his own, but you both knew what the look you sent him implied and that his thank-you kiss was a silent acknowledgement that you'd been right. It would've been anything but enjoyable for him if you hadn't spent the past two weeks with him.

Even though only two weeks had passed, you quickly noticed John wasn't a man who could go long periods without doing anything. That didn't mean he couldn't take it easy. As he said himself, he'd learned that skill. But, reading so many books while having x amounts of scotches was only as enjoyable and appropriate as it could be to not count as light alcoholism. John was itching to do something more than sit idly around or keep you company during whatever you did.

So, it wasn't a surprise the first time you found him in his study a few days ago. He'd looked up from the papers with a caught-in-the-act look when you knocked on his study's door, the excuse of work piling up that he needed to look over leaving his lips instantly. You'd never been the one so strict about working when home; your free-lancing job was practically based upon it. Therefore, you'd waved his excuse away, padding into the office you'd barely set foot inside despite the many times you'd visited him.

You'd leant against the side of his desk, not more than casting a quick side-eyed glance on his computer to show you noted its presence but not the contents on the screen before your gaze sought his. Upon your curiosity of what it was, John indulged you in what he occupied himself with.

And just like that, John, who usually was so strict about not working when spending time with you, grew lenient on that rule of thumb, restlessness gnawing at his bones enough to slip away an hour or two each day to occupy his mind. But, you always saw him at the same times during the day, joining you on the couch in his living room or in his bedroom, hijacking the TV remote to follow the post-Christmas football matches.

You jokingly poked his side each time he did, commenting on how there were two TVs in his house if he'd forgotten. But you only got a quirk in his lip and wink in return as he proclaimed he needed to convert you into a fan, teasingly anchoring you to his side with a heavy arm if you threatened to escape.

But you both knew you didn't mind cuddling into his side with your head on his chest, following the matches of the day, only if he started getting too worked up when his team played and jostling your head around too much.

And that settled you into a new routine. While you busied yourself around the house, occasionally working a few days here and there, John watched football and occasionally retreated to his study. Although you left him to his work, he always left his door open, showing you it was free to enter if you desired.

Today was one of those days you did your separate things, not having seen each other much since the breakfast you shared, after which John left you with a kiss and 'know where to find me'.

It had been fine. It is fine. You'd gotten ahead of work for the new year, and John eased his workload gradually. And yet, glancing at your phone screen, you note lunch is overdue.

Sure, today had been slow. You and John had laid in bed for a while, basking in the last of the Christmas spirit the days between Christmas Day and New Year's Eve carried. And so, breakfast had been eaten later than usual, meaning lunch was also to be pushed forward. However, at half past one, John should've emerged from his office for a well-deserved break and shared the task of cooking something.

Putting aside your book, you move from the couch and wander outside the range of the fireplace's warmth. Its fire had long since burned out, and now the only parts glowing were the embering coals.

Your fuzzy socks act as a barrier between your feet and the cold wood beneath as you wander up the stairs. Despite the constant blast of radiators and the fireplace harbouring a non-stop fire, the floor always remains chilly when the temperature drops outside.

Much like the past days, the door to John's study stood ajar. But, compared to earlier, when you'd retrieved something from the bedroom, you didn't only pass it with a glance inside, finding John staring down at his computer with his injured arm resting in his lap as his other scrolled whatever he was going through. Now, you pushed the door open, locating him not behind his desk but seated in one of the two Chesterfield armchairs.

The edge of your mouth quirks upwards as you observe his upper body bent backwards over the low backrest, laptop resting in his lap, kept only from slipping by his hand. As you enter his peripheral vision, he glances in your direction. You offer him a warm smile as you close the distance, moving to stand behind the chair.

"How's it going?" You look down at the head tilted far enough backwards that John can watch you, albeit upside down, from where he sits. He grunts in response, eyebrows raising swiftly as he straightens.

You chuckle, hands that previously rested on the leather sliding to rest on John's shoulders, where you immediately dig your fingers into his muscles. He groans again, but this time, his head dips forward as you follow the tight tendons near his neck.

"That much to do?" You hum as you let up on the pressure, concentrating more on his uninjured side, following the muscles out to his shoulder, only to return and follow his spine to the back of his head.

"Not really". A harsh breath follows John's sentence when you find a knot along his neck and concentrate on easing it with your thumb. "The boys can manage, Laswell too, but whatever's possible to be pushed forward, they leave to me, meanin' things that need readin' through and cleared for the go-ahead".

"Imagine it ain't like that book I gave you", you muse, John only scoffing in return.

"Nothin' like it", he almost grumbles. "Would much rather cosy up with you and read that than this". He flicked the screen with his finger, a semi-metallic, semi-glass tick ringing from his action.

"You know very well you can drop work and cosy up with me and that book anytime you want. You're on leave". You remind him with a small smile, knowing he isn't really complaining.

With this being your first Christmas, you'd agreed to not spend too much on presents, even if you both had bought each other spontaneous gifts before, John being the culprit for spoiling you with expensive things much more often. While he'd gifted you a necklace he'd caught you looking at, you'd gotten him a book he mentioned wanting to read and a cigar to add to his collection. One, that at the moment, remained pretty stagnant as John refrained from having a smoke the first weeks of recovery. But you knew he itched for one, catching him eyeing the container he kept them in more than once.

"Hm, 'bout that", John's head lolled backwards, his gaze locking with yours. "Come here", he cocked his head, motioning for you to move around the chair. You did as he wished while he lodged his feet beneath the furniture's edge, moving the heavy armchair slightly backwards to allow you to stand between him and the low table.

With you now in front of him, John placed his laptop on the wide armrest, leaning forward shortly after. Concerning it being the closest, the hand of his injured arm slipped around your naked lower thigh when he sat forward, your oversized sweater ending just above his hand.

"Said here", John nods to his lap, pressing gently at the back of your leg.

"Your shoulder, John", you lightly scold his insistence, knowing where things would go if you ended up straddling him.

"It's fine". He insisted, tugging at your leg again. This time, you relented somewhat, stepping between his spread legs, the armchair's brown leather cool against your shins.

"The doctor told you to take it easy, let it heal." You reminded him of the instructions he'd received, but now, he scoffed at them.

With his head tilted to the side and displeased crease between his brows, his hand slipped down just an inch. The sudden tug as his fingers dug into the back of your knee took you off guard. It made your leg bend, and to not fall forward, your leg caught the excess seat beside his thigh as you caught yourself on the armrest to keep yourself steady.

You send John a look, as his stunt could've easily made you brace against his shoulder rather than the furniture. But he only cranes his head slightly as you hover over his self-satisfied self, a quirk bowing his lips.

"Takin' it incredibly easy, just you who's makin' me work hard for it". There's a glint in his eyes as his hands slide upwards, massaging the back of your upper thigh from how your dress-like sweater has ridden up somewhat, sneakily trying to urge you to settle entirely on top of him. Even so, you remain hovering.

"Missed you, love". You narrow your eyes at the change in his approach.

"Missed me or something else?"

"Both." John's answer is almost boyish in how a half grin stretches his lips and the cock of his head. You roll your eyes but can't withstand his request any longer, the butterflies in your chest never truly escaping when close to the man.

Climbing into the seat with as much grace as possible, you're mindful of his shoulder, bracing against the opposite side on the backrest to ensure you don't accidentally grip it for support. But the armchair is wide enough for your legs to comfortably slot on either side of his hips, and your hands slide to rest on his abdomen instead.

Now planted in his lap and more accessible to avoid straining his shoulder to reach for you, both of John's hands find purchase on your waist.

"That wasn't too hard, now was it?" He humours you with an arched brow as you shuffle in his lap to make yourself comfortable, only to feel something beneath you.

"No, but something seems to be". You tilt your head, alluding to the semi you slowly felt more prominently in his sweats.

"Haven't felt my girl in nearly a month. Can you blame me?" You shake your head with a huff through your nose, gaze cast down until it returns to his.

"Thought you were confident you wouldn't cave first".

"Never said that", John hums as he curves his back to make himself more comfortable in the armchair, making you settle more firmly over his crotch. "Although I remember you sayin' you could go the longest without a proper fuck". He dares you to deny it with a cock of his brows.

You roll your eyes but don't technically argue against him. "With how you are speaking, I could think you're growing desperate".

He clicks his tongue. "Can't guilt trip me for missin' your warm cunt".

"Jesus, John", you flush under his heavy gaze and crude words, enough for you to look to the side.

Fingers knock beneath your chin, quickly redirecting your attention back to him. Greeting you is a pair of blue eyes twinkling in intrigue. "So what you say, wanna keep me warm while I work?"

You eye him sceptically. John had figured you liked cockwarming him, the fact nothing hard to figure when you always pulled out the process of him slipping out of you as you caught your breaths in the aftermatch of whatever session had your body trembling and his clutching yours to anchor himself. But those times often happened after, not before.

"We're not fucking", you point at him.

"Keep still, and we won't". He chuckles at your muttered 'insufferable' as you rise to your knees.

John helps you as much as he can, stabilising you with his un-injured arm as you tug down the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers digging into the fabric of his underwear, feeling the hotness of his still not-fully erect member. He sighs as you pump his cock to bring him to full erection before pulling his length out, rubbing the tip against the fabric covering your cunt.

A warmth, a need, you hadn't felt in the past weeks blooms in your lower stomach.

Since his injury, you and John hadn't had sex. It might only be a few weeks, but having a mostly bare-chested, burly man like him walk around the house nearly every day because it was too tricky putting on a shirt did things to you, things which you repressed in favour of not pushing anything onto John that would strain his injury. Doctors orders.

But as you pushed your underwear to the side, how easily worked up you got whispers of a repressed desire, your slit wet without any proper foreplay, not more than the mere thought of finally feeling him inside you. Even so, you softly whine as you sink down onto him, the stretch as he entered not unfamiliar in comparison to unused to.

A drawn-out exhale escapes John as your tightness slowly swallows him, his hands falling to lift your shirt and simultaneously massage your hips.

"Just like that, love", his words are drawled as blue eyes follow how you inch your way down, having to work up and done with rolls of your hips take him after this long. "Just relax. You always take it so well". His praise makes you flutter around him, making your and John's breaths catch.

With a last shift, your thighs finally touch his, his cock buried to the hilt.

"Fuckin' hell so warm". You glance up at John, having his head notched backwards, lips slightly parted. Calloused hands slide up the smooth skin of your sides, outlining the curve of your hip, making your shirt ride up enough to show your stomach before it slides down again as his hands smoothened down your body again.

"Didn't you say you would work? Hard to do that while coping a feel". Your breathy comment brings John's head forward again, his eyes partly lidded.

"Only need one arm for that". There's a gentle tug in the corner of his mouth as he angles his laptop towards him on the armrest.

While propping his uninjured arm along the armrest, scrolling on the mousepad as he returned to the reading you previously interrupted, John's unoccupied hand gripped your hip as he brought you closer. The slight shift makes him move inside you, and your eyes flutter shut. Shit, this would be much harder than you'd anticipated.

In hopes it would distract you, you lean forward, nose knocking against the column of his throat. You inhale his scent, concentrating on how the typical aroma of rich cigar smoke is vacant from his skin with the lack of smoking.

John's unoccupied hand travels to the small of your back, fingers alternating between massaging your muscles and tracing light patterns against your skin.

Shivers run up and down every part of your body, unconsciously making you shimmy as the shudders reach your shoulders. Your shifting jostles him inside you, causing you to clench reactionary. John's chest heaves, indicating he definitely felt how you squeezed around him.

But he didn't say anything, not verbally, at least. He simply grabs a fistful of your asscheek until flesh spilt between his fingers. The silent scold forces you to resist rocking in his lap, only releasing a quiet whimper, burying your face deeper into the curve of his neck and shoulder.

You inhale to steady your breath.

The shower John took in the morning made his body wash more prominent. But he still smells of a certain alluring warmth, a musk simply describable as him, the one making you nuzzle against his bare upper body. You don't know whether to curse or hail him for not wearing a shirt nowadays, his nude chest distracting you somewhat from the delicious stretch and fullness of finally having him inside you. Until you knew it definitely did not help you.

As the hair dusted over his pectorals tickled against your lower chin and his beard against the upper part of your forehead, you ran your hands up and down his abdomen and chest.

Feeling the thick cords of muscle beneath a layer of fat that made him so deliciously big and broad clench beneath your fingers acts like a lighter to gasoline. Mental images of seeing those muscles work as he pumps himself into you fill your head.

You don't even notice how your hips begin to roll until a heavy hand clutches your side, swiftly preventing the motion.

"Be a good girl, hm?" You glance up at John, but he hasn't even angled his head to face you. His blue eyes simply remain fixed on the computer screen. Even so, you feel how the muscles in his neck flex, and a soundless chuckle shakes his chest.

You squeeze your eyes shut, face falling to hide against his neck again, but your attempt to remain calm has already failed as your mind supplies nothing but the filthiest scenes behind your eyelids. Grunting. Pistoning hips. Flesh grasped tightly.

You force an exhale, refraining from moving with any and all willpower in your fibres as you feel his girth throb inside you. You need a distraction. You need to distract yourself from thinking about how his cock fills you so well.

You start to mouth at his skin, light presses of your lips along his collarbone, trailing only far enough to his shoulder that you didn't aggravate his injury. When you once again reach where his clavicle met his sternum, you begin trailing kisses up his neck. You hum in delight, nuzzling against John's jawline, his beard tickling the tip of your nose. You felt him sigh, his chest pressing against yours before he exhaled through his nose.

God, you pliantly move with him as he shifts in his seat, attempting to find a more comfortable position by sliding down somewhat. But you can't help but momentarily dig your fingers into his abdomen as the slight stir pushes his hips against yours, forcing him deeper inside you. The sting of your nails makes his hips jump more erratically than when he'd shuffled just seconds earlier, and you can't stop a moan as you press yourself down into his lap. The only thought left in your mind is that you desperately need to move. Now.

Rocking your hips, you gave a quivering sigh, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his blunt tip hitting something so sensitive.

"Love", John's voice is even, hinting at nothing more than attempting to earn your attention. However, how his hand travelled from around your waist to your ass, angling your hips roughly in an arch so you were pressed, forced stationary, against his chest, spoke of something else.

When you emerge from his neck, with hands planted on his chest, his blue eyes lock with yours, and how he tilts his head causes a shiver to run down your spine.

"Said to sit still, didn't I?" A soft whine leaves your mouth, lower lip jutting out. "Only going to keep me warm, eh?" He tuts amusingly.

You huff as you catch the amusement in his voice. "You seem to like it".

"Not 'bout likin' it love, but seein' how strong that resolve of yours is", he hums, taunting words brushing over your lips

You could bare your teeth at that response, like a cat hissing at someone, even if they were petting them because they came close. John's cock was literally throbbing inside you, his hips shifting to get more comfortable, only to rock himself deeper into you, demanding, mocking you to do something about your predicament.

As if feeling your body tense, your frustration growing, the menace of a man you're perched upon decides to stoke the fire by giving you a small kiss on your lips.

"Not fair", you hiss against John. This time, his chuckle is audible.

"No one said anything about fair". You send him a deadpan look, but he only chuckles deeply again. "Now relax again, love". His hand pushes against the back of your head, bringing you to rest it against him. You don't fight him, hooking your chin near the juncture of his neck, staring at the bookshelf opposite you.

You knew you'd given a false promise when you said this wouldn't lead to anything. Called your own lie and his with your initial scepticism. But now you're too far gone, too horny after nearly a month of not properly feeling him; you let out a shuddering, displeased moan as you purposefully squirm.

Your constant shifts were too small to bring any real pleasure, erratic enough they would be written off as shifts to get comfortable if it wasn't for how you and John knew it definitely wasn't.

You could already feel your juices dripping, coating your inner thighs and his crotch, probably soaking his trousers. The lewd picture makes your pussy throb around his length again, and you quietly mewl, brows furrowing in frustration as you glare straight forward.

As if to make matters worse, your clit caught perfectly on the rolled-together line of your underwear that pressed into you at the angle John kept you from sinking deeper onto him. The realisation is like a doomsday announcement, as now it's impossible not to notice how your bundle of nerves is throbbing.

The ache is unbearable, especially as pleasure is within sight, the planes of John's lower stomach pressed right against your mound. With such temptation just a breath away, you wriggle your hips, stuttering a breath when pleasure rushes through your abdomen.

You start with small movements, yet more calculated than before. But soon, your squirming evolves into grinds that never fully make you sit back on John's lap.

You reckon that's why he doesn't stop your movements. But what catches you, pleasantly, off-guard is when you feel a slight push of his hand against your backside.

John lazily guides your hips a few times but stops suddenly as if catching himself of what he's doing when his concentration slips from his reading.

He chastises you with a soft pinch to the skin of your hips, and you know what's coming when he grabs the nape of your neck.

"Thought you said no fuckin'?". He directs your head in front of his. John's eyes have darkened, the good kind, his chest heaving more with each breath.

"I'm a big fat liar. That's what you want to hear?" You're quick to reply, the amusement rising in his blue eyes evident as he rolls his lips between his teeth with a content quirk in their corners before he answers.

"Always a delight when you admit you're wrong".

"Yeah, yeah", you roll your eyes, heat licking up your limbs and spine until pooling in the pit of your stomach. You attempt to quell it by mimicking the same move you'd previously done, but don't get far before John's strong hand anchors you squarely in his lap. The sweet pleasure of him filling you to the brim is momentary as the action keeps you there, fixed.

"Never said I would fuck you. I'm quite satisfied with this arrangement". John Price may be a humble man, but sometimes his cockiness soared when having you at his mercy.

"Piss off".

"Goin' to remain right here", he flashed you a devilish smile before returning to work.

His blatant disregard makes your mouth fall open as you stare at him.

You know John saw your reaction from the corner of his eyes, but he was adamant about not acknowledging you. You clench your jaw, sending him a nasty look.

If that's how he wants to play.

With the single coherent thought that you would get your release, no longer desiring to play into the torture John was putting you through, you decide to make him cave right along with you.

With one hand stabilising yourself on his chest, your other hand slide down beneath your sweater. Your mouth falls open when your fingers brush your clit, faintly feeling how he stretches you open, unabashed moan clawing up your throat and out of your mouth.

Oh, you saw the twitch of his head and felt his fingers dig into your waist. You knew how much he desired to look at you but remained stubborn enough not to indulge himself.

What must be a delirious-looking smile spread on your face as your mouth remains open, releasing all the soft breaths and whiney moans you'd muffled earlier. He's still keeping a steely grip on your lower half, keeping you from rocking your hips, but you make do with what he can't control.

You bend forward at the waist, head falling alongside his until you face his throat.

Whereas your previous kisses had been light, worshipping, now they were shy of foul. You don't leave more than a few open-mouthed kisses along his neck as a heads-up before you trace your tongue over the same spots you journey.

You never stop the slow circles over your clit, your heavy breaths fanning over the wet trail you paint against his skin. And with your pleasured sounds so close to his ear, your lips marking him up without abandon as no one but you will be able to see the light marks, a deep groan fills the air.

Silencing your satisfaction that you're slowly tearing his resolve, you release a low whine straight into his ear instead. "John-".

His facade cracks again, head tilting backwards, and you know he's fighting demons to not give in to your pleasure. But you show him no remorse, chuckling breathlessly over the shell of his ear before nipping his earlobe.

Laving over the sweet little spot on his neck, right at the angle where his beard fades and beneath his ear, another grunt fills the air as his other hand abandons the computer and shifts to grab you.

With both of his hands now on your hips, you take your unoccupied hand and drag it down his chest, the wiry hair tickling you as your nails catch his nipple. You paw at his chest as you push your mouth into the shell of his ear, shakily uttering, "Going fill me up, John?"

"Jesus-". His gravelly voice, how he gropes and grabs at your soft love handles, hints at the restrained pleasure leaking through the cracks you're creating. It eggs you on, quickening the fingers rubbing your clit as you try to see if he'll let you rock your hips.

Although he clutches your flesh when you start to roll your hips over his thick cock, he doesn't stop you, hands remaining dormant on your ass. And, since you don't get any resistance from John this time, you don't stop.

You flutter around him, your peak moving a lot closer when you sit straight, looking down at the man who showers you with his attention as you rise on your knees in tandem with the rocking of your hips. And that seems to break the last straw of his willpower.

You thank the heavens when he hastily moves to close his laptop and slides it a bit too aimlessly into the armchair beside the one you're occupying. The amusement in his eyes quickly faded to offer more place for surging arousal.

His uninjured arm rises to settle his hand at the back of your head, tugging you into a kiss as his other hand paces itself as he lowers it, swatting away your hand to overtake the onslaught on your bundle of nerves. As his thumbs find and rub firm circles onto your clit, you moan into his mouth.

John leans away to look at you, watching your features contort in pleasure as your cunt throbs around him. A lazy smirk on his face tells you he has no desire to drag out your or his pleasure any longer.

He starts moving his hips, meeting each of your falls into his lap, pressing him deeper into you than what you'd managed on your own. John sounded fucking heavenly as a fucked up into you, groans and grunts slipping past his teeth, even if he let you do most of the work, taking it easy with his shoulder.

"Fuckin' hell, that's my girl". He jerks inside you upon picking up the wet sounds squelching each time the back of your thighs meet his. "Takin' my cock so well after all this time, s'good for me, fuck- missed you havin' you around me". John's head drops backwards just as his hand falls to give your hips a firm squeeze, helping you guide your hips. You whine, clenching around him, slumping against him even if your hands get trapped between your chests.

He feels so good inside you, girthy length stretching you so deliciously, every ridge and vein rubbing against your walls. You pant against his skin, teeth closing on the tendons in his neck, not biting, but the pleasure just feels so good that you barely know what to do with yourself.

"Feisty today, eh?" John's jab is breathless, rasped from the back of his throat. "Hm, get so needy when you don't get my cock".

"John- fuck", your eyes squeeze tightly shut as your sensitivity is upped, orgasm nearing, the digit playing with your clit making you keen. "Feels so good, you feel so good... shit, missed this", you blabber. He groans at your admission, planting his heels more firmly to get more power behind his thrusts.

An involuntary squeak leaves you as the added force makes you slide forward a bit, your arm swinging around his neck on his uninjured side. It's nowhere near as fierce as John otherwise can shove himself deep inside of you, but after this long, he doesn't need to.

One final thrust sends you over the edge, body quivering, thighs squeezing his waist. Your moan breaks into heaving breaths, hips stilling in their up-and-down movement. John's not far behind, manually grinding your hips back and forth before he rolls his hips upwards, praises falling in groans from his lips as he spills inside you.

"Best believe you're not going back to working after this", you sigh into John's neck, having caught your breath just as he slackens beneath you.

He gives you a shakey laugh yet to level his own breathing. "No thought 'bout it", his voice is throaty as his arms curl around your waist.

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monstersandmaw · 2 months

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Male kelpie (dad-bod, single father, biker) x plus size f. reader - Part One (sfw)

Background info post on the Full Moon Motorcycles group here Oats Appreciation post here

Featuring a plus-size, bisexual, not very confident reader, and a divorced, Scottish, single-dad, biker kelpie with a soft-dad bod and a heart as big as his bike’s engine (possibly bigger).

CW: there is a very brief moment where a character (not Oats!) insults the reader for her size and uses some fat-phobic language towards and about her, unaware that she can hear him. If you’re sensitive to that, it is brief, but you can skip from “…you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.” to the paragraph beginning, “After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror…”. Also, if you squint, there’s a passing moment that could possibly be interpreted as the reader having some potential issues with food, but it’s not intended to be a big deal and it’s only for about two sentences. Still putting it in here too, just in case.

Wordcount: 7562

You pushed open the glass door of Full Moon Motorcycles and willed yourself not to feel self-conscious or out of place.

Having both an older brother and a mother who rode motorbikes had at least given you a fair bit of familiarity with bikes and the general ‘biker culture’, but it was mostly the fact that almost all the ‘biker girls’ you saw posing on social media were slim and toned, which you were decidedly not.

From the utterly foetid takes in the comments section of the one post your brother had shared on his page with you in it, you’d also got the impression that the biker community was not particularly kind to any woman with a waist over 25 inches. It probably wasn’t the case, but your one experience with it had been enough to make you very wary.

And yet, as you made your way towards the bike shop’s counter and the older man with floppy, greying hair and warm brown eyes looked up, you were greeted with an open, welcoming smile.

“Hi there,” he said, standing up with a grunt from the comfy chair where he’d been sitting in the corner near the shop’s antique cash register. “What can I do for you?”

You smiled shyly and glanced along the wooden countertop before returning your gaze to him. “I’m looking for a present for my brother, but I’m kind of on a budget…”

“Gotcha. We’ve got some silly key fobs there,” he said, indicating a rotating display rack at one end of the counter, with mottoes that ranged from funny to explicit, “But if they like working on their bike themselves, you can’t go wrong with some maintenance supplies… Not the most glamorous but I promise they’ll be grateful to you all the same.”

“Could always tie a festive ribbon round it,” you said, and he chuckled and nodded.

“That’s the spirit.”

You eyed the reasonable price of the fobs with some relief, and then followed his gesture towards the various bottles of chain degreaser and the like, and a few other useful tools and kits that were stacked on shelves on the back wall to the right of a door that presumably led into the back and store rooms.

The right hand side of the shop had the counter and some shiny, new bikes that had been parked in a row around the perimeter of the space, and the left hand side was more open with a bench or two against the brick walls, and some red, mechanics’ tool-chests tucked against the back wall. A number of leather two- and one-piece suits hung in racks at the furthest end though, with helmets on shelves and a few rows of t-shirts, jeans, gloves, and boots displayed too. There were oil stains in the centre of the polished concrete floor, and you suspected that tinkering took place there outside of the shop’s usual opening hours.

The whole vibe of Full Moon Motorcycles was friendly and cosy, with a slightly industrial, grungy note for some flavour.

In short, you loved it.

“There are also some fun helmet covers –” the older man chuckled, and added, “A number of the regulars here have them, and there are also some earplugs, or perhaps a tough phone case and mount? A chain care kit? There are some vinyl stickers too, and t-shirts, socks, neck warmers, balaclavas, mugs, helmet care kits, thermals…”

Laughing, you held up your hands for him to stop, and he started to chuckle too.

“I’ll let you browse in peace, sweetheart,” he said, his whisky brown eyes twinkling. Even his un-looked-for endearment came across as kindly instead of creepy, and not many men could pull that off. “You just holler if you have questions and I’ll be happy to –”

The door opened behind you and he broke off as his attention was snagged by the arrival of a heavy-set guy in dark jeans and a softly-worn, black leather jacket. He held a black helmet with a tinted visor in his large hands, and he looked more than a little wind-blown and rumpled.

Incongruous with his rather roguish-dishevelment, a lock of his long, thick, slightly grizzled, black hair was held back by a little hair-clip with a Barbie-pink, fabric bow. It didn’t fit with the dark scruff of stubble on his jaw or the piercing green-blue eyes at all, but he seemed completely unfazed by its presence.

“Oats!” the older man exclaimed with obvious joy, clapping his hands. “It’s been a while, my boy! How was the trip to Scotland? You make it round the NC500 this time?”

The ‘boy’ looked to be in his mid to late thirties…

“Ach, no’ a chance this time, Hank,” the man chuckled with a heavy, Scottish accent lacing his rich, rough baritone. Exactly where in Scotland he was from, you couldn’t tell, but it was lyrical and attractive all the same.

“Ah, next time, next time. And is Natalie well?

“Oh aye, my wee Loch Ness Monster is doing just fine. She’ll be terrorising her mother for the Christmas holidays. I came straight from the road though — clutch started playing up just south of Birmingham.” He grimaced, but even that looked charming somehow. “Sort of hoped you might find a minute to take a look at it for me if I left the Old Girl here. No rush though.”

“No problem, Oats. We’ll get her running properly again in no time. Bet you’re missing little Natalie already,” Hank added sympathetically.

“Ah, you have no idea,” the man, peculiarly-named ‘Oats’, sighed ruefully, shaking his head.

“See she left you with a parting gift though,” Hank snorted, pointing at the bow hair clip.

With a slight frown to his dark eyebrows, Oats reached up and patted at his head until he found it, and then he laughed. It was a loud, delighted, full-bellied sound that reverberated through the space while it lasted, and he left the hair clip where it was with no trace of self-consciousness as he lowered his hand again. “Aye, that she did. Surprised it survived the journey down with my lid on and everything. Oh –” His unusually pale green eyes landed on you, watching him and lurking near the rows of t-shirts on the back wall, and he went still.

Those sea-grey eyes raked you up and down, clearly noting the way your black leggings clung to the curves of your thighs and hips, and the black hoodie, which maybe went some way to hiding the softness of your stomach a bit, and he swallowed visibly. He looked… hungry. That was not the usual reaction you had grown accustomed to from men, and you let the flare of heat lick up your insides for just a moment, daring to hope that maybe he did find you attractive.

“Sorry,” he said in your direction, with a soft, dusky smile. “Didnae mean t’interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” you managed to croak back at him before returning your attention, however reluctantly, to present options for your brother while the older man, Hank, hobbled out around the corner of the wooden counter to chat amicably with the man. You couldn’t hear what was said as the two chatted in lower voices, but it was evident that they were good friends. While they talked, however, you couldn’t help noticing that he stole occasional sidelong glances in your direction, and you felt your face warm pleasantly.

‘Oats’ was certainly an unusual nickname, but then again, almost everyone who rode with your brother also had their own nicknames for one reason or another. As you browsed, you wondered what Oats had done to earn that one. He certainly looked like a snack to you, but you vowed not to let your attraction to the stranger show. Awkward situations (or worse, silences) tended to arise when you let that happen.

He had a tanned, outdoorsy complexion, and longish, black hair that was tied back in a low ponytail that brushed below the collar of his black leather jacket. It looked like it had a tendency to flop into his face when not restrained by that out-of-place pink bow. He filled out the jacket very well, and clearly had a soft paunch, and his thighs looked frankly delectable in those thick, indigo jeans. You prayed you wouldn’t have to see him fully from the back if he turned around, to witness the way he filled out the seat of his jeans too.

Fuck. Concentrate.

Bike gifts for brother, not delicious-looking stranger you’re never going to see again.

“Well, I shouldnae hang about, I suppose.”

Oats’ voice cut through your musings in front of chain degreasers and you jumped a little. Glancing back over at him, you offered him a smile when he too turned to look at you one last time, and a slow, charming smile crept onto his handsome face.

“See you,” he said with a dip of his head. Before he strode from the shop though, he let his eyes roam once more down the length of you and he bit his lower lip, almost regretfully, then turned away abruptly.

Oh yes. He absolutely did fill out the ass of those jeans beautifully.

Quite honestly, you weren’t totally sure what you ended up getting your brother for his birthday. You took whatever it was to the counter in a daze, your mind replaying over and over the way he’d looked at you.

“Must say,” Hank said conspiratorially as he fished your change from the antique cash register and slid it across the polished, wooden counter towards you. “I’ve never seen Oats quite so taken with someone, miss.” He chuckled, his kind, whisky-brown eyes glinting. “You take care now.”

Swallowing, you nodded and left the shop, hoping perhaps to find Oats waiting for you outside on the street, leaning against his motorcycle, but life was not a movie, and wherever he was, he was not lingering in the hopes of seeing you. In fact, the street was completely deserted, so you crossed, clambered into your little hatchback, and drove home with the feeling that you’d let a pivotal moment in your life pass you by.

Your sour mood persisted like a raincloud for the whole week, but by the time you were driving over to your brother’s on Saturday for his birthday ride, you were trying to pull yourself out of it. You had your own helmet with you, secured in the back of the car, and beside it was (now wrapped) the present you’d got him. In fact, it was a chain care kit, and, although you hadn’t noticed at the time, Hank had thrown in a free keychain that said ‘In my defence, I was left unsupervised’ which was very on-brand for your brother. You had planned to go back and thank him for the freebie as soon as you could, but your brother’s birthday ride had been planned for that Saturday, and work had been hell that week, so you’d not had the chance.

Predictably, Alex wasn’t in the house when you rang the doorbell, so you followed the sound of metallic clinking and laughter, and went round the side to find him tinkering with his mad little Honda Grom in the garage, while his two best mates — Eggs and Sparky — were lounging around and either making unhelpful suggestions or lewd comments.

“Yo!” Sparky grinned when he saw you, sitting up straighter and almost falling off the mechanic’s tool chest he was leaning his weight against. At Sparky’s exclamation, your brother sat up and banged his head on the handlebars of the short little Grom with a curse.

“Hey,” you mumbled in Sparky’s general direction. “Happy birthday, Alex.”

Alex scrambled upright and came over to hug you, probably smearing grease and dirt all over your armoured jacket, but since it was black anyway, you didn’t mind too much. Alex was about as opposite to you as it was possible to get — straight up and down like a beanpole, and tall. You took after your mother, inheriting all her thick curves and soft edges. Soft heart too.

“Thought this might come in handy,” you mumbled when Alex released you and you held out the brown paper bag stamped with the logo of Full Moon Motorcycles.

His eyes lit up when he saw the logo, and he tore into it like a chipmunk after a peanut, grinning in delight when he’d dismembered it, and in particular he showed off the keychain to his mates. Eggs snatched it and tried to claim it for himself, but Alex was having none of it, and the three of them scrapped and goofed around while you sat down on an old, metal stool in the corner and waited for the other two of your small party to show up, with a cool, curdling kind of dread in the pit of your stomach when you heard one name in particular. Nooner.

Within an hour though, you were all out on the road.

You took the pillion seat behind Alex, and warded his mates off at red lights when they came for his killswitch to immobilise him. A while later though, Alex zoomed off down the open road that would take you all out of town and towards the somewhat famous biker cafe, ‘Elusive Neutral’, that sat nestled amongst the fragrant heather of the rolling hills surrounding the old market town.

The sky was a gorgeous, autumnal blue and the weather was perfect, neither too hot nor too cold, and as your brother’s Yamaha flew along the winding A-road that was every biker’s dream, you cracked a smile and gently tipped your head back. As much as it had scared you when you’d first ridden behind your mother all those years ago, you did love the feeling of being out on a bike. Not that you were actually brave enough to want to try and learn yourself though. Something always held you back, made you wary and unsure, and then you inevitably felt down about that too. God, you wished you had Alex’s wild confidence.

Nothing good ever seemed to last for you though, and when Alex’s R1 had purred into the car park behind Eggs and Sparky, and you��d hopped off to let him reverse more easily into a space, you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.

“…if he didn’t have his fat sister with him, we could have fucking ripped it up along those twisties.” That, of course, had come from Nooner, named for the fact that he rarely stuck to two wheels and always pulled wheelies, or ‘nones’, whenever he got the chance. Out of all of your brother’s friends, he was the one you liked the least, for… obvious reasons.

“Talk about killing the vibes, huh?” Eggs replied, trying to suck up to him, as ever. “More like ‘crushing’!”

The reason Eggs had earned his nickname was that he’d lost a bet and shaved his head when they’d all been about sixteen, and he’d looked like a boiled egg til it grew back. You wished you had the sass to remind him of that every time his spine seemed to crumble in favour of earning a half-hearted snicker out of Nooner.

When Alex joined you, he caught the crestfallen expression on your face and frowned, but you shook your head and walked away from them, heading for the cafe alone.

“Can’t wait to shove some cake in her fat gob already,” Nooner added as an aside to Eggs, and your vision blurred as tears welled along your lashes. Why did people have to be so cruel? To trample all over someone else just to feel a little taller themselves?

You vaguely heard what sounded like Sparky’s voice countering the comment, but you didn't stick around either way. If you mentioned it to your brother again, he’d just say it was banter with the guys and not to take it to heart. Easy for someone who's never been on the end of that kind of comment to shrug it off, after all.

You ducked straight for the toilets when you got inside the airy, modern cafe, not even bothering to look around or find a table first.

After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror to see that you hadn’t turned your eyeliner into a panda cosplay, you headed out again and made for the little bar that doubled as a counter for people who were there solo to sit and eat instead of taking up a whole table to themselves. None of your brother’s friends joined you, and when you glanced back over your shoulder, you saw that they’d settled themselves around a table in the far corner and already had a number for a server to bring their food order over. They hadn’t even waited for you.

“Fuck them,” you hissed through gritted teeth, taking a seat at the bar instead. The stools were made of old tractor seats, and they were surprisingly comfortable, and as you leaned your forearms on the countertop, the young woman behind the counter came over to you with a smile that made you feel a little better.

“Hey,” she said. “What can I get for you?”

You ordered a hot drink, and then took out your phone while you waited for her to make it for you.

For half an hour or so, you sat scrolling through social media and sipping your drink and telling yourself this was your brother’s day and not yours. He did come over a couple of times, but you declined to sit with his friends, and because he’d never had any real reason to doubt you before, he took you at your word when you told him you were happy enough where you were. “I don’t want to get in the way,” you said, and he believed you.

Patting you on the shoulder, he left you for the third time, and you looked down into the dregs of your drink with a heavy sigh. “This sucks.”

Outside, the sound of more bikes arriving made your ears perk up, and you wondered idly what they rode. Elusive Neutral had once been an old cattle barn, but it had been completely redone and the walls on two sides had been replaced with vast picture windows that showed the sweeping expanse of moorland beyond, and a small sliver of the car park at one end. Craning your neck, you saw a group of maybe five or six bikers draw up, some on hipster looking cafe racers and others on racy sports bikes. There was even a Ducati Panigale among them, and behind them followed an old, battered, blue pickup truck.

The door opened a little while later, and you glanced over, eyes drawn instinctively by the movement.

Above the general chatter and merry chinking of china in the room, the energy of the new group of bikers rose like a cloud of dizzy mayflies; buzzing and excited and full of joy. You watched them all with interest from your perch at the counter.

The first through the door was an absolute Amazon of a woman, with her long black hair restrained in a thick braid, and shoulders the width of a barn door. She was lean and tall, and in her biker gear she looked… incredible. Her face was strikingly handsome, but until she glanced down at the woman walking beside her, her features were hard and glowering and unspeakably stern. She held the door open for one of the others to follow her inside, but when she locked eyes again with the brunette by her side, her whole expression melted into unguarded adoration. Your gut twisted briefly with jealousy.

It wouldn’t matter to you who looked at you like that, if only someone would.

You looked away, and by the time you glanced back at the bikers, the whole group had filed in from outside. There was a guy with golden-brown skin and beautiful dark brown eyes who had his arm wrapped possessively around the waist of a pale, skinny guy in black jeans and a moth-eaten, black jumper, with his long hair tied back in a bun, and behind them came a strikingly attractive guy in a manual wheelchair, flanked by a very short biker with slightly anaemic looking skin. You wondered fleetingly if the guy in the wheelchair had ridden a motorbike there, and if so how, before you realised he was probably the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, with long, flowing red hair and dark green eyes, and the kind of mouth that was made for laughing, and for kissing.

Jesus, was it an unwritten rule of being a biker that you had to be unfairly attractive? Even Hank, who you recognised with a start of surprise coming in behind the guy with red hair, wasn’t unattractive, in a bulky, older man kind of way.

The guy walking with him though… he truly made your stomach swoop.

It was Oats.

You looked away before he could spot you, sitting alone at the bar like some pathetic creature waiting for cocktail hour to begin. It was lunchtime on a sunny, autumnal Saturday though, and there you were sitting alone because you didn’t fancy sitting with your brother’s loser mates.

God, the way Oats had looked in his tough-looking leather jacket, with his eyes crinkled mid-laugh at something the guy in the wheelchair had shot back at them over his shoulder… You bit your lip and stared into the bottom of your cold, empty mug like it would divine some kind of solution to your situation for you.

The new group didn’t seem to notice you while they filed up to the counter, jostling and joking, and when they drifted off to another corner of the cafe, you turned back to your phone, trying desperately to resist the almost overwhelming urge to keep turning over your shoulder to watch them.

Before too long however, you startled at a soft tap on your shoulder, and you looked around to find Oats himself stepping back to a polite distance and smiling down at you like he’d found a treasure in an unexpected place.

“Hey there,” he said in that rolling, Scottish accent that did unspeakably indecent things to your insides. “Sorry if I’m intruding, but you were at Full Moon last week, right?”

Mute for a moment, you nodded, and mustered up a slightly dazed smile for him.

“You… here alone?” he asked, eyeing the currently-empty seats to your left and right. In fact, someone had only just gathered up their belongings and left.

“Kind of?” you croaked, letting your eyes slide over to the table where your brother and his friends were hunched over one of their phones, snickering at something. “It’s… It’s my brother’s birthday today. I… tagged along as pillion, but… you know… I’m kind of a spare part really.”

At that, Oats’ dark eyebrows knitted into a scowl and he looked across the room at them before returning his attention to you. Then, his unearthly, almost prismatic, silver-green eyes took in your empty cup and he grinned. “Can I get y’a top up?”

Your instinct was to refuse, but you bit your lip. This didn’t feel real. A cute, handsome, courteous guy was actually taking an interest in you.

“Sure. Thank you.” And the smile that spread itself across your face telegraphed your delight in a way that was impossible to disguise with any kind of suave grace.

Oats, however, seemed equally delighted, and nodded. The barista came back over and he leaned his weight on the counter to talk to her. He seemed to have that enviably easy manner with everybody, and he even charmed a free slice of cake out of her too with what felt like no effort at all.

“Chocolate? Or something else?” he asked you.

“Pardon?”

“Cake.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” you said, but he frowned.

“You sure? I’m gonna have a bit of their chocolate cake. It’s so good, it’s practically a sin.”

“I…” you faltered.

He didn’t pressure you though and shrugged easily, turning back to the barista. “Gimme two forks with that, love. Just in case.”

“No problem,” she beamed back while she bustled about, and Oats eyed the empty bar stool next to yours.

“May I?”

You swallowed your nerves and nodded. “Please.” And then, because apparently a demon of confidence had temporarily possessed you, you eyed his slightly helmet-flattened forelock and said, “No pink hair clips today?”

He guffawed loudly enough that your brother actually glanced over and frowned when he saw you talking with a stranger.

Oats snorted and shook his head. “No, not today. My daughter is still up in Scotland with her mother.” He fixed you with a more serious look and said, “She and I divorced, before you get the wrong idea about me flirting like this with a beautiful woman.”

The compliment caught you so off-guard that you just froze for a moment, but when the heat of a blush filled your face, you looked away and he chuckled.

“I’m not normally so forward, but I’ve been kicking myself for not talking to you when I first saw you in Full Moon. Hank was telling me just this morning what a muppet I’d made of myself for walking away like that.”

You looked behind you at the group of his friends and then turned back to him. “Won’t they think you’re being rude, ignoring them like this?”

He shook his head and smiled. “They’re probably all taking bets on how quickly you’ll shoot me down.”

“What? I’d have to be an idiot to do that.”

At that, his face split into a huge, handsome grin and he shook his head just a little. “Lucky me,” he said. “You ride?” he added, eyeing your jacket that was obviously a motorcycle jacket.

You shrugged. “Pillion. I’ve never ridden myself, but my brother lets me come out with him sometimes.”

Oats nodded, and then, as the barista set down his coffee, your top-up, and the plate of decadent chocolate cake with two forks, he said, “I’m Euan, by the way, but everyone calls me Oats.”

You introduced yourself, and then said, “Oats?”

He snorted and nodded. “Not the worst nickname, for sure.”

“Can I ask where it came from?”

Oats nodded and shunted the plate towards you first before leaning his elbow on the bar and watching you while he spoke. “I think it’s because I’m a dad, but I’m always prepared for most situations, and when it comes to my Natalie, she’s always hungry. I’ve usually got about a thousand granola bars stashed away about my person —” he said, cutting himself off to pat conspicuously at his jacket pockets. Pulling a slightly dog-eared crunchy bar from his breast pocket, he wielded it like a magic wand at you and said, “Case in point.”

“Hence, Oats,” you said, eyeing the healthy brand name on the packet.

“Exactly. Like I said, it could be worse. See the tall lass over there with the dangerous scowl?”

You didn't need to turn around to know which of his friends he was talking about, but you did anyway. “Yeah.”

“We call her Pixie.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” he chuckled, stowing the granola bar back into his pocket and taking a huge scoop of the chocolate cake with his own fork.

“What do you ride then?” you asked.

“Triumph Bonneville T120,” he said with almost exactly the same intonation and fondness as he’d just said ‘because I’m a dad’, and you couldn’t help smiling. “Can’t be doing with all these glitzy sports bikes and the like,” he added with a laugh, setting his fork down and blinking slowly. His lashes, you noticed, were thick and dark and enticingly long.

Laughing, you smiled. “Don’t say that too loudly — my brother rides an R1.”

“Nice,” Oats grinned back. “But nothing could entice me away from my girl.”

“I’m surprised you’re here, flirting with me then,” you said. Evidently that confidence demon was still lurking.

Again, Oats laughed, though it was more of a low whicker this time, and it rolled right through you and lit you up all over. God, how long had it been since someone had laughed like that for you?

“There are… exceptions,” he said in a rumbling murmur. “Tell me about yourself?” he asked, and you did.

You spent the next hour at least talking in an easy back and forth with him while he charmed a few more refills from the barista and a lot of answers out of you, before one of his friends sidled up shyly and waited for a lull in your conversation.

“Sorry to butt in,” the small, unbelievably beautiful woman said. She was the one who’d been on the receiving end of the adoring look from the Amazon, ‘Pixie’. She had chocolate-brown hair falling in thick ringlets around a gorgeous face, and, you were pleased to note, she had wide hips and a softness to her that a lot of the biker chicks you’d seen online didn’t have.

“Coco,” Oats beamed. “Meet my new friend.” He introduced you by name, and Coco smiled at you, holding out her hand.

When your palms connected, you felt a warmth rush through you and you felt like your heart skipped a beat. The feeling like you could tip forwards and drown in her endless, dark brown eyes almost unseated you, but she let go of you and stepped back with a pretty smile on her Cupid’s-bow lips. “Pleasure to meet you. Just wanted to tell Oats that we’re thinking of heading off soon. Ariel has a photoshoot he wants to get to in an hour or so, and Demon’s keen to get going as well.”

Oats nodded, and you tried not to let your stomach drop down to your boots at the thought of all this coming to such an abrupt end.

Coco turned her head sharply to look at you just as the feeling hit, and she smiled faintly. “You could always stay here though, Oats,” she added with a pretty smile. “We’re only going back to Full Moon, and Demon clearly has no intention of lingering there…” She shot a meaningful glance back at their table. Demon, the guy with dark hair and tanned skin, was seated with the guy he’d entered with now draped in his lap, his skinny legs dangling as he sprawled languidly back against the guy’s muscular chest. Demon whispered something into his ear before he clearly bit the shell of his boyfriend’s ear, which made him sit abruptly upright and flush a vibrant pink.

Oats laughed again and shook his head. “Fuck me,” he chuckled privately. “Never thought I’d see the day. You guys go on. I’m… I’m very much content here.”

“I can see that,” Coco smirked, and walked away.

When she was out of earshot, you turned to Oats with a hot flush of your own in your face and said, “Don’t stay if you don’t want to… I’m sure my brother will be leaving soon anyway…”

Just as you said that, and before Oats could reply, Alex reappeared at your side and jutted his chin in Oats’ direction. “You good?” he chirped at you.

“Fine,” you replied. “This is Oats. I met him at Full Moon Motorcycles when I was buying your birthday present.”

“Oh,” Alex replied, holding out his hand for Oats to shake. “Good to meet you, man. You tell her what to get for me? If you did, it was a good choice.”

“No,” Oats said carefully, his grey-green eyes sliding back to your face even while he shook your brother’s hand amicably. “No, whatever she got you, it was all her.”

“Oh, cool,” Alex said. “Listen, sis, we’re gonna hit the road in a while. Nooner and Eggs want to hit the twisties for a bit, but I can’t really do that with a backpack, so Sparky said he’d give you a ride home, if that’s ok.”

You swallowed. “Um…”

“I can give her a lift,” Oats replied after a swift glance in your direction. “She’s already got her own lid, and there’s room on the Bobber’s double seat for both of us.”

“I don’t know, man,” Alex said with a wary frown.

“Your choice,” Oats shrugged easily, looking at you and holding his hands up just a little.

For a fleeting moment, you weren’t sure, but the idea of wrapping your arms around Oats’ thick middle and sitting astride his gorgeous bike kind of decided it for you. Besides, it was a long time since you’d done anything truly just for yourself; simply because you wanted to. You nodded at your brother. “It’s fine. You go ahead.”

“You sure?”

Nodding to reassure him, you smiled again and Alex backed up a pace. “Cool. Text me later, ok?” he said as he retreated towards his friends, clearly trying to hide his excitement at not having a passenger for the great, twisting section of A-road they were heading for.

“Will do. Have fun, and don’t crash!” you called after him. “Or get a speeding ticket!”

He waved a hand over one shoulder without looking back, and you laughed and returned your attention to Oats. “Brothers.”

“Bikers,” he replied. “You try telling that to any of that lot though —” he gestured towards his own group of friends who were now filtering out of the door. “You ready to head out too or do you want to stay?”

You did want to stay, but the seat wasn’t that comfortable anymore, and you wanted to move around a bit. “No, I’m good to go,” you said and prepared to slide off the stool, but Oats stepped down first and held out his hand to you. You didn't need helping down, and his playful little smirk told you he knew as much, so you rode out the last of that demonic possession and let your fingers slide across his palm and he steadied you off the stool.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“Pleasure.”

You picked up your helmet from where you’d stowed it on the floor at your feet and straightened to find him waving casually across the room to the good-looking guy with the ethereally pretty boyfriend. Before he stepped away from you and made towards the door though, you cleared your throat and said, “Oats?”

“Mn?” Looking down at you, his entire attention honed in on you, like you were the centre of the universe, and you swallowed back a sudden welling of emotion.

“Listen… Thank you… for… coming over to me today. Like I said, it’s my brother’s birthday, and he was here with his friends, and he only included me so I didn’t feel completely left out, but…” Accursed tears washed over your eyes for a moment but you blinked them away furiously and ploughed on regardless. “I’m really glad I came along today anyway,” you finished rather pathetically.

His full, beautiful lips curled into a gentle smile and he blinked softly and exhaled. When he spoke, his voice was low and his words private, as though you weren’t standing in a busy cafe surrounded by people and the cheerful clatter of coffee cups and laughter. “I’m really glad I did too. I wasn’t going to, you know? I was going to stay at home and edit a boatload of raw photographs for a client, but Demon convinced me to come out. I guess I owe him.”

“‘Demon’? For… For the speed?” you asked, wondering how he came by his nickname.

“For the horns,” Oats replied in deadpan humour. “Have a look if he’s still there when we go outside. You ready?”

You followed him out of the cafe with a nod, and just as you took a deep, indulgent breath of fresh, heathland air, Oats’ group of friends filed out past you on their bikes. The one named Demon was in the lead, and the nickname made immediate sense. Sitting astride a blood-red Panigale, with his boyfriend clinging on behind him like a limpet, the guy had pale, curving horns fixed to the crown of his helmet.

“Yeah, that tracks,” you said, and Oats waggled his dark eyebrows.

The Amazon had a Yamaha R1 like your brother’s, but hers had a pearl-white wrap that made it look almost spectral, and riding out in front of her was Coco on a yellow and black Honda Hornet.

The telltale red plait told you that the guy in the wheelchair was on a modified Kawasaki, with unusual struts at the back that looked like they would come down when he stopped to stabilise him instead of having to take his legs off the foot pegs, where they were currently Velcro-ed in place. Watching the whole group file out was Hank, standing beside a battered old pickup. In the bed of the truck, you could just see that the red-headed biker’s wheelchair secured in place.

Hank waved the last of them off, then glanced over at Oats. The older man lifted his nose just a little, as if he too was enjoying the fresh, moorland wind that whipped across the car park, and he nodded once at Oats, and then at you to your surprise, before clambering stiffly up into his pickup and closing the door. It shut with a raucous yelp of rusty hinges.

You stood there and watched Oats’ friends all file out, all waving at Oats as they passed, before they set off down the road in a roar of revving engines to leave a lonely looking Bonneville waiting patiently near the stone wall of the car park nearby.

“Yours, I presume?” you said, nodding at it.

“Yup.”

“She’s a beauty,” you mumbled, self-consciousness prickling at the sides of your neck for the silly comment.

Oats beamed though, his sea-foam eyes lighting up as the crinkles around his eyes and the slight dimples in his cheeks creased under the force of his obvious pleasure. “Thank you. She’s my pride and joy. You ready? Oh, wait, you should put your address into my phone before we get going,” he laughed.

You nodded, taking the offered phone from him. Your fingers brushed against his warm skin as you took it, and a tiny thrill passed through you that you did your best to quash. With your address plugged in and a route home waiting to be followed, you handed it back to him and looked up into his handsome, rugged face as he smiled.

“Cheers. Let’s go,” he said, and you trailed along beside him over to his bike, heartbeat thudding in your ears with your nerves.

He swung a leg over and turned the key, then pushed the bike upright and nudged the side-stand in with his left foot before flicking the switch and bringing the bike to life. She growled beautifully, the low, thundering rumble of her engine sounding far more visceral and primal than your brother’s sports bike did. Perhaps it was the design of the lower-slung Bonneville, with its visible parts that made you think of a Steampunk aesthetic, but you instantly preferred it. Plus, the double seat looked way more cushioned — and less precarious — than the one you’d perched on to get to the cafe that morning.

Oats got himself comfy while you slid your helmet on, then he looked over his shoulder at you and nodded, so you took that as your cue and got settled on the pillion seat behind him. The footpegs were already down. The pulsing purr of the machine beneath you was almost enough to distract you from the fact that you were entrusting your life to a relative stranger, whom you’d never seen ride before, and as you climbed on and rested your hands politely on his shoulders, you felt a shiver travel through your whole nervous system.

“Do whatever’s comfortable for you, obviously,” Oats said over the noise of his bike, “But if you want to hold my waist — if you can actually get your arms around my middle, that is,” he chuckled self-effacingly, “— feel free. Totally up to you.”

“Thanks,” you yelled back, and, because apparently that pesky demon of confidence was still kicking around, you hugged his torso.

It was wonderful.

Slowly snaking your arms around his middle, you felt your chest press against his back and you caught the way he inhaled slowly and tried not to wonder what it meant. It felt so good to hold him that you had to remind yourself it wasn’t a hug. It was to keep you in place while a gorgeous stranger drove you home on his equally gorgeous bike. With a final thumbs-up to check you were happy, to which you replied with a nod of your head and tried not to clack your helmet against his, he pulled away and your heart leapt for the sheer joy of it.

Where the R1 was built for sleek speed and bursts of power, the Bonneville was build to be enjoyed, and oh gosh, did you enjoy every curve.

And not just the curves in the road, either.

Oats was soft, but he was solid, and the urge to rest one hand on his thick thigh was almost overwhelming, until he took the corners at just the right pace to be exhilarating without you having to worry about your safety, and you clung on instead and laughed behind the safety of your visor.

It was all over way too soon, and as the Bonneville chugged into your road like a steam train and halted outside your poky, terraced house with its quaint little kitchen garden out the front in the postage-stamp of space between the pavement and the house, your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. Please don’t let this be it, you thought desperately.

You went through the motions of getting carefully off the bike without staggering or falling, and again, Oats held out his hand to help steady you. You gripped his fingers gratefully and when you gave an extra little squeeze to his hand at the end, you could have sworn he answered with one of his own and a throaty chuckle.

He dismounted too, which surprised you, and you wondered if you were going to have to ask him inside. As much as you wanted that in principle, you desperately didn’t want it to happen today because the house was a mess: laundry was still hanging up all over the place, and you’d cooked a curry the previous night and it was definitely still lingering in the air.

Oats took off his helmet but left his bike idling, which went a little way to reassuring you, and when you looked more closely at his expression, you thought you saw a hint of something familiar lingering in the corners of his eyes. Was he nervous?

Swallowing thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing behind the thick, 5 o’clock shadow that looked like it lingered pretty constantly no matter the time of day, Oats took a deep breath, held it, and then smiled at you. “Fuck,” he exhaled, and laughed. “I’m… very rusty at all this.” He held his helmet in both hands before him, toying with the strap.

“If I gave you my number, would you maybe like to meet up again?” you asked, taking pity on the man.

“Very much,” he said softly. “Like I said, Natalie is with her mum for the holidays, and apart from a wedding I’m covering next week, this is a pretty slow time of year for me. I’m free… mostly whenever.”

The reminder that he had a daughter with someone else did make you wonder what you were letting yourself in for. Children weren’t really something you had any expense of, since neither you nor your brother had shown any parental inclinations yet, and you weren’t particularly close to your cousins who had small kids.

“Ok, let me give you my number and we can figure something out.”

That done, he slid his phone back into his pocket and zipped it up, biting gently at his lower lip for a moment. “I know it’s bold,” he said, “But may I kiss you?”

Your heart skipped and soared. Breathless, you looked up at him and whispered, “Yes.”

His tiny, gentle, lopsided smile heralded the kiss’ approach, and he took your jaw delicately in one, leather-gloved hand as he leaned down and brushed his lips against yours. They were soft but insistent against yours, and you answered with a little moan as your eyes fluttered shut.

He groaned, pulling you closer with a low growl so that you were pressed flush against him for a moment before he stepped back and exhaled roughly. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll see you soon?”

You nodded, feeling like you were floating inches above the ground.

You watched him re-mount his bike and adjust himself a little once he was settled, then he revved it playfully for you, and rode away after a final look back at you. He flipped his visor down as he pulled away, and you watched the bike and its rider disappear down the road.

‘Soon’ couldn’t come soon enough…

I really hope you enjoyed this. If you did, please consider showing your support by reblogging. It really is the best (and totally free!) way to help the artists and writers whose work you enjoy.

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#oats the kelpie #monster romance #kelpie #male kelpie x female human #full moon motorcycles #supernatural biker group #plus size female reader #plus size reader #male kelpie x female reader #male monster x female reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend #dadbod monster #dadbod #single father monster #monster dad

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justadeadreaper · 3 months

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TW: Hair pulling, DUBCON, Manipulation, Crying, Sadistic tendencies, "Experiments", Being a "pet", Hinting at further actions/NONCON, Past kidnapping, Kidnapped, Please tell me if anything that should be put as a warning was not, thanks.

Being the pet of Angel!König is not the worst fate you could have found yourself in. On one hand, you were guaranteed a spot in Heaven for the rest of eternity, which was a fate that most people dream of, while on the other hand, it meant you were never able to see your friends or family again unless they somehow made the criteria to make it into Heaven but knowing them you thought it to be impossible.

He is nice, well, as nice as he can be for an Angel who keeps you as a pet.

The Common Angels that cared for you when he was busy were the ones to gossip, and they gossiped loudly. You knew the jist of why you were there even if you did not have all the details. Apparently, most of the First Heirarchy Angels, such as Seraphim and Cherubim, tended to have a fascination with humans even if they were to never to act on it like previous ones, such as Lucifer had done. And this included Angel!König, who was the most fascinated by humans out of them all; you did not know what he had gone, but he had done something which allowed him to be granted one gift by the Almighty, and unluckily Angel!König only had his eyes on one human out of all of the ones that resided on Earth.

That human just had to be you.

You had been stolen away in your sleep and dragged away to a palace. It was grand and incredibly vast. At one point, you thought it was larger than all of Earth as it seemed never-ending as you continued to walk through its many halls. It was made up of a collection of star matter, clouds, and gold to form its walls, ceilings, balconies, staircases, floors, shelves, and anything else you could think of. You could never get bored inside of it as every time you opened a door; it showed you a room that was filled with anything you wanted to entertain yourself. Most of the time, you found yourself reading in the library as not only were their books in there, but the fanfiction you also enjoyed reading had been formed into books, and many series that you had wished to have finished were fully finished even if it would have never been possible on Earth. Another point that made the palace a dream was how the kitchen was filled with food. Like how the bathroom and closets were filled with any clothes you wanted or skin care items needed, the cupboards, fridges, and freezers were all filled to the brim with all the foods in existence that never seemed to go rotten or end. You could make anything you wanted, but most days, you would just open the doors to the dining room to find a feast already prepared for you.

You did not think as to why a being like an Angel would have all of those things as they should not need them, but you tried not to think about it. You had learnt that it was better not to think of such things.

Overall, your life seemed great. You were trapped like a bird in a cage. No matter how appealing the cage was or how glamorous it was, you were still trapped, and there was nothing you could do about it. The only thing you could do was accept your new luxurious life, as there was no point in fighting back.

In return, all you had to do was appease your new master, which was not too hard. Angel!König did not ask for much when he was around you after doing the duties he was appointed to do. For his size, he was surprisingly gentle; he never tried to harm you, at least not on purpose or if he was not doing one of his experiments. He had a few simple rules that you had to follow.

One: No asking questions, but if you have to, not too many.

This rule was only implemented due to how you kept pissing him off by asking him too many questions and screaming at him for what he had done. He banned you from asking questions after that point unless it was necessary due to you being an utterly clueless human in Heaven.

Two: Always listen to him.

Not too hard as most of what he told you to do were simple commands, but when he did start ranting to you and telling you everything about the things he found interesting, which mainly was just about killing Demons.

Three: Always do what he wants you to do.

It was the one rule you hated the most, but he somehow always guilted you into complying by saying how he was just curious and wanted to learn as he had never met a human before.

Four: Be nice and compliant.

You wanted to fight back, and at times, you tried to, but you packed that in once he had brought a Demon back to show you and told you what terrible things they would do to a human like you. You also learnt the valuable lesson of not trying to test him that day when you saw how easily he crushed that Demon’s skull in his hand.

Five: Never try to escape.

Probably the easiest rule to follow as it was impossible to escape the damn palace anyway.

The rules most of the time were not a problem. It was his experiments that were your biggest problem. They were not even real experiments, it was just his excuse to be able to do what he wanted with you.

It started off small, nothing much really. All he asked was that he could play with your hair, he said that he enjoyed playing with it as the texture was so different from Angel hair and the material that made up their wings. It was simple, just him holding a clump of hair in his hand as he seemed to study it. He even enjoyed styling your hair and helping you through your care routine for it. But, it progressed. After a while, he began to tug and pull at it, you would cry and ask why but all he would say was that he wanted to see what would happen when he did it. That was when you learned about his sadistic side as he never stopped pulling your hair, he just loved to see you cry.

From your hair, it turned into touches. He would fondle and squish at your body as he made demeaning comments about how soft and delicate mortals were compared to Angels like him. It made you feel pathetic but at the same time, it was relaxing. The heat in his palms would radiate into your muscles, helping them to relax, getting rid of all the knots that tended to plague you. He made you melt into his arms, making you complacent putty in his hands. But those touches moved to more intimate areas. It started with him toying with your nipples, pulling at the delicate flesh until you choked on tears. Then soon enough his hand went lower finding your most sensitive part. He would rub it, the callouses on the tips of his fingers made the feeling somewhat odd but it felt all the better. He would rub, flick, pull, anything he could at it until you were a crying, overstimulated mess who could barely say your own name as the sheets were covered with your own cum; he would stare at you with glossed-out eyes, deep in thought like this was all new to him.

Unfortunately, you did not know that soon he would take it further then you could have guessed. It would be an actual experiment. One to make the perfect hybrid.

Taglist: @frogchiro @diejager @suimon @konigsblog

I am so sorry for not posting in a while I have just been busy with a big project that has taken over my brain and is my main focus, plus I have had exams. Hopefully, I can post soon and start posting the project, warning some of you may be emotionally devastated or want to kill a certain character (*cough cough* like two of my friends who already are waiting in line to have a little "talk", you know who you are *cough cough*). I may come back and edit this later.

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darkenedurge · 6 months

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. Couldn’t stop thinking about the idea that Gortash likely thought Durge was dead, until Orin confirmed otherwise – so, I got in my feelings and decided to write Gortash being heartbroken because I love angst just as much as I love raunchy shit.

Enver clung to the last shred of her he had left. A petty thing, it was, a single shirt – worn, torn, and not the most glamorous thing she’d ever owned. Though, it was often she slept in it – he’d given it to her after all. It had once been his. It was saturated in her scent, intermingled with a hint of his own – ink from his desk splattered the sleeve edges, an inevitable result of her being bent over his desk during particularly heated nighttime rituals. They weren’t always dirty, weren’t always spontaneous, but sometimes blood runs hot.

Enver missed her. Her warmth, her voice. Everything, lest he list it all. His chest tightens as he takes another, sharp, deep inhalation of her scent – the fabric pressed firmly to his nose. He chokes, on a sob or two, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Orin, naturally, had ruined everything. She’s good at that, making the world around you collapse with a simple swing of her blade. Though, it hadn’t just been a swing. Orin had butchered her, mutilated her. Years, months, weeks, days, hours of their time together, succumbed to her hand. Yet another sob is strangled from his throat at the thought, and he feels like he’s suffocating. Drowning.

If it weren’t for duty, for his commitment, Enver surely would have joined her by now. Perhaps in a kinder fashion, he’d never shared her creativity, nor passion for the sanguine arts. He was glad for that, he loved that about her. No, he’d likely spike his own wine with poison – or perhaps drive a blade through his chest. Whatever it took.

But no. He’d suffer your absence at his side tonight, and every night thereafter. Enver was assured he could, at the very least, bury himself in work – perhaps work himself into the grave, even. Anything, that minimised her domination of his brain space.

He knew he’d be lucky if he slept. It’s rare he could, without her. She’d always rake her pretty, slender fingers through his hair – over and over until his eyes fluttered, coming to a close. Still, she wouldn’t stop until she was certain he was taken by the soft, sweet lull of sleep – and even then, her hands remained on him somewhat.

An arm draped over his waist, her head on his chest. Anything, just be touching.

This all felt horrendously cruel. Unreal. In his head, Enver had gutted Orin a thousand times over, and then a thousand times more. Yet, his sick fantasies wouldn’t bring her back. Nothing could.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate iii #bg3 #bg3 durge #dark urge x gortash #durgetash #gortash x durge #bg3 gortash #enver gortash

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adventuringblind · 6 months

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Hey! I really like your work with the blind reader and was hoping to request another in which she is Charles's sister and he introduces her to some of the grid for the first time. Thanks!

Love is Blind

Lando Norris x Reader Charles Leclerc x Sister Reader

Summary: Charles brings his sister to the grid, and Lando takes an interest

Warnings: fan hate to Lando, reader is born blind

Notes: Remeber that blindness is a spectrum!!

Masterlist

It's not that she doesn't love her brother and his sport. It's just overwhelming sometimes to get questions from fans.

She's been blind her entire life. Lived by sound and feel as guiding tools. It's something she's come to learn to use and make a life regardless.

She lives in Monaco with her mother. Often going out to Charles' apartment to visit and spend time with him.

When he started his 2019 season, he wanted her to come with his to races. Charles just wanted his baby sister around something she enjoys. Plus, the smell of petrol and the sound of engines has always been her favorite.

Charles takes her to her first GP away from home later that year. Monaco is the only one she's been to, and even then, she simply stays away from the garages.

It was overwhelming like she thought it would be. The fans took her to her nicely over social media's. But it's much different having them trying to get near her in the open world.

She slowly made small appearances and began meeting a few of the other drivers on the grid.

However, it wasn't until 2021 that she met Lando norris. The beginning of that season, when she was allowed to come with Charles again, was chaotic, to say the least. She couldn't read lips because of the masks, and it was entirely too difficult to see. The circumstances which led to their meeting.

She was attempting to manage her way through the paddock when she ran into him. He recognized her while she was left to struggle with his identity.

Turns out for two clumsy gigly people, life seems to move by with ease when their around each other. Charles was certainly happy to see she had made a friend. Especially one that he knew would take care around her.

It wasn't long until Lando asked her out. Their first date was close to home and quiet. And it was perfect for them. They didn't need the glamor of the world; simply each other.

Unfortunately, the world always deems it neccecary to weigh in with their opinions. For her and Lando, they deemed it wrong. That Lando couldn't be good for her due to his distracted nature.

Charles becomes the couples saving grace. He may not be assertive with his team, but he'll sure as hell be assertive when it comes to his sister.

They'd been together an entire year, and the fans were still not relenting. She could tell it was taking a toll on the Brit. She simply wanted to make the fans stop saying he wasn't good for her.

On a particularly hard day during fan meetings during a race weekend, Lando seemed to be in the middle of a storm. He couldn't get away from it. So Charles had to do something.

He made it a point to walk with the two and yell obnoxiously over every comment. Not a sound was able to make it through when he was continually interrupting the people talking shit.

Needless to say that Charles became their biggest fan and protector.

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kooktrash · 10 months

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The Billionaire’s Club | KIM TAEHYUNG MASTERLIST

✧ In a world ruled by money, Kim Taehyung seems to be at the top. Being one of the country’s youngest CEOs puts him in the spotlight and others will stop at nothing to be with him. His luxurious lifestyle takes shape in all forms and here we tell three different versions of what it’s like to be a part of his world ✧

Join three writers on their tales of the rich and glamorous Kim Taehyung.

sex, money & feelings ⇢ @thvhoe

arranged marriage | ceo | influencer | s | a | f |

In an attempt to break free from the disappointment of being your family's black sheep, you agree to a proposal that would change your life forever. When your parents strike a business deal with the Kim Family to marry their son Kim Taehyung, the charismatic CEO of KTH&Comp and one of Korea's most eligible bachelors, you unexpectedly find yourself immersed in a world of unimaginable wealth and privilege. Here, socital class is the ultimate standard, and anyone below a 500 million network deemed useless.

… coming soon

lace & luxury ⇢ @kooktrash

sugar daddy | exotic dancer | s | a |

Money, Money, Money, must be funny in the rich man’s world. At least that’s how you feel working day and night to make end’s meet and still never having enough. Out of nowhere you get roped into a give and take relationship with a very powerful fashion designer who shows you the way into a life of luxury and lingerie. You’ve become his muse and in exchange he’s become your source of pleasure and riches. It’s a rich man’s world and you’re living in it.

… now posted

earned it ⇢ @joonberriess

dark romance | ceo | light bdsm | s |

‘Mr. Kim will see you now…’ Or, you’re hired as Kim Taehyung’s personal assistant. He’s a man of many expectations but you don’t expect the sudden shift of interest when it comes to you. Neither one of you are prepared for your work relationship to turn into one of pain and pleasure.

… coming soon

join The Billionaire’s Club taglist? comment below or reblog

#kim taehyung #bts #taehyung smut #Taehyung fic #taehyung angst #ceo Taehyung #taehyung fanfic #taehyung #kim taehyung bts #bts taehyung #taehyung au #kim taehyung smut #taehyung drabble #bts masterlist #bts masterpost #taehyung fluff #taehyung fiction #bts taehyung fic

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ferociousmochis · 8 months

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HEY GIRL! so so so happy you are back bby <3

Can we get some soft Alex? Maybeee childhood friends trope, but Alex was an ass and now he wants her bad? Also virgin reader if possible xx

Regrets and Roses

Alex Turner X Fem!Reader

Warnings: long ass story bit, fingering, multiple orgasm, penetrative sex (p in v), a little bit of sad stuff, oral (fem receiving), praise, virgin reader

It was never one of those "love at first sight" stories, in fact, love was out of the question, or so you thought.

You and Alex had known each other practically your entire lives. Your moms were best friends, so you'd subsequently grown up together. You were sandbox friends, spending weekends in each other's gardens, while your mothers sipped tea on the patio. They always playfully joked about how you’d surely get married one day.

But, that's not to say that you always got along.

Alex always teased you, especially in high school. The truth is you'd had a desperate crush on him when you were younger, and when he became too cool for you, it broke your heart. You knew you would never be one of the glamorous girls he took to school dances or the models in the magazines he flipped through with his friends. Alex wasn't the most popular guy, but he still had some merit and always a girl or two on his arm.

Of course, you couldn’t possibly imagine telling him how you felt. However, you never were quite able to hide your feelings, always wearing your heart on your sleeve. It was almost sadistic how he knowingly played with your emotions every chance he got. Every family function was torture knowing he would always be there, pestering you to no end.

As time passed you both grew up and the past faded away. You both occasionally crossed paths at first but once Alex’s career took off you veered off in completely different directions, following your passions. You weren't surprised when Alex became the world-renowned superstar he always wanted to be. The lifestyle suited him, at least the hair gel and the groupies did for sure.

You'd opened a little flower shop on the corner by your childhood home. You lived and breathed it. It was everything you'd ever dreamed of as a little girl materialized before you. You worked day and night tending to your greenhouse and working on arrangements.

Alex quickly learned being a rockstar wasn’t all it was choked up to be. I mean sure he adored it, traveling the world and sharing his passion with roaring crowds who fell at his feet but the trail of broken relationships and drunken hookups he left behind him solidified his feelings of loneliness. It became impossible to find a genuine connection; the screaming people out in those crowds, the girls in his bed each night, and every new face he met knew him as Alex Turner this sultry rockstar stage creation he’d made for himself like a beautifully decorated mask. He tried to fill the gaps but that was hardly possible.

Despite his busy schedule, he always made time to reach out to his parents back home. His mother called often, still always worried about him traveling so often so when the phone started to ring he already figured out who would be on the other line. The sun prodded harshly through the loosely drawn curtains, illuminating his bedroom in an orange glow. Rolled over strenuously, the soft white sheets falling from his bare chest. His head was pounding, a reminder of the night's activities, along with the unknown woman stirring beside him. He rubbed his temple harshly before picking up the phone. “Good morning, dear!”, his mother chirped on the other line. He managed a groggy greeting in response, prompting his mother to reprimand him for not getting enough sleep.

She loved to chat. Most times he thought she just loved the sound of her own voice, but he always indulged her, knowing how much she missed having him around. She was going on about her flower beds when she mentioned a name in passing that he hadn’t heard in years. “Y/N L/N?”, he inquired. “Yes of course?” She replied matter-of-factly, before resuming whatever trivial topic she was babbling about. The memories struck him like a brick to the back of the head. You hadn’t crossed his mind in a long time.

He recalled your first day of high school together, the way you blushed every time he looked in your direction. You were always so sweet and tender. How you waited to walk to school with him that morning, and how he left you at your doorstep as he went about with his new friends,

The time he flirted with you just to get answers for that week's math assignment,

The time he brought his latest fling to your family’s dinner party just for laughs.

He winced at the memories and the many more that followed. The guilt weighed on him for how horribly he treated you. Yet you were always there at his beck and call, despite each cruel act. Your only crime was loving him and not meeting his standards. Maturity smacked him in the face as he was forced to face the reality of his actions.

“How’s Y/N?” he blurted. His mother was caught rather off guard by the question, “Well her shop’s doing fantastic, you know she's just so sweet, she helps me prune the hydrangeas every spring-”. “Her shop?”, he questioned. “Her flower shop, dear”, his mother replied confusion lacing her tone. He couldn’t help the smile that crept up his lips. You always loved flowers, meddling about in your front garden with his mother and your own.

Consumed by his thoughts, he could hardly concentrate on his mother’s ramblings. He couldn’t help but type your name into the search bar, he had to see how you were doing. A social media profile popped up, but the photos simply had to be someone else. Yet they had your name scrawled on each one. You weren’t the shy nerdy teenager anymore. Your once geeky appearance turned soft and divinely feminine. You were inexplicably beautiful. He sat in shock for a moment, a dumbfounded expression hanging over his face. Your warm smile sat illuminating his phone screen, his eyes flicked back to the woman in his bed. Truthfully he didn't even know her name, she was a reflection of his lifestyle. Extravagant pleasures felt empty and meaningless without someone special to share them with.

Your cute little shop was tagged just under your name, he couldn’t help himself.

When the order came in you were positively shocked. You quite literally lept for joy, your small shop certainly held its own but this was the largest order anyone had ever put a request in for; 10 large bundles of baby pink roses, each tied with a white ribbon. You set the date for two weeks from now and joyfully began fluttering about your greenhouse

Your nerves pricked with excitement as you jumped out of bed. Today was the day you were expecting the big client and you were ecstatic, to say the least. You'd been in contact with them for a few weeks now and they had insisted on meeting in person to take a look at some of your rose color variations and check up on the progress you’d made. They detailed in their email that they'd been planning a lavish event of sorts and it would be incomplete without your large collections of sweet, colorful roses.

You almost skipped through the door, flipping the closed sign resting on the doorframe to open. The start of your day was pretty standard. Mr Atkinson stopped in like clockwork every Sunday. “Your usual?”, you smiled handing him the prepared bundle of lilies and baby’s breath. “Until the Mrs. gets tired of me”, He chuckled, his cheerful wrinkly smile always warmed your heart. Just as you turned back to the old man you caught a glimpse of him. A vision trick of the past.

The soft, familiar sound of your delicate laugh melted him almost instantly as he set foot in the door. His demeanor remained confident until he saw you look back at him. When your eyes met he saw the color drain from your face, a sight that felt like a punch to the gut. You tried to shake your nerves as you resumed your conversation, saying farewell to the old patron. You turn back to face him, feigning a smile. “I’m here for a large order of arrangements..”, he trailed off, you were more beautiful in person. Your cheeks were rosy and your hair looked so soft, he couldn’t help but be infatuated with you. “Right this way sir”, you nodded plainly.

As you lead him through the little shop, he takes note of everything. The scattered pots and vases, the colorful flowers, and the sweet scent of fresh blooms in the air. It all brought back memories of when he used to tease you relentlessly for loving them so much. His heart aches with guilt and regret. “You seem quite famous around here nowadays,” he asks hesitantly, trying not to stare too much at your beauty. “I’m hardly famous, sir, I believe you’re the celebrity out of the two of us”, You respond politely. The formalities stung. It was as if you’d severed all ties with him, refusing to even use his name. You lead him back into one of the greenhouses with the many bundles of roses strewn about the tables.

“Well even if you’re not famous to everyone else, you’re certainly famous to me” He replies sincerely, “Your flower arrangements are truly amazing.”. “Thank you sir”, you quietly replied. You were almost afraid to say his actual name, it brought back too many painful memories from your childhood.

He watches as you carefully place the last of each individual flower into its respective spot within the arrangement. The sight of your delicate hands working so gracefully fills him with a mixture of longing and regret. He loved sharing his music with the world, he wasn’t sure if he could ever get enough of the rush, but he couldn’t shake the itch of what could've been had he stayed behind and lived a simple, peaceful life with you. “You know.. I never thought I would come here today,” he admits quietly, unable to keep the sadness from creeping into his voice. “But seeing you like this..”, he continued, “I wish things could have been different”.

You almost grew angry, feeling like he had the audacity to say such things after everything he put you through. “Well, sir, you certainly made things this way”, you reply coldly, keeping your composure even. His heart sinks at your response, and he knows your right. He should have reached out sooner before he left Sheffield, but fear and pride held him back. “I know I wasn’t the best person back then, Y/N” he admitted shamefully, “I can’t even begin to apologize for the pain and humiliation I’ve caused you.. I want to be better- seeing you like this makes me want to be better, I’ll make amends in any way I possibly can.”. “I’m not sure if that’s possible now, Alex”, your tone of voice wasn’t angry or aggressive, if anything it was tired and saddened.

His eyes meet yours, and they brim with genuine remorse, “Maybe not fully, but I want to try anyway,” he says earnestly, taking a small step closer to you, “I want to make things right between us”. “I gave you that chance many years ago, and you burnt me”, You sighed, averting your eyes, “You left scars on my heart that will never fade, I’m not sure I can open myself up like that again”. He takes another step towards you, his expression pleading. “Please give me another chance, Y/N”, his voice cracks slightly as he speaks, revealing the depth of his emotions, “Let me show you I’ve changed, that I’m not the same person I was before.”

Years ago you would’ve given everything to hear him say that, but now you hardly know what to say. “I-I don’t know”, you manage to stutter out. He reaches out and gently touches your arm, his fingers lingering against your skin. “Please..”, he whispers, his voice dripping with vulnerability, “give me the chance to prove I’m worthy of your forgiveness”.

You think about it for a few seconds. Maybe he’s different now, you suppose it won’t hurt to find out for yourself. “Okay”, you sigh, “I’m free after I close up here”. He perks up instantly, looking like a kid on Christmas, “My hotel is just up the street, the bar has some half-decent food?”. You accept, biting back the ghost of a smile threatening to creep upon your lips. He nods gratefully, “Thank you, Y/N”.

The workday flies by as a mixture of anxiety and anticipation consumes your thoughts. You walk home, opening your door with a soft sigh. You sat at your vanity, styling your hair for the night, decorating it with a simple ribbon. You painted your cheeks with a light blush and fluffed out your eyelashes with some mascara. You picked out a dainty white sundress littered with small flowers. The material was light and soft against your skin, making you feel almost as if you were floating with each step. When going through your closet you spot a dainty matching set of lace underwear. With a small smile, you took it out deciding you wanted to feel extra pretty tonight, even if no one else got to see them. Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe the way you're feeling, you certainly hadn’t expected the day to unfold the way it has. You slip on some heels and grab your purse before slipping out the door.

You yelp, startled, as you bump into him. He feels awful, grabbing hold of your forearms to steady you. “I’m so sorry!”, he gasped. He was wearing a linen, baby blue button down with the first couple buttons unclasped, a pair of dark trousers, and leather dress shoes. He held a single daisy in his hand, your favorite. He smiled a warm goofy smile, the small flower adding a gentle touch of charm to his already charming demeanor. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist stopping by to escort you over”, he explains, holding out the flower towards you.

You blush at the gesture, accepting the delicate flower. Perhaps he really has changed. You walk down the street side-by-side as he cracks some bad jokes and talks about the people you used to know. A faint smile spreads across your lips as you loosen up to the idea of being around him once more. As you chat about old friends and acquaintances, he can sense the lingering tension starting the fade away from your body language. His own nerves began to ease with yours, and soon you’re both laughing and enjoying each other company from cozy barstools.

“So tell me,” he asks, leaning forward with genuine curiosity, “what brings you the most happiness since those days?”. “Nothing too exciting, but I enjoy the simplicity of being a florist. You know I always loved tending the garden”, You smile, siping a martini. He nods understandingly, appreciating your passion. “That's wonderful”, he replies, taking a sip of his own drink, “it must be incredibly rewarding to create something so delicate and breathtaking”. “You could say that”, you smile. His sincerity appears so genuine, making it easy to forget who he used to be. His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, it feels as if time stands still. In that moment, he truly sees you.

He swallows hard, trying to find the words to express how deeply moved he is by the person you’ve become in his absence. "You're truly amazing, Y/N," he says softly, reaching across the table to take your hand in his, "I can't believe how far you've come.". The contact makes you nervous like a teenager on their first date, “Thank you, Alex”. “And thank you for giving me the time of day, even when I didn’t deserve it”, his eyes are full of emotion as he gazes into yours, seeking reassurance and validation of the newfound connection you’ve established. You remain speechless at his response. Noticing your silence, he sucks in a deep breath and continues, "I promise to do everything in my power to prove to you how sorry I am for the way I treated you.", His voice is raw with vulnerability and honesty. Alex has always been poetic, always having a way with words. It was one of the things that made you fall for him years ago. You smile back warmly, nodding in response.

You spent the night chatting over drinks and mediocre food. Hours upon hours had passed and as the dusk faded into night, you found yourself alone in the corner of the dark, empty bar. The more intoxicated you both get, the more he grows curious about what you’ve been up to while he's been gone. "Have you been seeing anyone since.. well since I left?", he asked. You thought back to the many hands you’ve rejected throughout the years, "Well no, I've just been trying to focus on the business I suppose..". He seems relieved to hear that you haven’t settled for someone else during his absence, and his expression softens further as he takes your hand in his again. "Well I'm glad to hear that," he says honestly, squeezing your hand gently. "Because if there's one thing I know for certain right now, it's that I never want to lose you again.", his eyes hold a depth of sincerity and longing that speak volumes about the feelings he's harboring.

You nervously shift, “Alex.. I still am not completely sure about this”. He looks at you intently, his expression a mixture of hope and uncertainty. "I understand that it might take some time for you to trust me again," he says gently, "But all I ask is for the opportunity to prove myself to you along the way. To show you that I've really changed". “Okay,” you agree cautiously, a small smile painted on your lips. His face lightens up once more with relief and excitement, and he leans in close, pressing a tender kiss on your lips. "Thank you," he whispers against your mouth, "For giving me another chance.". This gesture causes your cheeks to burn a bright red “Please know that I cherish this moment and every moment we share from now on”, he brushes a strand of hair away from your forehead with tenderness, before placing another gentle kiss on your cheek.

You look into his eyes, filled with intense emotion and the overconfidence of alcohol. Love from the past bursting through the many walls you’d built around your heart. For the first time, you can see your feelings reflected in his eyes. You take a shaky breath before you cup his cheeks, pulling his lips to yours.

At the touch of your lips on his he responds eagerly, wrapping his arms around you and deepening the kiss. The intensity of your connection is palpable, and it feels like time has stopped as you explore each other's mouths with growing passion. When you finally break apart for air, you both gasp for breath, your faces flushed and hearts racing. You glance around at the quiet room before turning back to him, your eyes projecting your desires, “I never got over you, you know”. His eyes widen in surprise at your admission, he hesitates for a moment before asking softly, "Really? But...after everything I did to you?". He can't help but feel a mix of gratitude and confusion as he processes what you’ve just said to him. “It was always you, Alex”, you whisper softly against his lips. As he listens to your words, feeling a wave of emotions wash over him: guilt, happiness, and a profound sense of gratitude. He cups your face in his hands and looks into your eyes, "I don't deserve this," he says honestly, "But I'll do anything to make it up to you." His voice is thick with desire, and he leans in for another soulful kiss, pouring all of his desperate feelings into it.

He breaks the kiss once more, gasping for air, “Come with me,”, he urges, grasping your hand. You follow him closely as he leads you down a winding hallway until you reach his room. Once inside he turns to face you, his eyes burning with lust as he takes in your beauty. He reaches out to run his fingers through your hair, savoring the silky texture beneath his fingertips. "God, you're stunning," he murmurs, "And I can't believe I almost let you go.".

He leans down to capture your lips once more, his kisses deep and hungry. As Your passion intensifies, he leads you over to the bed, setting you up on the soft mattress as his hands mold to your curves. You nervously grasp his wrist, “Alex- I haven’t ever been with anyone..”. You’re shy and embarrassed by the fact, but he responds with understanding and gentleness, “That’s okay”, he reassures, “we don't have to-”. You cut him off as you press your lips to his, catching him by surprise. He moves closer to you, his body pressing against yours as he begins to explore your skin with his hands, learning your curves and contours as you tangle in the darkness. You gasp at the unfamiliar sensation of his hands on your sensitive body.

He watches your reactions, continuing to caress you gently, gradually building up to more intimate touches as he learns what makes you tick. His voice is low and soothing as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. “Trust me,” he says softly, “I won’t hurt you”. You slowly undress each other in a gentle mess of kisses and longing touches. With each passing moment, you fall deeper into each other's arms. You reach out to him, your fingertips gliding down his toned chest. He gasps at the touch of your hands on his skin, feeling a surge of heat coursing through his veins. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer, returning the favor by tracing light patterns across the small of your back. “You’re incredible, Y/N”, he whispers, “So perfect”. His hands trail down your back to the curve of your ass, the contact making you whimper quietly. He leans down, capturing your lips once more, his kisses deep and hungry. You kiss back with a newfound sense of confidence. He takes note of your eagerness to please despite your lack of experience. He continues to explore your body with tender care, palming your breasts softly. His fingertips drag down your thighs, “let me show you just how sorry I am”.

He sunk between your thighs, your sickly sweet perfume and the lustful scent of your sex mixed together, tormenting his senses. He couldn't help but bite back a groan when he reached your pretty pink panties, the sight of them made his cock throb. He lifted your hips up towards his face, his lips brushing against the lacey fabric. “You wear these just for me?”, he murmured against you. You released a shaky breath, catching your bottom lip between your teeth as you timidly nodded in reply. God, he couldn’t help the way his eyes rolled back at your shy admission. He kisses you through the fabric, his touch remaining gentle. His warm tongue dragged over the growing wet spot. You weakly prop yourself up on your elbows, just to catch his dark, longing gaze peering over between your legs. The sight alone made you shiver, which paired with the feeling of his hot breath on your skin made your brain short-circuit. He abandons your cunt, lapping at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, kissing and licking you all over. His fingers glided up against your panties, the heel of his palm grinding against your sensitive cunt. The friction made you whimper softly into the tension-thick air.

Your sweet sounds prompted him to pull the flimsy fabric down your legs. You’d never felt so exposed, that you couldn’t resist the urge to press your legs together in shame. “Don’t hide from me, pretty girl”, He whispered, running his large palms up your legs to meet at your knees. He slowly pulled them apart, admiring your glistening pussy. “So fucking perfect,” he muttered breathlessly. He didn’t waste much time burying himself between your thighs, littering tender kisses across your skin. Soft pecks turned into hot open-mouthed kisses, searching for the bead of your clit. He can feel it throbbing between his lips, like a faint heartbeat against his tongue. It's a feeling unlike anything you’d ever experienced, like lightning bolts firing out of every nerve in your body.

He rolls his tongue around the small bud, giving it special attention before kissing his way down to the pool of wetness at your entrance. Your pussy is practically crying for him. His tongue prods your tight hole as you squirm against him. You whimpered loudly, pressing back against his face. His elegant nose bumped against your clit with each motion and it was perfect, he was perfect. He wants to take it slow with you, push and pull you through all the great things about sex, but you make it so hard for him to control himself. You whine sharply, your clit now more needy than ever and he’s neglecting it- oh you poor thing. He can’t help but groan against you, you’re so fucking wet and needy for him- him, and only him.

He ends the agonizing torture, moving back to your clit as it begs for his undivided attention. He wants to make you climax so hard you see stars. The mere idea of seeing your face all twisted, eyes screwed shut, and jaw hanging slack- it was too inviting to resist. You're so sensitive it takes very little effort to wind you up quickly. He suckles your clit, until your thighs are shaking between his hands. You cry out, unable to suppress the desperate moans slipping past your lips. “Alex..”, you pant, your eyes half-lidded and spilling with desire. “I know, love”, he murmurs against your skin, the vibrations sending shockwaves throughout your body. He can tell you're getting closer by the second. His hot tongue swirled rough circles against your clit, his knuckles turning white as he holds you against his lips. You feel the tight muscular tension in your abdomen snap suddenly. Your back arches off the mattress and your hands grasp the sheets for stability as you’re body is set aflame. He holds you in place, working you through your first orgasm. You were a writhing, wet mess beneath him, he couldn’t help but swell with pride. “You're doing so good for me, such a good girl”, he praised, planting a kiss on your inner thigh.

He pulled back slightly, admiring his work for a moment. Your pretty pussy was begging for him, but you weren’t ready for that yet. His nimble fingers lightly traced your slit, gathering your slick on his fingertips. His eyes flicked to yours, making sure you were okay before moving forward. Your eyes were droopy with desire, your lips wet and plump, and your hair a sexy mess against his pillow. “Please..”, you choked out, your voice still shaky as you came down from your high. He satisfied your whimpers as he worked his middle finger inside. The stretch stung slightly at first, the cool metal of his ring biting your tender flesh. “God- you’re soaking”, he groaned, adding a second finger with little resistance. His hands were made for you, they filled you so perfectly. His long, dexterous fingers knew just how to make you feel things you hadn’t known were possible. Your chest heaved as he thrusted and scissored deep into you, your gummy walls sucking him right back in each time. He almost wanted to watch you fall apart in his palms, but he would save that for another day. For now, he needed to be inside you more than anything.

Satisfied, he crawls on top of you, your noses brushing against each other as he meets your eye. “I’ll take care of you”, he reassures, his lips brushing against yours. Despite all he did to prep you, you couldn’t be prepared for his size. You felt as if you were coming to pieces as he split you apart on his cock. Tears begin to well up in the corners of your eyes as you try to accommodate him. “Are you alright?”, he asks softly, “If it hurts too much, just tell me, okay?”. He pulls out slightly before pushing back in, repeating the process until he bottoms out. He stalls for a moment, giving your body time to adjust to his size. You grasp his shoulders and nod reassuringly, signaling for him to keep going. He flashes an intoxicating smile and picks up his movements. He showers you with affection and praise. “You’re doing so fucking good, love”, he moans breathlessly, “You feel so good”. You run your nails down his forearms lightly, your mind utterly drowned in this newfound pleasure.

His movements grow more confident and assertive as he gets lost in the sensations of being buried inside you. You squirm beneath him, calling out his name in strained whimpers. He feels your grip on the sheets, seeing the intensity of your expression as you struggle to contain your pretty sounds. He increases his pace, driving himself deeper with each thrust, “Yes.. that's it.. ” he groans, urging you gently, “Don’t hold back- let me hear you.”. The newfound pace makes it impossible to keep quiet. Your eyes roll back as you find yourself moaning and babbling his name like a broken record. You find yourselves completely consumed by each other in a fiery display of desire.

He watches each reaction intently, taking in the effects of his actions on your body and mind. His own arousal intensifies as he witnesses your pleasure. He’s never felt that way with anyone before and he pushes himself harder than ever, determined to bring you to the peak of ecstasy. You feel your muscles tightening, a small knot of energy growing steadily in your belly. He can feel the tension as your body grows rigid. He bites his inner cheek, trying to keep his composure as your cunt tightens around him. With a final surge of energy, he drives himself into you until the crackling heat of his body is toppling over and he can no longer hold back his approaching orgasm. He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, whispering your name. Your bodies tremble as you hold each other through your climaxes. You lay together in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow of the experience you’d just shared, feeling a connection that transcends words or boundaries.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you under the covers and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Alex?”, you ask quietly. “Yes, Y/N?”, he replies, brushing a thin strand of hair from your eyes. “So,” you began, “What were all those roses really for?”. He chuckled softly, “For you, dear. A bundle for each year I missed-”, he planted a soft kiss on your lips, “-being right here by your side”.

This is so different from the usual so I hope it doesn't totally suck- I'm sorry babes. Thank you for the request tho- I enjoyed the challenge of switching things up!

Not edited, so I'm sorry if there are mistakes!!

Love ya! <3

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moonchildstyles · 8 months

Text

ephemere

élan part three: when the night comes crashing down harry is the only one there for y/n.

wordcount: 22k+

cw: descriptions of a panic attack, unwanted advances against our y/n (nothing too intense), and her dad is veryyyy mean in this one

—————

"Good morning!" Dom—(Y/N)'s stylist, and the most important person of the day—sung as he swept through her apartment, a team of people following behind, "We have so much to do today, are you ready?"

(Y/N) sleepily shut the door behind the last person that trickled in. "Yeah," she yawned, forcing herself to keep her eyes open after the lingering blink she gave.

Today was early enough already with the fact Harry had come over an hour prior, and now her apartment was full of half a dozen others that were way too happy for the early hour. (To be fair, it was just before ten a.m., but she didn't love to get up any earlier than that when it wasn't a pilates day).

Tonight was finally the night of the 132 Gala. She'd prepped as much as she could this week—an esthetician visit the other day, waxing studio visit the day before, a touch-up and trial run appointment with her hair stylist earlier in the week—but so much of the process had to be left to the day of.

"Just yeah?" Dom teased, imitating her sleepy voice, "I thought you'd be excited to see me today."

"I am, I am," (Y/N) argued, trudging towards him with her sleep shorts rustling against her thighs, "I didn't sleep well last night, but I promise I'm excited. Just a little tired."

She wasn't lying about her late night, the small hours of the morning having been the only time she managed to sleep. A letter had been sent to her apartment the night before, plaguing her mind a little too deeply.

It had only been a matter of time, she knew when she saw the official publications posting about her secret rendezvous with Harry at the country club. (Her favorite was the subline on one article, saying that (Y/N) was insisting he was only a bodyguard but how could she resist a body like that? As invasive as it was, it was still rather clever). Now that less real drama was circulating about her, rumors had taken the helm and that seemed to draw her admirer out much more often; less concrete answers seemed to draw them out. They seemed to feel a need to rewrite them to fit a specific mold they had for her, one (Y/N) never really understood the parameters of. It gave her a spike of anxiety in the pit of her stomach now whenever she picked up her mail, worrying that something too heavy to be friendly would be slipped between the bills and other pieces.

"Well," Dom chirped, clapping his hands together, "We'll just have to make sure no one can tell!"

With that, the day turned into a bit of a whirlwind. Many of these big events deteriorated into such, too much going on for (Y/N) to properly focus on one thing at a time.

At least there was a photographer Dom brought along to take photos of the whole process. One more person running around her apartment.

Her hair was the first thing to be started on, the one thing that was going to take the longest. Ensuring everything was perfect, a wash was made to start the day, plenty of products and serums applied before everything was dried and brushed. The natural texture of her strands was altered, her stylist wrapping them around hot and heavy curlers. Earlier in the week at the trial, extensions were added to her hair, adding to the weight on the top of her head. Though she loved the look it would achieve in the end, everything looking effortlessly glamorous with big curls and draping strands, she almost erupted into a migraine from the tension.

At least once the rollers were in, though, she caught a break from her hair stylist. Done was all the tugging and pulling from the various hot tools and hairbrushes, now she could just sit there and concentrate on ensuring her scalp didn't throb before she had a chance to feel pretty.

While the curlers cooled enough to truly curl her hair, her nail tech pulled up a seat beside her. Carlotta was her usual warm self, pleasantly chatting with (Y/N) until a light silence settled between them. Applying and filing her nails were comforting motions, knowing that her set was coming together. It didn't take long for the paint to come out, sparkling pearls to be added to the pastel pink French manicure to match that of her dress. Her fingernails looked every bit like the princess set they had been calling it before Carlotta made her exit for the day, her job done in one go compared to the others that would stick around for final touches.

After a quick break for snacks, her hair was ready to be unraveled and her makeup ready to be applied. The photographer began her closeups then, the camera shuttering as her hair fell in large curls around her face, her makeup artist prepping her skin. Dom periodically checked in, ensuring things were going according to their plan all the while he was coordinating garments and creating problems just to fix them a moment later. Around her, members of the glam team began to pull out their phones, their own cameras trained around the space to document their own experience getting her ready.

(Y/N) sat quietly in the middle of it all, eyes closing when instructed, head tilting when needed, body still in her silken robe.

For hours on end, Harry was like a statue in the corner of the room—silent and stoic. When things began to get hectic, Dom tried to kick him out, only for Harry to ignore the attempts and stay right where he was. He wouldn't be going anywhere no matter how hard Dom tried.

—————

"Everyone out! She needs to get dressed! Everyone out!"

(Y/N) could see Dom was moments away from ripping his hair out, the time making him more than stressed. Styling her hair took longer than expected, draining an additional half an hour from their prep time. Dom timed things meticulously, the schedule written down to the minute to leave her to be on the carpet at a fashionable time—not too early, not too late. This was going to through everything off, and Dom was already feeling it.

The second her hair was finally pinned into place, a layer of hairspray going across the strands to keep anything from moving in any direction, he pulled her into her bedroom where she was to be dressed. Everyone was to be shooed out of her space then, Dom directing them with an agitated tone.

On their way out of the previously quiet room, (Y/N) slipped away from Dom and offered her thanks, hoping they didn't take her stylist's tone too personally. They would still be needed for finishing touches, and she didn't want them stepping out on account of her stylist. Especially since she loved them for their regular services, anyway.

Quietly padding back to her bedroom before Dom became more agitated, Harry became her ghost once more.

"I'll wait outside here for you, okay?" Harry murmured, looking at her with a clear gaze as he stopped in the threshold of her bedroom.

"You don't have to," she told him, lingering in the doorway. She could promise she would be on her best behavior if he needed her to.

Harry shook his head, a curl falling over his forehead. "I'll be here."

With that, she was pulled into her bedroom with the help of Dom's assistant, her grip much more delicate than that of the stylist.

The process of squeezing her into her garments began then. Shapewear and the proper undergarments pulled over her body, her form smoothing with rounded curves. (Y/N) held her breath with every swath of fabric wrapped around her body, more and more of the look piecing together the closer they got.

"Careful," Dom told her, helping her step into the molten pearl of the Vivienne Westwood dress of her dreams. His assistant held the gown with utmost care, ensuring there was no way there could be a rogue crease or an unwanted footstep on the hem.

(Y/N) stayed stagnant, allowing them to zip her into the corset. Dom took over as his assistant began to shoot photos, documenting the way the tight corset adhered to her body. The top was tighter than the original fitting, alterations stiffening the boning and pushing her breasts up high on her chest. Her cleavage was deeper than she ever thought it could be, the swells pushed up and almost spilling over the neckline. The body makeup her artist applied sparkled in the lighting, highlighting the soft parts of her body in a sunny glow. The draping of pearls as her sleeves dripped down her biceps, strategically broken strands having been added during alterations to allow another string to hang down the length of her arms. The high slit was just as scandalous as she remembered, a breeze settling over her bare skin.

She felt gorgeous.

Glancing in the mirror bolted to the wall across from her, she saw the vision come together. Her hair was perfect, bouncy and full, tickling her collarbones with soft brushes. Her dress glimmered like molten pearl on her body, clinging to every curve and edge. Her makeup glittered in the gentle light, delicate sparkles on her eyelids with soft pinks airbrushed across her cheeks and lips. Everything was dewy and light—she looked like a cross between a celestial body and a mermaid inhabiting the waters of a moonlit lagoon.

There was a level of giddiness rising in her knowing that there were going to be countless photos of herself dressed this way. For the first time in a really long time, she looked forward to the torrent of cameras and flashes that would be pointed her way on the Gala carpet.

That serenity didn't last for very long, though, before Dom found another detail to begin to worry over.

"Where is the purse?" he muttered, voice sharp as he rifled through the bag he brought along with him.

"The purse?" his assistant, chirped, stepping back once the proper photographer had rejoined them, his camera flashing to catch (Y/N) in a candid moment.

"Her purse. The purse. The one (Y/N) is supposed to be carrying on the carpet in less than an hour." Dom was seething now.

"It's not in there?"

"If it was, I'd have it already," Dom snapped back, his arms almost elbow deep into his endless bag of everything.

The level of chaos in her apartment ratcheted up a notch in that moment. Now was not the time for something like that to go wrong. Not when—as Dom listed out—finishing adjustments to her makeup needed to be made, final touches to her hair, and someone needed to help her put her shoes on so she didn't bend and crease the dress. Not to mention the photoshoot Dom planned on having (Y/N) partake in before she left for the event, photos to be taken for his portfolio.

"Dom—I can—"

(Y/N) was quickly cut off as he shook his head, his long hair flying around his face. "No, you are not doing anything! Where is everyone?! We don't have time for this."

His assistant scuttled away then, gathering each of the members of her prep group to accomplish each of the things Dom was beginning to fret over.

"Henry—Harris—Whatever your name is, can you please help instead of just standing around?!" Dom shouted through the now cracked door of (Y/N)'s bedroom.

A beat passed before everyone—including Harry—stepped into her room. Carlotta had an extra file in hand, her hair stylist a comb and a bottle of hair spray in his apron pocket, and makeup artist with a gloss in hand. Harry held nothing but a raised brow over the way Dom spoke to him.

Each of the artists and techs descended upon her then, each quietly assessing what needed to be perfected before they were off. (Y/N) didn't have a chance to see what Dom was commissioning Harry to help with before she had to blink her eyes shut, her makeup artist fluffing a brush of glitter on her eyelids.

"Find her bag, and someone put her shoes on, please! We won't have time for pictures if we keep this up!" Dom rattled off, "The event is almost over at this point! Where the fuck is her bag?"

As much as (Y/N) loved Dom, it was moments like these she wondered if the stress of preparing for events was worth it.

Murmured voices of his assistant and a deep voice (Y/N) thought could be Harry, adding to the chatter of the room. The sound of her door creaking happened before the dull roar finally settled.

"(Y/N)?"

Chancing a blink of her eyes open, (Y/N) saw Harry standing before her, just behind her makeup artist, with the box of her Manolo Blahniks in hand.

He met her gaze over the shoulder of the artist swiping more gloss over her lips, his eyes dropping imperceptibly down to her mouth before ringing back up once more.

Before he had a chance to say anything, Dom traipsed back in, his cheeks decidedly redder than before. "Help her with her shoes, we need to go!" he shouted, Harry not even bothering to look back.

He was hesitating—waiting for her permission. There was an unspoken line they'd put in the sand, one that kept each other at arm's length; (Y/N)'s aloofness, and Harry's professionalism the key administers. He wouldn't come any closer if she didn't want him to.

"It's okay," she told him, her makeup artist pausing as her lips moved.

With that, box in hand, Harry wormed his way in-between the various artists and stylists warmed around her. Bending to one knee, he knelt before her with the pristine white box just off to the side. She could feel his eyes on her when he made the first touch, a hand on her ankle. Unwilling to disturb the makeup artist tending to her face, and the stylist primping her hair, (Y/N) wasn't able to meet his eyes despite feeling them trace her face.

The photographer's camera shuttered at a rapid rate, but (Y/N) knew these photos were going to be the kind that stayed in the archive with her.

His thumb grazed the bone in her ankle as she shifted her weight, helping him slip the first cream colored pump onto her foot. The custom pump had a ring of pearls that were to be attached around her ankle. (Y/N) could feel the brush of Harry's fingers over her skin as he latched the stones around her leg, his touch decidedly more gentle than she could have expected from someone who's entire job centered around the rough use of them.

"Let me go grab a setting spray, hold on," her makeup artist murmured, dropping her hands from where they were separating her fluffed lashes and diffusing the color on her eyelids. With that, the woman scurried away, leaving (Y/N) the freedom to finally shift her eyes.

Glancing down, she saw Harry on his knees, a furrow in his brow as he concentrated on helping her balance on the teetering heels. It was like he knew she was watching with the way he peeked up, the fan of his lashes a frame around the green of his eyes. His hand faltered for a split second when she met his gaze.

The rest of the noise melted away for that moment, (Y/N) only taking in just how delicate the shoes looked in comparison to Harry, how gently he was treating her. How pretty he was. She wondered if Dom had ever considered taking Harry on, prepping him for this event instead; he'd fit right in with the models and celebrities that would be on the carpet.

Despite her eyes following his movements, (Y/N) hadn't been paying attention when he had finished slipping her shoe on, the pearls latched around her ankle. She teetered where she stood, a slight gasp leaving her lips.

In an instant, Harry was there, standing to the full of his height in front of her. He steadied her, his grip on her arms firm in his hold but gentle in his touch.

"Alright?" he asked, gaze skipping down her features for just a moment.

(Y/N) almost thought he sounded breathless.

"Yeah," she answered, the word low between the two of them as if there weren't a handful of others around. "Thank you."

Harry only nodded, his hands lingering for a split second longer before they fell away from where he had them on her biceps.

In the back of her mind, she could hear the way the photographer seemed to be capturing every second of the interaction. Camera flashes and the lens shuttering added to the chaos.

The same time Harry was backing away, her makeup artist returned with a glimmering bottle in hand. She was flustered, immediately stepping back into place in front of (Y/N), leaving only a sliver of a view of Harry over her shoulder.

(Y/N) had her eyes glued to him as he approached the entrance to her bedroom, his previous post having been just outside. She saw as he lingered, his head down as he shifted his weight as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to step forward or step back. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

"Close your eyes for me," her artist instructed.

Hesitating before doing so, (Y/N) just barely caught the way Harry seemed to look back at her.

A loud commotion burst into the room then, (Y/N) flinching where she stood with her eyes closed.

"I found the purse!"

It took a moment for Dom's voice to register. (Y/N) had completely forgotten about the purse.

—————

(Y/N)'s fingers skipped over the pearls dripping down her arms, keeping her gaze forward as they rushed through the New York streets. Beside her, Harry had changed into an all black suit while she was commandeered for photographs at Dom's request. He kept his gaze solely stretched out the window. He hadn't looked at her since that moment in her bedroom, the space between them on the bench seat just a hair larger.

"When would you like me to come for you?" Sully asked, breaking (Y/N) from her over-analysis of how many inches of space was supposed between two people in a working relationship that had also shared a somewhat intimate moment just an hour earlier. At least, (Y/N) thought it was intimate.

She recrossed her legs, shifting in her seat. "Um, I'm not sure," she murmured, noting the way Harry didn't break his staring contest with the window even at this disturbance, "I don't want to say too long, but Francesca will probably want to go to an afterparty."

"Okay, just give me a call about thirty minutes before you're ready. I'll make it as soon as possible, but you know how these places can be."

A smile stretched across her glossy lips as she nodded her head. "Got it. Thank you."

She wondered if Harry knew how many shades of green were in his eyes, if he saw the same tiny blonde hairs threaded through his dark curls that she did. She wondered if he knew how gorgeous he was. She hoped he didn't know that she was still thinking about the way he looked up at her when he was on his knees before.

Despite the sun having set and sunk below the horizon, the city was still bright outside the windows. (Y/N) wondered how many of the other vehicles passing around them were also heading to the Gala.

Peering through the front windscreen, the gallery came into view. The large building that was usually splashed in black and white with 132 on the front in primary colors, had been transformed to allow a tent to be set up up front, shielding the public from the massive red carpet laid out underneath. From here, she could spot the overflow of people, bright lights shining from under the white tent. At least a fourth of that light had to be from the crowd of photographers and publications that had made it inside the event.

Coming to a smooth stop in front of the event, Sully put them in park but didn't make any move to usher her out. From the curb, she could see those set up along the carpet, ready for interviews or photos. She could even see Francesca towards the end, nearest to the entrance.

Her fiddling with the pearls of her dress resumed, anxiety spiking. Her crossed leg swung.

For the first time since leaving her apartment, Harry turned to look at her. His eyes stayed fixed to her face, not daring to skate anywhere else on her body.

"Ready?"

A faux-natural smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Mhm," she hummed, glancing at Sully through the rearview. It was too crowded for him to help her out of the car as usual, she knew that. She would have to settle for a smile through the rearview to settle her through the night. "See you soon?"

"See you soon, sweetheart," he confirmed, his eyes gentle as he met them through the glass.

With that, Harry took his leave first, scooting out of the car with her small purse in tow before reaching back inside to offer her a helping hand out. It felt like a movie the way she could hear the snapping of cameras and dull roar from the event. The shadows around him lengthened, backlit by the fluorescent bulbs.

Rubbing her glossy lips together, she put her hand in his and followed him out onto the sidewalk.

Harry was dropped into his element then second they were faced with the budding crowd waiting to be herded onto the carpet. He had to have been familiar with events like these as he let go of her hand only to place his palm on her upper back, ushering her through the bodies. It was a form of a greenroom that was waiting at the entrance of the carpet, another tent with event coordinators ensuring pacing out the carpet. He didn't let her stop even as some familiar faces gave her small greetings.

Dipping his head down, (Y/N) could feel the tip of his nose brush the draping strands of hair by her ear. "'M going to stay a step behind you the whole time, okay? If at any point you want to be done, jus' look at me and we'll go. I'll be with you."

Drawing away just enough to match his gaze, there was that earnest intensity she'd seen only once before at the pilates studio.

"Okay," she said, giving her head a minute no, unwilling to remove her gaze from his.

With one final push towards the head of the line, (Y/N) could spot the event coordinators clustered around the entrance, earpieces in and tablets at their chests. She watched as they ushered someone onto the carpet—a model she remembered from a trip to Milan, but couldn't place his name—cameras flashing the second he made it to the first pose point.

Harry's hand was a warm weight on her back, grounding her as she forced herself not to pick at her nails or fiddle with her dress as she attempted to sike herself up for her own upcoming turn. From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the familiar coordinators perk up when he spotted her, one of the ones that had been assisting the event for the last handful of years. The coordinator—Monty—brought the lapel of his blazer to his mouth, muttering something into the covert microphone, before (Y/N) felt extra eyes on her.

With a bright smile on his face, Monty pushed their way through the clusters of people, stopping right by she and Harry.

"Ms. (Y/N), how are you this evening? You look gorgeous," Monty greeted her, his eyes obviously shifting from her gown to the petite pearl bag in Harry's hands. His brow raised just that much more at the sight.

"Thank you so much, Monty," she bubbled, knowing the version of herself he would be expecting and slipping into that role, "How are you? Busy, I'm sure."

"You have no idea," he exaggerated, the words ending with a boisterous laugh (Y/N) joined in on. "Are you ready to walk?"

"As ready as I can be," (Y/N) offered, shaking her head as she gestured down to her shoes, "Didn't get a chance to break in my shoes at all, and you know how the Vivienne corsets can be."

"We'll get you through as fast as possible, then," Monty laughed, smiling a little too bright, "You know, when we got your RSVP, we made sure to stock the bar extra just for you."

It was meant to be a joke, she knew that, a rib at the way she was apparently always drunk whenever she went out. She was sure it was supposed to be something meant to entice her into being that much more excited to get the carpet over. Nonetheless, she couldn't help the way she wanted to roll her eyes and huff a sigh.

Still, she laughed along, leaning forward as if she were doubling over in laughter. The photographers ate it up. "You know me so well," she told Monty, taking in a deep breath, "Thank you."

Casting a look towards the carpet, Monty double checked his tablet before he looked at her with a mild smile. "Ready to go?"

Following his gaze, the patrons in front of her had dwindled down to none, leaving her the next on the chopping block.

Feeling a tad bit stiff after the last interaction, (Y/N) still nodded her head. "Of course."

Harry was a silent pillar beside her as they followed after Monty. She wished she knew what he was thinking.

A beat passed, Monty waiting for a cue, then he looked to (Y/N) with that practiced smile. "Go ahead, Ms. (Y/N). I'll see you in there."

(Y/N) waved her goodbye, stepping carefully into the mouth of the event, the carpet shifting under her feet into something luxurious and soft. At her back, Harry stepped up.

"I'll be right behind you," he murmured, a quiet reminder, before the chaos erupted.

No doubt the media recognized who was at her back, cameras fluttering with flashes burning her gaze. She smiled effortlessly, stopping to pose and look in whatever direction she was called. She stood out against the stark white and deep black of the carpet, the attendees meant to be the color in the gallery for the night. Around her, others were posted up giving their own poses to the cameras facing them, some having brought friends or dates to chat with in between.

(Y/N) hoped she would see Francesca or Emma soon.

Traipsing through the carpet, (Y/N) stopped and pose at ever juncture instructed, blowing kisses and showing off her gown at every stop. As nervous as she was to have so many eyes on her—many wanting some kind of slip up to be able to report on—it couldn't knock how excited she was to have herself immortalized in a look like this. That couldn't take away how pretty she felt.

Harry was a silent soldier behind her, never wavering as the hall had shouting photographers, shuttering cameras, and chatter from the various attendees. He followed her carefully, a delicate pink bag hanging from his hands that were clasped at his front. He stayed far enough away to ensure every shot only captured her, but close enough she could turn to face him and give him whatever signal was needed to get out of there.

Going down the carpet, (Y/N) grew used to the feel of eyes all over her, beginning to revel in the way her body and look was being appreciated by the attendees. While she didn't love the sound of her name being shouted across the carpet, she didn't mind when it meant she was going to be posing for a photo that she would be happy to see floating around the internet.

Scaling the plush staircase trailing further down the carpet, the mass of the photographers thinned leaving only a few here and there to snap the final photos before guests were led into the gallery, with a few publications waiting for a moment to catch an interview. Scanning the few, (Y/N) tried to spot the one interview she was scheduled to make for the night.

Catching sight of a bright blonde head of hair, (Y/N) inched towards her hoping the woman was who she thought it was. It took a moment for the interviewer to turn around, the strands of ultra straight blonde hair fanned around her familiar face. Relief hit (Y/N), then—she didn't have to stand in the middle of everything hoping someone noticed her and gave direction.

"Hi, (Y/N), how are you?" The interviewer, Gwen, greeted her with a bright smile, leaning over to give her a light hug around their immaculate gowns.

Noting the camera that was definitely still recording, (Y/N) ensured her own tabloid smile was fixed to her face, her voice pitched and pleasant. "I'm doing well, thank you! You look amazing, Gwen," (Y/N) bubbled, stepping back to admire the embellishments on the gown.

She wasn't surprised, really. Gwen was the yearly reporter for the major fashion magazine that sponsored half of the attendees at the event. They were one of the few legitimate publications that printed stories about her and reached out for articles about her looks or to be featured in segments on their website—even if there were hate comments flooded on her features.

Starting off like the rest of the interviews that had been conducted that night, Gwen asked who she was wearing and rattled off questions about the inspiration behind her gown. (Y/N) answered pleasantly, attributing everything to the collaborative effort with her stylist and the handful of others that helped her prep for the night. Standing just off camera, Harry stayed back but she could feel his eyes on her as she spoke with Gwen.

More than once did Gwen's eyes shift from where (Y/N) stood, peeking over her shoulder to find her bodyguard. (Y/N) hated to think what she might be assuming at that moment, the kinds of questions that might be swirling. Tomorrow, when all of the analyses of this moment were circulated through the public, she was sure people would assume that there was something more going on in the moment, that Harry was doing something just off screen that would somehow confirm that he was her affair partner and secret boyfriend.

"But, yeah, we wanted something classic for the hair, but it definitely took a lot more time to get there than it looks," (Y/N) ended, brushing those stray strands out of her face.

Waiting for the next question to come, (Y/N) saw the way Gwen tossed a glance towards the producer that was standing behind the camera. Something was exchanged in that look.

Keeping the energy up, Gwen turned back to (Y/N) with her practiced smile. "While I have you here, (Y/N), we do have to ask," she said, lowering her head with a glint in her eye as if she were just a girl friend gossiping over brunch, "We see you've brought a guest with you tonight, can you share with us who that is?"

She was definitely fishing, trying to glean something out of the interaction. Even magazines like this couldn't be completely free from rumors and gossip, she guessed.

Staying in character, bubbly and bright, (Y/N) looked behind her with a giggle. (Another scene that was going to be overanalyzed, edited and clipped to show the "truth"). Waving to him to step forward, she hoped Harry would play along for just a couple of minutes. Hesitant, Harry took a careful step forward, inching into the view of the camera with her purse swinging in his grip.

"This is Harry," she bubbled off, gesturing to him as he gave a reserved smile to the camera before tipping his head down so as to not garner any more attention, "I know he's been pictured with me a lot recently, but he's just my bodyguard. I think there's been a few different stories floating around, but that's the truth."

Gwen paused for a second, certainly rattled by the soft denial she was given for details. In an attempt to recover from the fishing, she joked, "And, is that your purse or his he's got?"

"His, but he let me borrow it for the night," (Y/N) played along, hoping Harry wouldn't mind taking ownership over the mini beaded bag in his grip.

Gwen joined in her laughter, sounding a little more than exaggerated with the way she reached out to grab (Y/N)'s arm as if to steady herself.

"Well," she started once recovering, "it was so much fun talking with you, (Y/N). We'll see you inside."

"I'll see you inside, Gwen," (Y/N) reciprocated, giving another small hug as a goodbye.

"Hopefully, we'll both be at the same afterparty—I'd love a chance to see you let loose," Gwen laughed.

"Right," (Y/N) answered with a peal of laughter, stepping out with a wave as Gwen's next interviewee was set to step up to the plate.

Taking in a deep breath and shaking out her hands, (Y/N) was grateful to be out of view of any cameras. Only a stitch remained off the carpet before she would be ushered into the event, but there was a moment of reprieve in this moment.

Close behind, Harry stepped up beside her, his eyes clear when he matched hers. "Alright?"

"Yeah," she breathed, fluttering her lashes with a shake of her head to get the stray hairs from her updo out of her face, "I didn't expect anyone to ask about that. Sorry."

"'S okay," he murmured, scanning over her features, "Want to wait a second before we go in?"

(Y/N) nodded her head with a mumbled yeah. Harry didn't push her as she lingered in that space in-between, allowing her space as she calmed her rattled nerves. It wasn't until she heard the sound of others approaching, more people to clock her with her shaking hands and stressed demeanor, that she decided she was ready to move on.

"Let's go," she murmured, eyes downcast as she spared a few more moments before she was to be on again.

"Y'sure?" Harry checked, reaching his hand out to hover between her shoulder blades. All he needed was the reaffirming nod from her before he was helping to usher her inside.

The hosts of the event were the first to greet her as they stepped into the gallery, familiar faces (Y/N) had seen year after year. Harry's hand on her back was warm and weighty, keeping her on track as he took the blame to usher her through the interactions as soon as she received their seating tickets and were wished a good evening. She was grateful for him getting her through, still feeling a little bit too exposed after that interview.

Entering into the gallery space that had been renovated for the event to feature round dinner tables and a stage for the hosts and donors to be honored for the night. Matching the carpet out front, everything was left as black and white, the guests being the splashes of color as if they were the artworks for the night. The decor came in the same monotone hues only the cocktails and drinks breaking up the greys on the table.

"Did they seat you with me?" (Y/N) asked, passing Harry his ticket for the night.

Giving the paper a small glance, Harry kept most of his attention on getting her through the clusters of people standing about. "Think so," he murmured, a furrow on his brow.

Peering over the large curls on her head, Harry guided her through, finding their table. Lucky for her, despite being a bit later than she had scheduled, her father and his associates hadn't arrived yet. That allowed her to peek at the seating chart, lips thinning when she saw she'd be at her father's side through the night.

"Can I have my bag?" (Y/N) asked, looking at Harry just a step behind her. He didn't hesitate to pass off her tiny purse. Still embarrassed by what happened on the carpet and thinking about the dull way he confirmed he'd been seated next to her, (Y/N) bit at her bottom lip before turning towards him. "It's okay if you don't want to stay tonight. I know this stuff is really boring, so if you'd rather—"

"No. We've been over this," Harry said, his voice stern as he matched her gaze, "Wherever you are, I am."

While she knew this was all a part of his job—his following of her, his determination—there was something that bubbled behind her ribs. Even if there was no other reason he would spend time with her, at least there was someone always at her side; she wasn't going to be alone in these moments as long as Harry was there.

"Okay," she nodded, biting back a smile. Peeking over his shoulder, (Y/N) spotted Emma and Francesca settled around their own table, chatting away while others breezed past their table with small greetings. "I think I'm going to go talk to my friends before my dad gets here, but you can go get a drink or something if you want. If anyone asks for any payment or anything, just say it's on me."

While she knew there was a high possibility that he wasn't going to take her up on the offer, he only nodded at her before she was sending off towards the girls.

Growing closer to their court, (Y/N) could see Stavros at Emma's side, with Francesca thankfully alone—it was always a good day when she didn't bring some billionaire or to come hang out in hopes of commandeering his yacht for the weekend. They had leaned close together, chatting over the table while Stavros absently stroked his hand up and down Emma's arm, his gaze shimmering as he gazed at her profile.

Franny was the first to spot her approach, her gaze lifting and posture straightening. "(Y/N)!" she cheered, Emma turning in her seat with a matching smile, "You finally made it!"

"You look gorgeous," Emma gushed, her own glimmering dress surely a Stavros original.

"Thank you," (Y/N) smiled, taking a free chair at Emma's side to slip into the conversation, "You guys look so pretty, too."

At that, Emma couldn't seem to help herself before launching into the origin story of her dress, introducing Stavros and his genius mind as the one behind her high couture sheath dress. Francesca had clearly already heard this tale, her gaze checked out as she pulled her phone from her purse.

"Did you bring anyone, (Y/N)?" Emma pressed, no doubt having already seen Harry at her table and fishing for more information.

Shaking her head, (Y/N) felt the ends of her hair tickling her collarbones. "No, just Harry."

"Just Harry?"

A smile spread across her cheeks at Emma's prodding. "Just Harry," she parroted, unwavering despite Emma's tease. Turning to Francesca, (Y/N) shifted the conversation, "Has your mom called again since she visited?"

It only took a roll of Fran's eyes to tell (Y/N) everything she needed to know. "It's not if she's called, it's how many times."

With that Francesca started on the epic that was the amount of phone calls, FaceTimes, and voicemails left on her phone with her mom still insistent that being a gallery owner is all her daughter could ever want. Following along and allowing her laughter to flow freely, (Y/N) slipped into herself as she sat with her friends. Seeing the event photographer fluttering about the tables, she was grateful that this moment could be forever immortalized—a time she felt like herself with her best friends.

Unfortunately, also from her peripheral, she could spot her father and his friends having seated themselves at their table. His showmanship in terms of his boisterous laughter that had to be at a volume just higher than the rest of the crowd was what gave him away. Harry was also seated though he was decidedly less interested in the conversation than the rest of the table, his gaze shifting to where she sat more often than not.

(Y/N) couldn't help but to scoot in further to her borrowed table, despite knowing that she was only pushing off the inevitable. She was going to have to speak to her father anyway, especially with her place setting residing next to him. Nonetheless, she preferred to put it off as long as possible. She was having a good time at this point, no reason to cut it short.

Being spared only a handful more minutes, (Y/N) knew she couldn't steal this spot forever when she saw one of the hosts start making rounds before edging towards the stage. She was sure the rightful owner of this spot was waiting for her to leave, anyway.

Finding a pause in the conversation, she began to stand with a careful hand ensuring the slit in her dress didn't open too wide. "I'd better go sit down, guys. I think everything's starting soon."

Francesca gave her a pout. "You'll come see us after dinner?"

"Of course; you think I'm going to stay over there all night?"

Both Fran and Emma let out a laugh, Stavros awkwardly joining in despite most likely needing a translation of what she said from his girlfriend.

Sharing quiet goodbyes, (Y/N) pasted a smile on her face as she made her way back to her own table. At some point she must not have caught, Harry had gotten up and was now returning with a couple of glasses of water in his hands. She watched as he placed them beside their individual plates then took the spot beside her father. A pinch took her brow.

Their table was full of exclusively her father's friends: two men she recognized from the country club, one of their wives, and Harry. The rearrangement would leave her to sit between Harry and the man's wife, a step removed from her father. Not that she was complaining, though.

Without missing a step, (Y/N) approached the round table with her hands folded in front of her, tiny bag on her wrist. The sound of her heels clacking over the floor was muffled under the dull roar of the chattering ballroom.

Silently, she took her rearranged spot. Scooting in, no one acknowledged her, her father instead holding court as usual. At least here, he was one of many important fish, so she didn't have to deal with people fawning over his facade.

Peering at the name cards she had spotted before, (Y/N) saw her's and Harry's cards had been swapped. Harry had been stationed at the table the whole time, she couldn't imagine anyone had a moment—even her father—to move the places around without him noticing.

Eventually, just as she was about to pull out her phone and do anything to entertain herself, she heard her name come from her father's mouth. "You look nice, sweetie" he complimented, his investor meeting smile lighting up his features.

"Thank you," she answered, her own features arranged in a practiced expression, "You look nice, too."

Just like that, he moved on, replacing his attention to now land on Harry. It was a replay of the day at the country club, another round of praises being offered to her "handler" and all the amazing work he's done for (Y/N). Tuning it all out, she instead focused on the ice in her water glass, smiling when she heard a laugh around the table and zoning out otherwise.

It wasn't until there was another joke made at (Y/N)'s expense, that she was brought back to the surface with a discreet brush of a hand against her knee. Blinking back into the moment, she saw Harry looking at her, ignoring whatever else was going on.

"Alright?" he murmured, eyes flittering about her features, "Do y'want me to get you a drink?"

The beginnings of a smile touched at the corner of her lips, her mouth going lopsided with her lipgloss glittering in the light. "I'm okay, but thank you," she muttered.

If she was being honest, she was on the brighter side of okay in that second. It was nice seeing someone ignore her dad for once and offer her some attention.

Harry only gave her a quiet nod before seamlessly slipping back into the conversation. Her attention followed him, watching the way he interacted very differently than only a couple weeks prior at the country club.

He was stiff in where he sat, features closer to a flat mask than the more languid expressions she was used to seeing him give her father. His jaw was tight, his forearms coming to rest on the lip of the table, his hands an inflexible bundle over the fine china of his plate. He was taking up space, shoulders broad and eyes solid. Following his line of sight, she saw him fixed on the man sitting at her father's other side.

(Y/N) only recognized him from the country club, specifically during her last visit a couple of weeks back. He wasn't notable by any means, but he was one of the couple that spared her a lingering glance even when her father was promoting Harry to the rest of the table.

Maybe, he was the reason Harry was in such a rotten mood when he met her in the maze. One of the few times she wished she had stuck around her father's drinking table, if only to know why Harry was insistent on shooting this man daggers.

"Right, Harry?" her father jested, most likely looking for Harry's confirmation to a deprecating joke at (Y/N)'s expense.

Blinking in the direction of the man, Harry barely spared a glance to her father.

"Right," he deadpanned.

It was the expression on her father's face, obviously thrown off by the lack of enthusiasm on Harry's part, that had her hiding her smile behind a sip from her glass of ice water.

Perhaps this dinner wouldn't be so bad.

—————

With dinner plates cleared and trays of mini desserts being distributed throughout the room, (Y/N) took her first chance at escape.

Others had started milling about, socializing with drinks in hand before the afterparties that would no doubt last well into the night. It was easy to slip within the masses, the wife of one of her father's friends being one of the only that could have spotted her disappearance. The men at the table were too distracted to even acknowledge her mumbled excusal to go to the restroom—including Harry, even if half of his attention was still placed on the sharp looks he was giving to the man across from him.

Emma and Francesca happily welcomed her back to their table, a couple of other girls they occasionally clubbed with also having pulled up a chair. From where she sat, she could still spot her father's table, his back facing her. She was able to relax then, feeling comfortable around her friends, even when she spotted the photographer from earlier meandering through the tables once more with the camera to his eye.

They bubbled over the surprise performance over dinner, an impromptu concert from one of the celebrities in attendance, with (Y/N) hoping they ended up at the same afterparty as her so she could get a chance to ask who designed her gown. Francesca shared the person she now had her eyes on, a man she recognized from touring galleries with her mom who was now seated only a few tables away. He was an artist, she decided, way more romantic than any guy with a yacht. Emma and Stavros were very much ready to head to the afterparties with the way they could barely finish a sentence before sealing their lips together.

"I'm going to go get a drink, do you guys want anything?" (Y/N) asked, standing from her spot with her tiny purse hanging from her wrist.

Chatters of denial spread over the table, many of the girls having their own drinks or refraining until the afterparties. (Y/N) shot them a smile before turning on her heel and making her way towards the bar.

The bartender was busy lacing together elaborate themed cocktails for the string of other patrons waiting, leaving (Y/N) to lean against the counter, arms folded on the bartop. She watched the show, enthralled with the mixing of ingredients while in wait.

Suddenly, she felt a hand touch the small of her back, the boning of her corset stiffening against her skin. (Y/N) jumped where she stood, her breath coming up short. Turning to face whoever spooked her, she recoiled when she saw it was the man that Harry had been shooting daggers at across the table.

He didn't even look at her as he flagged down the bartender, raising his voice to call across the long bar. (Y/N) stood there, her brain a little too muddled as she watched him speak over her to order a duo of drinks.

All of her father's friends sucked, but never once has any of them so blatantly disrespected her in public like this. He couldn't wait a few more minutes to get his whiskey and gin and tonic?

(Y/N) started to pull away then, shaking off his hand as she slunk away from his hovering body. He didn't let her get very far, his hand flexing on her back as he stepped along with her.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he said, a megawatt smile on his face, "I saw you standing here alone and figured it was my chance to finally talk to you."

"Oh," she sounded, unsure of what to say. More than anything at the moment, she was now annoyed that there was another order before hers, just wanting her cranberry juice-heavy cosmo in her hand.

"I'm Barron," he told her, dipping his head down as if it was loud enough he needed to whisper in her ear.

"Nice to meet you," she smiled, her expression practiced, "I'm (Y/N)."

"I know," he flirted. (Y/N) swore her eye could have twitched.

Just in time, the bartender reached over with a whiskey on the rocks and a crystalline gin and tonic. "Here you are, sir," the bartender smiled, placing both drinks on coasters in front of Barron.

Thankfully, he removed his hand from her back to lean across the bar, relaying the tab information, his voice a little too boastful when spelling out his last name. (Y/N) felt she could breathe easier almost as soon as his hand left her form. Now was her chance: order her drink, and get back to her girls as soon as possible.

Instead, she saw as the bartender stepped away, relaying back to his previous customers as Barron passed the gin and tonic towards (Y/N). "Here you go, sweetheart."

Though she was startled, (Y/N) kept her practiced smile on as she stepped back just enough. "No, thank you. I was actu—"

"I insist," he cut her off, speaking above her with another push of the drink and coaster towards her. His hand returned to her back, caging her in with her front still against the bar. This time, he pressed his palm against the bare skin of her back, his fingers dipping low underneath the scoop of her corset. Unpleasant goosebumps erupted over her skin. "Your dad said you would need someone to keep an eye on you tonight, and I can see your bodyguard is a little busy at the moment. I can take care of this for you instead."

Her jaw felt tight. Peering over his shoulder, she was able to spot Harry sat with his back facing the bar, just as she left him with her father.

"Well," she started, chest expanding as she pulled in a deep breath, "Thank you for the drink. My friends are waiting for me, but it was nice to actually meet you."

Expecting his hand to fall from her, (Y/N) attempted to make her exit. Instead she was offered a stronger grip, his arm a bar across her back. "At least let me talk to you," he laughed, as if he couldn't believe she was trying to slip away, "I got you a drink, I think that's only fair, right?"

"Oh, I mean," she floundered, reciprocating with a polite laugh, "I should probably get back, though. After I got a drink we were planning on leaving for some afterparties, so."

He barked out a laugh, bringing his whiskey to his lips as he took in a deep sip. The ice clinked within the glass as she shook his head. "You know, your dad did say you were a bit feisty, but I didn't think you'd be like this."

Shifting her weight, (Y/N) would have done next to anything to crawl away from this moment. She didn't like the idea of him asking about her to her father; she dreaded to think what kind of stories were told or publications discussed that could have brought up the topic of her being "feisty".

From the corner of her eye, she spotted the photographer meandering close by. All it would take was a slight struggle, a slight raising of voices, and that camera would no doubt be up to his eye with a high definition photo of the moment splashed across the internet by the end of the night. That wasn't even taking into account the amount of cell phones around the room that could be trained in their direction in a moment's notice.

As annoying as this man was and how much she was itching to leave her skin over his touch, fighting him further wasn't going to be worth the scene it would cause. Especially not with her father right there; it would be too easy for this man—his friend—to turn this whole thing around on her without any argument from her father.

All she could do was hope Francesca or any of the other girls noticed she was missing for longer than it could possibly take to grab a drink.

"Come sit with me," Barron commanded, urging her to roll underneath his arm so he could guide her to a nearby table with vacant chairs. Swallowing, (Y/N) followed along, her smile tight. "Don't forget your drink."

Her smile grew that much tighter over his words.

The chilled glass was slick against her palm.

Barron pushed her into a seat, his hand finally leaving her skin and leaving an overly hot point on her body. Sinking into her chair, (Y/N) tried to create as much space as she could between them, even with the way he leant across the space to enter her bubble. Her hand clenched around the gin and tonic glass.

"See, not so bad, is it?" Barron teased, taking another sip of his quickly draining glass.

"Right," (Y/N) let out a humorless laugh, "So, how do you know my dad?"

This was a trick she learned to get these men off her back. They loved nothing more than to talk about themselves and the things they thought deemed them important. Barron seemed all too excited to talk about his business prowess that led him to her father's "inner circle", surely exaggerating the amount of acquisitions he headed to get him where he was.

"But, I can't lie," he said, lowering his voice and smirking at her, "I told him I wanted to meet you a month ago, and we've started talking a lot more since. He told me you were having some troubles, and I had a feeling I might be able to help you."

Reaching across, Barron settled his too warm hand on her knee, his fingertips denting into the soft flesh of her thigh.

(Y/N) felt her chest tighten at the touch, the way he looked at her over the rim of his glass, as if he were doing her a favor. She was sure he thought she should be grateful to feel his hand on her skin, like this was the first step to getting her through her troubles.

Her grip around her glass tightened.

What was she supposed to do now?

She felt trapped. He scooted closer to her over the floor, his hand sliding over her thigh. He even stuck his foot out, playing footsie as if she looked open to flirting.

Swallowing, she let out a strained laugh, bringing her glass to her lips for no other reason than to buy herself a moment's reprieve.

She couldn't decipher what would be worse: staying in this situation or causing a scene that would no doubt have her father locking her down in a remote cabin for the winter?

With the amount of cameras in the room, if she flipped the way her bubbling anxiety urged her to, there was no doubt the last vestiges of her reputation would be burned to the ground. Everything was bad enough already, but there would be no recovery from a documented outburst like the one she could feel brewing.

A forced laugh fell from her lips, "I guess you could say that." Glancing through the room, she tried to spot Harry. Maybe, he had miraculously turned around and could see what was happening. If she caught his eye, he could put a stop to this.

He told her all she needed was to look at him, and he would be right there. He could take her away from this. He told her—promised her.

Suddenly, she felt that overly-hot hand that had been on her leg pinch her chin. Barron redirected her strayed attention, forcing her to look right at his smug face.

"Eyes on me when I'm speaking, babygirl. It's respectful."

If not for the fact she was close to having an anxiety attack, (Y/N) could only imagine the amount of rage she would feel at his condescending words.

Instead, all she could feel was his hand too close to her throat, the absolute view of his eyes he was forcing on her. Her skin felt too hot, though she swore goosebumps were rising. Her stomach churned, the corset feeling way too tight around her lungs.

"Sorry," she swallowed, almost choking around the word though she could tell he didn't even notice.

In as casual of a way as she could muster, she pushed his hand off of her chin, disguising it as a move to flip her hair over her shoulder. Barron instead settles his hand on her shoulder, fingering the pearls draping over her skin.

"Good," he said, seemingly pleased with her feigned obedience, "I want to hear about you, though."

"What do you want to know?" she forced out through a high smile.

Her heart jumped into her throat, clogging her airways with every brush of his fingers over her skin. She was on the verge of a panic attack.

One of the only times she ever would have wanted a bodyguard and he's not even here. If her father could shut up for two seconds, Harry could have done the job he was hired for.

Instead, (Y/N) was left with a pit in her stomach, something that she swore could eat through her dress and absorb her as if it were nothing. How was she supposed to breathe when her organs had to make way for the blackhole in her stomach? How was she supposed to think clearly when her instincts urged her to move along, with nothing else managing to make an impression on her brain?

This man was pushing her too far. He was touching her too much, looking at her too closely, talking too loudly.

She needed him to stop. She could barely feel her hands, her toes, her lips. No amount of air in her lungs was enough.

(Y/N) hadn't even realized Barron was talking until his voice was cut off. A decidedly gentler hand settled on her opposing shoulder.

"There you are!" Francesca greeted, bending down to (Y/N)'s level with her eyes widening just enough when she made eye contact, "I'm about to head to the bathroom, could you come with me?"

Without a second thought, (Y/N) released her chokehold grip on the gin and tonic, looking Barron in the eye as she took in the first semi-normal breath in the last handful of minutes. "Sorry, I'll be right back."

Francesca took (Y/N)'s hand in her own, scurrying to the bathroom in record time. Stepping over the tile floor of the single stall restroom, (Y/N) felt a tingle in her hands, her gaze unable to focus while Francesca locked the door behind them.

"Hey, what's going on?" Fran questioned, stepping behind her with a cautious hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

All it took was a flutter of (Y/N)'s lashes and a stuttered breath before everything she was holding back spilled over. A whimper sliced from her throat, her vision blurring.

"(Y/N)?"

Spinning on her heel, she couldn't help the way she braced herself against her best friend, Francesca collecting her into a hug as if she might collapse at a moment's notice.

"I-I don't know," (Y/N) cried, tears slipping down her cheeks, "I—Fran—I'm—Thank you."

Nothing falling from her lips made much sense, everything too mushy and half-baked as she sputtered. She didn't know how to articulate how uncomfortable Barron was making her feel; how much she wanted to crawl out of her skin, how she felt trapped, how she knew what he did wasn't all that bad—even compared to her own experiences—but she swore she hadn't felt so unsafe since that night with Damien Moore. How was she supposed to get all of that out between gasping breaths and tingling lips?

Francesca was her pillar at the moment, keeping (Y/N) upright as she held her. "Okay, it's okay," she tried to soothe her, despite her own voice wavering, "I didn't even know, (Y/N). I'm sorry. I would have helped you sooner, if I had."

"It's okay, it's okay," (Y/N) parroted, sniffling, "I-I think my dad told him to talk to me."

Francesca muttered something under her breath, which sounded a lot like a string of curse words though (Y/N) hoped it was actually a hex against her father.

After tightening her hug, Francesca began to pull away from (Y/N)'s melting form. "I'm going to be right back," she told her earnestly, "I'm going to grab my bag and call my driver, and we're going to leave, okay? Your dad isn't even going to know."

"Okay, okay," (Y/N) repeated in a broken voice, nodding her head, "Thank you."

Francesca left with a concerned look over her shoulder.

Circling the drain, (Y/N) couldn't stop pacing around the bathroom, the clack of her heels echoing in her ears. Her mind was running way too fast to keep up. There was no focus she could give to anything when she swore her corset was strangling her. The spots that Barron's slimy hands touched her dirty, gross and sticky in a way only the longest shower could hope to erase. Her head was too muddy, swimming too far away, for anything to make sense.

Striking through it all, she remembered her father was out there.

God, she was going to be in so much trouble. There was no way she could talk herself out of this one, and with how fragile she felt at the moment, she couldn't imagine making it through a scolding of his like she usually did. Not like this.

What if he blamed Harry, even? What if Harry was roped into her orbit of trouble, being blamed for the fact she had a breakdown in one of the most inconvenient places? Her father would no doubt reject the fact that he was the reason behind Harry's distraction.

The idea made (Y/N) crumble that much more. These were her problems, and now Harry might be held accountable for the fact she couldn't suck it up over a couple of lingering touches and condescending words. As if she didn't know how to handle it already.

Memories of this man's hands on her body—along with a quick montage of others in his place before, including Damien Moore—were a thick ocean in (Y/N)'s head. The illusions were only cut with the scolds of her father, lists of things she'd done wrong and could never recover from.

Through the depths, she could hear distant voices. They were having a muffled argument on the other side of the door, that much she could collect. Every other detail was lost at sea, (Y/N) too busy crumbling by the sink with her breathing too short to be good for her health.

Suddenly, the voices were much closer, a firm tone telling their partner that "I need to see her, let me in!" She knew she recognized that voice, that firm tone and grumbling accent. (Y/N) knew who was on the other side of the door, but nothing could properly register in her head.

The door burst open a second later (or it could have been a handful of minutes, time wasn't real in the moment to her). Both Harry and Francesca tumbled through, Harry's brow furrowed and eyes hard while Fran's were boiling in anger.

"(Y/N), I tried to tell him to—"

Francesca's voice filtered through the bathroom, though (Y/N) only saw the way Harry assessed the situation. His cool demeanor never wavered as he catalogued the crumbling mess that made her up. The only thing that gave away the fact that this was out of the norm of his routine was the furrow to his brows and determination setting his jaw.

Taking broad steps over the tile, Harry met her by the sink, his hands gathering hers from where they were fumbling and picking at her middle.

"Hey, hey," he murmured, his voice somehow louder to her than Francesca's in the background of the moment, "Why aren't y'breathing, (Y/N)? What's going on?"

"I-I want to leave, Harry, I don't want to be here anymore," she rushed out, her tongue tripping over itself with salty tears traced the shape of her lips. "I don't w-want him to touch me again, I want to go home."

A tick appeared in Harry's jaw. "Okay," he nodded, features composed as he slipped his hands out from hers to settle them on the curve of her waist. Before (Y/N) could have any kind of reaction to the touch, Harry was lifting her to sit on the edge of the sink, the slit in her dress splitting to reveal one full leg with the other still draped in the silken material. "Before we can do that, I need you to breathe with me. Okay?"

"I-I can't," she whined, the tenor of her voice echoing in the otherwise silent room. From the corner of her eye, she could see the silhouette of Francesca paces away, quietly watching on.

"Okay," Harry soothed, his hands taking hers once more, "But I need you to try. We can't go anywhere until you try."

The idea that she would have to stay here even a moment longer made (Y/N) choke up even more. How could he ask her to do the impossible like this? She just wanted to leave and Harry was making her stay here, pressuring her to breathe as if he thought she could actually manage that.

"Harry," she cried, her voice broken.

He shook his head, a stray curl falling from his tousled head of hair. "Just for a minute, yeah? Then we'll leave, I promise."

When he didn't dare to break the eye contact he was making with her, (Y/N) couldn't do anything but nod her head to his wishes.

"Copy me," he instructed, taking in a deep through his nose, holding, then exhaling through his nose. When he didn't see (Y/N) doing the same, he repeated, "Gotta copy me, (Y/N)." A pulse of his hands around hers gained her attention.

"Okay," she peeped, nodding with jerky movements.

Another round of structured breathing came from Harry, his chest expanding with his perfect lips forming an "o" when exhaling. (Y/N) copied him as best she could, her chest straining against her corset and her lips feeling sticky with tears when she blew out. Harry stuck with her even when her lungs stuttered and she sobbed through the exercise. It wasn't until she was able to make five full breaths in a row that Harry relented in his pressing.

"Feel a little better?" he asked, eyes searching her face.

(Y/N) took stock of her state, noting the tingling in her fingers and toes had relented, leaving only the aches of a panic lingering in her body. Her head felt a little bloated and her chest tight, but she was doing world's better than she was only a handful of minutes earlier—even if that wasn't a necessarily hard bar to cross.

She nodded.

Using his gentle grip on her hands, Harry guided her off the counter, steadying her back onto her heels. (Y/N) had her eyes on her feet, watching the sparkling of her shoes against the immaculate tile of the floor. She really, really, really hoped tonight wouldn't ruin these shoes for her.

Stepping back into (Y/N)'s line of sight, Francesca looked just as concerned as when she had left the first time. Her purse was now in hand with her phone clutched between her fingers. "Let's go back to my place, okay? I can make sure my driver can be here in five minutes, then we'll leave and we don't have to talk to anyone else."

Francesca reached out a friendly hand, intending to take her from Harry's hold and back to her like they planned before he tumbled into the bathroom. (Y/N) didn't even realize that she was shying away from her best friend until she felt Harry's hand settle on the top of her back with his arm curling around her.

"Fran—I—," she floundered, unsure of where her voice went but not trying to find it, "I want to stay with him, I'm sorry."

Though (Y/N) expected hurt to touch Fran's features, she instead only saw a look of surprise raise her brows and widen her eyes. "That's okay," Francesca reassured her, "Don't be sorry. Just text me when you get home, okay?"

"Okay," (Y/N) nodded, her hair tickling her bare skin.

Taking a tentative step forward, Francesca held her arms out. "Can I hug you before you leave?"

(Y/N) didn't say anything before she collected her friend in a clumsy hug, cheek against her shoulder with their hair creating a mess.

"I'm sorry, Fran," (Y/N) repeated in a hoarse whisper.

"Why are you sorry, don't be sorry," Francesca reminded her, "I just want you to feel safe, that's all." Pulling away, Fran matched her gaze, a soft smile falling on her mocha lined lips. "You look so hot tonight, so you better still post pics."

It was the way Francesca looked at her so earnestly as if what she was saying was just as important as solidifying her plans to make it home, that had (Y/N) spilling with a huff of laughter. "I will," she sniffled, her cry-swollen mouth, "Love you."

"Love you, too."

Francesca parted with her after another squeezing hug, (Y/N) turning to find Harry with his eyes on the ground waiting for her. He peeked at her through the fan of his lashes, noticing her eye on him once more.

"Ready?"

All it took was (Y/N) nodding her head before she was reaching for Harry once more, allowing him to take her under his arm and bundle her to his side.

"We're going to have to fast, okay?" he murmured to her as he pushed the door to the bathroom open, Francesca lingering in the restroom.

"Okay," (Y/N) repeated, staying still as he peered around the secluded hallway in search of anyone else lurking around the space.

Once he determined everything was clear, he started her in the direction of the ballroom. (Y/N) stiffened under his arm. Her father was out there. So was Barron. And over a hundred cell phone cameras and a trained photographer with a high quality camera for moments just like these.

"I know," he crooned to her, the tip of his nose brushing her hair from where she had her eyes trained on the ground, "But 's the only way to get out. There's a back way, we jus' need to get through by the bar, then we'll be alone again. I promise."

As much as she wanted to stop in her tracks, hide a little while longer, she allowed Harry to guide her steps down the hall. If this was the only way out, she was going to have to endure.

The dull roar of the Gala filled every space in her body the second they stepped back under the chandelier light of the ballroom. (Y/N) kept her head down, hoping that if she caught anyone's eye, she could at least spare herself the humility of them catching her ruined makeup and swollen eyes. She clutched Harry's hand cupped around her waist. Her anchor.

Harry guided them through the space, dodging most of the crowd as he took a swift turn, (Y/N) doing her best to stay steady on her feet. His steps didn't falter once. Until they did.

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks when Harry skidded to a stop, something in their path that she was trying not to panic over. She kept her eyes trained on the pearly hue of her shoes as if she could pinpoint every hue that glimmered off of the expensive fabric.

"Harry, what's going on?"

Almost jumping out of her skin, (Y/N) whipped her head up to find her father and Barron standing in their way. Her father spoke through gritted teeth, Barron's cheeks too red and eyes too glazed as he didn't even try to hide the way his gaze clung to her form. It's as if he forgot everything that led up to her fleeing from him and now returning with ruined mascara.

(Y/N) flinched back on instinct. His eyes were almost as bad as his touch.

Harry was a firm cage around her, keeping her steady as he ignored her father. He dismissed them as he tried to get around them, finding a path between a pair of tables. Her breathing caught in her throat when she saw her father try to reach for her, his hand like a wolven claw meant to drag her away.

In a moment, Harry had twirled her away, putting her out of range while he acted as a solid wall between them to her.

"Do not touch her," he gritted out, an undertone to his voice she'd never heard before. He was looking her father right in the eye as he spat out his command, taking him on without a wavering second.

Her father, taken aback, almost stumbled on his feet. "Excuse me?" he let out.

Ignoring him once more, Harry shot a sharp look at Barron. The man recoiled as if he had been struck.

Harry didn't linger a second longer as he took through the tables, getting them back on track as soon as possible. (Y/N) could feel eyes on her, no doubt cameras following suit. This was a moment publication and gossip blogs would rather die than leave out. Tomorrow was going to be a shitshow with the notifications that would blow up her phone, but she couldn't find it in her to care at the moment.

She only focused on Harry, keeping up with him and keeping her hand in his on her waist.

Eventually, they stepped into the back hallway. (Y/N) recognized it from the times she'd visited 132 during a regular exhibition; it was the best way to sneak in and out when she didn't want to be spotted.

Pushing open the heavy door after the hallway forked off into two different directions, Harry pulled (Y/N) into the fresh night air. Though the sky was clear, not a single star could be seen above their heads, the lights too bright to see anything in the heavens. The alley behind the gallery was big enough to allow protected trucks full of art pieces large enough to be considered murals to make through, the space clean enough. Cigarette butts were on the ground, and a dumpster resided on the other side. Still it was enough to please that of the higher clientele that visited the 132 Gallery, though (Y/N) wasn't sure she would care if she were stepping through piles of garbage at the moment.

She was out. The gallery, her father, Barron, the cameras were all behind her.

That knowledge alone allowed her lungs to open just a hair more, the rush of oxygen almost choking her.

"Sully's on his way, okay?" Harry told her, his grip on her lessening now that they were alone, "I told him it was an emergency and he said he'd make it as soon as possible."

"Okay," she gasped, nodding her head as best she could through her muddied mind.

"Yeah," she breathed out, her lungs shaky but nothing like before. She just needed to think about every intake, which was a feat in its own, but whatever helped.

A beat passed, Harry surely keeping track of her breathing. "Thought we stopped crying?" he murmured after a moment, closing in around her with his hands settling on her biceps.

Raising her hand to her cheek, (Y/N) swiped away a stream of tears she hadn't even been aware were leaking out.

"Me too," she whispered, her voice watery with a pinch to her brows.

Through the vignette of her tear-clumped lashes, (Y/N) could see the barely there smile on his features. "You've got all that pretty makeup on, remember? Can't keep crying like that when Sully gets here," he crooned, his voice more gentle than she ever thought he could manage.

He thought her makeup looked pretty. Maybe he wasn't saying that she looked pretty, but it was still enough to loosen her muscles just enough.

A watery smile fixed itself on her lips. "Yeah," she let out, the word floating on a delicate huff of laughter.

From behind Harry, a bright beam of light outlined his silhouette. The sound of tires popping over the pavement and the purring rumble of a car engine filled the alleyway. Harry looked over his shoulder, leaving (Y/N) with only a view of the cut and hinge of his jaw, looping curls on the back of his neck.

The car stopped beside them, Harry not wasting a second before he was gathering (Y/N) in his arms and pulling her into the back of the SUV. She was first in, with Harry following behind her over the leather bench seat.

(Y/N) couldn't look at Sully when she settled, avoiding the reflection of his gaze in the rearview mirror she was sure that was pointed in her direction. As soon as the pair of them were buckled in—Harry having done hers—Sully was off. They were seamlessly incorporated into the city's traffic, the route back to her apartment, one he knew well and (Y/N) hoped he could quick work of.

Harry, having forgone the usual buffer he placed between them, shifted in his seat with his thigh pressed against hers. In the back of her mind, (Y/N) knew this should feel like it was too much for her, that she should be shying away from his touch after the gross feeling Barron left her with, but she didn't feel that instinct to revolt. Instead, he was like an anchor, the steadying pillar that followed her about and ensured there was no way she could drift away from shore.

"Alright?" he whispered, ducking down to peek into her line of sight, "Almost back home."

She nodded, her brain feeling numb though she was sure there were still tears dripping off her cheeks. Now that the initial wave of panic passed, exhaustion was moving in. She would find out soon if there was going to be an aftershock, a tremor that would wrack through her when the night rushed back to her clear mind.

Sinking into her seat, (Y/N) tossed her watery gaze out the window. Only a couple of hours prior she was in this same spot, though with perfected makeup and her skin buzzing from anticipation and excitement. Now she only buzzed with the feeling of oxygen reentering her bloodstream.

God, she couldn't wait to get out of her clothes, and get the pins out of her hair.

No longer caring, she got a head start and began shakily unraveling her shoes from her feet. Her fingertips fumbled over the latch on the string of pearls around her ankles, but it didn't take long for her to kick off her pumps and curl her knees to her chest. Harry silently reached down and took the Manolo's from the floor, his fingers hooked in the top straps.

When (Y/N)'s building came into view, Sully rolled to a stop just outside the entrance. (Y/N) finally chanced a look at the rearview mirror, her driver's soft eyes matching hers through the glass.

"Thank you," she peeped, voice broken.

Sully simply smiled and nodded at her.

Behind her, Harry urged her out onto the sidewalk with a careful hand on her back. She didn't think twice about her bare feet landing on the burgundy carpet rolled out on the sidewalk before her building, keeping her mind focused on getting up to her apartment. Harry lingered for a moment, the rumble of his voice saying something to Sully, before he was joining her.

"C'mon," he murmured, grabbing her hand in his.

Much like he had at the Gala, Harry directed her through the lobby, her hand in one of his with her shoes in the other. He didn't let her linger on what the doormen could be thinking, seeing her with tear stained cheeks and bare feet with her designer gown. He took her straight to the elevator and input the code to her floor.

For the first time since landing in the bathroom with panic in her chest, (Y/N) noticed the small detail of elevator music.

Following after him, Harry took her to her apartment, using the key she'd given him weeks ago to let them in. He let go of her hand once they crossed the threshold as he lingered back to lock the door behind them. Looking around her apartment, the rug under her feet, (Y/N) couldn't pinpoint what triggered her, but the sprinkling of tears leaving her eyes elevated to a full downpour.

Her breathing came out in a stuttered pace, a whimper swirling from her chest. There was that aftershock.

Oh, how this night was derailed.

In an instant, Harry is there. His arms looped around her, his instincts taking over as she was pulled to his chest.

"Hey, hey," he crooned to her, "What's going on, what happened?"

(Y/N) only shook her head against his black suit-covered shoulder. She didn't have a real answer to that, and wasn't interested in digging through the events of the night to give him a full picture at the moment.

Instead, she focused on his hold. She could feel the bump of her heels on the small of her back, but that didn't keep him from keeping her in a grounding hold. Though he was touching her in the same places that Barron had—her back, her arms, her leg, her chin—Harry's touch didn't feel the same at all. She didn't recoil or expect a film to be left on her pores.

She all but melted into him, her muscles liquifying like the tears from her eyes. Harry held her up without a second thought, just as he had the rest of the night.

A pinch took knitted her brows together at the thought, her eyes squeezing shut as more tears fled from her ducts.

Never did she picture herself needing him the way she did tonight. He was so calm and strong, keeping her from falling to pieces on the bathroom floor. (Y/N) loved Francesca with her whole heart and knew she owed her a phone call before the night was over, but she didn't think her best friend could have controlled the situation and her breakdown like Harry had.

He stopped her father from touching her, Barron from talking to her. He knew the precise way to make it out with the least amount of disturbance possible. Even letting Sully know to pick them up as soon as possible wasn't something that had even crossed her mind, but that had to have been one of the first things he did when he realized her state.

She hugged him tighter, her arms around his middle.

Drawing away just enough to look down at her, Harry scanned her with sparkling green eyes. "Do y'need to breathe with me again?" he asked her, the suggestion gentle and quiet as if there were people around to overhear.

"N-No," she said, shaking her head, "I just—... Can you stay with me f-for a second?"

In response, Harry homed her back into his chest. "I've got you," his voice rumbled his chest under her cheek.

Though it was more than clumsy with missteps and stilted movements, Harry led her to the staircase that ran up to her room. From there, he sat her on the bottom step, with him following closely after. She huddled up to him, Harry's arms curling around her as she sat with her dress splayed around her.

She didn't know how long she sat there, one of Harry's hands on her shin with his thumb moving in a soothing circuit over the bone, her face in his neck, but no time seemed long enough. The only reason she even dared to begin to pull back was the itching feeling of her clothes wrapped around her body.

"What do you need?" he asked instantly, ducking down into her space. From this view, she saw a collection of freckles across his nose, faint.

Swallowing, (Y/N) felt her hair sticking to her wet cheeks, the chunks of desecrated mascara surely mixing with the strands on her skin.

"I don't want to be in my dress anymore," she said, her voice as loud as she could manage without breaking. "It's too much."

"Okay," he murmured, giving a small nod, "Okay. I'll help you up to your room, and then y'can change into your pajamas."

The idea of him leaving her being in her bedroom had the lump in her throat thickening. She could barely keep her hands steady and he wanted her to be by herself?

"I-I can't do it by myself," she whimpered, too far gone to feel embarrassed about asking her bodyguard for help like this.

"Y'need my help?" he pressed, looking for verification though his gaze didn't waver from her own.

(Y/N) simply nodded her head.

His lips thinned but he gave her a confirming dip of his chin before he started helping her stand. He kept his hand wrapped around hers as he pulled her up the steps, (Y/N) following pliantly into her bedroom.

With a toss, Harry left her shoes in a heap somewhere in her room, but his attention was firmly laced on her. He kept her bedroom door open, the light from the hallway seeping through.

"(Y/N)?" he voiced, his voice firm, "Can y'look at me?"

Turning her gaze, she found him looking directly at her as his hand slipped away from hers. She almost wanted to reach for it back, unwilling to let go of that tether.

"You're okay with me helping y'undress?" he prodded, reiterating the same question she thought she already answered at the bottom of the stairs, "I need you to tell me if you're sure. I'm not going to help unless y'mean it."

"I-I can't do it by myself, please," she told him. Not once had she made it in or out of this dress by herself, and she couldn't fathom doing that now when her eyes were swollen with tears and her hands fighting off tremors. "I don't want to wear this anymore."

he looked at her for a beat longer, gaze matching her own. Whatever he saw in there must have been enough for him to give her a small nod. "Okay. Tell me what to do."

"Just get the zipper," she told him, facing her back towards him where the scooping line of her dress made it that much harder for her to reach the tiny mechanism.

Silently, Harry stepped behind her, her hair already up and pulled away when she reached towards her. The hook at the top of the form was the first to go, his fingertips brushing the same swatch of skin Barron had violated. Taking the zipper down, every tooth that was pulled apart allowed her lungs to fill deeper with air. (Y/N)'s eyes fluttered closed at the feeling, her dress loosening around her shoulders.

Pressing her hands to her chest, she kept the bodice of her dress up once Harry reached the bottom of the line.

"Can y'breathe better?" Harry murmured behind her, his words fanning across her skin. His breath felt cool against her skin.

"Uh-huh," she exhaled, her shoulders relaxing into a gentle slope, "Thank you."

She heard him murmur a good in response though he hesitated where he stood. "Do y'need any more of m'help? Or do y'want to be alone now?"

The idea of Harry leaving her, setting her to be alone in the dark of her room, the city skyline dusky out the window. She feared his hands were the only things keeping her from falling apart.

"Help," she answered simply.

Wordlessly, Harry assisted her in pulling down her dress, her back facing him as it became an ethereal puddle at her feet. Dom was going to kill her when he found out she let the gown touch the floor.

The nude forms of her shapewear and barely there bra was all that was left on her body as she kicked away her dress, the corset now structureless and folded with pearls a mess around.

(Y/N) didn't even think before she was pulling down her shapewear, the compression just another layer too much.

"I—" Harry coughed from behind her, his voice cutting short, "I'm going to get y'some clothes."

Her skin heated when she realized the way she had so carelessly began undressing in front of him. She was so used to having a team be there when she prepped and redressed from this, the shyness accompanying undressing and pulling layers off her body no longer lingered in moments like these. But, Harry wasn't a member of those teams, and this obviously wasn't the kind of thing he had anticipated when he obliged to stay and help her. She hoped she hadn't scarred him with the way she was almost completely nude in front of him.

At the same time, she couldn't curb the urge to get these pieces off of her body. She wanted to be rid of the night, the touches, the layers of herself that fell victim to her father's pressures to stay perfect at all times. The sooner that could happen, the sooner she would feel like herself again.

By the time Harry returned from her closet, an oversized shirt and a pair of her pilates shorts in hand, she was down to her thong with her hands holding up the push-up cups of her bra. She almost jumped out of her skin when she saw him move out of the corner of her eye, his steps faltering before he trained his gaze on the ground.

"I'll leave these here for you," he mumbled, the set of clothing being dropped on the edge of her mattress. He brought his knuckle up to brush against the tip of his nose, "I'll be outside your door. Come find me when you're done."

When the door shut behind him, (Y/N) was sealed away by herself. Her room became a vacuum, the air sucked out in a way that only felt calm.

Left in only her underwear, she allowed her bra to drop to the floor as she fell back on her mattress. She stared up at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling with the light of the city filtering through her balcony in hazy beams.

This is her apartment. She's in her bed. She was in her skin. Her clothing was waiting at the end of her bed.

(Y/N) eyes fell closed as relief flooded through herself at the mantra. Everything around her was hers. No one could take any of this from her. This peace was hers to hold.

Tomorrow she would be worried about the stories that would be spun, her father's reaction to everything that had transpired, what consequences would follow this breakdown. But that was for tomorrow. Tonight, she was going to relish the sense of safety, that for a second she worried she would never experience again (that panic in her tummy was rooted deep).

She needed to text Francesca.

While she would have preferred to give her a call, there wasn't enough energy in her body for something like that.

Instead, (Y/N) lethargically redressed into her pajamas. Her top slouched around her form, the neckline wide and sleeves draping. Her shorts were well worn and stretchy from the many pilates sessions they accompanied her to. Taking her phone after she was settled into her skin, she typed out a text to Francesca.

thank you for helping tonight. harry got me home a little bit ago so I'm alright. I love u so much fran thank you thank you thank you

The second she pressed send, the confirmation that the message was delivered popping up, (Y/N) dropped the device among the folds in her duvet to find Harry.

Whipping the door open, she found Harry just outside her bedroom door. His suit jacket had been discarded somewhere in her apartment, his tie missing as well. Now he was left with the top couple of buttons undone of his shirt and his shirt sleeves now loose around his forearms. The tattoos she spotted the first day they met were back on display, roses and mermaids and bugs and script.

That peace she found in her bedroom strengthened at the sight of him.

"Y'alright?" Harry asked, his posture straightening from where he had leant against the wall.

"Yeah," she murmured, stepping over the threshold, "I-I can breathe, finally." She swallowed, taking in the state of his messed hair and flush to his cheeks. She knew what the night looked like from her end, but she could only imagine the kind of trouble he went through. "I'm sorry."

Harry shook his head, lips thinning at her apology. "Don't be sorry," he affirmed, reaching a careful hand out, "C'mon."

Laying her palm in his, (Y/N) was ready to follow wherever Harry wanted to take her. She padded after him as he escorted her to her bathroom, the space littered with beauty products and a bay window showing off the light of the city through the frosted glass.

"Let's get your makeup off and hair down, yeah?" he asked her, meeting her eyes through the glass of her mirror as he flicked on the overhead lights.

"Yes, please," she nodded, her voice heavy with fatigue now that the come down was beginning to settle in. "I'll start with my makeup if you'll get my hair?"

"Sounds like a plan," Harry murmured, a shadow of a smile touching the corners of his lips.

A comforting silence settled in the air, Harry concentrating on breaking the hold of the can of hairspray that was used on her styled hair. A furrow appeared in his brow from where she spied him in the mirror.

"Let me know if I hurt you," he mumbled, picking bobby pins out of her strands. He only worked with gentle hands, fingertips brushing her scalp.

Now it was her turn to feel a curling grin tease the corners of her mouth. "Okay."

Pulling her removal balm from her drawer, she spread the oil across her fingertips and began shedding the layers of ruined makeup from her skin. In the back of her mind, she wanted to care about Harry seeing her with raccoon eyes and greasy skin, but she was sure he'd already seen her much worse earlier in the night. Nothing could scare him away at this point, even if she knew it was more for job security than anything that had to do with her. Besides, she didn't mind showing him this part of herself; he was her safety net tonight.

More and more of her strands broke free while (Y/N) peeled her lashes off, a damp cloth being used to get the removal balm off of her skin. Her pores and blemishes were on display once more, her skin breathing after being caked under powders and rivers of tears. Her scalp felt sore with every bobby pin Harry took out, a pile accruing on the counter.

"Can I ask what happened back there?" Harry piped up, breaking the silence that had settled like a fog over the room. His usual deadpan tone softened into something malleable and soft, gentle to her ears.

(Y/N)'s lips thinned at the question. She knew how to answer the question, but it was more of a matter of if she wanted to hear the answer after already living it. She bought herself time as she swiped her face with an extra cleansing water, her reusable cotton pad soft against her skin.

From her view in the mirror, she saw as he kept his eyes trained on her hair, fingers tracing through the strands comb out the twirled mess made earlier in the night.

"I know y'might not want to tell me because we aren't... friends, but even as someone who's meant to look after you, it would help to know just so I can protect you better next time," he mused, his voice gentle.

"Franny didn't tell you?"

A beat passed. "I want to hear it from you, (Y/N)."

Harry kept her steady when her weight shifted on her feet. His hands in her hair dropped to settle on her biceps, his eyes returning hers in the mirror. She felt his eyes scanning over her face. Whatever he found there had his jaw hardening, his resolve strengthening from where he stood behind her. "You're not there anymore, (Y/N). It's all over, don't forget."

She nodded her head, taking in a wavering breath through her nose. "Right, um," she started, her fingers fiddling with the sewn edge of her cotton pad, "It was that guy, at our table. The one sitting on my dad's other side. He found me at the bar when I was getting a drink, and he just didn't really listen. He bought me a drink and kept wanting to talk to me even when I was saying I wanted to go back to Emma and Francesca."

With his hands resuming in her hair, Harry listened along. "Right," he murmured, his voice now holding an edge that had previously been melted away. She had a feeling he knew bits and pieces of this story, and it only made it that much harder to hear it from her mouth.

"He kept touching me, and talking to me like I was stupid. It wasn't that bad, it just felt wrong—it made me feel gross." She swallowed around her dry throat, grateful for the lack of makeup on her face, her tears now welling over clean lashes. "I tried to leave, but I knew people were around and my dad would have been so mad if I made a scene. I tried to find you but I think my dad was talking to you so you couldn't see me, and the girls were busy, and there was a camera guy going around and taking photos. I couldn't... I let him keep touching me, but I was getting so nervous and it was all too much."

With her hair finally down and free from the style it was put in, Harry noticed the shine of her tears falling down her cheeks once more. He didn't hesitate before he was spinning her around, looping his arms around her to collect her to his chest.

"I know, I know," he murmured to her, her own hands curling in the fabric of his black shirt, "'S over now, though, right?"?

"Right," she breathed, voice a bit hoarse.

His hand petted her hair, the strands fluffy now that the hairspray was broken but still holding the heat style she was given. She couldn't wait to wash her hair when she had the energy, already missing the natural texture.

"Y'said it was the man sitting beside your dad? Barron?"

"Mhm," (Y/N) whimpered at the sound of his name. "I guess my dad had told him I needed to be taken care of, and I think he told him other m-mean things about me."

Her words dissolved into a string of sobs, Harry going tense against her. She couldn't help herself, sniffling and crying against his chest, her breathing coming in erratic puffs. She felt guilty, feeling him tense around her. She didn't mean to upset him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she babbled, pulling away to look at him with a crinkling sniffle of her nose, "To-Tonight has been a lot. Thank you for helping me."

(Y/N) attempted to unravel herself from his hold, only to be stopped by his arms caging around her middle. "It's okay, don't apologize to me," he told her earnestly, matching his gaze to her blurry one, "Thank you for telling me, but I want to make something very clear right now."

Nodding, she looked up at him, watching as he ducked down into her space, crowding around her with intensity in his eyes.

"If y'ever feel uncomfortable or like you're in danger, for whatever reason—I don't care if you think it's not that bad, or your father will be upset, or whatever reason you think is good enough to stay in that moment—you are going to leave." His words were a command hiding behind a gentle tone. He was unwavering in his stance, that much she could glean. "I don't care what you have to do, what kind of 'scene' y'have to make, come find me if 'm not right there. Whatever will make you feel safest, that's what I want you to do. Don't ever feel like you have to put up with anything that upsets you for whatever reason.

"You matter more than whatever cover story or photos someone could make up. Okay? Don't ever think it's the other way around."

(Y/N) couldn't hold back the tears that fell down her cheeks, her skin stained and chin dripping with every drop. Her father had never said or even made her feel like putting herself first was an option, that she was the one variable in these stories that deserved a bit of protection. There was even a brief period of time when she had a publicist, and he never said anything close to what was coming out of Harry's mouth.

Everyone else around her had always shared the importance of what those around her thought, what could be said about her, the kind of stories that could be splashed across the pages. Her feelings, her safety, herself was always at the bottom of that list.

"Okay?" Harry prodded, his hands on her back flexing with fingertips denting the planes of her back, "Do y'understand what 'm saying?"

"I do," she choked out, lips quivering. Even blurry through her tears, dressed in all black and exhaustion on his features, Harry was the most gorgeous person she'd ever seen. An angel in the frosty light of her bathroom. "Thank you."

Harry only tugged her closer to his chest, cupping her back of her head where she snuggled in and allowed tears to run from her eyes.

(Y/N) clung to him tighter.

—————

Waking in her bed, duvet in folds around her with her pilates shorts chucked on the floor beside her discarded gown, (Y/N) blinked her stiff eyelids open. She couldn't be sure what time it was when she stalked to her bedroom, only remembering the ache in her muscles and stuffy nose. Harry had stayed with her all night, soothing her through the bouts of tears and being there when all she needed was to not be alone.

Stretching out of her bed with her feet hitting the floor, she couldn't remember if Harry had stayed after she fell asleep. She was barely aware of her own body when she shed her shorts and flopped into her bed, too exhausted to even crawl under the covers.

Stepping over her cold floor, (Y/N) crept out into the hallway, peering down the bend. Just barely, she could see a folded suit jacket and the first strands of curling brown hair from where she could spot the end of her couch. The closer she came to the living room, the closer she came to letting a smile settle on her features.

How he could manage it, she didn't know, but it was very much in his character to sleep with his brows pinched and arms crossed over his chest. He didn't look like he was resting particularly well, his suit jacket acting as his pillow as he threw himself into an odd shape to lay on her couch.

He stayed.

A heat bubbled under her skin at the thought. Despite the wringer she put him through the night before, he stayed here. Though she wasn't exactly sure how she would navigate the conversation that would have to occur when he woke, how she would handle knowing that he saw those most vulnerable parts of her, at least she knew she wasn't alone.

Letting him stay where he was, (Y/N) silently moved past him to her kitchen. She could start to say thank you by making him breakfast, she decided. If anything, it might be a good enough distraction to push off the conversation a bit longer when he woke.

She fell into her element as she pulled out the ingredients, feeling her muscles relax and joints loosen. Trying to be as quiet as she could so as to not disturb the sleeping beauty on her couch, she pulled the dish together as she went. Slices of toast were warming in a butter skimmed pan while she raided her spice rack. From her fridge she pulled eggs and chorizo, cheese and hashbrowns until she came up with a scramble. A rich and lemony hollandaise started on her stove, her apartment filling with toasted spices and the sizzling pop of the chorizo looking. She hoped he would appreciate the extra shred of manchego she stirred in.

With her mind running around the kitchen, timing and anticipating everything, she felt okay. She knew there had to be more than a handful of notifications on her phone, too many articles with her name tagged, and her father scheming her punishment, but, right now, she was content in living in this moment. She could wash her hair later, answer her phone calls, and explain to Dom that she didn't mean to let the Vivienne gown wrinkle on the floor. Before then, she would allow her only consequences to be the ache in her bones and the crust in the corners of her eyes.

Adding the final seasonings and beginning to plate everything, (Y/N) shifted her attention to the other consequence laying on her couch. She really hoped he liked what she made.

Adding the hollandaise over the hashbrown bowl, (Y/N) finished up with adding the slices of crusty toast to the rim of the bowl. She placed them on her rarely used dining table, hesitating at the chair beside where she determined Harry would sit before backtracking and placing her own serving in the seat across.

Now was the hard part.

Padding over the rug, she made her way to the couch, Harry's restless form still stiff where he laid. With the top buttons of his top undone, the tan skin of his chest was on display, the necklace she had noticed time and time again, the pendants finally on display. The faces of a duo of birds inked on his chest peeked out, matching the dark black of his outfit. He even fell asleep with his shoes on.

He did all that work to make sure she was comfortable—getting her out of her dress, helping her take her hair down, reminding her to wash her makeup off—only to fall asleep with his suit jacket as a pillow and his event clothes wrapped too tight around him.

Crouching beside him, she sat on her folded knees. His profile was on display this way, the line of his nose and curl of his lashes highlighted through the sunny window.

Using a gentle hand, she cautiously settled her palm on his tensed shoulder. "Harry," she murmured. She gave a minute shake to his shoulder.

Harry woke up with a start, his reaction much quicker and more drastic than she had expected. He sucked in a big breath, his eyes flying open as he sat up, his hands reaching behind to prop himself up. She could see the recognition settle over his features, his eyes frantically searching over her face with his mouth in a soft gape.

"(Y/N)," he breathed out.

Having sat back some when he startled, her hands in a bundle in her lap, she blinked up at him. "Sorry," she started, "I just... I made you breakfast, if you were hungry."

Disoriented, he ran a heavy hand through his hair as he shifted where he sat. The suede cushions fluffed up, the fibers mimicking waves around him. "Yeah?" he asked, moving to sit properly with his feet on the ground and knees wide apart.

Still on her knees, she looked up at him, his hair a mess and chest heaving as he caught his stressed breath. She opened her mouth to say something, but every thought was ripped from her head when her front door was flung open.

Whipping around, she almost jumped out of her skin when she saw her father stepping inside. His face was twisted in anger, wearing a suit too nice for this early in the morning, and his eyes as daggers trained right on her.

He stomped over the threshold, coming towards where she was still folded on the floor.

"Dad!"

Ignoring her voice, she saw him finally take in the scene. For the first time he seemed to realize Harry was there. With (Y/N) on her knees in front of him. His clothes were a rumpled mess, the same ones from the night before. His chest rising and falling from his startled good morning, hair a stressed mess.

(Y/N) could practically see his blood pressure rising through his body, his hair standing on end when he returned his gaze to hers. He was seething, taking his assumptions from the scene before him.

"Are you fucking kidding me, (Y/N)?" he hissed, his hands practically shaking at his sides. He towered over her, even from where she sat feet away. "What do you think you're trying to do to him!?"

Scrambling to stand up, she was already shaking her head in denial. This wasn't the kind of scolding she was going to be able to sit through.

"What? I'm—No, that's not—"

He shook his head, his jaw stiff. He seemed to bite his own tongue, stopping himself from saying anything more. "We will have to talk about that later," he cemented, "Because you need to tell me what the hell you were thinking last night."

While she knew this was coming, she honestly expected more of a phone call. She thought he would be too angry to even look at her. He'd never been angry enough to burst into her home and yell at her there. He much preferred his home turf, where he controlled all the power.

Swallowing, she tried to calm her racing heartbeat. "I know it looks bad, but I promise I didn't mean—"

"I don't want excuses!" he shouted, cutting her off despite the fact he was the one that invited her to talk in the first place. "I'm tired of you embarrassing me every chance you get! I always knew you'd be crazy like your mother, but I didn't think it would be this fucking bad."

(Y/N) recoiled at the mention of her mother. He rarely talked about her unless in punishment, but he hadn't said anything so blatantly evil about her.

She didn't know what to say. This is why he never told her about the racing in her heart and the stress that filled her without permission. She didn't want him to think of her as crazy, something that needed to be medicated and put away. But, she supposed now, he didn't need to know that information to say that about her.

Her father took a menacing step towards her, his expression that much more angry after her silence.

In an instant, Harry was sliding between them, his back facing (Y/N) with his height obscuring her view of her father. "Sir," Harry started, a warning to his tone that had to come from years of dealing with pests.

It was her father's turn to take a step back, (Y/N) just barely catching the way he rolled his eyes. Harry's interference only set him off further, it appeared.

Speaking around the wall that was Harry, he yelled to (Y/N), "How am I supposed to trust him now, after I saw what you were trying to do to him. What did you do last night that convinced him that you needed protecting from me when you're the problem!"

Harry took a step towards him, a hand out as if to soothe a vicious animal while barring him from coming any closer should he attempt. "Sir, I think it's best if you step outside for a moment."

Ignoring Harry's plea, he only craned his neck to ensure (Y/N) could see him when he yelled again. "I always knew you'd end up a whore," her father seethed, "But you only seem to like it best when it's a way to get back at me."

With that, Harry didn't hesitate before grabbing her father by the arms and twisting him away. He escorted him out the door of her apartment, pushing him over the threshold with a slam of the door behind them.

Muffled shouts started on the other side of the door, her father's voice the one that was raised. She couldn't pick out individual words, but she figured that was probably for the best. She didn't need to hear any more of what he thought of her.

Staving off a replay of last night's breakdown, she sunk to the floor, her legs a tangled puddle underneath her. Her hands shook in her lap, matching the cadence of her lungs as she fought to keep her breathing even.

Suddenly, a loud bang against her door rang through her empty apartment. Tears filled her eyes.

The blaring noise was compounded with a stretch of silence. The low timber of Harry's voice rose then, though his was layered with the typical composure he always had, even in the face of someone as unreasonable as her father.

The silence gave too much room for her thoughts to grow, her head bloated and heavy.

In an odd way, she was grateful he was as angry as he was. He was too upset, his vision too red, to say anything properly damaging. If he had been thinking any clearer, she worried she would have a plane ticket to Sweden in hand and all credit cards in her name shredded.

While this morning was bad, it definitely could have been worse, she decided.

She couldn't be sure how long she sat on the floor, waiting for whatever would emerge back into her apartment, but soon enough the doorknob twisted with the hinges gliding open. Harry was the only one to step inside, her father missing from the hallway when she glanced around.

His cheeks were red, hair in an even sorrier state than before, but he kept that same calculated set to his irises. He didn't hesitate to crouch to her level, his brows pinching as he met (Y/N)'s eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, intensity laced through his voice.

(Y/N) nodded her head, stray hairs curtaining around her face. "Sorry about everything he said. I-I don't know where he—why he—"

Harry shook his head, his jaw ticking. He dropped his gaze from hers as he shuttered them in a lingering blink. When he dared to glance up at her once more, he said, "No, don't apologize for him. I jus'... (Y/N), I think 's best if I go home, now."

Instinctively, she wanted to question him. She wanted to investigate his reasoning and attempt to make him stay. He was her solid pillar, the buoy keeping her afloat. She worried what she would do without him for the first time in twenty-four hours.

But, she couldn't blame him. Her father just accused her of trying to seduce him to wriggle into his head, with whatever else he shared behind that closed door. She could only imagine just how uncomfortable he was now in her presence, both his employer and client having varying breakdowns in front of him.

"Okay," she settled, dropping her eyes to her hands. At least the tremor stopped. "Thank you for staying with me last night."

Giving a curt nod, Harry stood to his full height. He moved silently around him, stoic as ever as he collected his suit jacket and cell phone. His footsteps seemingly echoed in the otherwise silence of her home.

She wasn't even sure if he looked at her again before he slipped out the front door, leaving her alone.

—————

Dad

I have a flight scheduled to take you to Paris in a week. You can't be trusted here to stay out of trouble, even with Harry's help. You will be staying through to the winter, and I hope you take this time to reflect on what you've done and how you plan on fixing your attitude.

Harry will be accompanying you, but I expect you to keep your relationship strictly professional with him. Don't squander this time away, (Y/N).

I will check in soon to ensure things are going well.

(Y/N) felt heavy reading her father's string of texts.

Today had been enough of an obstacle already, and now she had to plan to be out of the country well after Summer had ended.

She didn't bother to type a response, only reacting to the top message with a thumbs up.

Falling back on her bed, the mattress bouncing under her spine, she stared up at the ceiling.

She was going to have to call Francesca.

—————

"Is there anything I can grab for you, Ms. (Y/N)?"

A pleasant smile curled over (Y/N)'s lips, the bags under her eyes shielded by the heavy pair of sunglasses perched on her nose. "No, thank you."

The flight attendant scurried away at her dismissal, all too eager to practically sprint away. While this crew wasn't especially friendly with her, always seeming a little too scared of her, there was definitely a difference in how attentive they'd started for this flight. They'd no doubt seen the articles that had been swirling for the last week.

She couldn't blame them, honestly. Reviewing the articles herself, she was painted as an out of touch socialite, a woman who flipped out after a perceived slight. There were photos of her speaking to Barron, the moment having been described as the final moments before the blowup. The drink clutched in her hand was blown out of proportion, insiders and onlookers dishing out how she'd been drinking the whole night despite those two sips of the gin and tonic being the only alcohol she partook in the entire Gala.

The men around her were painted as heroes, including Harry. Her father and Barron were trying to talk her down from her drunken antics, urging her to calm and remind her of the cameras watching. Harry was doing the chivalrous thing and helping her out of the event before she stumbled around and humiliated herself more than she already had. Some sources even became so bold as to claim that the reason she snuck away to the bathroom for so long, others checking on her, was because of a drug problem she was hiding behind closed doors.

All of it was her fault. She was being unreasonable, and rude. Untamable and embarrassing. Crazy, even.

The webs were spun so well, including the official photographs along with blurry photographs posted by anonymous social media accounts. Every story looked worse than the last.

Even knowing the truth, seeing those photos gave (Y/N) a deep sense of humiliation she couldn't shake.

Seeing an outsider's perspective, the way she clung to Harry with messy hair and swollen eyes, crying over him and using him like some kind of shield. She couldn't believe he had stayed with her after the way she acted—and those were only the things that occurred in public.

If that wasn't bad enough, after the fashion magazine's interview was posted along with the event's photos and stories, Harry was now having articles written about him. People were digging into his private life, hunting down any kind of hint of who he was, what he meant to (Y/N). Most likely, some were even hoping to get into contact with him and earn and exclusive. She couldn't blame him if he took someone up on the offer.

It was all her fault.

Maybe that was why this past week, she hadn't heard from him at all. To be fair, she hadn't gone anywhere, preferring to keep out of the public eye while the gossip circulated. Francesca met her at her apartment instead, helping her with everything; they packed a small bag to get her through her traveling, cried, bitched about her dad, and had a two day sleepover before (Y/N)'s exile began. She was the only one (Y/N) told, knowing it would get to the rest of the girls in a matter of time, only after she had disappeared for a good few weeks.

That left (Y/N) with a small go-bag, a full wardrobe and duplicates of her favorite things already waiting at the French penthouse, sweats on her form and embarrassment too deep to coax Harry into interacting with her.

She felt stiff where she sat, imagining what the stew crew was whispering about her just out of earshot, imagining what Harry was thinking about her as he refused to even glance at her despite the orientation of their chairs. She couldn't relax in her skin. She was too in her head to manage something like that.

Though (Y/N) was happy to get out of New York, these circumstances were killing any joy she could tie to the change in scenery. Paris was one of her favorite places in the world, her penthouse securing a special spot in her heart, but her father wanted to turn it into a prison. he wanted to ruin another safe place for her. It sucked.

And, the one person she was too embarrassed to even properly look at, was the one person accompanying her through it all. Her new roommate was the same guy that she was being accused of sleeping with out of anger at her father, out of her rampant sexual desire that kept her from staying with any one person for too long, or a cute decoration that was placed around her to give her clout. At least that's what the rumors swirling around were.

Heaving a sigh and crossing her legs, (Y/N) wanted to be surprised that Harry didn't even flinch in her direction, instead she felt just a sting of hurt behind her ribs.

—————

"You know where the house is?"

"Yes," Harry answered, his response curt as he shifted the car into drive.

(Y/N) couldn't blame his short reply, she wasn't being particularly warm either.

Instead, she silently settled into her seat, conflicted on how to feel. She'd never really travelled without a driver. Even if it wasn't Sully since he stayed in the city with his family, there was always someone else that took care of her wherever she went. This time, it appeared Harry would be in charge of that.

Most likely at her father's request, she figured. Now there was no reason for her to be away from him for even ten minutes. Her babysitter extraordinaire.

Shifting her gaze out the windscreen, she took in the emerging city. It had been a while since she was away from the lights and the skyscrapers, the crowds of tourists. While Paris wasn't quite as quant as the movies made it out to be, it was definitely different from that of New York. There was more breathing room.

Her dad always thought it was too slow, too boring, a place to spend a single day in before moving on to something much newer and exciting. Maybe that was why it became one of her favorite places, her first request when she was old enough being that she could find a penthouse in Paris. She knew he wouldn't want to follow her here.

Harry drove like an expert through the winding streets, a GPS screen hooked up to show him the way to her penthouse, though she doubted he needed it. He kept his gaze shifting through the cycle of peering out the window, checking his mirrors, and glancing in the rearview. He didn't waver in his routine, as if (Y/N) wasn't even there.

The familiar lead up to the neighbourhood of Saint-Germain had (Y/N) sitting up. She couldn't wait to lock herself away in that top floor penthouse.

Taking advantage of the free space not too far from the entrance to the building, Harry pulled in in one smooth motion. The click of the gear shifter settled them into park. He pulled the key after a beat, finally shooting her a fleeing glance.

"I'll grab the bags and follow you," he directed, not waiting before he was pushing open his door and stepping out onto the street.

She followed suit, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head.

Upon her first deep breath in, (Y/N) wondered if she had been away for long enough to convince herself the air really did smell like butter and wine the way poets always described.

There were still a good amount of tourists given the neighborhood's proximity to various landmarks, but this place was worlds different in comparison to the city. She hoped her father knew she was enjoying her punishment.

Harry, with their bags in hand, waited for her to take the lead. She gave him a careful smile before she breezed past him, leading them to the entrance of her building. This place was much different than that in the city, no doorpeople around and only a small bank of two elevators beside the various mailboxes.

Once in the lift, she entered them in to be taken to the top floor. Harry was a silent pillar beside her, his luggage and her duffle bag in hand. She swallowed around the silence.

The top floor was all for her, the space being bought by her father by the time she was twenty. Knocking down the walls, the three separate apartments were turned into one big space that was gutted and turned into an immaculate penthouse. (Y/N) fought to keep as many of the original features as she could.

Stepping inside the space, her efforts were rewarded with the sight of the off-white walls, texture embedded in the slabs. Wrought-iron fixtures were littered throughout, the original doors and biggest kitchen left as it was. Everything held the air of romance, the space a lot more intimate than small than what she had in New York. A trio of different balconies were stationed on the outside, those terraces offering views of the Eiffel Tower.

It was lovely. That was the only way she could describe it. The kind of place that deserved to be draped in roses and lit exclusively in candlelight. Late nights and Burgundy wine with silk dresses.

Harry followed her as she stepped towards a plane of French doors, the glass frosted to keep prying eyes out. "This is my room," she told him, voice detached, "But down that hall are a couple of spare bedrooms and bathrooms, so you can pick whatever one you want."

Dropping her duffle on the floor, he gave her a single nod. "Okay."

With that, he turned on his heel. She watched as he started down the hall, leaving her with a single syllable.

She needed to say something. As distant as she was acting because of her embarrassment, she couldn't not acknowledge what happened. Every time she looked at him, she saw those photos of her clinging and crying on him, her mascara a mess while he looked at her with sympathy. She saw the way he tended to her hair in the mirror, using his fingers to break the hold of the hairspray and gently pick out the bobby pins holding the style in. She saw him defending her against her father.

"Harry?" she peeped, eyes fixed to his back.

"Hm?" He stopped, looking at her over his shoulder.

Taking a step towards him, her hands a fumbling mess behind her back, she swallowed. "I wanted to say thank you again for last week. Especially after everything. And for defending me," she started, her gaze dropping to the middle of his back, "I'm sorry I acted that way, and how I have been acting. I know I can be unreasonable, so it means a lot that you stayed with me and still came here with me. I hope this isn't too bad of a place to be exiled."

She tried to go lighthearted, ending with a breathy laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Harry only looked at her with a pinched brow, his arm dropping the bag he had slung over his shoulder. "I... I don't think I understand."

Clamming up, (Y/N) felt too exposed. She waved him off, shaking her head in hopes of dismissing all that she shared. "Don't worry about it," she said, "Just thank you for looking out for me, and I promise I'm going to make your job as easy as possible while we're here. Hopefully, I'll be able to get you home before the holidays."

A silence settled between them. Harry didn't offer any kind of response, only his eyes following her. She shifted her weight where she stood, her fingers knotting behind her back.

She inched towards her room, the space feeling too heavy as her words hung in the air.

"I think I'm going to unpack and take a nap," she murmured, offering a barely there smile, "We can order food later if you want, but I don't plan on doing anything, so the rest of the day is yours."

With that, she slipped between her open French doors, the warmth of her room enveloping her once she sealed the rest of the penthouse out. She didn't want to see if Harry was still standing there, watching her with eyes that were too observant.

She took in a deep breath, shifting her gaze through her bedroom. Her eyes landed on the open drapes to her balcony. Outside, the Eiffel Tower shimmered.

—————

ephemere is the French words for a fleeting beauty; a summer love, a shooting star, greatness gone too soon

this part is def one of the longer ones of the series so thank you so much for getting through it! sorry for any mistakes and if you have any ideas or thoughts please send them in!

#writing #harry #harry styles #harry one shot #harry imagine #harry blurb #harry au #bodyguard harry #harry x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles au #bodyguard harry styles #love on tour #pleasing #harrys house #as it was #satellite

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harrysonlylover · 1 year

Text

Carolina (Part 1)

Summary: Her return to town sparks his interest, why hasn’t he seen her before? And does starting off on the wrong foot hide their attraction to each other?

Trope: Cowboy! H

Word count: 10.3k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption.

The west coast.

A place that citizens fawn over and pay their life savings to visit, some even manage the tiredness of flights and its jet lag just to see a glamorized land that is actually worthless.

She asks herself the same question everyday: “ How did I end up here?”. And every day she comes up with a new answer. For a while she was able to blame the whole planet and the Milky Way but later, she swallowed the hard truth and accepted that her fate was nothing but an influence.

Today she chooses to not think about , it is time to go home and despite it being a short period, she has learned to savor it in a memory that she revisits every morning and night.

The road is half empty as her feet rest against the dashboard, she can feel the northern wind pulling her in ,the farther they get away from Washington.

Oh, what a feeling.

Her friend Maggy is driving, allowing her to enjoy the leisure of doing nothing but enjoying the view as they pass through towns then back to Highways.

According to her all roads will eventually lead home.

Home is a farfetched idea for where they are heading, she isn’t exactly visiting her land, but anyplace in the North is home. Wide fields that stretch for acres of land, the friendly faces that can make a stranger find their roots, the animals that become family members, the fresh air and hard-working citizens that know each other since childhood.

There are many things that she can say about the North but afraid of never stopping she closes her eyes and raises the volume of the radio allowing ‘Edge of Seventeen’ by Stevie Nicks to play loudly.

She heads every month or two to Maggy’s hometown Great Falls in Montana, they have been best friends ever since they can remember. Maggy’s father is an old family friend and despite there being a long distance between the two states but they never missed visiting each other.

When she suggested studying at a university in Washington, Maggy’s jaw dropped to the floor, no one expected her to take that decision. But to be fair neither did she, yet what was she supposed to do when she had a fear of never doing something in her life or being stuck in one place.

Everyone spoke of the west coast’s glory, she had to see it herself, at least she wouldn’t regret any decisions later on.That was two years ago, now she dreads every class and every day spent in Washington. Give her a horse to ride, or a goat to care for, perhaps a dog to play with. Some beer while watching the sunset and sitting on the freshly mown grass, her family preparing dinner while her father and uncle quarrel on who makes the best gravy.

She has a week to spend in Montana before returning to Washington, she will learn to hold on to it before getting her BA in Fine Arts and fleeing away from that godforsaken place.

She wishes she can visit her homeland but it would be a waste of time as her entire family follows her up to Montana whenever she is there, they bring home to her, what else can she ask for?

“Home sweet home baby!” Maggy cheers as her car steps into the town’s entrance.

It is almost 4 in the afternoon but the day is still long, no hour is gone to waste in the North. She quickly puts on her brown leather cowboy boots and urges Maggy to stop the car.

“Where are you going, they’re waiting for us!”

“You go using your car, I’d rather walk all the way.” She gives Maggy no time to object before putting on her cowboy hat and running into the Lopez’s corn field.

Her hair is swaying with the wind, it is caressing her skin and cleansing any toxicity that she gained from living in an unpleasant place. She knows the field well after all everyone here is like her neighbor. The sun is out and about, forming a thin layer of sweat on her uncovered skin.

A smile is stuck on her lips as she walks around nearing the end of the field, another walk would not be a good idea as it is dinner time but maybe she’ll return in the evening with Maggy.

She can see the house clearly and begins to head towards it before a sound catches her attention. It is a horse’s hooves clicking against the ground, as far as she knows the Lopez’s do not have any horses.

The corns are tall and high and she is unable to spot it, what if he’s alone or worse.. injured.

She has no time to look, but she knows how to observe so she listens intently but it keeps getting nearer and nearer and nea-

“Hey girl watch out.” A man screams at her as a warning from the horse he’s riding.

He is late to alarm her but she is quick at ducking rapidly before the horse neighs and stands on his two hind legs, the man on its back holds on to him immediately avoiding a dangerous fall.

“Are you out of your mind?! You could have killed me.” She shouts at him as she stands up, removing some of the soil scattered against her skin. Luckily, she is intact but the edge of a fallen leave did graze her skin.

“Well I’m not the one strolling around in a corn field when I know it’s the easier route for workers to take. With horses might I add!” He stepped off the horse, caressing him gently as he scolded the foolish girl in front of him.

“Oh I’m sorry, how about I check your schedule next time?” She answers in a sarcastic tone at the man who she has never seen before.

Would it be bad to ogle a stranger that almost killed her?

He is wearing a cowboy hat just like her but it’s black instead, paired with his leather boots and low waist denims. She is trying really hard to recognize him but her memory fails her. He is shirtless and his skin is covered in tattoos, his abs are toned and are shining under the Northern sun that reflects the thin layer of sweat over a butterfly tattoo. His jeans are not enough to cover his V line or the tattoos peaking from his hips.

His biceps flex with every stretched movement he makes to pet the horse, his entire arms are also filled with tattoos. She is astonished to see a tatted cowboy, but hey there’s a first for everything.

“Oh you think you’re funny girl. Would ya be laughing right now if you were dead?” His northern accent isn’t very thick, but it is enough to show his anger. He was about to check if she is okay physically before she snapped at him and acted almighty.

“Seriously since when do you ride horses in an open field just to take an easier route, when you know that someone might be passing by.” Her tone is making him more furious by the second along with not recognizing her.

“Do not get sassy with me girl, it’s what we agreed on with the acceptance of field owners, even the cows know that.” He scoffed proudly getting back on his horse and fixing his cowboy hat. The black stallion seems to have calmed down a bit and is ready to be on the move.

“Don’t go around trying to get yourself killed, I don’t have all day to watch clumsy girls.” He tipped his cowboy hat and sped off on his horse in the direction he came from.

She can feel herself boiling with anger, and her entire body is dirty from the soil and corn dust, her hair has leaves in it and her hat gained a mini hole. She doesn’t even know who the hell that guy is but she is sure of one thing and one thing only.

No one talks to her that way at home.

She managed to sneak from the back of the house and climb up to Maggy’s window using a ladder that’s always placed in their ranch. She knocked continuously until her freaked out friend opened with a shriek.

“Why are you using the window and what the hell happened to you?”. She helped her get inside and closed the window again.

“Maggy do you know a guy with tattoos?”

She did not care less if her friend is worried about her. She must know who he is.

“W-what? What are you talking about and why are you covered in soil!” Maggy grabbed a towel for her and sprinted to the bathroom to prepare her a bath.

“He’s like shirtless with a butterfly tattoo on his abs and he has a black stalli-“

“Harry Styles.”

“I was walking in the Lopez’s field and then he jumps up on me with his horse out of nowhere and when I shout at him, he acts all smug. Doesn’t even apologise! And apparently the fields are a short route now!” She rants furiously as she paces around the room, aggressively getting a change of clothes and her shampoo from her duffle bag.

Maggy finally calms down after panicking about her friend, now she holds back a laughter fit knowing how Harry is. “First of all I told you about that decision but you were too busy watching The Office and Harry is nice, he’s my childhood friend.”

“Nice is a huge misunderstanding. He thinks he’s so cool, at least offer a sorry?! And he implied that I’m dumb.” Her body relaxes immediately in the ice-cold tub and the Pumpkin bath bomb melts quickly taking away her problems as well.

“Yeah well that’s Harry but once you get to know him he’s really sweet.” Maggy props up her change of clothes nearby and gives her another bath bomb.

“Plus if he’s your childhood friend how come I don’t know him? He didn’t recognize me too.” It is evident that she will not let it go, she hates unexplained situations and the whole ordeal will probably stay on her mind for a while.

“He left before you and I met, it’s quite funny now that I think about it, they were in Tennessee and visited rarely, they came back a while ago. The Styles’ are not to be messed with.”

“I really couldn’t care less, you should’ve seen the way he looked at me. That man is a dick.” She was scrubbing away the soil from her body with a local made loofah. The sun was beginning to set, and the view from the bathroom window facing the tub helped her nerves to calm down.

“Babe, let’s see what’s up later yeah? I’m starving.” It was as if the family knew of Maggy’s suggestion. The two girls overheard the bickering from downstairs about the mashed potatoes and gravy.

She loves home a lot.

The dining table was filled with homemade meals that feel like heaven after long months of Cafeteria lunches. The bath put her at ease and the pumpkin scent lingered around her skin, bringing home closer to her. Maggy’s father and grandmother hugged her tightly like their own as they welcomed her presence in their house.

Soon enough the obnoxious man faded from her mind and she found herself surrounded with loving people that make her heart burst.

“Literally we kept chasing him for a whole hour, I wouldn’t have been surprised if we reached Carolina!” Teddy, Maggy’s brother was telling the story of when his horse escaped and worried everyone.

“Ugh it’d be a shame if he reached Carolina, I would have had to come down there and bring him myself!” She joked, making everyone let out a laughter fit.

“As if you never returned for sillier excuses before.” Teddy replied making her shrug her shoulders like an innocent girl.

“But to be fair, we couldn’t have gotten him without The Styles’ help.” She dropped her spoon at Teddy’s remark and suddenly the gravy was no longer delightful.

“The Styles’ huh? How come I don’t know about them.” She ignored Maggy’s leg bump and continued to question everyone, despite them being clueless.

“Well I’m surprised you don’t. They own half of Montana and Tennessee.” Maggy’s father answered her between mouthfuls of Turkey.

“Harry Styles was the one who helped me get back Ray. He’s the State’s most famous bachelor and cowboy. He kept chasing Ray and reached him before us, then risked his life by standing in front of him but somehow, he managed to tame him. He’s a very talented man.” Teddy gave her a brief rundown on Harry and the more she learns about him the more she gets irritated.

“Oh how I love that cheeky boy.” Maggy’s grandmother mumbled as everyone around the table agreed.

And he’s loved by everyone. Isn’t it just great?

As the sun began to set, she found herself sitting near the barn with a bottle of beer in her hand, the scarlet colour of the sky reflected in her eyes as she fixed her sight on the burning clouds, even the baby goat in her lap was gazing upwards in awe, the shadow of the sun casted an orange paint against her skin. Just the same as the pumpkin bath bomb melting in the bath tub.

Maggy joined her with an enthusiastic smile, that told her all she needs to know. “I’m guessing Tim invited you for a drink?” She smirked at her friend before taking a sip from her beer.

“Invited us, so C’mon missy get dressed, everyone will be there. Time to get some threads loose.” Tim was Maggy’s crush, and she can tell it goes both ways. His family owns the town’s bar so whenever she’s around, her friend drags her there and honestly it’s not so bad.

“Only if you give me the hat you got from Missoula, that asshole ruined mine.” Her hand caressed the baby goat on her lap that is now dozing off to sleep.

“Oh my god, you are unbelievable. Fine whatever get dressed now.” Maggy groaned at her friend’s cheekiness as she knows that she’s after that hat.

“Oh what would I do without you!” She shouted to Maggy who was heading inside the house, her cheek got a bit sore from smiling and she gently wrapped the lamb in her arms, placing him inside before sipping the last drop from her bottle, thinking about what suits that amazing hat.

The Miller’s bar was packed just the right amount for her, she was able to spot friends and neighbours, familiar faces that put her at ease as she greets Tim. The smell of Whisky was lingering in the air, and the choice of songs was tasteful. She did not need guidance nor Maggy’s company, maybe she would’ve if they were back in Washington, but it is different here.

She got another beer bottle and conversed with an old friend as she stood in a corner, it could be just her tipsy mind or her confidence, but she can see how the girl is eyeing her up and down in a seductive way, and she knows exactly why.

She wore beige shorts that suit her tan and give her booty some acknowledgment along with her favourite white tank top that sits above a lace bralette, holding her cleavage perfectly. Her collarbone was prominent, and she smelled of pumpkins. Perhaps the hat is playing a role as well.

She decided to make a move after the girl got dangerously close but instead a commotion nearby interrupted the moment, she groaned internally knowing that Tim has kindly asked of her to keep her eyes around even though nothing ever happens, but isn’t it just her luck?

The sounds were coming from the other side of the bar where the Miller’s installed an electric bull machine as a monument, but what they didn’t expect is the town’s infatuation with it and their constant use of it. Some even had contests with bets and money involved, all was harmless of course and she hoped that is the case now as she headed there.

A group was gathered in front of the machine, and laughter was echoing around the room. She gently passed between them expecting a worst-case scenario and was instead met with the worst person.

The same man who embarrassed her in the field today and posed a risk to her physical safety was in front of her in all his glory, he was still in the same attire and shirtless, but he seems to have washed up and spent some time getting himself tipsy.

There doesn’t seem to be a contest but somehow he got everyone to gather around him and fix their attention on him. He was riding the bull at the highest speed, something that only real professionals can do, he is not completely conscious as well, no one is at a night in Montana.

His system seemed to work well as he acted the same way a non-tipsy man would. His ring clad hands were not holding on to the rope provided by the machine, instead his thin waist moved around along with the thrust of his hips as he stretched his arms wide as an affirmation and demand for the group to cheer.

Only insane people would not hold on to safety ropes at a high speed, but after her encounter with him, she’s not so sure she’ll ever consider him as sane. No one even acknowledged her presence despite being the princess of the town, not a glance in her direction.

His head was thrown back as he urged on the cheering more, his fingers were flexing in demand to raise the tone higher with a sly smirk on his face. One of the girls in the crowd threw a cowboy hat at him that he caught and placed smoothly on his head.

His continuous rutting against the machine, and hips’ roll allowed a boner to appear, and everyone cheered for him even more, his jeans tightened around his thighs due to the amount of weight and pressure he’s placing on his legs in order to balance.

He spotted her in the crowd, and she could’ve sworn that his smirk got bigger, he winked at her the first time, and when she crossed her arms over her chest with an angry expression on her face, he pointed at her and shouted.

“Hey clumsy girl, you should be careful from this bull coming alive and walking over you.” He was making an effort to speak, his voice overpowered by the music made a vein appear in his neck as he shouted loudly.

Despite no one knowing what he means, they laughed thinking it was some sort of joke which made her even angrier, she did not care anymore if the machine was on high speed or if it will actually come to life, she made her way near it and cut off its source of power.

He stumbled forward due to the sudden stop, and everyone murmured and went silent. He was caught off guard with her act, yet he raised his fist up in the air as his way of controlling the cheering that resumed.

He stepped off the bull smoothly and strolled in her direction, and she could see how tall he is, the cowboy hat was still on his head, with some of his curls peaking from beneath it.

“An eye for an eye girl? Fair. I’ll go find another riding activity.” He winked for the second time in a night, and the longer he stands in front of her the more she feels her blood boil.

“Yeah? I’m guessing you have a kink for throwing people off the bed.” She smirked back at him grabbing a new beer bottle.

“Only if they beg for it.” He leaned in and whispered in her ear, taking the bottle from her and having a long sip down his throat, before placing it back in her hand and walking away with a lazy stroll.

This is going to be a long week for her.

The field work waits for no one, ranchers are up from dawn ready for another day consisting of herding, saddling up the horses, checking on machinery, filling up hay wagons along with countless tasks that are no obstacle against Montana’s mighty cowboys.

There are days where the temperature rises rapidly bringing with it an unbearable heat, the same heat that distinguishes these beloved towns from other parts of the country.

She awoke with a fuzzy brain, having no energy to be angry or employ any type of emotion, today her parents would arrive and not being concentrated is the last thing she wants to be.

A simple breakfast skillet made her feel full and got her mind off things she doesn’t want to think about. She’s glad to have brought her sketching kit with her, so she tip toed around Maggy’s bedroom and fetched what she needed before heading out to the ranch.

The sunrise was a scene that she loved to sketch, a never old drawing that she will stack along with the other sunrise paintings she’s done before. And so she begins mixing all the colours varying from scarlet, fiery red, orange, golden yellow, baby blue, and a subtle white that only the delicate eye can catch.

She can’t tell for how long she sat down in front of her sketch; it could’ve been hours or an eternity, but what’s important is that she managed to lose herself in her art like she always did.

Teddy surprised her from behind making her yelp and clutch her hand at her chest, the young boy fell into a laughter fit as she gently pushed him around for scaring her.

“Can you pretty please help us?” He asked of her after calming down and wiping his tears that resulted from his intense laughter.

“You don’t deserve my help for what you did but maybe you can ask”. She rolled her eyes at him in a dramatic way sending a sly smile that tells him about her payback for his prank soon.

“It’s your vacation, so nothing serious. Take Ray and patrol the field, we’ve been experiencing burglars’ shit from out of town. They’ll just escape if they saw someone out there.” She nodded and packed up her kit, giving it to Teddy who was making funny faces at her.

She saddled up Ray and prepared a basket to pick some fresh onions and potatoes, she had planted them herself the last time she was here, and she believes it is time to see how pretty they have become.

The cowboy hat she ‘stole’ from Maggy is shielding her from the scorching heat that she does not mind. She’s a northern girl after all. On the way she hums a melody her mother used to sing for her back when she was a kid, it soothes her and has become another one of her distraction methods.

Ray appeared to be calm and she began to wonder what idiot Teddy did to let him escape a while ago, but if she thinks about it a bit more, her mind will take her to the man who rescued Ray so she begins humming again.

The field is quiet with no companion but the whistle of the wind, the torment of the sun and the steady soil beneath her. Her task is pretty easy compared to what she has done before so she continues patrolling, occasionally patting Ray’s back who seems to be enjoying their little walk.

She closes her eyes for a moment and allows the northern wind to consume her as she breathes in the scent of home coming from Carolina.

Harry had his head tipped back and eyes set towards the blue sky, it was an attempt at easing his hangover that he now regrets deeply. He is a responsible man, never late for work, and never reckless in matters related to his cowboy life outside of entertainment. He was by no means allowed to taint his family name.

What he did yesterday was nothing but some fun after a working day, his friends had lured him inside that bar when he knew damn well that he should be at home preparing for the day he is about to endure.

He loved a drink or two occasionally, but he loved the crowd and attention even more. Harry Styles is a sucker for the praise and acknowledgment of his neighbours, as well as tourists and strangers that he’ll never see again.

Speaking of strangers, her face has been stuck in his mind ever since he laid his eyes upon her soil covered body after their little incident. She felt like a force, making his way into his daily life, with no intentions but to lay in his daydreams and he’s not so fond of the idea.

Seeing her at the bar may have sobered him a bit, that pout on her lips and the dangerous anger reeking off her gorgeous body. Her boldness and fierceness made him light up on fire, he is yet to know who she is, but he must find out soon.

He sighs and balances his feet against the ground then remembers that his work today is in Maggy’s family field. Yesterday the girl was heading towards their house, it’s a long shot but he pushes it to the front of his mind and begins working.

The Northern sun provides no mercy, it penetrates one’s skin, passing through the blood vessels to sicken and weaken the body. How cursed is the sun but how pretty it shines. The residents of Montana welcomed it like their own, but Harry Styles was a different story. It is not evident whether he challenges the sun or loves it, perhaps both.

His Greek God like physique stood proudly against the temperature, salty sweat trickling down his always half naked body. His blessing of muscled biceps contracting with every push of his shovel or grip to the rope. He walks gracefully with his manly hands placed on his bony hips, examining the towns’ fields, any work done would require the strong clenching of his thick abs that feel like stone when pressed on. If you are lucky you’ll observe his back muscles that call for you to touch on.

The sun does not take it easy on him, in fact it envies him for his good looks but when it paints him with sweat, it helps him appear prettier, more angelic, it aids him to be known as Montana’s best cowboy. After all even the sun isn’t immune to his charm.

He wiped the sweat that was already forming on his forehead and took a large gulp of water that trickled from the corners of his mouth down to his collarbone and toned midsection. He could see a figure from afar on a horse, and he rubbed his eyes to make sure it is not his hangover playing games on him.

It was that mysterious stranger.

She was on the back of a familiar horse, her figure perfectly shaped as she guided the horse around. She wore a plaid blue flannel with a tank top beneath it and skimpy shorts revealing her toned legs that dangled perfectly.

He was not ashamed to look at her, he knows for a fact how she ogled him yesterday and he wishes for it to happen again but for now he enjoys gazing at her intently.

She steps off the horse and takes off her shirt, allowing the pretty combination of her bony collarbone and strong arms to appear, the cowboy hat she has on shields her long shiny hair, and her shorts hold her curves in perfect ways that he might crawl to her for worshipping purposes.

She begins to pick a variety of vegetables as she kneels, and Harry could’ve sworn that the sun was reflecting golden rays on her perfect skin making an angelic light surround her figure. Her position had him in a chokehold, it showed her feminine beauty that he was a sucker for. With a certain bend, he was able to catch her lower back dimples that he would die for.

Harry considers himself to be a sensual person, he loves details about every human’s physique whether it be any form they have, he will delve into its beauty and savour it for his dreams that he visits often.

It didn’t take long for her to notice his presence, she was a clever girl after all, and if not for the familiarity of his face she might’ve mistaken him for an intruder.

It seems that luck is not on her side, as she dreads the sight of a man that appears in every corner she walks in. He was away from her by a good distance yet near enough to see his act.

His smirk was shameless as he lazily walked around preparing his kit for work. He was fixing the fence and she can point out some details that will make any man or woman go crazy.

He has his right leg bent upwards against the base of the fence, his cowboy hat is different and seems brand new, with every bang of his hammer she notes the contraction of his biceps and clenching of abs. His rear form is not something that she expected to stare at, but there she was, eyeing a man that is like a forbidden apple to her pride.

He suddenly takes off his hat and for the first time she notices his chocolate curls now drenched from moist and humidity, he tips his head backwards , allowing his Adam’s apple to show.

He then brings both of his arms together and stretches them above his head, she can spot every outline of his muscles, almost feel their thickness, as the sun hugs his godly physique.

Veins along his neck and forearms become prominent with every flex he makes before picking up his hammer again and effortlessly fix the fence in a short period of time.

She managed to collect the vegetables she wanted but not without a quick subtle glance to him every moment, neither did he avoid gazing at her figure.

He dug an area of the field with his personal shovel, and she kept staring at him for a good amount of time before realising that she can watch him work all day in the field just to see the effect of his hard labour on his athletic body.

Who knew a hammer and a shovel can play with one’s hormones.

A shout nearby and the rush of hooves in the field alarmed both of them, he immediately jogged to check out the source, but she appeared to be rather unbothered, happy even.

She mindlessly ran towards a man on a horse before catching up to him as he quickly stepped off and lifted her up in the air. Harry suddenly stopped in his tracks realising that there is no threat at all, and it is only a relative of hers.

But upon another glance, he squinted his eyes and fixed his hands on his hips with an attempt at recognising the stranger. Memories came back to him abruptly, and the more he stared the more he got closer to revealing the mystery girl.

The man spotted Harry and waved, before shouting for him.

“Oi Styles! Come over here. How’s your old man.” The voice of the man brought him back to years ago as he suddenly realised why the girl’s features are familiar to him.

“A Carolina Princess, well I’ll be damned.” He whispered under his breath with a chuckle and passed his tongue on his teeth before approaching his father’s childhood friend.

Her laughter has exceeded the normal limit of a human being, she was above the clouds and on a different energy level than anyone around her. Her parents were home and that was all she needed.

She was sitting in the passenger seat next to her dad who was driving and telling her all about her home. She doesn’t get to see them that often, she feels a piece of her getting restored as he fills her in on everything she has missed.

In her lap lies a bouquet of Blue Stars flowers picked from her garden back in her hometown. It is her favourite type of flowers, one that she adored ever since she was able to differentiate colours and count numbers.

Harry sits in the backseat of her father’s truck upon a heated insistence. For the first time in over a day, she managed to flee away from the web of tangled thoughts surrounding a green eyed cowboy, it didn’t matter if he was right behind her.

Now the roles were reversed and a web in his mind began to form.

He expected everything of her to be but the daughter of a family friend, her face was so familiar yet so far from his knowledge. Her father hugged him like he was his own, and asked of him to ride with them despite not having his work done.

He couldn’t say no, not when it means he can find out more about her, so he eagerly packed up his kit and situated himself behind her.

The enthusiasm on her face when she received the Blue Stars bouquet was priceless. She matched the energy of a little kid, an adorable innocence but deadly stubbornness.

His family left Montana when he was five, what he remembers is nothing but glimpses that he sometimes stretches in front of him for a hint of his past life that he didn’t savour enough.

He mapped his entire brain, recalled Maggy and her family, dinner nights and bull riding contests, barbeque Sundays and Fairs. But her? He remembered her father, and his friendships with the family, almost an unbreakable bond. But no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t catch a blue star.

Instead of his keenness on going back, he focuses on the present moment and he’s pretty sure he looks like an idiot or a creep even as his eyes never once leave her figure.

Her head was angled towards her dad who was chatting her all the way, she has a dimple on her right cheek that only appeared if she laughed hard. Her hand cups her mouth whenever her laughter gets too loud, and she doesn’t seem to mind the tears that come with it.

He has never seen someone so infatuated with flowers, her eyes lit up like she was offered the whole world, and she kept asking if the bouquet was from Carolina, smiling even more upon the confirmation.

If for a moment the conversation gets lost, she fixates on the road ahead of her and sways left to right gently with the song on the radio that she has never heard of.

He was praying for her father to not question him so that he can sneakily continue studying her in every way. But after checking on his daughter, Harry assumed that he’d talk to him.

“Son, hope we are not ignoring you there. How’s your pops?” Her father spoke as he looked to Harry through the mirror.

His jaw twitched upon her frown and face drop when the spotlight turned to him, she seems to have remembered his existence and for once in his life Harry wanted to be invisible.

“He’s doing great but he misses your contest nights.” He put on a daring smile and restored his charming demeanour.

“Oh boy he better be ready for me then.” Her dad chuckled and began speaking of old times as Harry hummed back to not appear disrespectful, but in fact his green orbs were set on hers that glared back at him through the car side mirror.

Her father and his greeted each other like little kids, it was evident that their bond was strong, and she was gazing in awe at their relationship. On the road, she wiped Harry’s existence so she can delight in her father’s arrival.

No one was able to notice that something was wrong, but they do know that she and Harry are strangers, so what they thought were doing to introduce them to each other was in reality her worst nightmare.

“Hey son, forget about the fence I have a hay delivery from Mr.Lanny , why don’t you pick it up with the lovely girl?” Harry’s father Luke pointed at her, as her own father Eddie agreed with a shrug.

“Go with him sweetie and have fun, I know you like road trips. Mr.Lanny has cats too. When you come back your mother will be here.” Her father kissed her temple and guided her to the truck.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded before hesitantly getting in the passenger seat. Harry’s cologne filled the truck as he entered, and she hoped this ride won’t cause her a headache. She was not in the mood for his cheekiness and high ego.

“Hold on Blue Star, or the truck will make you fall out the window.” He grinned at her as he turned on the ignition making the engine roar.

“Shove your jokes up your ass.” She gritted through her teeth as she looked forward. ‘Your nicely shaped ass’ she thought. He turned on KISS’s music and drove off in a rush as she tried to ignore the way his hands look on the steering wheel.

It was no wonder that she loved road trips, she felt as if they rejuvenate her soul whether it be with the company of the night breeze or the day’s sun.

But hard was her attempt to hide the discomfort oozing from her body, not when he was sitting next to her. What she didn’t know as well is that the place they’re headed to is 45 minutes away, so that’s a hour and a half in the car with the unfathomable Harry Styles.

“You’re too quiet Carolina.” He rasped making her shiver at his deep voice.

“Carolina?” she inquired, feeling quite irritated at the idea of him knowing things about her as simple as her hometown.

“I reckoned you didn’t like clumsy girl so Carolina it is. “He fiddled with a key chain that dangled smoothly between his fingers, hitting his cross tattoo.

“Do you like the cross tattoo on my hand? Some have considered it a necklace bef-“

“Can you stop being annoying for one second. The world does not revolve around you.” She groaned and closed her eyes before pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Actually when I was born the stars-

“Bloody boots I mean it.” She shouted at him and that only made him smirk more as he lifted his hands up in the air like an innocent man.

He chuckled softly before changing the song to ‘Uptown Girl’ by Billy Joel and pulling the window down fully, he continued to spread his legs with one hand mindlessly placed against the steering wheel while the other one was resting on his cowboy hat.

She tried to have subtle glances on details to enjoy. His hat had a ‘Styles’ embroidered on its front and a cross necklace was dangling against his pumped tatted chest. For once in her life she was attracted physically to someone that made her blood boil.

“What brought you here?” He tried to start a conversation knowing that he can’t fathom her silence, he wanted to see her lips move.

“I have a week off from university and it’s a necessity for me to come.” She answers formally with her gaze set on the road.

“Why not Carolina then?” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel as he watches her intently.

“It’s farther than here so that’s two days less from my vacation, besides Maggy is here and all of my family in Carolina comes down to see me.” She ties her hair feeling irritated from it pricking her eyes and he can’t take his sight off her as she styles it into a ponytail.

He can see how she left her plaid flannel in the field as well as the basket and Ray that Teddy will come after. She is left in a tight tank top that is showing her perfect cleavage.

“And you? I heard that you’re from Tennessee.” She caught him off guard as he wasn’t expecting her to actually make small talk with him and thankfully his eyes had shifted from her gorgeous form.

“True I am. We have family business here; I stalled and had some fun in Tennessee before moving here a while ago.” She was now looking at him and not the road and he felt like he scored a victory.

“What are you studying Blue Star?” He kept inquiring as they both tried to not stare at each other.

“Fine Arts in Washington, I love drawing and painting, and you Montana?” Her energy shifted to match his playfulness and he felt like he was back in the game.

“Well well Carolina, we’re both in the art field. I occasionally teach Music at Montana’s elementary and I sing for fun in some events.” He reached a turn and controlled the steering wheel with the edge of his right palm making her unconsciously clench her thighs, as this exact move is her weak spot.

“Maybe I’ll listen to you sometime if you’re not sitting on my nerves.”

“Ehhh, teasing is like my second job.” He mumbled before sending her a wink and holding eye contact with her.

“I have no idea how everyone loves you in this town.”

“Stare a bit more and you’ll figure it out.” He made a devilish grin as she gazed at his face, specially at his emerald irises that change colour upon the contact with the scarlet sun that’s setting.

Little does he know that she’s been trying to find this exact shade of green ever since she began her degree and now under the Montana sun, the company of Billy Joel and an intriguing man she found her inspiration.

“You need to be humbled Harry.” She laughed letting her arm dangle from the window as the wind allowed her to catch a whiff of his tobacco vanilla cologne, and she tried not to squirm around in the seat.

“Have a shot at it Carolina Princess”. He reached his hand to move some of the fallen hair strands on her face, his hand felt so soft yet so cold from his giant rings.

“Now I better not hear your voice, let me enjoy the road.” She kicked her feet on the dashboard with no care if he minds or not, and placed her hat on her face to shield her from the scorching sun.

“What if you’ll have to shut me up.”

“By all means necessary Montana.”

He groaned lowly trying not to show his visible attraction to her, the sexual tension in the car was thick whether it be her ignoring the wetness pooling in her shorts or him who’s regulating his breath to avoid an embarrassing teenage boner.

Her father Eddie was right, Mr.Lanny does have cats. He greeted her with a handshake, immediately knowing who she was as she’s ‘a copy of her father’. She left Harry to do his business and had some playtime with the cats.

Although the kittens were adorable, she didn’t want to miss the chance of checking out the area, so she placed the little munchkins back in their crib and stepped out to the ranch.

What she saw wasn’t what she was expecting, but it was enough to take the sun’s role making her whole body heat up.

Harry was on the top of a stacked hay pyramid; he was already tall as it is but now he looks like a model agencies would fight for. If that was even possible, it seemed as if his abs became more prominent upon the torture of labour and the northern sun.

She swallowed down her throat and watched as he threw heavy stacks of hay in the back of his truck like they weighed nothing. His entire body flexed together in sync, from the veins in his neck, to the tightening in his thighs and from the contraction of his biceps to his back muscles that can be studied.

He pulled out a cloth from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his face with it. There were two options for her: either stare at him like a weirdo (she wouldn’t mind) or help him so they return home faster. So she fixed her hair into a bun and headed towards the hay pyramid.

The next 24 hours were a blur.

After Harry drove them back to town she immediately left his car without a goodbye as she ran to greet her mother, and stacks upon stacks of hay were waiting for him to be delivered.

He didn’t see her for the rest of the day but that didn’t stop her from visiting his dreams, the only place he can feel the delight of life in and now that she’s a character, he may never leave.

When he woke up in the morning he had prepared himself for an encounter with her, but when he moved around town with work all day and didn’t spot her he felt a certain kind of disappointment that made him anxious.

He even took a different route near Maggy’s field just for the odds of bumping into her and even that didn’t work out.

But would it change things for him if he knew that she was like a buzzing bee all day having not seen him?

It wasn’t until she entered the house that she realised how she abandoned him without a goodbye, she was too excited to see her mother that she disrespected his presence.

He seemed to have improved a little bit personality wise, although being full of himself was his entire job but he had some nice things as well. On the way back he insisted on buying her a sandwich with a soft drink, and he came back with a shirt having ‘Carolina Swag’ printed on it.

‘You can now walk around and let everyone know that you’re a Carolina Princess’. He chuckled as he took a long sip from his own drink.

“Now it’s only fair I get you something but I’m not sure anyone sells a ‘I’m a dick’ shirts”. She laughed at him with her legs dangling from the window.

”Ehhh just get me a ‘ Big dick is back in town’ shirt.”

Maggy’s whole house was buzzing with people; members of the family on both her and Maggy’s side as they prepared a huge lunch. But peeling potatoes or feeding the baby lambs seemed to be hard as her mind refused to let go of him, so much that she imagined her sketchbook whispering for her to draw him, his eyes, his body and everything that she saw.

She knew that Harry wasn’t invited to the lunch, she began having thoughts about going down to the bar in hopes of seeing him, but it seemed silly even for her.

Since when does she hang so much hope for a guy that does nothing but tease her.

Maggy could tell something was off, but she didn’t question anything nor the bar incident two days ago, but she knows her friend and knows Harry as well. She can tell how they fit like a piece of puzzle. It is said that opposites attract but both of them are ever changing like tides and Maggy knows well that each of their alterations are equal to the other.

A bonfire night in the North was a tradition that dates back to her grandfather’s generation, there are some things that have changed including her longing for the Carolina bonfires which she cannot attend now.

If you ask her she’d blush as she knows well that she isn’t invited, but how bad could her presence be?

She doesn’t consider herself to be an intruder, but she is not one to miss fun as well. Maggy has been talking her ear off non stop about it, and she thought why spend the night in when she can crash a party.

Technically she wasn’t being rude or disrespectful. Everyone knew everyone in town, she wonders who the party is for and if he is there. She’s been getting a continuous flow of thoughts about him.

What he does in a day when he isn’t working, how his nights are, the other side of his personality. Would he continue his playfulness with her or shift onto something else. She can feel her regret readying itself to come out if she doesn’t go. Better be safe than sorry.

She acted as if it was her first time going out, taking extra time in front of the mirror, attempting to apply some makeup despite having no expertise in it, and rummaging through everyone’s closets till she decided on a white sundress, slightly above her knees. Maggy let out a sigh and recreated a drama scene having restored her cowboy hat.

“My mom’s will look better since I have matching boots.” She mumbled as Maggy made victory dance moves as a form of an inside joke.

Even the whole family could see her enthusiasm that was a bit out of hand, usually she’d be happy to stay in and be cocooned in the cosiness of the northern home, playing with her cousins and telling stories.

She and Maggy agreed to go on foot, knowing that they may be tipsy on the way back. But they didn’t give it further thought, as the town is safe and secure day and night.

It wasn’t far as they can spot the fire, but to her surprise it was in Harry’s own field. She confidently made her way through the grass with Maggy behind her and she can see how everyone turned their heads upon her far figure that is slowly approaching.

“Good evening ladies and Gentlemen.” She smiled in a nonchalant way noticing Harry’s change of body language when she arrived.

She can spot a few familiar faces that she isn’t too close with but can recognise, a girl was sitting next to Harry and laying her body against him.

“Hello Carolina.” He winked at her and motioned to a seat facing him seeing as the ones next to him were occupied.

“And who exactly are you?” The girl next to him mocked as she became too self-aware of Harry’s plastered grin.

“Do I know you?” She replied with a friendly smile, making the girl frown and turn red.

“You’re seriously asking who Carolina is?” Harry replied to the girl without once looking at her. His gaze was set on the Carolina Princess, and the sight of fire reflecting on her bare legs.

He didn’t want to make a fool out of himself and invite her, what if she didn’t want to come and then he’d be disappointed. He considers his ego to be quite delicate but broad.

Seeing how she is here tells him all he needs to know, even If he met her once he can see how she’d prefer being with her family right now. So why come to a bonfire with no invitation.

She indulged herself in a conversation Maggy was having with an old friend, as Harry continued to entertain the girl sitting next to him who was now brushing herself against him on purpose.

He was not sure of what he was thinking, why did he want to make her jealous when she was right in front of him?

He whispered nothings in the girl’s ear, things he can say out loud, but every once in a while he got the attention he wanted and he smirked knowingly.

Except that his fun didn’t last long as a guy sat next to Carolina and began chatting her, it was now obvious to the companion next to him who stomped her foot and left with a huff.

Harry watched the guy intently, he knew him well and he knows how much of a nice guy he is, he’s just her type and Harry felt his jaw twitch at the thought. The beer bottle in his hand was now empty as he consumed it quickly.

He lazily walked over to her side making both hers and the guy’s head turn upward.

“Hey man can you give us a minute? I want to talk with her” Harry rasped as he looked down at her unbothered figure, allowing his eyes to linger a bit on her collarbone and neck.

“Sure yeah.” The guy got up with a nod and smile making Harry sigh as it was a confirmation that his intentions were friendly.

“Did you actually think I didn’t notice your little glances.” She smirked as Harry situated himself next to her.

“I was hoping you would actually.” He whispered in a deep voice as he got himself dangerously close to her.

“Yeah?” she grinned at him.

“Uh huh.”

The fire was reflecting on both of their faces, and he couldn’t give two fucks if it he was being obvious, he needed to stare. Needed.

The dress hugged her body perfectly and the lily odour was reeking off her heavily that he wanted to bury his face in her neck.

Her neck that is adorned by a flower necklace that he will later on recall how it was a blue star, when he dreams about her.

Her legs stretched in front of her, made him realise that he was about to ask her if she wants to lay them on him. But maybe that was too straightforward even for him.

“I see that your little friend left, I hope I was not a bother.”

“She did? I didn’t notice.” He lied as he looked around pretending to look for the girl.

She rolled her eyes and laughed before bending her forearms backwards against the wooden seat. They both know how dangerously close they are but thankfully everyone seems to be preoccupied.

He is not shirtless, she noticed that. He is wearing a white flannel with a leather jacket adorning his muscles in every right way.

“You don’t have a drink in your hand, why so?” He asked as he pointed for the box of random drinks.

“Not feeling it honestly.” Her position and the way her arms are stretched backwards made her cleavage more prominent and Harry was about to choke on his beer.

“You know, down on the west coast they got a sayin’ , if you’re not drinking then you’re not playing. You should know all about it.” He grinned at her trying to take in all of her expressions.

“Fuck the west coast.” She rolled her eyes in a dramatic way.

“Hmm why so? You’re studying there.” He inquired.

“I just do not belong to that area, i’m a Northern girl.” She shrugged cutting her answer short.

“I reckon that you’re not staying there after the graduation?” He was leading the conversation somewhere unknown, why does he care where she’ll live or what she’ll do?

“Definitely not. The last time I was in Carolina my Nana said that I better swim before I drown” she smiled covering her face from embarrassment.

The fire was crackling and the conversation of other people died around them as they delighted in each other’s company, and tiny secrets. She found out shocking things about Montana’s beloved boy and he the same , where her traits were taken in as perfection.

“She’s right, Carolina is like no other.” Any information he had on Carolina, was being pushed to the front of his brain. Anything to impress Blue Star.

“Yeah? What do you know about it? Actually it’s a bit far from Montana but you remind me of home.” Her smile was genuine and the corners of her mouth were stretching with every word. Her soft hair cascaded on her face and the despite the fire that’s lit next to them, shivers and goosebumps went through their bodies.

“I remind you of home?” He felt his heart flutter at her words even though he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad one, but at least it means he’s been on her mind.

“Hmm I feel so far away and I can’t always visit, it’s frustrating. But you’re like that distant memory one goes back to for a hint of Nostalgia, it’s kind of hard to decode.” An expression of interest covered her face, as if she was explaining some sort of mathematical equation to him and not a complicated feeling.

“I do know that, your face feels distant yet familiar too.” He muttered then immediately continued rearing the end of their conversation.

“When my pops used to take me to Carolina, we’d stop by an ice cream shop, his name was Uncle Pe-“

“Uncle Peter?!” She cut him off in excitement and playfully gripped his bicep upon his confirmation.

He has never seen someone get excited this much for an ice cream shop, but again no one ever told him that he reminded them of home or made him feel like wanting to be attached to their hip all day long.

“There’s no way.. I- , that was like my childhood shop. I escaped classes in middle school once to spend an afternoon there and eat the Uncle Peter’s special flavour.” She had her hand on his as she excitedly told him about her childhood. Her laughter was echoing without a care to anyone around them.

“Was it the Vanilla strawberry cheesecake?!” Harry’s eyes gleamed with hope.

“Yes!!” They both held on to each other from the amount of laughing they let out.

“You know you’re such a –“ he stopped mid sentence with his rosy lips parted.

“A what Harry?” She whispered as she shamelessly stared at his mouth.

A true Blue star and I don’t want to sound like a creep but we would’ve met even if both of us didn’t return here at the same time.

“Nothing. Erm would you like a beer?” He cleared his throat and got up to grab a bottle.

“Yeah why not? For the west coast I guess.” She made herself more comfortable and kicked off her boots, trying not to think about what he was about to say.

“Sure for the shitty west coast.”

They stayed up till 1 in the morning, sharing tales on everything and nothing, she told him why the North means a lot to her and why she is studying in Washington, her first pony and that one time she got mad at Maggy and cut her hair.

He listened intently, and If he could write them down he would. He didn’t care if he had work in the morning or if his eyelids were betraying him, he must listen.

He told her about the family business, about Tennessee and his passion for music, how the kids at school love it. But he tried not to share a lot, not because he’s a closed book but to allow her to indulge in the moment.

Gaze at her lips as they move, get a whiff of her lily scent when she gets too close, notice her expressions as she tells different stories and which one means the most. Listen to to her angelic voice and try not to coo when she says his name.

Her soft skin that’s touching his made it hard for him to not imagine her back against his chest at night, touching him however and whenever she pleases, yes he would, he would surrender his body to her.

After all his own body is betraying him with the need for her touch.

“I think I’ll just head home, it’s late.” He noted the soft blush in her cheeks that he wanted to kiss.

“Okay I’ll give you a ride.” He didn’t give her time to object before getting up and fishing his truck’s keys from his pockets.

She followed him after letting her friend know where she’s headed and saw him waiting patiently in the car.

The road home took almost ten minutes, in which he playfully teased her grand entrance to the bonfire.

“It’s not like you minded my presence.” Her feet were yet again kicked up against the dashboard.

“Maybe, maybe not.” He let out a lie that none of them believed.

When they reached the front porch of her house, she straightened her posture and grabbed her purse from the backseat, he had his sight fixed on her as she thanked him and reached for the truck door.

“Hey Carolina?” she looked back at him before he gently reached for her chin, and brought it closer to his face, their breaths were heavy as they both had their eyes fixed on their lips.

His mouth hovered over hers, as his brain was already savouring the small details like the curve of her upper lip and her minted breath.

The front porch suddenly lit up with several lamps making both of them jolt backward in shock and confusion.

“Hey Styles , My boy!” her dad shouted and waved for Harry who was cursing himself for stalling the kiss.

He looked at her shocked figure who smiled almost immediately offering him a toothy grin, as she stepped out of the car sending him a flying kiss.

And for the first time, she winked before him.

——————————————————

Dividers from @firefly-graphics

A/n: Part 2 will be posted this week and it’s very very steamy…🥵🥴 Please send asks or comment to give me your opinion xx

Taglist: @prettythingsworld @slut4marvelmenn @fullofstyles @cherrycokeslay @wandas-lawyer @tbsloneely @theroosterswife24 @missmielyhoran @harryssideboob @harrysficreblog @sagcas-latte @itslottiehere @hsonlyangelxo @gem1712 @adachhi @tpwkkkkk @grapejuicebluesrry @summertime-pills @lhhrryismyhome @marzhshaim @harrystylessslut @keepdrivingkisses @rideeonstyles @swiftmendeshoran @matildasatellite @a-strange-familiar @cherryscinema @greivingfortheliving @babyyangel111 @victoria-styles @skysladylazarus

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chaoticloving · 1 year

Note

Hello! hope youre doing good!! I was wondering if you could write something about how Harry and Y/n just had to leave each other for work and Harry has an interview the next day and he's a little grumpy?? love SOH so much!!

Management

harry styles x reader (soh masterlist)

summary: harry wants to get back at one of his managers for what he said about his relationship with y/n, which makes for an interesting interview.

warnings: heavy allusions to sex, slut-shaming, and just lhh being the best protective bf ever

a/n: may have taken a bit further than grumpy…love lhh <3

The hotel was perfect: isolated, glamorous, and private. That’s why it was every celebrity’s dream. But to Y/n and Harry, it was their relationship’s paradise.

Y/n had a series of interviews lined up in Montreal and Harry just so happened to be able to fake sick long enough for the Montreal radio interview to be pushed back to an incredible two days. Two days was a lot for them, normally they’d have a phone call, a couple of hours, or even a day if lucky. But two days ment that they could spend the night together, and because One direction flew in on the red eye flight, they could get two.

When Harry checked in with the rest of the band, he went straight to his room, changed to pajamas and a sweatshirt with a hood, and left to room 2089, her room.

Harry got a little queezy on the trip up; his fear of heights combined with his lack of sleep and flying sickness didn’t make for a great combo. He just really needed some sleep.

He sprinted through the halls, knocked on the door, than yanked into the room by the only person he would want to yank him like that.

Y/n pushed him up against the closed door and kissed him. It was definitely messy—it was pass midnight and they’ve both been working, so who could blame them—but perfect for them.

“Darling I love your lips so much but I’m so tired I’m gonna need you to carry be to the bed.” Harry begged. “Need y’a to lift me up bridal style.”

“Mm, think you’ll have to carry me—“ Harry dropped his head so it was on her shoulder, grunting slightly. “—Or we can awkwardly waddle to the bed.”

They collapsed onto the bed, held in each others arms with sleep encompassing the couple right away. Harry was bear-hugging Y/n, practically turning into a blanket with the only goal of supplying her warmth. Y/n was happily hugging and subconsciously combing his long, unruly hair while they slept.

The work day started at 9 am. They haven’t seen each other much, but took comfort in the fact they could at least get mindnight to 9 together. Harry was receiving his goodbye kiss soon enough, though. It wasn’t a total loss; Harry got more kisses in the shower and showed Y/n exactly how much he missed her.

Harry was adjusting his pajama shorts as he was reluctantly pushed out of her room and raced to the elevator, making sure he didn’t give a surprise show to any of the guests in the hotel. He was alone in the elevator and ran into no one as he unlocked the door to him room.

He closed the door behind him and sighed, that is until he got spooked by some familiar faces.

“You could’ve let us know you got a booty call before we decided to have a 8am meeting, Styles.” Lenard, one of the many One Direction managers, yelled.

Among him was his mates, Niall, Liam, and Louis. All had their head down and a sorry look at Harry.

“I was only gone for a night.” Harry defended. “Still in the hotel-“

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, boy.” The grouchy man replied. “As punishment, you are on backups for the radio performance-”

“What?!”

“You heard me.” Lenard boomed. He turned to the other singers. “Take this as a warning boys. You’re all excused.” The other boys gave a sorry look to Harry, patting his shoulder, giving a nod, but they all could see was how pissed off Harry had become.

When the door shut, and it was just the two of them, Lenard got back on his bullshit again. “If your main concern is meeting with some girl willing to put herself out-“

“That’s unfair! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Harry yelled back. “I am not just sleeping around, I just missed my girlfriend.”

“Oh right, your girlfriend Y/n, the one who sleeps to get roles” Lenard snickered.

“That is not true you asshole!”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself.” Lenard spoke. Lenard knew fully well who Y/n is, she was the reason Harry wasn’t willing to go into PR relationships with other celebrities. Harry was the most marketable members of One Direction, and Lenard wanted to make sure he could do the most so he could get a raise in his salary.

“You’re more than welcome to fuck around with some other girls. That Jenner one—“

“I already said no, Lenard!” Harry seethed. “I’m sick of all your controlling nagging! I’m singing and dancing my ass off and putting all my work into this and all you can do is complain that I miss one of your surprise meetings!”

Lenard didn’t know what to say, or quite frankly, didn’t care, so he ignored Harry. “You’ll be on closer watch. I will make sure to tell security to never let you out of their sight.”

“That’s unfair-“

“Quiet or you’ll be on backups the rest of tour.” Lenard threatened.

“You can’t do that! I’m half the show!” Harry fought back. “You know the show won’t be any good if I’m on backups.”

“Just clean yourself up and wear what you are suppose to. Downstairs in thirty.”

Lenard walked out, slamming the door behind him. Not letting Harry get a word in.

During the whole interview, Harry had on a fake smile. He was glad Y/n taught him how to make a fake smile look more believable, because all he could see was red.

Ever since Zayn left, One direction management had tighten its claws onto the remaining members. Wanting to make the boys sign a new contract, locking in the boys practically permanently. Y/n, like always, came in a clutch when she prevented Harry from signing and got Harry to get a lawyer that wasn’t connect to 1D, providing her own. With this new lawyer, Harry was able to prevent permanent control, letting him drop when he needed; which only caused more chaos in the group.

As sad as he was for his friend for leaving the band, he understood were Zayn came from. Privacy, independence, freedom, that’s all he wanted.

“Harry you’ve been quiet here today, what’s on your mind.” The interviewer asked.

An idea came to Harry: subtly piss off management. His fake smile turned into a smirk.

“I’m thinking about a shag a recently had.” Harry replied.

“A shag?”

“A shag.” He said bluntly. “Now I got this song idea in my head.”

“How interesting.” The interviewing commented, trying to find an interesting yet pg way to spin this, yet all Harry could focus on was the middle aged men in suits on the other side of glass, all glaring at Harry, roaring up to end this.

“Anyone in particular?”

“According to public opinion, I can only ever write songs about one girl, so everyone can go figure who I’d sleep with.”

One of the managers banged on the window. Everyone looked up as he made a wrapping up sign with his hand. Harry smiled, proud of himself.

“Well, that’s One Direction for you folks…”

“That bloody fucker—“

“Hey, hey, hey.” One of the other managers, an older rich guy by the name of Vincent—the most tolerable out of the bunch, calmed Lenard down.

“He just ruined that interview! We’re going to have a weeks worth of bad press!”

“I already contacted them and they agreed to cuts Harry’s part…”

The voices trailed off as Harry snuck out of the group and into an elevator at the hotel, he made eye contact with one of the members of security but the man, Paul, had a soft spot for young love and simply looked away.

Harry pressed button twenty and the doors quickly shut, the elevator starting its climb to the high floor. He raced to Y/n’s room as the doors opened and rapidly knocked on her door.

“It’s me!” He yelled, knowing a crazy fan would knock the same way he was.

The door swung open and Y/n was met with a sad tall man, so genuinely looked like he needed a hug.

“Harry?” She ushered him inside, locking the door and pulling him in for a hug. “What happened?”

“Management.” Harry sighed. “I got yelled at for not being in my room because apparently there was an impromptu meeting this morning. Then I kinda implied we were together to stick it to him during the interview and said i was writing a song about us having sex and now he’s pissed and I’m so so sorry.”

Y/n broke apart from Harry’s tight hug, pulling back to get a look at the man, once boy, that was apologizing for standing up for himself. She couldn’t believe it. Against Lenard too, which makes Harry’s actions much more valid.

She stroked his cheek, looking into his green eyes that had a tinge of red from tears of anger forming in his eyes. “Hey if it’s to stick it to that Lenard then I’ll release our sex tape if it mean he’d quit and leave us alone.” Y/n joked, causing Harry to let out a much needed sigh of laughter.

“He’d probably drop me after that.”

“Yeah but he’d be jealous.” Harry smiled again, looking at the love of his life. He hand traced her jaw, and thumb traced her lip.

Harry nodded agreeing with the plan, until his face quickly went sour. “But my mum would kill me—god.” Y/n giggled as Harry look deeply annoyed.

“I think it’s time.” Harry’s decided, taking a deep breath before he continued. “I think I’ll bring it up with the others.”

“Really?” Y/n asked.

“Yeah. Lenard has already threatened to make me back up and he said some stuff about you-“ He took a deep breath. “I think I could do better on my own, with my own team. People who don’t care if I sleep with you, or sing about sex.” Harry chuckled, leaning into the fantasy.

“Oh yeah? And how would this sex song go?”

“Hmm.” Harry thought, before singing a jingle of a tune. “I just want to taste it.”

“Haha. You’re funny.” She chided. “Remember to never let your dick do the writing here.”

“Maybe writing about sex is a bit too much. Even for me.” Harry thought. “He would make it way to rude for public radio.”

“He?”

“Yeah my dick, Ed.” Harry teased. “You want to meet him again?”

“Wait Ed like Edward, your middle name?”

“Yeah and Ward is the name of my bonus nipple—“

“I think it’s time for bed.” Y/n interrupted. “You need sleep.”

Harry nodded and followed her lead, stripping himself until he was left in his boxers and she was in her bra and panties. Sex definitely was not on the menu tonight, but they both were a sucker to intimacy and body warmth.

“I’m flying out tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t remind me.” Harry groaned.

“I was thinking, you come with me.” Y/n asked.

“You mean I should skip interviews tomorrow?”

“You have sick days you’re entitled to.” Y/n reminded him, booping his nose. “They can’t sue you for catching a cold. And you definitely look sick in my expert opinion.”

“I guess I’ll take your word for it.” Harry snuggled closer. “Where are we going then?”

“Plane goes to England. Maybe see your mum and then leave to Italy?”

“That sounds so perfect.” Harry sighed, knowing that honestly sounds amazing. “I love you.” He kissed her face, sprinkling them all over her face. “So much.”

“I already said I love you. Don’t make me regret that." Y/n said, sleep taking over her voice. “Goodnight Harry.”

“Night, love.”

2K notes · View notes

imaginesig · 2 months

Text

Sweet Summer

Yuki Tsunoda x Hughes!reader

reader plays in the professional hockey PWHL on the Vegas team (I'm making them up for convince)

y/n_hughes

liked by yukitsunoda0511, user4, ellenhughes, and 380,382 others

y/n_hughes this week 🏒🍻

tagged: ellenhughes, pwhl_vegas, jackhughes, lhughes_06

ellenhughes thank you for spoiling me on our mother-daughter date ❤️

y/n_hughes it was the least I could do 🫶❤️

user1 oh to drink and watch a hockey game with the Hughes women

_quinnhughes I felt left out

jackhughes don't be so dramatic dad came to see you

y/n_hughes well they both came to my game losers

lhughes_06 the sass is ASTRONOMICAL

Y/n_hughes define astronomical

user2 only Y/n would be able to keep her hair that perfect during a game

user3 why is yuki in the likes?? my worlds are colliding 😭

pwhl_vegas

liked by user7, yukitsunoda0511, danielriccardo, and 918,828 others

pwhl_vegas: sold out arena ✅ Vegas win ✅ shutout ✅

tagged: no one

user1 LETS GO

user2 and they said no one would watch women's pro-hockey

yukitsunoda0511 great game 💪

user3 what is he doing here😭

danielriccardo i will admit I didn't see the appeal at first mate, but I'd tune in again

pwhl_vegas if that's the case we might have some tickets with your names on them

danielriccardo yuki almost passed out, I’d take that as a yes

user4 NOT DANIEL EXPOSING HIS OWN TEAMMATE

ellenhughes the girls looked great!!

pwhl_vegas we love you mama hughes🤍

alphatauri

liked by y/n_hughes, user3, user8, and 929,927 others

alphatauri all smiles in Brazil 😁

tagged: danielriccardo, yukitsunoda0511

y/n_hughes nice post but the order could be better...

user1 OH SO SHES BOLD BOLD user2 originally I didn't think this was anything but now...

user3 a ships a brewing

user4 these must've been taken pre-race

user5 fr fr😭

y/n_hughes

liked by user4, _quinnhughes, yukitsunoda0511, and 783,028 others

y/n_hughes: she's versatile

tagged: no one

lhughes06 4+4

jackhughes now who taught him that

y/n_hughes 🤭

user1 she makes living in vegas look so glamorous

user2 the lockeroom energy is crazy 💀

yukitsunoda0511 she does both stunningly

y/n_hughes when he's bold too >>>>>>

user3 I smell the start of something

_quinnhughes miss you sis!!

y/n_hughes we need to plan a trip soon!! Miss you bunches quinny!!

jackhughes bunches is crazy

y/n_hughes I hope you fall into the Atlantic

user3 I'm still not over Yuki being here

user4 do we think something will happen with the Vegas grand prix next week?

user5 oh def

pwhl_vegas

liked by y/n_hughes, AlphaTauri, user1, and 818,727 others

pwhl_vegas some familiar faces walking into the arena tonight!!

tagged: yukitsunoda0511, danielriccardo, alphatauri

user1 no way no way no way no way

user2 THIS IS NOT A DRILL YUKI IS AT Y/N'S GAME

user3 I don't want to alarm anyone, but I was sitting near them and I swear Yuki was so much louder when Y/n scored the anyone else

User7 omg omg omg omg

alphatauri we hope they behaved!

Danielriccardo Thank you so much for the hospitality!

yukitsunoda0511 after all the cheering I've had to do digitally its been fun to see a game in real life!!

pwhl_vegas well we had to spoil our superfan

user4 not admin only responding to Yuki's comment

user5 smths def up

user6 f1 fan here, someone give me a ice hockey crash course I may be here awhile

alphatauri

liked by yukitsunoda0511, user2, pwhl_vegas, and 917,818 others

alphatauri: so we borrowed a center for the night

tagged: y/n_hughes, pwhl_vegas

user1 omg what are the chances that's Yuki's car??

user2 pretty high bc I think only the drivers/engineers allowed to invite someone to sit in the car

user3 AHHHHHH

user4 she ate that first pick up

y/n_hughes thank you so much for the opportunity!! Literally a dream come true

alphatauri hosting you was a dream come true for us!!

user5 and a certain driver...

alphatauri no comment

user6 LMAO ADMIN

yukitsunoda0511 @/y/n_hughes I have more passes if you enjoyed this race...

y/n_hughes don't temp me Tsunoda...

user6 oh its def on

yukitsunoda0511

liked by y/n_hughes, user9, danielriccardo, and 819,818 others

yukitsunoda0511: great weekend, very pleased with my final position and points earned 🏎️

tagged: alphatarui

y/n_hughes someone teach this man to write a caption with some personality before I throw tomatoes

yukitsunoda you could crash course me

y/n_hughes that feels like it has a double meaning... im intrigued

jackhughes I didn't want to believe twitter but here I am @/lhughes_06 @/_quinnhughes

y/n_hughes no absolutely not

user1 NOT TWITTER

user2 that picture is very iPhone wallpaper sized for all the Yuki girls

y/n_hughes screen shotting rn

user3 Y/N HAVE YOU NO SHAME

user4 this comment section is giving me LIFE

y/n_hughes

liked by user4, jackhughes, lhughes_06, and 672,027 others

y/n_hughes i was crashed coursed in cooking

tagged: yukitsunoda0511

ellenhughes so proud of you for not burning anything!!

y/n_hughes moooom don't embarrass me in front of my friends

jackhughes its a Christmas miracle nothing caught fire

y/n_hughes at least I knew how to cook before mr. broccoli

pwhl_vegas get yourself a man who makes sure the meal fits within your diet constraints ☺️

danielriccardo @/y/n_hughes now get him to follow our team diet constraints as well

y/n_hughes 🫡

yukitsunoda0511 you're an A+ student

y/n_hughes giggling and kicking my feet rn

lhughes_06 no stop this

Y/n_hughes no @/_quinnhughes

_quinnhughes I can protect you from them 99% of the time but you flirting on main while not telling us abt him- that's the 1%

y/n_hughes well maybe if my brothers weren't all judgmental sass balls this wouldn't be an issue

jackhughes you take that back rn

user1 anybody else cackling at all that's going on rn

user2 I need Yuki and Y/n to make it official rn, all the flirting is KILLING ME

user3 that food looks so good 😭

y/n_hughes

liked by ellenhughes, user1, user5, and 927,729 others

y/n_hughes fam in da house

tagged: ellenhughes, jimhughes, jackhughes, lhughes_06, _quinnhughes, yukitsunoda0511

jackhughes that caption is repulsive

y/n_hughes you're repulsive

lhughes_06 you were great!!

y/n_hughes aww thanks moose 🫶

user1 we finally get a crossover pic and its the most platonic thing ever??

user3 I mean there is a whole bunch of content of Yuki getting along with her family

user2 I was not ready for a full Hughes meet up PLUS Yuki

_quinnhughes I had a great time! He fits in really well

y/n_hughes aww thank you quinn

pwhl_vegas new wag confirmation??

y/n_hughes 🤫

user4 ma'am

yukitsunoda0511 I see why your family is so popular

y/n_hughes bc of my hot brothers?

yuktsunoda0511 yea totally, but I'd agrue the sister is hotter

jackhughes watch it, I was just liking you

yukitsunoda0511

liked by user8, danielriccardo, y/n_hughes, and 817,927 others

yukitsunoda0511: congrats on a fantastic season!! I'm not only glad to call myself a fan, but a wag. You are so talented, hard working, and incredible. There is no one else I'd want to call mine❤️

tagged: y/n_hughes

user6 ITS OFFICAL

yukitsunoda0511 p.s sorry for fall a dozen times and not knowing how tight to tie my skates, that wasn't very alpha male of me

user1 LMAO WHAT user2 daddy moment of Y/n's part

_quinnhughes you need to use the T.H.I.N.K method they teach in schools bc wft was that last photo

jackhughes is this true, helpful, inspirational, necessary, kind?

Yukitsunoda0511 yes.

y/n_hughes wow, I expect attitude from Jack but not you Quinn

User3 THE ATTITUDE

lhughes_06 what can I say he fits right in🤷‍♂️

User4 manifesting y/n’s theme of digital camera photos spreads to yuki 🕯️🕯️

User5 🤞🤞🤞

Y/n_hughes

Liked by jackhughes, _quinnhughes, lhughes_06, and 917,628 others

Y/n_hughes “I wanna be defined by the things that I love”

tagged: yukitsunoda0511, jackhughes, _quinnhughes, lhughes_06

Ellenhughes my sweet babies 💖

lhughes06 so we’re ignoring the first pic? Ok

Ellenhughes hush whenever yall are nice to each other I ignore everything else

Y/n_hughes love you mama 🫶🫶

User1 a vacation at the Hughes lake house?? Yuki is rlly out here living the fanfic dream

User2 and we’re all jealous😭

User3 taylor captions 🔛🔝

User4 anyone else notice that she used the lyric that’s currently a tik tok trend? And like the trend people list things they love— so in theory she listed out her brothers and Yuki😭

User5 omg we love Y/n being soft on main

Pwhl_Vegas love to see our athletes enjoying off season @/njdevils @/alphatauri @/canucks

AlphaTauri we agree 🤍

Canucks 💙💚

Njdevils ❤️🖤

_quinnhughes I wanna be defined by my love for y’all too

Y/n_hughes aww Quinn 😭😭

lhughes_06 oh no she’s got him sappy too

jackhughes resist Luke were the only ones still standing

_quinnhughes assholes

yukitsunoda0511 “I once believed love would be ~blue and white~ but it’s golden” 💛

Y/n_hughes that’s so sweet 🥹❤️❤️

Jackhughes

Liked by y/n_hughes, _quinnhughes, lhughes_06, and 817,728 others

Jackhughes: lakes, love, and lemonade

Tagged: y/n_hughes, _quinnhughes, lhughes_06, yukitsunoda

Y/n_hughes your insta game is improving what’s her name?

User1 LMAO Y/N

jackhughes shut up

User2 ok so love as in him not being annoying abt Y/n and Yuki for once or love as in himself??

User3 omg we need answers now

_quinnhughes next year I call @/yukitsunoda0511 as my partner in padel

lhughes_06 no he’ll be mine

jackhughes I automatically win him bc your arguing over MY post

y/n_hughes yall are so funny…

Used3 not the arguing over Yuki 💀

User4 it’s kinda sweet

Private account

Ellenhughes

Liked by y/n_hughes, jimhughes, yukitsunoda0511, and 135 others

Ellenhughes sweet summer ❤️

Tagged no one

Y/n_hughes a very sweet summer indeed

Yukitsunoda0511 thank you for the invite!!

jackhughes we loved the company man, you’re welcome anytime

lhughes_06 and you’re always welcome in New Jersey

_quinnhughes and Vancouver

Y/n_hughes ❤️❤️

172 notes · View notes

engeorged · 3 months

Text

The Influencer II: Will

For part one: The Influencer : Milo

Words by @engeorged

Artwork by @badoobers

The previous 6 months had totally changed Milo’s life and his body. After his Mukbang video went viral, and following on from the success of his first TikTok live, his followers began to rack up. Soon he had successfully established accounts on TikTok, instagram and Twitter where he would upload daily content, doing lives twice a week on different social platforms. It wasn’t quite as glamorous as he thought it would be. There was a lot of research he needed to do, to learn eating tricks about how and when to eat. Methods to stretch his already considerable stomach capacity. He would force himself to drink gallons of isotonic drinks as quick as he could to get his belly to hold more and more. At first he could just about manage a gallon in less than half an hour. In no time at all he was able to do two gallons in less than fifteen minutes. The flat stomach rapidly becoming curved and bloated as he chugged. He’d never really had a gag reflex either which helped in more ways that one. He was taking to the rhythm quickly.

Pushing through the pain barrier if bloating with liquids was one thing, but the eating challenges were even less glamorous afterwards. At least with the liquids he would only have to go to the toilet every ten minutes for a few hours. But with the stuffing sessions, it was a lot more for his system to take and the side effects where pretty extreme. Firstly, digesting vast quantities of food made him very sleepy which meant he would often crash straight after, bloated and sticky. For another thing, eating a lot made him very very gassy. The added issue was the weight gain. He’d always been toned and buff and the sheer volume of calories he was consuming were making his weight skyrocket. He’d managed to gain 20lbs in just the first month, all of which stuck to his expanding middle as a firm curve to his toned stomach. By the third month it had slowed a little bit he was still up another 20lbs in total making him 255lbs. His height and muscle mass meant his body could easily take it but he was looking a lot thicker that normal. This wasn’t entirely a bad thing, as it actually seemed to go down pretty well with a number of his new fans, but Milo wasn’t so sure. So he started hitting the gym on a more regular basis to work on the muscle groups that wouldn’t interfere with his stomachs ability to expand. This felt like a happy medium.

The main perk was that now he’d worked how to monetise these social media ventures, he was finally able to quit the delivery job and the dog walking. He decided to keep the house sitting gig though, as the setting was part of his media presence and the non stop supply free food was also massively helpful.

After the first few months of being a social media influencer he was starting to be recognised in the street. Not many people but he was definitely starting to be somebody. His main accounts were all centered around Mukbang and eating challenges, This wasn’t his only online presence though as he also set up a few side accounts. One all around his workout regime where he would flaunt his muscles. There was also a very niche OnlyFans, where the crazy amount of gas he was getting was paying off. People would pay to watch him belch and fart whilst watching sports matches on the sofa in his boxer briefs. There was even a side hustle selling his underwear that featured in the videos. Who knew guys would pay for boxers he’d farted in?

Whilst he hadn’t quite shifted the extra few pounds, he’d managed to at least get more bulked elsewhere. His arms, pecs and thighs were the biggest they had ever been and whilst his stomach was no longer a flat six pack, he had managed to get the definition back on the curve of his belly.

Then one evening, Milo was just finishing off a live, having done a popular gravy chug challenge that was doing the rounds on socials. Most people were doing a few litres or even a gallon of gravy, but Milo knew he could do better than that. He had set himself up in the massive downstairs shower and had used a bier stick to push the gravy down his throat. At the end he proudly declared he had done a gallon and a half, having done eight sticks full. Everyone watching, gleefully pointed out that as the stick was a 40 oz stick, he had actually done 2 gallons! Laughing and belching he admitted defeat, maths had never been his strong point after all.

Turning the live off, he was now seriously regretting chugging fucking gravy! He didn’t even really like gravy and the belches coming up were heinous. He quickly turned on the shower to wash off the gravy that had spilt on himself. Rubbing his distended stomach as he cleaned himself had become a part of his routine he loved the most. Whilst he loved getting the attention from doing the streams, it was surprisingly nice to take a moment for himself. As his large hands glided over the firm curve of his bloated belly, he felt the ridges of his protruding muscle definition. Washing the underside of the curve and feeling his Adonis belt framing the bulge of liquid inside himself. Gently pushing on the taut surface and feeling the pressure of his full abdomen. Not for the first time, he began to feel his dick harden as he took time exploring his swollen middle. Closing his eyes he allowed his mind to drift as he began to pleasure himself, rubbing his firm gut with one hand and stroking his thick shaft with the other. Just as he was ready to climax, his phone rang, making him jump out of his skin. Scrabbling around fora towel he began to as he involuntarily jizz all over the walls of the shower.

Turning the water off, he quickly dried his hands and answered the phone. Trying to suppress the waves of pleasure he was experiencing he tried to give a happy ‘Hello!’ On the other end of the phone was Will, his old school friend asking if he was still interested in taking that job he’d offered him a few months back. He didn’t want to admit to Will but he’d totally forgotten about the job. He gently declined the job offer but asked Will how he was doing, he’d heard on the grapevine that Will had recently divorced so he asked how he was after that. Milo was just about to invite him out for a beer when Will reminded him that the school reunion was coming up that weekend and asked if he was going. Milo had stopped going to events like that. Everyone seemed to just be there to brag about their happy lives and their fancy cars and beautiful children and that just made him feel like a loser. But now, he wasn’t a loser, he was a success! Maybe he would go? After all he wasn’t doing anything else, and it would be good to see Will at least. They had been pretty tight when they were younger. Their friendship only really fading because Will had gotten his girlfriend pregnant and 19 and had gotten married. Kids ruined everything!

Milo agreed to go to the reunion and returned to the shower to clean up, finding himself hard yet again as he cleaned off his belly.

A Week Later . . .

After spending the whole morning getting ready Milo was ready to go. Pulling into the parking lot of the hotel in his brand new Tesla, Milo started feeling a little nervous. He was well liked in school, but so much had happened in the last ten years. In some ways, he was a different person and there were so many of his old friends who wouldn’t know him any more. As he got out of the car he straightened himself up and rearranged his very tight shirt. It used to be a good shirt to show off his muscles, it’s just that now it also accentuated his more curved meaty stomach. The buttons a lot tighter than they used to be.

Ignoring the uncomfortable sensation and walking up to the counter, Milo coughed to why the receptionists attention. Without looking up the guy responded disinterestedly with a quick’You here for the reunion?’ Milo replied to say yes when suddenly he hears a familiar voice behind him shout a nickname he’s not heard in years.

‘How’s it hanging Pipe?’

Turning round Milo sees his friend Will lumbering towards him with a huge grin on his face. Milo wasn’t quite expecting what happened next. Will was average height at 5’10, but he was always slim. He was known for it when they were younger. He would eat junk food constantly but would never gain a pound. That had definitely changed. Will had developed a huge round beer belly which was sticking out perpendicular to his body. The round mass of solid gut was at least a foot in front of him and almost a perfect sphere. His dense stubble and moustache was giving him strong daddy bear vibes.

‘Holy fuck it’s you!’ Milo blurred out as Will characteristically bundled over and pulled him in for a hug. Will’s belly was indeed as solid as it looked and nearly winded him as it was pushed hard into his own stomach.

‘It’s good to see you man!’ Will exclaimed as he pulled out of the hug. ‘You’ve hardly changed!’ He added looking Milo up and down.

Not really knowing what to say Milo eventually managed; ‘You neither?’ He couldn’t help but go up at the end of his sentence, making it more of a question than a statement.

Laughing, Will grabbed his solid belly with both hands. ‘Liar! I’m a blimp!’ He admitted! ‘It’s fine! We all knew it would catch up with me. Besides it’s been a rough few years. Me and Bex divorced last year as you know and I guess I’ve been eating a few too many take aways!’

‘Sorry to hear that man.’ Milo responded trying not to look at his mammoth belly.

‘It’s cool man. We’re still friends, we should never have married so young. We were good friends really, not husband and wife. Three kids later and there was nothing left. That, and she cheated on me with pretty much every single dad in the school run!’

‘Fuck her then man I guess!’ Milo offered

Laughing, Will slapped Milo on his thick arm ‘let’s get some food man! I’m starving!’

Walking through the hotel lobby, they found the party at the gardens in the back. The smell of cooking meat luring the two men through. Looking round, Milo saw a heap of faces he vaguely remembered. He always had his own group of friends but on the whole he never joined a clique so he was known by most people. He was the kind of guy who wanted to be everyone’s friend. He was quite the player when he was younger and looking around he realised he had slept with about 15 people that he could see. Mainly women back then, but there were a few guys who suddenly put an arm round their wives and girlfriends as he walked past.

The two old friends positioned themselves near the bbq and started catching up. Will explained that he was a fairly successful business man, owning a company that specialised in international shipping. From the sounds of things Will seemed to be doing pretty well for himself work wise. He was lonely though, marrying early and churning out three kids had isolated him from their old friends and he, like Will, hadn’t really seen anyone since they graduated.

As they stood catching up the two men were grazing heavily on ribs and burgers and sausages, absent-mindedly eating whilst they chatted. Milo realised half way, how much he’d missed his friend, and the resentment he felt over their falling apart was beginning to subside. Eventually they were joined by two more guys they used to hang out with, Ralphy and Jordan. These two had clearly stayed in touch with one another and were super happy to see Milo and Will.

Ralphy, used to be the runt of the group, being wiry and lithe with little to no facial hair. However, it appeared that he had exited the ugly duckling phase. Being tall, had had now bulked out and was now bordering on stocky. His once ginger hair and pasty complexion had developed into some deep auburn hair with a full lumberjack beard. ‘Finally hit puberty then?’ Will commented cheekily. Ralphy took it with good humour, and asked back ‘When are you due?’ Patting Will’s pregnant looking belly. Jordan was as good looking as ever, his dark brown skin, chiselled cheek bones and deep chocolate coloured eyes unchanged by the passage of time. Milo embarrassingly remembered the brief crush he had on his friend when they were younger. He never acted on it or even told Jordan at the time but it was pretty intense.

As the four old friends caught up, Will and Milo continued to attack the buffet almost continuously. Knocking beers back with casual abandon the lads got rowdier and rowdier. Half way through the evening, Will began to rub his belly, now tightening as he continues to fill it up. Letting out several loud belches, and to the surprise of no one he starts complaining about his belt being too tight and how his clothes have shrunk. Looking across at Milo he notices Milo has also begun to bloat out.

‘Hey, how have you eaten as much as me?’ Will blurted out

Milo blushes and rubs his front. ‘I guess I have!’ Weirdly, he is actually is beginning to enjoy people noticing his belly.

‘What are you doing with yourself at the moment anyway Pipe? You never did settle on a job if I hear correctly?’ Ralphy asked.

‘Funny you should say that man! I’ve started a new career recently!’

Milo smiled and produces his phone. Pulling up one of his most successful videos where he speed eats four large watermelons he turns it and shows his friends.

Jordan whistles ‘You’re getting paid to pig out? That should be Will’s job!’

Will belly barges Jordan who nearly spills his beer. Laughing they carry on their conversation. Milo explains all about how he was trying to make it a social media influencer and how a random video he had made had gone viral. He talked through his training routine and how he worked out key muscle groups in order to maximise room for expansion. The guys nodding along as he speaks.

‘So you mean to tell me, a skinny thing like you, thinks he could fit more in his tank than me?’ Will scoffed slapping his already stuffed tank of a belly.

Smiling Milo says ‘Yeah that’s pretty much right! Follow me for the proof if you want!

Will dramatically begins sniffing the air. ‘Can you guys smell that?’

Jordan, naively begins sniffing along with him. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s quite rich? Smells to me like BULLSHIT!’ Will laughs loudly at his own joke. Jordan and Ralphy join in. Milo stays straight faced.

‘Right here then?’ Milo says defiantly. ‘Eat-off. Loser takes the winner out for dinner next week at a restaurant of their choosing.’

Will still laughing, thrusts out his hand. ‘Let’s make it more interesting! If you win, I’ll take you Dubai on my next business trip. All expenses paid.’

Milo grabs his hand and shakes it. ‘Deal!’ A thought enters Milos mind about whether or not to live stream it? He’s not due for a live stream till tomorrow but an unscheduled post might go down well. He’s confident he can win. Doing his research into the world of competitive eating and other social media stars who do this kind of thing, he’s spotted a trend. Guys who are on the larger side tend to not do as well as the more toned ones. In fact, his biggest online role model has been an Indian guy called Jai who goes round the world doing food challenges on cam. He can pack away a ton of food and his flat stomach goes from toned to fully round. If he’s honest, Jai has been the biggest inspiration for most of his wanks over the past month as well. Not only is Jai insanely hot, the sight of his swollen belly keeps sending Milo over the edge.

He grabs a standing table and runs to the buffet with Ralphy where they pile two plates high with identical hauls. Trying to grab one of each of the delicious items on display. Balancing their heavy plates they place them on the table. ‘It’s better to do this standing!’ Milo tells Will confidently. He hands his phone to Jordan and asks him to hit record. ‘I’m gonna live stream this man. Hope that ok!’ He adds quickly.

‘Well I’m sure your followers want to see you lose just as much as I do!’ Will boasts

‘I got that!’ Jordan shouts laughing as he sees the screen begin to light up as watchers begin to pour in. Milo turns to the camera and welcomes everyone, explaining the bet and how he’s gonna kick Will’s ass. The two of them line up. Both already full of beer and meat from nearly an hour and a half of grazing and chatting. Will’s stomach hardly looks any different, only the discerning eye would have noticed that it has lost some of its jiggle. Milo on the other hand is clearly already stuffed. His already tight shirt stretched tightly over his swelling out stomach.

‘Ready?’ Milo asks

‘Born ready!’ Will replies.

‘Then go!’ Milo yells.

As the two tear into their plates of food, both picking up a huge double burger, dripping in bbq sauce and cheese, they begin their task. A few people begin to notice the commotion and a few start to amble over. Ralphy is keen to explain what’s happening and people begin to pick a side and cheer them on. As per his brand, Milo seems to be eating with a strong constant rhythm, taking a large bite and chewing well before swallowing. Whereas Will is just gorging himself. Massive dripping burger in one hand and a chicken leg in the other. By the time Milo has finished his burger Will has eaten three things. Unphased, Milo picks up a thick German sausage in a bun, glazed with honey and mustard and starts to eat. He did a video a few weeks back where he tried to match the world record of hot dog eating so he was used to hot dogs, and this one was much tastier than the shitty ones he’d bought for the challenge. These were prime cuts of pork, the ones he had were just ‘arseholes, hooves and lips’ as his brother would say.

Milo was starting to feel the now familiar sensation of getting to the point where his stomach was feeling the strain. He was only two items into the feast and already he could feel his belly tightening. There was a lot of food and beer in his stomach already. The shirt had definitely been a mistake. As he finished the sausage, he reached for a thick chicken kebab and with the other hand undid his belt and untucked his shirt. That helped as he kept going, his belly expanding into the space created.

Will’s mad dash strategy on the other hand was beginning to backfire. He was feeling totally stuffed. The comfortably full feeling he’d had at the start was starting to be replaced with a dull ache of gluttony. He was struggling to breathe a little bit with the pressure building up under his ribs. Looking across at Milo who was calmly chewing and swallowing down the food he began to regret the bravado. He gave his tight belly rub and ploughed on.

The crowd was beginning to build, both online and in person. Around twenty of their old school friends all watching with delight as the two played out a scene that wouldn’t have been unfamiliar in the school canteen ten years previously. Will was pouring with sweat, large circles appearing round his neck and arm pits, with half circles under his meaty pecs. Milo on the other hand was taking it in his stride. Mouthful after large mouthful was being chewed and swallowed down into his clearly expanding belly. The burger and sausage, now joined by a decent slab of belly pork, a lamb shank as well as chicken kebab, a pork one and a lamb one. Just a rack of ribs, the chicken leg and a thick juicy steak to go.

Milo was loving the attention, it made the pressure in his belly fade away as he heard people cheering and the distant ping of people tipping him on the online video. He began to play to the crowd a little, getting people to cheer him on whilst he made banter jabs at wills expense. ‘I heard Dubai is lovely this time of year!’ He quipped.

By the time Milo was down to one steak, Will was a mess. His belly was clearly maxed out, tight and rounded out straight from under his ribs. He was breathing heavily and in front of him was nearly half the food he’d bragged about finishing off so easily. Milo picked up the steak and showed it off to the crowd. Taking a big bite he began the final hurdle. He felt uncomfortably full, more so than he had before. He’d decided he would try and count up exactly how much food was packed into his belly when he got home. Maybe as a little bonus for his OnlyFans premium account. He might even do a little strip tease reveal of his belly and the consequences of the stuffing for them. There were a few heavy tippers who would really enjoy that.

Showing off, he managed to devour the heavy steak in 10 bites. Chewing and swallowing the last one, to the rapturous applause of the crowd. Will shook his head, looking a little green and belched, quickly putting his hand to his mouth just in case he threw up. ‘You win!’ He admitted. ‘I’m seriously impressed!’

Laughing, Milo picked up the sausage and a kebab from Will’s plate and ate them as well as the gathered school colleagues whooped and cheered. It was actually a little painful but it was worth it to see the genuine admiration on Will’s face. Turning to the camera he gave his usual belly reveal to his followers. Peeling up his shirt over the top of his engorged midsection, he revealed his packed furry gut. Ralphy ran in and gave his belly a big slap to celebrate. Milo laughed it off but it nearly made him chuck the whole lot back up. Swallowing it down he turned to Will and shook his hand. ‘Let me know when we leave and I’ll try and find my passport!’ He said with glee. Belching heavily, Will just nodded and smiled.

After the crowd began to disperse, Milo took his phone back from Jordan and gave a little shoutout to his watchers. At the bottom of the screen, just before he shut it down, he saw a brief flash of a username exiting the chat. ‘Jai-Eats’ was the name, which was the handle of his role model. Could that have actually been him? Milo thought to himself? Shaking away the thought quickly. As Will excused himself to get home, Milo tried to pull down his shirt over his belly to cover himself up but couldn’t really do it. Leaving it unbuttoned, framing his bloated stomach. Laughing he stayed a little while chatting to his old friends and knocking back a few more beers to numb the pain of his bloat. The familiar feeling of being uncomfortably full settling in to a dull ache as his system set about digesting the huge amount of food he had just consumed.

Later that evening both engorged gents reflected on their experiences that day at home. Will had been reticent to go to the reunion, not really wanting to see anyone now he was so fat. He pretended to be confident about his belly but really he was ashamed. He hadn’t lied, the belly was sort of accidental, and was really the result of a few too many take aways from his bachelor pad. But it was more than that. He loved food. Greasy take-aways were a guilty pleasure but he actually loved the whole process of cooking something from scratch. Experimenting with herbs and spices and new gadgets. Working out on how to slow roast a shoulder of pork perfectly using his brand new bbq and wireless thermometer was his happy place. And not only did he love cooking the food, he loved eating it. He loved the feeling of laying in the sofa at the end of a huge meal and feeling the weight of the food he had cooked himself and then consumed. Seeing Milo today had made him realised how much he enjoyed that full feeling but also how much he had to learn. It would be good to reconnect with him and maybe eat together. As he lay there rubbing his distended and rock hard belly he began to fall asleep. Dreaming of all the foods he would cook for Milo and how big Milo’s belly would get as he pushed in more and more and more.

Milo on the other hand was at home nursing his also swollen stomach. The food had begun to go south inside him, rounding his belly out even further. Being on the more muscular side meant that his stomach went through stages of digestion you could almost watch. Rubbing his belly in the mirror and seeing how the bottom half of his gut had rounded out a little more. He could hear the digestion sounds gurgle and churn. He watched as another part of his anatomy became swollen. As he massaged and stroked his stomach his thoughts moved to Will. His belly was incredible, round and hard and firm. And even though Milo out-ate him in the competition, he wasn’t sure if Will had actually eaten more food than him overall. He definitely ate faster, and maybe at the rate he was eating, more food ended up in there. Thinking about the new bloated and rounded out Will was new. He hadn’t seen Will in a while but he had never seen him in a sexual way? Now just thinking about that round tank of a belly and how full it was, was doing something for him. Milo took himself off for a shower to work out those emotions. As he left, peeling off his clothes rapidly, he didn’t notice his phone buzz. It was a dm from Jai-eats which was simply a number and the message ‘Call me’.

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