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moonchildstyles · 8 months

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ephemere

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

wordcount: 22k+

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She felt gorgeous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's not in there?"

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

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

"Dom—I can—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"(Y/N)?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Y/N) almost thought he sounded breathless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I found the purse!"

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ready?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just Harry?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right," he deadpanned.

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

Perhaps this dinner wouldn't be so bad.

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her smile grew that much tighter over his words.

The chilled glass was slick against her palm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her grip around her glass tightened.

What was she supposed to do now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"(Y/N)?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Francesca left with a concerned look over her shoulder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"(Y/N), I tried to tell him to—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Harry," she cried, her voice broken.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Love you, too."

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

"Ready?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Harry, what's going on?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you," she peeped, voice broken.

Sully simply smiled and nodded at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, how this night was derailed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hugged him tighter, her arms around his middle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Y/N) simply nodded her head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just get the zipper," she told him, facing her back towards him where the scooping line of her dress made it that much harder for her to reach the tiny mechanism.

Silently, Harry stepped behind her, her hair already up and pulled away when she reached towards her. The hook at the top of the form was the first to go, his fingertips brushing the same swatch of skin Barron had violated. Taking the zipper down, every tooth that was pulled apart allowed her lungs to fill deeper with air. (Y/N)'s eyes fluttered closed at the feeling, her dress loosening around her shoulders.

Pressing her hands to her chest, she kept the bodice of her dress up once Harry reached the bottom of the line.

"Can y'breathe better?" Harry murmured behind her, his words fanning across her skin. His breath felt cool against her skin.

"Uh-huh," she exhaled, her shoulders relaxing into a gentle slope, "Thank you."

She heard him murmur a good in response though he hesitated where he stood. "Do y'need any more of m'help? Or do y'want to be alone now?"

The idea of Harry leaving her, setting her to be alone in the dark of her room, the city skyline dusky out the window. She feared his hands were the only things keeping her from falling apart.

"Help," she answered simply.

Wordlessly, Harry assisted her in pulling down her dress, her back facing him as it became an ethereal puddle at her feet. Dom was going to kill her when he found out she let the gown touch the floor.

The nude forms of her shapewear and barely there bra was all that was left on her body as she kicked away her dress, the corset now structureless and folded with pearls a mess around.

(Y/N) didn't even think before she was pulling down her shapewear, the compression just another layer too much.

"I—" Harry coughed from behind her, his voice cutting short, "I'm going to get y'some clothes."

Her skin heated when she realized the way she had so carelessly began undressing in front of him. She was so used to having a team be there when she prepped and redressed from this, the shyness accompanying undressing and pulling layers off her body no longer lingered in moments like these. But, Harry wasn't a member of those teams, and this obviously wasn't the kind of thing he had anticipated when he obliged to stay and help her. She hoped she hadn't scarred him with the way she was almost completely nude in front of him.

At the same time, she couldn't curb the urge to get these pieces off of her body. She wanted to be rid of the night, the touches, the layers of herself that fell victim to her father's pressures to stay perfect at all times. The sooner that could happen, the sooner she would feel like herself again.

By the time Harry returned from her closet, an oversized shirt and a pair of her pilates shorts in hand, she was down to her thong with her hands holding up the push-up cups of her bra. She almost jumped out of her skin when she saw him move out of the corner of her eye, his steps faltering before he trained his gaze on the ground.

"I'll leave these here for you," he mumbled, the set of clothing being dropped on the edge of her mattress. He brought his knuckle up to brush against the tip of his nose, "I'll be outside your door. Come find me when you're done."

When the door shut behind him, (Y/N) was sealed away by herself. Her room became a vacuum, the air sucked out in a way that only felt calm.

Left in only her underwear, she allowed her bra to drop to the floor as she fell back on her mattress. She stared up at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling with the light of the city filtering through her balcony in hazy beams.

This is her apartment. She's in her bed. She was in her skin. Her clothing was waiting at the end of her bed.

(Y/N) eyes fell closed as relief flooded through herself at the mantra. Everything around her was hers. No one could take any of this from her. This peace was hers to hold.

Tomorrow she would be worried about the stories that would be spun, her father's reaction to everything that had transpired, what consequences would follow this breakdown. But that was for tomorrow. Tonight, she was going to relish the sense of safety, that for a second she worried she would never experience again (that panic in her tummy was rooted deep).

She needed to text Francesca.

While she would have preferred to give her a call, there wasn't enough energy in her body for something like that.

Instead, (Y/N) lethargically redressed into her pajamas. Her top slouched around her form, the neckline wide and sleeves draping. Her shorts were well worn and stretchy from the many pilates sessions they accompanied her to. Taking her phone after she was settled into her skin, she typed out a text to Francesca.

thank you for helping tonight. harry got me home a little bit ago so I'm alright. I love u so much fran thank you thank you thank you

The second she pressed send, the confirmation that the message was delivered popping up, (Y/N) dropped the device among the folds in her duvet to find Harry.

Whipping the door open, she found Harry just outside her bedroom door. His suit jacket had been discarded somewhere in her apartment, his tie missing as well. Now he was left with the top couple of buttons undone of his shirt and his shirt sleeves now loose around his forearms. The tattoos she spotted the first day they met were back on display, roses and mermaids and bugs and script.

That peace she found in her bedroom strengthened at the sight of him.

"Y'alright?" Harry asked, his posture straightening from where he had leant against the wall.

"Yeah," she murmured, stepping over the threshold, "I-I can breathe, finally." She swallowed, taking in the state of his messed hair and flush to his cheeks. She knew what the night looked like from her end, but she could only imagine the kind of trouble he went through. "I'm sorry."

Harry shook his head, lips thinning at her apology. "Don't be sorry," he affirmed, reaching a careful hand out, "C'mon."

Laying her palm in his, (Y/N) was ready to follow wherever Harry wanted to take her. She padded after him as he escorted her to her bathroom, the space littered with beauty products and a bay window showing off the light of the city through the frosted glass.

"Let's get your makeup off and hair down, yeah?" he asked her, meeting her eyes through the glass of her mirror as he flicked on the overhead lights.

"Yes, please," she nodded, her voice heavy with fatigue now that the come down was beginning to settle in. "I'll start with my makeup if you'll get my hair?"

"Sounds like a plan," Harry murmured, a shadow of a smile touching the corners of his lips.

A comforting silence settled in the air, Harry concentrating on breaking the hold of the can of hairspray that was used on her styled hair. A furrow appeared in his brow from where she spied him in the mirror.

"Let me know if I hurt you," he mumbled, picking bobby pins out of her strands. He only worked with gentle hands, fingertips brushing her scalp.

Now it was her turn to feel a curling grin tease the corners of her mouth. "Okay."

Pulling her removal balm from her drawer, she spread the oil across her fingertips and began shedding the layers of ruined makeup from her skin. In the back of her mind, she wanted to care about Harry seeing her with raccoon eyes and greasy skin, but she was sure he'd already seen her much worse earlier in the night. Nothing could scare him away at this point, even if she knew it was more for job security than anything that had to do with her. Besides, she didn't mind showing him this part of herself; he was her safety net tonight.

More and more of her strands broke free while (Y/N) peeled her lashes off, a damp cloth being used to get the removal balm off of her skin. Her pores and blemishes were on display once more, her skin breathing after being caked under powders and rivers of tears. Her scalp felt sore with every bobby pin Harry took out, a pile accruing on the counter.

"Can I ask what happened back there?" Harry piped up, breaking the silence that had settled like a fog over the room. His usual deadpan tone softened into something malleable and soft, gentle to her ears.

(Y/N)'s lips thinned at the question. She knew how to answer the question, but it was more of a matter of if she wanted to hear the answer after already living it. She bought herself time as she swiped her face with an extra cleansing water, her reusable cotton pad soft against her skin.

From her view in the mirror, she saw as he kept his eyes trained on her hair, fingers tracing through the strands comb out the twirled mess made earlier in the night.

"I know y'might not want to tell me because we aren't... friends, but even as someone who's meant to look after you, it would help to know just so I can protect you better next time," he mused, his voice gentle.

"Franny didn't tell you?"

A beat passed. "I want to hear it from you, (Y/N)."

Harry kept her steady when her weight shifted on her feet. His hands in her hair dropped to settle on her biceps, his eyes returning hers in the mirror. She felt his eyes scanning over her face. Whatever he found there had his jaw hardening, his resolve strengthening from where he stood behind her. "You're not there anymore, (Y/N). It's all over, don't forget."

She nodded her head, taking in a wavering breath through her nose. "Right, um," she started, her fingers fiddling with the sewn edge of her cotton pad, "It was that guy, at our table. The one sitting on my dad's other side. He found me at the bar when I was getting a drink, and he just didn't really listen. He bought me a drink and kept wanting to talk to me even when I was saying I wanted to go back to Emma and Francesca."

With his hands resuming in her hair, Harry listened along. "Right," he murmured, his voice now holding an edge that had previously been melted away. She had a feeling he knew bits and pieces of this story, and it only made it that much harder to hear it from her mouth.

"He kept touching me, and talking to me like I was stupid. It wasn't that bad, it just felt wrong—it made me feel gross." She swallowed around her dry throat, grateful for the lack of makeup on her face, her tears now welling over clean lashes. "I tried to leave, but I knew people were around and my dad would have been so mad if I made a scene. I tried to find you but I think my dad was talking to you so you couldn't see me, and the girls were busy, and there was a camera guy going around and taking photos. I couldn't... I let him keep touching me, but I was getting so nervous and it was all too much."

With her hair finally down and free from the style it was put in, Harry noticed the shine of her tears falling down her cheeks once more. He didn't hesitate before he was spinning her around, looping his arms around her to collect her to his chest.

"I know, I know," he murmured to her, her own hands curling in the fabric of his black shirt, "'S over now, though, right?"?

"Right," she breathed, voice a bit hoarse.

His hand petted her hair, the strands fluffy now that the hairspray was broken but still holding the heat style she was given. She couldn't wait to wash her hair when she had the energy, already missing the natural texture.

"Y'said it was the man sitting beside your dad? Barron?"

"Mhm," (Y/N) whimpered at the sound of his name. "I guess my dad had told him I needed to be taken care of, and I think he told him other m-mean things about me."

Her words dissolved into a string of sobs, Harry going tense against her. She couldn't help herself, sniffling and crying against his chest, her breathing coming in erratic puffs. She felt guilty, feeling him tense around her. She didn't mean to upset him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she babbled, pulling away to look at him with a crinkling sniffle of her nose, "To-Tonight has been a lot. Thank you for helping me."

(Y/N) attempted to unravel herself from his hold, only to be stopped by his arms caging around her middle. "It's okay, don't apologize to me," he told her earnestly, matching his gaze to her blurry one, "Thank you for telling me, but I want to make something very clear right now."

Nodding, she looked up at him, watching as he ducked down into her space, crowding around her with intensity in his eyes.

"If y'ever feel uncomfortable or like you're in danger, for whatever reason—I don't care if you think it's not that bad, or your father will be upset, or whatever reason you think is good enough to stay in that moment—you are going to leave." His words were a command hiding behind a gentle tone. He was unwavering in his stance, that much she could glean. "I don't care what you have to do, what kind of 'scene' y'have to make, come find me if 'm not right there. Whatever will make you feel safest, that's what I want you to do. Don't ever feel like you have to put up with anything that upsets you for whatever reason.

"You matter more than whatever cover story or photos someone could make up. Okay? Don't ever think it's the other way around."

(Y/N) couldn't hold back the tears that fell down her cheeks, her skin stained and chin dripping with every drop. Her father had never said or even made her feel like putting herself first was an option, that she was the one variable in these stories that deserved a bit of protection. There was even a brief period of time when she had a publicist, and he never said anything close to what was coming out of Harry's mouth.

Everyone else around her had always shared the importance of what those around her thought, what could be said about her, the kind of stories that could be splashed across the pages. Her feelings, her safety, herself was always at the bottom of that list.

"Okay?" Harry prodded, his hands on her back flexing with fingertips denting the planes of her back, "Do y'understand what 'm saying?"

"I do," she choked out, lips quivering. Even blurry through her tears, dressed in all black and exhaustion on his features, Harry was the most gorgeous person she'd ever seen. An angel in the frosty light of her bathroom. "Thank you."

Harry only tugged her closer to his chest, cupping her back of her head where she snuggled in and allowed tears to run from her eyes.

(Y/N) clung to him tighter.

—————

Waking in her bed, duvet in folds around her with her pilates shorts chucked on the floor beside her discarded gown, (Y/N) blinked her stiff eyelids open. She couldn't be sure what time it was when she stalked to her bedroom, only remembering the ache in her muscles and stuffy nose. Harry had stayed with her all night, soothing her through the bouts of tears and being there when all she needed was to not be alone.

Stretching out of her bed with her feet hitting the floor, she couldn't remember if Harry had stayed after she fell asleep. She was barely aware of her own body when she shed her shorts and flopped into her bed, too exhausted to even crawl under the covers.

Stepping over her cold floor, (Y/N) crept out into the hallway, peering down the bend. Just barely, she could see a folded suit jacket and the first strands of curling brown hair from where she could spot the end of her couch. The closer she came to the living room, the closer she came to letting a smile settle on her features.

How he could manage it, she didn't know, but it was very much in his character to sleep with his brows pinched and arms crossed over his chest. He didn't look like he was resting particularly well, his suit jacket acting as his pillow as he threw himself into an odd shape to lay on her couch.

He stayed.

A heat bubbled under her skin at the thought. Despite the wringer she put him through the night before, he stayed here. Though she wasn't exactly sure how she would navigate the conversation that would have to occur when he woke, how she would handle knowing that he saw those most vulnerable parts of her, at least she knew she wasn't alone.

Letting him stay where he was, (Y/N) silently moved past him to her kitchen. She could start to say thank you by making him breakfast, she decided. If anything, it might be a good enough distraction to push off the conversation a bit longer when he woke.

She fell into her element as she pulled out the ingredients, feeling her muscles relax and joints loosen. Trying to be as quiet as she could so as to not disturb the sleeping beauty on her couch, she pulled the dish together as she went. Slices of toast were warming in a butter skimmed pan while she raided her spice rack. From her fridge she pulled eggs and chorizo, cheese and hashbrowns until she came up with a scramble. A rich and lemony hollandaise started on her stove, her apartment filling with toasted spices and the sizzling pop of the chorizo looking. She hoped he would appreciate the extra shred of manchego she stirred in.

With her mind running around the kitchen, timing and anticipating everything, she felt okay. She knew there had to be more than a handful of notifications on her phone, too many articles with her name tagged, and her father scheming her punishment, but, right now, she was content in living in this moment. She could wash her hair later, answer her phone calls, and explain to Dom that she didn't mean to let the Vivienne gown wrinkle on the floor. Before then, she would allow her only consequences to be the ache in her bones and the crust in the corners of her eyes.

Adding the final seasonings and beginning to plate everything, (Y/N) shifted her attention to the other consequence laying on her couch. She really hoped he liked what she made.

Adding the hollandaise over the hashbrown bowl, (Y/N) finished up with adding the slices of crusty toast to the rim of the bowl. She placed them on her rarely used dining table, hesitating at the chair beside where she determined Harry would sit before backtracking and placing her own serving in the seat across.

Now was the hard part.

Padding over the rug, she made her way to the couch, Harry's restless form still stiff where he laid. With the top buttons of his top undone, the tan skin of his chest was on display, the necklace she had noticed time and time again, the pendants finally on display. The faces of a duo of birds inked on his chest peeked out, matching the dark black of his outfit. He even fell asleep with his shoes on.

He did all that work to make sure she was comfortable—getting her out of her dress, helping her take her hair down, reminding her to wash her makeup off—only to fall asleep with his suit jacket as a pillow and his event clothes wrapped too tight around him.

Crouching beside him, she sat on her folded knees. His profile was on display this way, the line of his nose and curl of his lashes highlighted through the sunny window.

Using a gentle hand, she cautiously settled her palm on his tensed shoulder. "Harry," she murmured. She gave a minute shake to his shoulder.

Harry woke up with a start, his reaction much quicker and more drastic than she had expected. He sucked in a big breath, his eyes flying open as he sat up, his hands reaching behind to prop himself up. She could see the recognition settle over his features, his eyes frantically searching over her face with his mouth in a soft gape.

"(Y/N)," he breathed out.

Having sat back some when he startled, her hands in a bundle in her lap, she blinked up at him. "Sorry," she started, "I just... I made you breakfast, if you were hungry."

Disoriented, he ran a heavy hand through his hair as he shifted where he sat. The suede cushions fluffed up, the fibers mimicking waves around him. "Yeah?" he asked, moving to sit properly with his feet on the ground and knees wide apart.

Still on her knees, she looked up at him, his hair a mess and chest heaving as he caught his stressed breath. She opened her mouth to say something, but every thought was ripped from her head when her front door was flung open.

Whipping around, she almost jumped out of her skin when she saw her father stepping inside. His face was twisted in anger, wearing a suit too nice for this early in the morning, and his eyes as daggers trained right on her.

He stomped over the threshold, coming towards where she was still folded on the floor.

"Dad!"

Ignoring her voice, she saw him finally take in the scene. For the first time he seemed to realize Harry was there. With (Y/N) on her knees in front of him. His clothes were a rumpled mess, the same ones from the night before. His chest rising and falling from his startled good morning, hair a stressed mess.

(Y/N) could practically see his blood pressure rising through his body, his hair standing on end when he returned his gaze to hers. He was seething, taking his assumptions from the scene before him.

"Are you fucking kidding me, (Y/N)?" he hissed, his hands practically shaking at his sides. He towered over her, even from where she sat feet away. "What do you think you're trying to do to him!?"

Scrambling to stand up, she was already shaking her head in denial. This wasn't the kind of scolding she was going to be able to sit through.

"What? I'm—No, that's not—"

He shook his head, his jaw stiff. He seemed to bite his own tongue, stopping himself from saying anything more. "We will have to talk about that later," he cemented, "Because you need to tell me what the hell you were thinking last night."

While she knew this was coming, she honestly expected more of a phone call. She thought he would be too angry to even look at her. He'd never been angry enough to burst into her home and yell at her there. He much preferred his home turf, where he controlled all the power.

Swallowing, she tried to calm her racing heartbeat. "I know it looks bad, but I promise I didn't mean—"

"I don't want excuses!" he shouted, cutting her off despite the fact he was the one that invited her to talk in the first place. "I'm tired of you embarrassing me every chance you get! I always knew you'd be crazy like your mother, but I didn't think it would be this fucking bad."

(Y/N) recoiled at the mention of her mother. He rarely talked about her unless in punishment, but he hadn't said anything so blatantly evil about her.

She didn't know what to say. This is why he never told her about the racing in her heart and the stress that filled her without permission. She didn't want him to think of her as crazy, something that needed to be medicated and put away. But, she supposed now, he didn't need to know that information to say that about her.

Her father took a menacing step towards her, his expression that much more angry after her silence.

In an instant, Harry was sliding between them, his back facing (Y/N) with his height obscuring her view of her father. "Sir," Harry started, a warning to his tone that had to come from years of dealing with pests.

It was her father's turn to take a step back, (Y/N) just barely catching the way he rolled his eyes. Harry's interference only set him off further, it appeared.

Speaking around the wall that was Harry, he yelled to (Y/N), "How am I supposed to trust him now, after I saw what you were trying to do to him. What did you do last night that convinced him that you needed protecting from me when you're the problem!"

Harry took a step towards him, a hand out as if to soothe a vicious animal while barring him from coming any closer should he attempt. "Sir, I think it's best if you step outside for a moment."

Ignoring Harry's plea, he only craned his neck to ensure (Y/N) could see him when he yelled again. "I always knew you'd end up a whore," her father seethed, "But you only seem to like it best when it's a way to get back at me."

With that, Harry didn't hesitate before grabbing her father by the arms and twisting him away. He escorted him out the door of her apartment, pushing him over the threshold with a slam of the door behind them.

Muffled shouts started on the other side of the door, her father's voice the one that was raised. She couldn't pick out individual words, but she figured that was probably for the best. She didn't need to hear any more of what he thought of her.

Staving off a replay of last night's breakdown, she sunk to the floor, her legs a tangled puddle underneath her. Her hands shook in her lap, matching the cadence of her lungs as she fought to keep her breathing even.

Suddenly, a loud bang against her door rang through her empty apartment. Tears filled her eyes.

The blaring noise was compounded with a stretch of silence. The low timber of Harry's voice rose then, though his was layered with the typical composure he always had, even in the face of someone as unreasonable as her father.

The silence gave too much room for her thoughts to grow, her head bloated and heavy.

In an odd way, she was grateful he was as angry as he was. He was too upset, his vision too red, to say anything properly damaging. If he had been thinking any clearer, she worried she would have a plane ticket to Sweden in hand and all credit cards in her name shredded.

While this morning was bad, it definitely could have been worse, she decided.

She couldn't be sure how long she sat on the floor, waiting for whatever would emerge back into her apartment, but soon enough the doorknob twisted with the hinges gliding open. Harry was the only one to step inside, her father missing from the hallway when she glanced around.

His cheeks were red, hair in an even sorrier state than before, but he kept that same calculated set to his irises. He didn't hesitate to crouch to her level, his brows pinching as he met (Y/N)'s eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, intensity laced through his voice.

(Y/N) nodded her head, stray hairs curtaining around her face. "Sorry about everything he said. I-I don't know where he—why he—"

Harry shook his head, his jaw ticking. He dropped his gaze from hers as he shuttered them in a lingering blink. When he dared to glance up at her once more, he said, "No, don't apologize for him. I jus'... (Y/N), I think 's best if I go home, now."

Instinctively, she wanted to question him. She wanted to investigate his reasoning and attempt to make him stay. He was her solid pillar, the buoy keeping her afloat. She worried what she would do without him for the first time in twenty-four hours.

But, she couldn't blame him. Her father just accused her of trying to seduce him to wriggle into his head, with whatever else he shared behind that closed door. She could only imagine just how uncomfortable he was now in her presence, both his employer and client having varying breakdowns in front of him.

"Okay," she settled, dropping her eyes to her hands. At least the tremor stopped. "Thank you for staying with me last night."

Giving a curt nod, Harry stood to his full height. He moved silently around him, stoic as ever as he collected his suit jacket and cell phone. His footsteps seemingly echoed in the otherwise silence of her home.

She wasn't even sure if he looked at her again before he slipped out the front door, leaving her alone.

—————

Dad

I have a flight scheduled to take you to Paris in a week. You can't be trusted here to stay out of trouble, even with Harry's help. You will be staying through to the winter, and I hope you take this time to reflect on what you've done and how you plan on fixing your attitude.

Harry will be accompanying you, but I expect you to keep your relationship strictly professional with him. Don't squander this time away, (Y/N).

I will check in soon to ensure things are going well.

(Y/N) felt heavy reading her father's string of texts.

Today had been enough of an obstacle already, and now she had to plan to be out of the country well after Summer had ended.

She didn't bother to type a response, only reacting to the top message with a thumbs up.

Falling back on her bed, the mattress bouncing under her spine, she stared up at the ceiling.

She was going to have to call Francesca.

—————

"Is there anything I can grab for you, Ms. (Y/N)?"

A pleasant smile curled over (Y/N)'s lips, the bags under her eyes shielded by the heavy pair of sunglasses perched on her nose. "No, thank you."

The flight attendant scurried away at her dismissal, all too eager to practically sprint away. While this crew wasn't especially friendly with her, always seeming a little too scared of her, there was definitely a difference in how attentive they'd started for this flight. They'd no doubt seen the articles that had been swirling for the last week.

She couldn't blame them, honestly. Reviewing the articles herself, she was painted as an out of touch socialite, a woman who flipped out after a perceived slight. There were photos of her speaking to Barron, the moment having been described as the final moments before the blowup. The drink clutched in her hand was blown out of proportion, insiders and onlookers dishing out how she'd been drinking the whole night despite those two sips of the gin and tonic being the only alcohol she partook in the entire Gala.

The men around her were painted as heroes, including Harry. Her father and Barron were trying to talk her down from her drunken antics, urging her to calm and remind her of the cameras watching. Harry was doing the chivalrous thing and helping her out of the event before she stumbled around and humiliated herself more than she already had. Some sources even became so bold as to claim that the reason she snuck away to the bathroom for so long, others checking on her, was because of a drug problem she was hiding behind closed doors.

All of it was her fault. She was being unreasonable, and rude. Untamable and embarrassing. Crazy, even.

The webs were spun so well, including the official photographs along with blurry photographs posted by anonymous social media accounts. Every story looked worse than the last.

Even knowing the truth, seeing those photos gave (Y/N) a deep sense of humiliation she couldn't shake.

Seeing an outsider's perspective, the way she clung to Harry with messy hair and swollen eyes, crying over him and using him like some kind of shield. She couldn't believe he had stayed with her after the way she acted—and those were only the things that occurred in public.

If that wasn't bad enough, after the fashion magazine's interview was posted along with the event's photos and stories, Harry was now having articles written about him. People were digging into his private life, hunting down any kind of hint of who he was, what he meant to (Y/N). Most likely, some were even hoping to get into contact with him and earn and exclusive. She couldn't blame him if he took someone up on the offer.

It was all her fault.

Maybe that was why this past week, she hadn't heard from him at all. To be fair, she hadn't gone anywhere, preferring to keep out of the public eye while the gossip circulated. Francesca met her at her apartment instead, helping her with everything; they packed a small bag to get her through her traveling, cried, bitched about her dad, and had a two day sleepover before (Y/N)'s exile began. She was the only one (Y/N) told, knowing it would get to the rest of the girls in a matter of time, only after she had disappeared for a good few weeks.

That left (Y/N) with a small go-bag, a full wardrobe and duplicates of her favorite things already waiting at the French penthouse, sweats on her form and embarrassment too deep to coax Harry into interacting with her.

She felt stiff where she sat, imagining what the stew crew was whispering about her just out of earshot, imagining what Harry was thinking about her as he refused to even glance at her despite the orientation of their chairs. She couldn't relax in her skin. She was too in her head to manage something like that.

Though (Y/N) was happy to get out of New York, these circumstances were killing any joy she could tie to the change in scenery. Paris was one of her favorite places in the world, her penthouse securing a special spot in her heart, but her father wanted to turn it into a prison. he wanted to ruin another safe place for her. It sucked.

And, the one person she was too embarrassed to even properly look at, was the one person accompanying her through it all. Her new roommate was the same guy that she was being accused of sleeping with out of anger at her father, out of her rampant sexual desire that kept her from staying with any one person for too long, or a cute decoration that was placed around her to give her clout. At least that's what the rumors swirling around were.

Heaving a sigh and crossing her legs, (Y/N) wanted to be surprised that Harry didn't even flinch in her direction, instead she felt just a sting of hurt behind her ribs.

—————

"You know where the house is?"

"Yes," Harry answered, his response curt as he shifted the car into drive.

(Y/N) couldn't blame his short reply, she wasn't being particularly warm either.

Instead, she silently settled into her seat, conflicted on how to feel. She'd never really travelled without a driver. Even if it wasn't Sully since he stayed in the city with his family, there was always someone else that took care of her wherever she went. This time, it appeared Harry would be in charge of that.

Most likely at her father's request, she figured. Now there was no reason for her to be away from him for even ten minutes. Her babysitter extraordinaire.

Shifting her gaze out the windscreen, she took in the emerging city. It had been a while since she was away from the lights and the skyscrapers, the crowds of tourists. While Paris wasn't quite as quant as the movies made it out to be, it was definitely different from that of New York. There was more breathing room.

Her dad always thought it was too slow, too boring, a place to spend a single day in before moving on to something much newer and exciting. Maybe that was why it became one of her favorite places, her first request when she was old enough being that she could find a penthouse in Paris. She knew he wouldn't want to follow her here.

Harry drove like an expert through the winding streets, a GPS screen hooked up to show him the way to her penthouse, though she doubted he needed it. He kept his gaze shifting through the cycle of peering out the window, checking his mirrors, and glancing in the rearview. He didn't waver in his routine, as if (Y/N) wasn't even there.

The familiar lead up to the neighbourhood of Saint-Germain had (Y/N) sitting up. She couldn't wait to lock herself away in that top floor penthouse.

Taking advantage of the free space not too far from the entrance to the building, Harry pulled in in one smooth motion. The click of the gear shifter settled them into park. He pulled the key after a beat, finally shooting her a fleeing glance.

"I'll grab the bags and follow you," he directed, not waiting before he was pushing open his door and stepping out onto the street.

She followed suit, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head.

Upon her first deep breath in, (Y/N) wondered if she had been away for long enough to convince herself the air really did smell like butter and wine the way poets always described.

There were still a good amount of tourists given the neighborhood's proximity to various landmarks, but this place was worlds different in comparison to the city. She hoped her father knew she was enjoying her punishment.

Harry, with their bags in hand, waited for her to take the lead. She gave him a careful smile before she breezed past him, leading them to the entrance of her building. This place was much different than that in the city, no doorpeople around and only a small bank of two elevators beside the various mailboxes.

Once in the lift, she entered them in to be taken to the top floor. Harry was a silent pillar beside her, his luggage and her duffle bag in hand. She swallowed around the silence.

The top floor was all for her, the space being bought by her father by the time she was twenty. Knocking down the walls, the three separate apartments were turned into one big space that was gutted and turned into an immaculate penthouse. (Y/N) fought to keep as many of the original features as she could.

Stepping inside the space, her efforts were rewarded with the sight of the off-white walls, texture embedded in the slabs. Wrought-iron fixtures were littered throughout, the original doors and biggest kitchen left as it was. Everything held the air of romance, the space a lot more intimate than small than what she had in New York. A trio of different balconies were stationed on the outside, those terraces offering views of the Eiffel Tower.

It was lovely. That was the only way she could describe it. The kind of place that deserved to be draped in roses and lit exclusively in candlelight. Late nights and Burgundy wine with silk dresses.

Harry followed her as she stepped towards a plane of French doors, the glass frosted to keep prying eyes out. "This is my room," she told him, voice detached, "But down that hall are a couple of spare bedrooms and bathrooms, so you can pick whatever one you want."

Dropping her duffle on the floor, he gave her a single nod. "Okay."

With that, he turned on his heel. She watched as he started down the hall, leaving her with a single syllable.

She needed to say something. As distant as she was acting because of her embarrassment, she couldn't not acknowledge what happened. Every time she looked at him, she saw those photos of her clinging and crying on him, her mascara a mess while he looked at her with sympathy. She saw the way he tended to her hair in the mirror, using his fingers to break the hold of the hairspray and gently pick out the bobby pins holding the style in. She saw him defending her against her father.

"Harry?" she peeped, eyes fixed to his back.

"Hm?" He stopped, looking at her over his shoulder.

Taking a step towards him, her hands a fumbling mess behind her back, she swallowed. "I wanted to say thank you again for last week. Especially after everything. And for defending me," she started, her gaze dropping to the middle of his back, "I'm sorry I acted that way, and how I have been acting. I know I can be unreasonable, so it means a lot that you stayed with me and still came here with me. I hope this isn't too bad of a place to be exiled."

She tried to go lighthearted, ending with a breathy laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Harry only looked at her with a pinched brow, his arm dropping the bag he had slung over his shoulder. "I... I don't think I understand."

Clamming up, (Y/N) felt too exposed. She waved him off, shaking her head in hopes of dismissing all that she shared. "Don't worry about it," she said, "Just thank you for looking out for me, and I promise I'm going to make your job as easy as possible while we're here. Hopefully, I'll be able to get you home before the holidays."

A silence settled between them. Harry didn't offer any kind of response, only his eyes following her. She shifted her weight where she stood, her fingers knotting behind her back.

She inched towards her room, the space feeling too heavy as her words hung in the air.

"I think I'm going to unpack and take a nap," she murmured, offering a barely there smile, "We can order food later if you want, but I don't plan on doing anything, so the rest of the day is yours."

With that, she slipped between her open French doors, the warmth of her room enveloping her once she sealed the rest of the penthouse out. She didn't want to see if Harry was still standing there, watching her with eyes that were too observant.

She took in a deep breath, shifting her gaze through her bedroom. Her eyes landed on the open drapes to her balcony. Outside, the Eiffel Tower shimmered.

—————

ephemere is the French words for a fleeting beauty; a summer love, a shooting star, greatness gone too soon

this part is def one of the longer ones of the series so thank you so much for getting through it! sorry for any mistakes and if you have any ideas or thoughts please send them in!

#writing #harry #harry styles #harry one shot #harry imagine #harry blurb #harry au #bodyguard harry #harry x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles au #bodyguard harry styles #love on tour #pleasing #harrys house #as it was #satellite

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hypnoneghoul · 1 month

Text

Hey, Pretty

WC: 2,3K

Relationship: Swiss/Mountain

Tags: Lingerie, Possessive Sex, Degradation, Breeding

Swiss knew how to push Mountain's buttons too well and that thing he bought would be like slamming all those buttons at once. Or, Swiss gets himself lingerie.

Notes: It was waiting for a while, enjoy

Read under the cut or on AO3.

Swiss is nothing, if not a tease.

He revels in having the power to make his chosen victim—or victims—break a sweat, make them all hot and bothered, lose control over themselves. Causing his packmates to cum their brains out after hours of teasing specifically makes something near pride bloom in his chest, he loves it. They all know it too, and even though Swiss always brings them to feeling need and arousal so intense it hurts, they’d never complain, at the end of the day.

Now, when Swiss saw that one ad online, he knew he had to get it and he knew who would be the first—because definitely not the only—victim of his purchase. Mountain didn't have to be teased all day to be brought to insanity. Swiss knew how to push all his buttons too well and that thing he bought would be like slamming all those buttons at once.

It didn’t take long for it to arrive, just a few days, but over those few days Swiss has had to excuse himself every time he thought about it, starting to chub up in his pants.

Oh, it was going to be so good.

Finally, the mail came. The multi ghoul snatched it and immediately ran to his room to try it on and prepare everything.

It was going to be so fucking good.

Swiss locked his door and all but ripped the package apart, cock filling out and kicking the moment his calloused fingers touched the delicate fabric. He put it all on with more care and he’d never been so glad for good online size charts. It all fit perfectly, and when he stood before a full body mirror his eyes lit up. He threw himself onto his bed and kicked off the panties, not wanting to get them dirty just yet. Swiss grabbed a bottle of lube from his nightstand and got to work.

He somehow managed to not cum in the process of getting himself ready to be fucked into oblivion, and around half an hour later he was shooting Mountain a quick text and slipping out of his room and into the commons. Thankfully, Swiss hadn’t come across anyone in there, or on his way. Not that he wouldn’t enjoy that, of course he would, but right now he was a neatly wrapped gift just for Mountain.

The multi ghoul didn’t have to wait much, the message he sent was suggestive enough for Mountain to not want to waste any time. Swiss heard the thump of his heavy footsteps on the other side of the den soon enough and got into position—leaning against the dining table with his legs outstretched.

“Swiss, love? What did you–” Mountain started, but froze as his eyes landed on Swiss. A quiet noise escaped his lips, his jaw dropped and his mouth went dry. The multi ghoul smirked.

He was wearing a bralette, pecs squeezed together by red lace in a way that gave him real cleavage, and an image of a cock sliding in and out from between Swiss’ boobs flashed through Mountain’s mind. Next time, he thought.

There was more, though. So much more. If he looked close enough he’d see gold around the multi ghoul’s nipples shining through the lace, something he really liked to play with.

There were soft chiffon cuffs pulled taught over Swiss’ muscled biceps—ready to snap at any moment—similarly to the delicate, lace gloves that looked movement-restictringly tight. Mountain wondered how they’d feel on his dick, if Swiss would even manage to wrap his hand around it.

The earth ghoul’s eyes stopped at Swiss’ soft tummy, a corset-like bottom of the bra made it lightly spill out at the bottom and the sight made Mountain salivate, rehydrating his dried mouth. Swiss’ belly hid the top of his panties and the garter belt just a tiny bit, and from there his cock caught his mate’s attention. It was half-hard, pressing against the tiny triangle of the panties’ front piece. Mountain wanted to rip the lace to shreds with his fangs.

Noticing where the earth ghoul’s gaze lingered for longer, Swiss spinned, teasing Mountain with just a quick view of his not especially big, but full and round, asscheeks. The giant let out a growl, barely in control of himself anymore. His cock got so hard in mere seconds it hurt.

Last, but not least, his eyes skimmed over Swiss’ legs, covered in stockings, the same red lace as he rest of the set, up to just over his knees and held up by thin straps of the garter belt digging into his meaty thighs. The earth ghoul silently thanked Satan Swiss didn’t get an idea of getting rid of his body hair. It made it all so much better, his muscled arms and thighs and soft chest and tummy covered in thick, dark hair. Not to speak of the bush peeking out from all around the panties.

Mountain was feral.

“Well?” Swiss asked. “What do you th– ah, shit!”

He didn’t manage to finish, being interrupted by the earth ghoul pouncing at him with a growl. Before Swiss could even notice what was happening, he was already bent over the table with the side of his face pressed into the wood and fingers in his ass.

“Jesus Christ, Mountain…” he broke off into a moan when two of Mountain’s long fingers immediately found his prostate. He didn’t need any prep and his mate would notice soon enough that he was already slick and loose. Swiss knew perfectly well what would happen, of course he prepared.

“Get your dick out,” the multi ghoul whined, arching his back into Mountain’s touch. The giant only rumbled in his chest again and ripped one of his hands away from Swiss to follow his humble request. He heard the click of a belt buckle and noise of a roughly pulled down zipper and the next thing he knew the wide head of the earth ghoul’s cock was being pushed into him.

“Make me yours,” Swiss moaned and Mountain absolutely lost it. He shoved himself all the way in with a howl, nailing Swiss’ sweet spot dead on so hard it hurt, and all he could do was whine and babble and drool onto the wood under his cheek. He was already ruined, and they’ve just begun. The earth ghoul kept snarling over him, Swiss could feel drops of spit hitting his back as Mountain picked up a painfully fast and hard and precise pace that sent the multi ghoul to somewhere near the orbit.

“Mine,” Mountain growled, leaning down over the expanse of his mate’s body to scrape his fangs over the—already covered in sweat—skin of his neck.

“Y– yours,” Swiss wheezed out, being rocked back and forth with the force of Mountain’s forceful thrusts. He felt tears pooling in his eyes as his cock, still trapped behind the pretty lace, now wet with precum, was repeatedly shoved into the edge of the table. It hurt, but it felt so good.

For a few moments the room was silent apart from the slapping sound of skin on skin, slick noise of Mountain’s cock fucking into Swiss, animalistic grunts of the earth ghoul and the high pitched whines of the multi ghoul. Both of them were too lost in it to think clearly enough to utter something coherent.

Mountain had his nose pressed into Swiss’ neck, his claws digging into his mate’s waist, pinpricks of blood escaping from under them. He desperately tried to hold himself up with the other hand, firmly planted next to Swiss’ head, tangled in his locs and adding that little bit more pain to all the maddening pleasure.

The earth ghoul slowed and reduced his thrusts to a series of deep grinds that made Swiss feel him in his throat. “Mounty… can I– I wanna see you…”

“Fuck… yeah,” he grunted and pulled away, even though there was reluctance. Swiss whimpered at the sudden emptiness and lack of pressure all over him, but Mountain was quick to turn him over so they’d be face to face. The multi ghoul grinned seeing his mate’s equally blissed out expression. He didn’t wait any more, hooking his legs around the other’s waist and pulling him in.

“Come on,” Swiss muttered and Mountain slammed back into him all at once, arms gripping him tightly. The multi ghoul whined loudly and all whorish, tears now streaming down his face and mixing with the spit that was already pooled on the table.

“You like that, don’t you?” Mountain growled, licking over Swiss’ racing pulse and moaning at the taste. “Being just a whore to be fucked and filled and claimed?”

“Yes, fuck, just for you.” The earth ghoul all but roared at that, returning to fucking him hard and fast, somehow even harder than before. Every thrust was abusing Swiss’ prostate and tugging at his rim and he feared he’d come before his mate. He could already feel the more and more pronounced swell of Mountain’s knot bumping against his ass and wanting to slip in, though. He didn’t expect either of them to be able to last especially long.

“Fucking– getting all dressed up,” he spat. “Like a slut.”

“Just for you.”

Mountain made a pained sound as if he would start crying, too, and Swiss felt him throb inside him. It must’ve been painful at this point, ready to burst, needing that wet, warm pressure all around, squeezing his knot and milking him dry.

“Swiss– shit, I– ‘m gonna–” Mountain’s voice suddenly got softer and finally something other than a growl broke its way free. He hid his face in Swiss’ chest and moaned prettily and if the multi ghoul knew anything at the moment, he knew it meant the giant really was about to cum.

“Come on,” he arched his back. As much as he could, at least, still being so tightly gripped and held in place by his near feral mate. “Gimme your knot, stuff me full. Breed me like the whore I am.”

Mountain made the sweetest noise as he shoved his knot all the way in, sinking his fangs into Swiss’ shoulder at the same time. The multi ghoul’s body went rigid and he might have blacked out for a moment when an earth shattering orgasm crashed into him, just as his mate’s cum started truly filling him all the way up.

One moment Swiss was shaking and crying through it and the next there was a heavy, sweaty body laying limply over him and pressing his own torso into the table.

“You alive up there, big guy?” he breathed out. He tried to chuckle, but the weight made it impossible, so all that left him was a wheeze.

“Mhm…” Mountain rumbled, his chest—and by extension Swiss’—vibrating with a beginning of a purr.

“Good to know, but I’m not gonna lie, it’s not too comfortable down here,” the multi ghoul grumbled with no real venom. Post-nut Mountain was too cute for him to actually complain about anything, especially after the little stunt he pulled.

“Thought you like it when I squeeze you.”

“I absolutely do,” Swiss giggled, “but not on our dining table, maybe. There’s a couch right there.”

“Oh… right,” Mountain said, but he was still slow to move. There was also the fact that his knot, locked in Swiss, was nowhere near deflating. The giant wrapped his arms around the multi ghoul—the process took him way longer than necessary, he got a bit lost in running his fingers over the lace that Swiss was still wrapped in—and hoisted the both of them up, Swiss hooking his legs around Mountain’s waist. The aforementioned couch was close enough so that if Mountain just flopped back onto it, he’d end up with Swiss in his lap. It was as awkward as ever, but it worked, and they landed with a huff and tiny moans at the pull of the earth ghoul’s cock. But they settled, Swiss taking off the gloves and nuzzling under Mountain’s jaw as the other wrapped a blanket that was nearby around him and kept him close. He himself was still clothed, after all, and Swiss—who had a tendency to go cold after coming down from his high—was all but.

“You are a menace, you know that?” the earth ghoul chuckled after a moment of relative silence, filled with just their purrs.

“Of course I do, sweetheart. And you love me for it.”

“I really do, don’t I?” Mountain sighed, rubbing his cheek against Swiss’.

“You’re completely enamored.”

“You’re no better,” he scoffed.

“Oh, I know. How could I not?” Swiss caught Mountain’s lips in a kiss. “You’re so beautiful, strong, smart and your dick is so good. Love your dick.”

“Ah, yes, of course. My dick. I love you, too.”

“Nothing about my dick? Or my ass?”

“Fine. I love your dick, too. And your ass.”

“Knew it.” With that, and another sweet kiss, the discussion ended, and they continued on purring happily, as close together as it can be. Some time later, probably unnecessarily long after Mountain’s knot would deflate, Swiss would get up. The earth ghoul’s dick would kick and slowly fill out again when he’d take in the image of his mate bloodied, bruised and well and truly marked, with cum leaking out of him and running down his thighs. Most importantly, he’d still be wearing this Satan damned lingerie.

Mountain would throw him over his shoulder this time and take him back to their bedroom. He had a few ideas earlier, didn’t he?

#hypnone writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #swissalps

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trashmouth-richie · 11 months

Text

master list

Eddie x fem! reader

⚠️ TRIGGER WARNINGS ⚠️

Absolutely no minors, gtfo. Hopefully everyone has read the warning post from earlier this week regarding this chapter. it is extremely dark themed.

Heavy violence

References to past rape/ assault

Blood, gore

Domestic violence

Somnaphilia

Character death etc

A/N: please know your limits. I love you and let’s get into this chapter so we can move on.

The brown popcorn bag spun lazily in the microwave like an oily inflating balloon. The steady hum of the appliance kept you company as the countdown to the sad supper ticked to an end. The cheerful ding springing you from the staring contest you were having with the counter top.

The small radio you had purchased was sitting on the counter, the soft belt of Linger by The Cranberries was playing for what seemed like the tenth time today and you couldn’t help but feel the lyrics in your blood.

Unaware of anything out of the ordinary. A typical night after working at the bar. Showering and throwing on a pair of pajama shorts, tucked next to the pair of Eddie’s boxer briefs you had found last week.

After investigating why the washer banged all to hell when even the smallest of loads were in it, wedged tight under the plastic agitator were his underwear.

And you’d be a fool to say you hadn’t broken down and sobbed in the basement on the discovery.

You dried them and folded them neatly next to your delicates. The same drawer that held the worn and tarnished pig ring he gave you as a Christmas gift, and the envelope full of cash.

The water works started again.

Hot tears flooding your eyes, the simple act made you feel like he was home with you. But the nightmare always continued.

You missed him so much.

“But you always really knew

I just want to be with you

If you were a tiny bit more awake you might have caught that the door to the garage was locked even though you had no memory of locking it yourself.

..And I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger

Rustling the steaming bag from the microwave with burnt finger tips, you toss it on the counter hastily. Sucking your fingers into your mouth to dull the stinging redness away.

Do you have to let it linger?

And maybe it was then that if you weren’t busy nursing the premature burns, you would have noticed the odd set of keys on the counter next to the mail, pushed to the side by the buttery bag of popcorn.

Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?

Bending at the waist to the lower cabinet you reach around for the smooth plastic of the yellow popcorn bowl. Upon standing you feel dizzy. You hear it before you feel it, the loud thwap of something heavy against the back of your head. The pain is searing and turns your vision to black. You’re passed out before your head even hits the floor.

(1987)

The November air whipped into reddened skin, striking out any heat you had left in the confinements of the peach sweater you borrowed from Nancy on your frozen walk to Forest Hills Trailer Park.

It happened again.

And this time it wasn’t an accident, no matter how much he begged, no matter how many times he said he was sorry.

He hit you with a closed fist.

You weren’t flirting with Dustin. He was your friend. Way before Chad had taken any interest in you. Most of your friends were guys, besides El and Max, and even though Nancy Wheeler was older and more popular— you considered her a friend too.

When she left for college this past fall, she insisted on making her room more stylish to your liking. And she never once minded the twin beds you both slept in, a night stand between them.

But when Mike sat next to you at lunch and was going over notes from Kensington’s class, Chad’s mind twisted it into Mike hitting on you. Which led to Chad hitting on you, but instead of compliments and doting behavior— he drug you out to his car, a bony grip on the back of your neck.

He screamed at you with every vein protruding from his tan skin. Voice hoarse and throat stretched tight.

Apparently you were fucking people behind his back. Even though you were a virgin. The town whore! He had yelled loud for even some of the teachers to hear, all turning a blind eye to the obvious domestic abuse happening on school grounds.

Explaining yourself only made it worse.

He slapped your face hard when you opened your mouth to interrupt him. And when you stood your ground and raised your chin to him, calm and steadily telling him to go fuck himself, he swung a fist into your eye.

And that’s when you left.

His apologies trailing behind you and caught in the gut of wind to travel far away from your ears. He wouldn’t follow you, he had appearances at school to keep up.

Much easier to tell Aaron and Sean that you got your period and were being crazy then explain why he had left school.

The gravel crunched beneath your feet, frozen from the last winter storm and holding pockets of ice amongst the rocks.

Pale blue and still holding the old television lawn ornament, you sighed audible when Eddie’s van was parked outside of the aluminum sided trailer.

You hadn’t seen him since graduation last May. The night Chrissy’s extra curricular activities with Rick finally came out when they were caught fucking in the shower upstairs, at Steve’s house. Both sporting pricked arms with needle marks.

A broken hearted Eddie drank all night long and puked into the hot tub.

Your quickened steps up to the concrete stairs and a shaky broken knock on the screen door have you stepping back waiting for the door to open, awaiting Eddie’s stupid grin waiting on the other side.

Living with Eddie you had no reason to be afraid. Many nights the front door was left unlocked. And maybe it was out of habit. Maybe you had left it unlatched tonight too.

It would explain how he was there now.

Hovering over you, his blond hair coined perfectly slicked to the side, slightly feathered back with thick styling gel. A Ralph Lauren polo with the logo on the left chest. His cologne reeked of some designer brand, making your stomach queasy.

The only difference between those years ago and now was that he had a small dusting of a flesh colored mustache wiggled on his sweaty lip. Same maniacal inky blacks to his blown pupils, laced with the piercing blue.

The realization ices your veins and stings your eyes with angry tears.

Chad Cunningham was in your home, his body over yours as you're pinned beneath him, the smell of iron invading your nose. Looking around with wild eyes you see the crimson streaks from the linoleum in the kitchen to the carpet where you are laying. Your head thumping with the rhythm of bloody drops against the fibers of the worm carpet.

“Been a long time hasn’t it, honey bun?”

An eternity wouldn’t have been enough.

Pressing his body into yours, you can feel the stiffness of his starched shirt as you try to will your arms to fight him away. He chuckles at your feeble attempts to push him off.

His weight presses deeper into you as he lowers his mouth to your lips, squeezing your face he almost sings, “Told you I’d see you soon.”

His lips are harshly planted into yours, feeling like jagged rocks against your soft waters.

“Fuck,” he groans, hard against your thigh. “just like I remember. I’ve missed you.”

The clink of his belt unthreading from the loops of his khakis finally renders your senses. But you wait with calculated timing.

Leaning back, he stares into your face with a quizzical expression burrowed deep on his brow. “What’s the frown for? Don’t you miss me? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Evident that his delusions still ran deep, it’s showtime. You would survive this. One good hit, that's all it would take.

Pushing yourself up gently, your head is swimming with nausea and the steady dripping tick of blood down the back of your neck.

Placing a shaky hand to his cheek he moves into your hand, the same way Eddie had that night, your stomach somersaults at the memory.

When his eyes shut, you turn your fingers into a clawed position, and scrape the flesh from the corner of his eye down to his lip.

It happens quickly and with your blurred vision and pounding head it feels like it’s all in slow motion. He wasn’t expecting it.

A kick to his ribs hurt your bare feet probably more than it injured him but you needed the extra time to escape into your room.

The phone feels cool against your cheek, and weighs heavy on your shoulder when you realize it’s dead. The plan of you running in here, dialing 9-1-1 and holding him off until they came was foiled.

“BITCH! You can’t hide from me!”

Knowing you only have seconds before he finds you, you

frantically look around for something to defend yourself with. Searching eyes land on the window.

Just need to get out and run to Mr. Griffin’s house.

Fingers on the frame you yank upwards, palms digging into the wired screen, pushing it out.

Throwing your leg out into the darkness of the night, you’re one step closer to being safe. One step closer to ending this night of horrors before it could begin.

The noise of splintering wood and the crack of a door being snapped from its hinges join your erratic breath and piercing screams— a monstrous reel of symphonic sound.

Chad twists a thick fist into your scalp, freeing the hair from its follicles in a sickening pop as you scratch your nails into the window sill, trying to hold on.

He’s stronger than you, no different than years before. And when your body crumbles onto the floor with a squelching thud, splinters of lacquered wood and nails that once held the door in place, pierce into your exposed skin.

But that is minor league compared to the shattering pain delivered from his fist into your face as he straddles you.

“Think you can hide away with that freak from me?!” He rocks his closed hand into your other cheek, this time clipping your eye with a gold wedding band.

Your cries fall on deaf ears. Tears stinging and trying to drip from your swelling eyelids.

“Honey bun,” he purrs into your ear, “don’t tell me you’re that fucking stupid to think I wouldn’t find you.”

His fingers move to brush your hair from your face, and he holds your head in place when you try to bite at his fingers.

His wicked smile could make the devil’s scaly skin crawl.

“Such a dumb whore, forgetting I have eyes and ears all over this town.” Placing his grabby fingers on his breasts, he continues, “Aaron and Sean may not be the brightest candles on the cake but they are loyal.”

Aaron…Sean.

You rack your brain for any recollection of those names. and it finally clicks. Chad’s friends in high school, following him around like he was the King. A snap of his fingers and they’d move like henchmen. Fighting anyone who got in his way, putting themselves at risk just to say they had a friend from a rich family.

The realization swims in your eyes and scares your tears dry.

“No.”

“Pieced it together huh?” Chad laughs wildly. “They work..” he grunts, hips rutting against you, pinching your perked nipples in his tight grasp, his fingernails digging through your shirt around the delicate skin, making you squeal, “..with the freak!”

His deranged cackle doubles when you yell out in pain.

“Small town bosses don’t lock their offices, and it was too easy for Aaron to find your address, even easier to find out that Eddie had left your ass here, unguarded, alone, waiting for someone to save you, and honey bun here I am!”

His sick twisted smile oozes fear further into your gut, brooding and feeding on any small amount of joy you had left.

“You need a fucking psychiatrist.”

“Such harsh words for that sweet mouth, but don’t worry!” he reassures, eyes wide with delight and a psychotic expression on his face as he brings his voice low and secret-like, “I won’t kill you yet, the boys are looking for Munson and when they find him…” he lowers himself to kiss your lips, sliding his tongue against the split flesh.

“Fuck!” He bellows, licking his lips savoring your taste on his tongue, “when they find him they’re gonna bring him here, and it’ll be arranged to look like the freak killed you and then himself.. a lover’s quarrel gone bad.”

He rubs his face and grunts again at the warbled wails you let out, squeezing your breasts and bucking into your clothed crotch. “Goddamn,” he groans, his eyes rolling into his head at the sound of your cries, getting off on your distorted face, “I just couldn’t help myself, had to come here and do this first. One last goodbye.”

You’d rather be dead at this point. You wish he’d kill you now and get it over with. But the thought of Eddie seeing your lifeless body haunted you. And you stop crying when his hands close around the hollow of your throat.

“Gonna be mine, one last time honeybun?”

“Fuck you,” you croak beneath his hands on your throat.

You’re weak and running out of time. Rolling your tongue against your teeth and cheeks, harboring a mixture of saliva and blood you wait until Chad is leaning over you, and when he’s close enough you spit the concoction into his face.

Chad bellers out, letting go of your throat and standing abruptly to wipe his face. The split second he’s distracted you try to crawl away, but he kicks you down.

Delivering several soccer styled strikes into your stomach, his voice spewing insults with every jab of his white Nikes into your body.

A raging shock of fury paints his face.

“What did I tell you hmm? If I can’t have you— no one can!” You scream loud when his shoe propels into your crotch, shocking your pelvis with burning heat.

All noise is void when he rolls you over and crashes down on your beaten body, clobbering your tear and blood streaked face, blow after blow. Your eyes are swelling shut and you’re surprised when you see Eddie’s face, before your eyes shut.

It feels like home.

-1987-

The warm smile you missed so much was not there to greet you. A cold calloused “what?” finds you instead.

“Eddie?” you ask with a scratchy throat, clearing it once, twice, to answer him against the wind.

Grumbling and stomping in the trailer is heard. Along with two separate giggles.

The door is yanked hard inward revealing a version of Eddie Munson you’d never seen before. His skin was sunken in on his cheeks, dark circles rimmed his eyes. His once soft features were sharp and lackluster, brooding with ashy shadows and skin that looked like it hadn’t seen sunlight in months.

He looked gaunt and hallowed out, his ribs poking against the cindery color of his skin. The warm whiskey eyes that once danced when he laughed were now gaping blacked marbled, polar and dull.

He speaks but you are too busy holding your breath from the stench of rotting clothes and unwashed bodies.

Stumbling over an apology for not hearing him, you are startled when he barks back, “I said, what the fuck are you doing here, Tooty?”

You look to the floor and notice he’s wearing a heavily stained sock with a hole in the toe, the other foot bare, next to a pair of work boots are three pairs of women’s shoes:, heels, keds, and pink reeboks. Your toes wiggle in your worn converse.

“I’m.. I uh..”

Eddie rolls his eyes, “oh for fucks sake spit it out! You selling raffle tickets or something for school? Pep team need new Pom-poms? Or maybe the chess club is looking for a new board?”

Shock stealing your speech you stand on frigid feet digging your fingers into the yarn on the Nancy’s sweater. Tears bite your lashes and fall on cold cheeks.

Eddie! Where’s your lighter? A sultry voice coos, padding feet getting closer to the threshold.

“Listen kid, I’m fucking busy, I don’t have time to haul you around because twiddle dick and dum forgot you at the gas station again.”

He has barely looked at you since you got there. The guy who held more merit to you than your own brother was gone.

When you wipe your eyes on the sleeve of your sweater he lets out an exaggerated groan.

He thrusts dirty fingers into his sweatpants pockets. Pulling out a perfectly rolled twenty dollar bill, he flattens it smooth. He smears his finger along the length of the bill, collecting remnants of a fine white powder, which is quickly shoved into his greedy mouth and rubbed on his gums like he’s brushing his teeth.

“Here,” he grunts, shoving the drugged money into your pocket, avoiding your eyes at all cost, “now get lost.”

The blinds on the door are still swinging as you stand there dumbstruck and watery eyed. Low voices are murmured through the thin walls as a lighter flicks and sizzles.

Who was that baby?

Nobody.

And that’s exactly who you were to everyone you knew, nobody.

And ironically enough— that’s exactly who you could rely on.

One thing was for certain: Eddie Munson was a stranger to you.

The tears fell harder on the shameful walk back to Chad. But you weren’t sure if you were crying harder because of the sudden loss you felt from an old friend or because of the pain in your eye.

Heart hammering in his chest, Eddie jiggles the door handle, it’s locked and he panics and realizes he still has his key. Fumbling with the key ring, Eddie finds the short brass one and unlocks the door.

The sight of the mostly empty house is jarring, causing his stomach to drop , a small recliner rests in the living room where his couch once sat. Wine is spilled from the kitchen to the living room, smeared like it was swept poorly with a mop.

You never drank wine.

Maybe you started drinking heavily after he left. He did. It only made sense.

But a second glance at the claret colored stain embedded into the carpet and his worst fear was realized.

Blood.

The sound of something wet and thwacking settles into his bones and shakes his spine. Someone was hurting you.

Heavy docs lead him to the corner of the house, your room and his old room. Where his door was intact, yours was shattered. Like Jack Torrance took his ax to it in The Shining. Stepping on cracked wood, Eddie sees the most horrific thing he’s ever been a witness too.

And suddenly he’s six years old again, helpless. Watching a woman he loved lose a battle she didn’t even know she was in. But instead of his mother’s lifeless body crumbled by his father’s feet, instead of her dark curly hair matted with pooling blood and a gaping bullet hole— It’s you underneath a guy he doesn’t recognize.

Your face is battered and covered in blood, the once plush lips he held so warmly between his own were split and slack. Your eyes were swollen, lacking any shine to them they normally held.

His eyes connect with yours for a brief second, and when they close he doesn’t know if they will open again.

Fury radiates through his entire body, masking the pain of heartache at the sight of you slipping from him.

Before he can acknowledge the thought of you being gone, he lunges at the catalog Dad dressed asshole. Knocking him off your body and landing on top of him, colliding into your dresser. The tangle of body parts wrestling for purchase tumble into the hall. Ringed fists land home on every surface of this guy's face, and when he stops to take a breath— he realizes the face he is hitting is Chad Cunningham’s.

How did he find you? Had he been stalking you both since that day at the grocery store?

Didn’t matter all that he cared about was throwing this mother fucker the biggest ass kicking of his life, and he wouldn’t stop until either Chad or himself was dead.

“I’ve waited years for this day,” Chad spit, after getting a punch in when Eddie was in his own head, knocking Eddie’s jaw to bite down on his tongue, filling his mouth with blood immediately. “Trailer trash Munson finally came to play.”

Taken by surprise, Chad shoves Eddie from him and stands up, looking through the doorway at your limp body.

Eddie stands slow, using the bathroom doorknob to help, he reaches for the knife kept in his back pocket.

Chad spins to face Eddie, his hair sweaty and face ballooning out from Eddie’s rings. “You should have left my girl alone Munson, would have saved your uncle the heartache.”

Eddie flicks the blade open on the knife, grip tight around it, he breathes through his nose his throat tight and stretching around his words, his leather jacket creaking when he moves his neck around in a stretch, confident in his delivery, “she’s not yours.”

The hysterical laugh that leaves Chad’s lungs could resemble bats screeching in the night, he’d make a great clown in a haunted house.

“Dead or alive whether I’m married or not— she’ll always be mine.”

Like alley cats, they stare each other down, waiting for the opportunity to pounce.

Chad licks his lips and looks your way again, “listen, I get it, she’s hot. And that tight little pussy..” he licks his lips and grabs himself over his denim jeans, stained with your blood.

Eddie’s blood is boiling, he’s seconds away from snapping but trying to hold it together long enough to make a perfect attack.

Chad leans forward, gesturing a mockery secret with his hand held around his mouth, “It’s even better when she’s fighting you,” he inhales deep, like he’s wishing he was in a past memory, “screaming really tightens her right up.”

Knife out, Eddie charges forward. And is struck dumb when the knife is kicked from his hand. Another kick this time to the chest that he wasn’t expecting sends him stumbling into the living room, air gone from his lungs. Chad follows and swings into his diaphragm making Eddie choke out on nothing, gasping for air.

“Oh come on, Munson,” Chad taunted, leaning down to kiss Eddie’s cheek, “Thought you would have some trailer park moves to throw at me.”

Raising a heavy boot, Eddie stomps on Chad’s toes, and mule kicks his kneecaps. A ringed fist meets his cheek, adding another forming bruise to his winter tan skin. Shoving him backwards into the counter in the kitchen, the cabinet doors bust on the impact.

The punches Eddie is landing have his knuckles bloody and swelling but he doesn’t care. Each punch is a testament for the years you held yourself together, acted like nothing bad was going on, when in reality you were experiencing hell on Earth and he never knew.

This was his payback. His way of righting a wrong. A wrong that should have never even began.

He doesn’t know what he was hit with just that he was stumbling backwards again. Temple throbbing and without reaching up he knows he’s bleeding. His back hitting the corner of the fridge he slides down onto the linoleum.

His head is heavy and his vision blinded with hazy clouds of black and white. He hears Chad but doesn’t see him, just feels his head being slammed in the fridge and a grip in his hair.

“Could have saved your uncle funeral costs you stupid bastard… clearly you don’t care about him, or Tooty for that matter, leaving her all alone like that,” Chad sucks through his teeth, splitting blood onto Eddie’s shirt, “thought the raccoons usually stuck together.”

He chuckles low and slams Eddie’s head one more time with such force it leaves a dent in the fridge. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he says, straightening his shirt, walking towards your room , “my girl is waiting.”

“Don’t touch her!” Eddie roars, pushing himself up to stand with all his might. Pounding head and nausea thick in his mouth. Raising his head he looks at Chad with blurry sight, trying to see clearly. His voice is low, catching his breath and taking all of his strength to utter out the words. Balancing around the mark of deranged, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Chad swivels on his heels, head cocked at Eddie, he grabs under his chin holding it firmly in place. His breath fanning over Eddie’s cheeks and he smiles maniacally, blood painting his teeth.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” A heavy fist to the gut has Eddie doubled over. Gripping the counter with white knuckles and wet blood smeared fingertips.

He had failed again. He wasn’t able to stop his own father from killing his mother. And now Chad was on his way to desecrate your lifeless body. He’s a fuck up and a failure.

Always.

A low guttural choking sound breeches Eddie’s ears. And he turns to see you covered in your own blood, barely standing and wielding a bat with nails protruding from every which way.

The nails are claret colored and dripping thick drops onto the carpet, fibers of Chad’s jeans hang in shreds from the sharp edges. A scant look towards Eddie and your eyes swim with relief and mourning.

He’s here. Blood is smeared down his lips and his hands look tight and swollen.

But he’s alive. And so are you.

Eddie’s vision is doubled and he blinks rapidly unaware if he is seeing you or not. He swallows hard and almost chokes on tears.

But that is short lived.

And it happens fast.

The yelling rage from Chad’s lungs over power your screams. His hands are tight around your throat before you can blink, your spine snapping into the nearest wall, feet dangling off the ground.

Haziness bleeds into your eyes and your breath is expelled from screaming— now gone when your windpipe is crushing like a pixie stick under Chad’s grip.

Desperate to fight back you jam your thumbs into his eyes. Victor Creel style like the Urban Legends passed down that you were told as kids.

If you were going to die, at least he would be blind, a forever reminder of this day etched, literally, into his face.

You prayed Eddie would know how much you loved him.

Should have’s taking over the last puffs of oxygen in your brain, popping like bubbles.

Should have told him sooner.

Should have said it every day.

Should have kissed him more.

Should have let him love you.

The guilt wraps around your mind as the cold hands of death welcome you. But you’re not afraid. Knowing Chad always kept good on his word, Eddie would join you in the afterlife.

Hand in hand.

Strolling along the pinked cotton candy clouds and the pearly gates.

You are his and he is yours.

Lovers together finally at last.

The last breath on your lips is a silent devotion to him.

I love you, Eddie.

a/n: my asks are always open ♥️

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #fic recs #eddie munson angst #stranger things

624 notes · View notes

recklessmark · 1 year

Text

naughty girl’s lesson

Summary: you made a stupid purchase on Mark’s credit card and he clearly was not happy about it.

Pairing: hard dom!Mark x fem!reader

Genre: smut

Words count: ~7k

Smut warnings: it’s me again, you know what’s coming... this is pure filth-smut-porn, whatever, you name it. if you’re not familiar with my blog/content, please be mentally prepared before you dip this. (sex tape, food play, spanking, unprotected sex, a lot of name calling, public humiliation...)

A/N: this is fictional and within the context of an ongoing relationship based on respect, trust, and consent. enjoy your kink responsibly.

Knowing Mark’d had a long and exhausting week at work, you carefully planned a Friday night dinner to cook for him. When he got home, you had food on the stove filling the house with delicious scents of the meal to come. Dressed in a low-cut top and a tight miniskirt, you greeted him with a fresh tumbler of whiskey - two rocks, just the way he liked it.

Kissing you, he squeezed your ass and nuzzled your neck.

“Everything smells amazing,” Mark murmured. “Especially you.”

Leading him to the couch, you sat him down and handed over his drink. “I want you to sit right here and relax while I finish dinner,” you said.

“Mmm, yes, ma'am,” he readily agreed.

Handing him the TV remote and a small stack of mail, you returned to your work in the adjoining kitchen. After a few uneventful minutes, Mark addressed you from across the room.

“Baby? What’s this on the credit card bill?” He asked.

You froze, wracking your brain for what kind of trouble you’d gotten yourself into. Drifting toward him, you dried your hands on a dish towel and shrugged.

“I can’t think of anything-”

“Naughty Secretary Nights… Did you buy porn with our credit card?”

Your eyes went wide. “I, um…”

He laughed. “Oh my god, you did, didn’t you? You are unbelievable.”

“It was on that business trip… I was so lonely, and I wasn’t getting service on my phone… and I just… charged it to the room… I forgot, I’m so sorry. I meant to pay it off right away...” the more you tried to defend yourself, the more ridiculous you sounded. Who puts porn on a credit card? You knew better, obviously. But after a week without him and the better part of a bottle of Chardonnay… your ability to make sound decisions had clearly been impaired.

“Come here,” he instructed. As soon as you obeyed, he told you to turn around. “Lift up your skirt.”

You did as you were told, exposing your tiny, black thong and bare ass cheeks to him.

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

His spankings made you gasp and lurch forward. You did your best to right yourself and stand still, taking your punishment.

Smack. Smack.

“Such a naughty, dirty girl,” Mark chastised.

Smack. Smack.

“I-I know… I’m sorry,” you whimpered.

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

“Sorry for what?” He asked.

“...For being a n-naughty, d-dirty girl…” You stammered. Saying it out loud made you blush, but you knew it was true.

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

“That’s enough for now,” he declared, and you started to lower your skirt. “Ah, ah…” he admonished. “Did I tell you to cover yourself?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“That’s right. Because who owns this ass?” He teased, squeezing your exposed flesh.

“You…” you lowered your lashes, feeling the undeniable wetness between your legs. Whenever Mark manhandled you, you inevitably found yourself willing and eager to do anything and everything he wanted.

“Mmmhmm… and I own these, too.” Taking hold of your hips, he turned you to face him and yanked down the top of your t-shirt, revealing a black lace push-up bra. Sliding his fingers under the cups, he pinched and twisted your nipples, making you moan and squirm. “Isn’t that right?”

“Ooohhh… y-yes, that’s right…” you wanted to straddle him, to let him strip you naked and have his way with you… but you had other plans.

“And since you’re such a fan of dirty girl porn, I say you can stay just like this while you finish dinner.” And with that he took his hands away from you, settling back against the couch and turning on the TV.

Your breathing still ragged, you turned and headed back to the kitchen, with your clothes askew, leaving your bra and panties on display. In the kitchen, you realized the bay window curtain was wide open… Your house had a relatively high wall around it, but certain neighbors would still have a view inside from the right angle.

“Um… should I…?” You trailed off, looking to Mark and gesturing toward the window. He smirked, looking you up and down.

“Leave it open. I feel like showing you off. Let’s let the neighbors see what a naughty, indecent girl you are, shall we?”

“Y-yes, Sir.” You chewed your lip and got back to work. In your exposed state, in front of an open window, making dinner suddenly invoked a host of new sensations.

Every time you bent over, you wondered if one of your neighbors was getting an eyeful… When you stirred or chopped, making your breasts bounce and jiggle, you glanced nervously out the window. In the dark of night, you couldn’t tell whether or not there was anyone out there, enjoying the show.

When dinner was ready, you set the table and opened a bottle of wine. Standing before Mark in the living room, you clasped your hands behind your back and let him know it was time to eat.

Following you to the dining room, he sat down and let you pour his wine, lightly caressing your cleavage while you served him. As you stood up, he looked you over, considering your disheveled state.

“Strip down to your lingerie,” he instructed.

With a small whimper, you obliged him, peeling off your skirt and top. Standing before him in your thong and push-up bra, you awaited further direction.

“You may finish serving me just like that, then I want you to go and fetch your robe.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You did as you were told, carefully scooping servings of each dish onto his plate. When you bent over, your breasts threatened to spill out of your bra. At one point he stopped you, ordering you to hold still. Taking out his phone, he snapped a picture of your tits hovering over his dinner plate.

“I should post this online, since you love porn so much,” he mused, showing you the photo. “We can make a naughty, salacious gallery of you and charge people to ogle your naked body. Would you like that, dirty girl? Whoring yourself out for money?”

A flush of embarrassment and desire crept up your neck to your cheeks. “I, um… Only if you wanted me to… You’re the boss,” you answered.

He smiled and held up his phone.

“Say that again,” he commanded.

“I… would only… w-whore myself out for money… if you wanted me to. You’re the boss,” you stumbled over your words as you realized he was filming you.

“I am the boss,” Mark repeated. Reaching up, he pulled down the cups of your bra until your naked breasts were fully exposed. Then he squeezed and fondled them, making you writhe and whimper under his touch. “I am the boss of this lewd, vulgar girl. You love flaunting your tits for me, don’t you, slut?”

The wetness between your legs was reaching a fever pitch. He very rarely used words like ‘slut’ and ‘tits’, so you knew you were in for a night of real torment.

“Y-yes, Sir… I love f-flaunting myself… just for you…” you confessed.

“Mmm… I know you do,” he replied, and put down his phone.

Leaving your naked tits on display, he sent you off to fetch your robe. You returned to the table with it still in hand, since he had not, after all, instructed you to put it on.

“You may wear your robe while we eat, but leave it open. I want you to stay warm, and I want to enjoy this pornographic picture,” he gestured to your mostly naked body with a smirk.

“Yes, Sir,” you agreed, and did as he instructed, putting your robe on and leaving it open when you sat down.

“Sit on the edge of your chair, and keep your knees apart,” Mark demanded. You obeyed at once, and the posture of your position thrust your tits forward. He reached over, pinching and twisting your nipples, one by one.

“You know why you’re being treated like this, don’t you?” He asked.

You nodded, squirming in your seat as he tormented you. “Yes… yes, Sir…”

“And why is that?”

“B-because I was v-very naughty… buying porn… with our credit card…” You whimpered and moaned, loving every second that he tortured your perky little nipples.

“That’s right,” he agreed. “And when you act like a naughty, dirty girl, I’m going to treat you like a naughty, dirty girl.”

“Ooohhhh… thank you… I-I know I d-deserve it…” You arched your back toward him, wanting more groping, more pinching, more fondling. Which is, of course, precisely when he stopped.

“Mmm… You may learn your lesson after all,” he speculated. “Now be a good girl and eat. For the rest of your punishment, you’ll need to keep your energy up.”

Catching your breath, you did as he said. He made light, fun conversation during the meal, but it was hard for you to focus. You kept wondering what he had in store for ‘the rest of your punishment…’

You didn’t have to wait long to find out. After dinner, Mark instructed you to fetch the gelato and whipped cream for dessert. At first, you didn’t think much of it; you just enjoyed some small bowls of the chocolate frozen treat topped with whipped cream. But then he told you to put the gelato away and leave the whipped cream.

“And I’ll take one more small tumbler of bourbon,” he stated.

You quickly delivered his drink, and before you could sit down again he told you to lean against the wall opposite him. Then he set up his phone so the screen faced you and started to record, giving you a clear view of everything he was filming.

“Take off your robe,” he ordered, and you obediently complied. “Now your thong,” he added, and you slid the flimsy fabric down to your ankles.

“Actually, you can leave them there,” he decided. “As a reminder that you’re learning your lesson - what happens to naughty, dirty girls like you.”

“Yes, Sir,” you replied, abjectly lowering your lashes. You stood, waiting for his next directive, with your thong around your ankles and your bare tits propped up by your bra.

To your surprise, he approached you with the can of whipped cream. Squirting a hefty dollop onto each of your nipples, he finished with a third spray on top of your freshly waxed pussy.

“Grab your elbows behind your back,” he said, “and stay like that until I’m done with my bourbon.

“Yes, S-Sir…” you replied, carefully adjusting your arms so as not to disturb the portions of whipped cream.

While he sipped his drink and watched you, you stole glances at the phone screen, filming you in your vulnerable state. You tried not to squirm too much, biting your lip to remind yourself to hold still.

“More porn for us to sell,” Mark explained, and you honestly couldn’t tell if he was serious, or if this was just another means of taunting you. “Every time you misbehave, we’ll make a new tutorial detailing your punishment and what you learned. Would you like that, slut?”

“If it’s what you want, Sir, then… yes, I would.” The more you settled into your dominant/submissive dynamic, the clearer it became that there was very little you would not do for him.

His drink finished, he came over to you and cupped one of your breasts with his hand. You obediently stood with your arms behind your back, since he hadn’t told you to change positions. As hard as it was to not cling to him, you gripped your elbows and held on tight as he began his delicious assault on your whipped-cream-dipped nipples.

Licking and nibbling and sucking, he used his hand to shimmy your breast back and forth under his mouth. It was your absolute favorite sensation, and you moaned with abandon as he savored one breast and then the other. In between breasts, he paused and stood back, leaving a clear view of your stripped, wanton body for the camera.

Mark leaned against the wall next to you, casually leering at your tawdry nakedness. “Are you learning your lesson, dirty girl?”

“Yes… yes, Sir…” you panted.

“And what is that?” He prompted.

“To, um… not buy porn? …With a credit card?” You offered.

He chuckled. “Yes, that’s step one.”

Then he dropped to his knees and held your hips steady. Slowly, with agonizing delicacy, he licked the whipped cream from between your legs. You instantly started to squirm, but he paused just long enough to instruct you to hold still. You did your best to follow orders while he worked you over into a veritable frenzy…

Carefully, he caressed the sides of your pussy with his tongue. Some of the cream slid down the inside of your thigh, and he followed it, using his mouth to scoop it up… Returning to the center between your legs, he spread your lips with his hand and meticulously cleaned every inch of you… When he came close to your clit, he stopped, making you cry out in anguish.

Smirking, he looked up at you. “Say please,” he commanded.

“Please… please…” you begged.

He sighed. “Be more specific.”

“Please… don’t stop…” You replied. “Please l-lick… lick my clit, please…”

“Interesting. And here I thought you would beg me to let you come. Very well, have it your way.”

And with that, he flicked his tongue over your clit ever so lightly, maybe half a dozen times… then he gave it one long, luxurious stroke with his tongue. You whimpered, cursing yourself inwardly for not having the presence of mind to beg for an orgasm. Clearly it was too late now.

With his work complete, Mark stood up and examined his effect on you. You stood panting and aching for him, eager to show him that you could learn how to behave.

“Spread your legs wider for me,” he ordered, and you complied at once.

Smack. Smack. Smack. This time between your legs.

“What’s the second part of your lesson, my insatiable, horny girl?”

Smack. Smack.

“Oohh… oww… umm… That if I act-” Smack. Smack. “Mm, oww… if I act like a naughty, dirty girl-” Smack. Smack. Smack. “...oww ow… then I’ll get treated l-like a naughty, dirty girl…”

“That’s right,” he affirmed. “Now turn around and stick your ass out for me. Let’s get some proper dirty girl spankings on video.”

You did as you were told, keeping your elbows grasped behind your back, and leaning your bare chest against the wall so you could thrust your bottom out the way he liked.

“Mmhmm…” he rubbed his hand over your ass cheeks, jiggling them back and forth. “Just like the sordid, vulgar girl you are…”

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

As you took your punishment, your mind swirled with thoughts of what he might have in store for you next.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Tidying up and doing dishes while naked?

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Maybe cleaning the windows naked, in full view of any curious neighbors?

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

“Next time you get horny and greedy, you’ll think twice about buying porn, won’t you?”

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

“Y-yes… ohh… oww… yes, Sir… I promise, I w-won’t do it ag-again…”

Your ass wriggled under his final, merciless blows.

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

“Damn right you won’t.”

Walking over to the phone, he picked it up and brought it closer to you, running it up the length of your disheveled body until he reached your flushed, chastened face.

“What do you say when you get the punishment you deserve?” He challenged.

“Thank you, Sir… thank you for teaching me h-how to behave…” You replied, doing your best to look as contrite and remorseful as you felt.

“Good girl,” he praised, and your stomach flipped. “Now come with me.”

And with that, Mark turned off the recording and led you out of the dining room.

In the kitchen he stopped you and told you to take off your bra and step out of the panties that were still around your ankles. After complying with his instructions, you handed over your lingerie and followed him, stripped completely naked, into the bedroom.

“You’ll need a shower, since you’re a dirty, sticky mess,” he said. “When you’re done, you can put on the outfit I lay out for you.”

“Yes, Sir,” you agreed, heading into the shower like a contrite, obedient girl.

After soaping yourself up and washing thoroughly, you dried off, lotioned up, and came back into the bedroom to get dressed.

Laid out on the bed, you found the tiniest g-string you owned, a matching French sling, and a short, tight, dove gray dress. Based on his dress choice, you inferred you would be continuing to serve him at home, since he’d always deemed it “too slutty for public consumption.”

Slipping into the barely-there g-string, you adjusted it as best you could and then put on your bra. A French sling is designed to prop your tits up like they’re on a shelf, with your nipples left peeking out over the top. It’s about as naughty, slutty, and on display as a bra with any coverage can be.

Squeezing yourself into the dress, his reasoning behind the French sling was immediately evident. Your tormented nipples were hard and perky, making them plainly visible through the thin, stretchy fabric. Looking down, you noticed a pair of strappy black heels, which you dutifully put on and fastened around your ankles.

After touching up your hair and makeup, you finally emerged from the bedroom. Mark put down the magazine he was reading and appraised your appearance.

“Perfect,” he declared. Standing up, he draped a long cardigan over your shoulders. Your dress was so short, the hem of the sweater went right past it. “So you don’t get cold while we’re out.”

You stood rooted to the spot. “You want me to go out? Dressed like this?”

“Is that a problem?” He challenged you.

“N-no, Sir… I just, you’ve always said… this dress…”

“I know what I’ve said.”

“I… look like a…” you trailed off, realizing that was precisely the point.

“A prostitute? …A porn star?” He teased.

“Yes, Sir,” you agreed, lowering your gaze.

“Come on, my little sextoy.” Placing his hand on the small of your back, he ushered you out the door. “Time to let everyone see what a naughty piece of ass you are.”

The chill night air was just cold enough to ensure that your nipples would stay nice and hard, leaving them very much on display. The dress left so much of you visible, it felt a little like he was parading you around naked for everyone to ogle. It barely covered your ass, and your propped up tits were all but spilling over the low neckline…

The car ride over was relatively uneventful. He was clearly - and rightly - counting on the effect of sheer anticipation, leaving you to imagine what it would feel like to be in bar full of people dressed like a slutty hooker.

When you got there and walked in, you quickly assessed the small crowd. There were enough people there to make blending in possible, yet you couldn’t help but notice that pretty much everyone closest to you had some reaction to your attire.

A woman sitting next to her friend stifled a laugh, then pointed you out and the two started whispering and giggling. Next to them, a man tried not to look at you, while his wife made no effort to hide her disgust and judgement.

“It’s warm in here, don’t you think?” Mark asked you.

You nodded with a small shrug. “Pretty warm.”

“You probably don’t need the cardigan inside,” he replied, eliciting a small whimper from you as he slid the fabric off your shoulders.

Standing next to him, without the thin layer of coverage provided by your sweater, you were keenly aware of how short your dress was… how visible your nipples were… and how every person around you would be treated to a vivid picture of how you looked naked.

As he led you toward the bar, you now had a very clear idea of how it felt to be in a bar full of people dressed like a slutty hooker… It was absolutely mortifying. And you’d never been so turned on in all your life.

You found two bar stools, and as you sat at his side, you quickly crossed your legs. It was the only way to avoid flashing everyone in your immediate vicinity.

The bartender came over, and when she noticed your nipples she blatantly stared. Smirking, she looked up at you.

“Nice dress,” she said.

You bit your lip, blushing, and Mark gave you a slight nudge.

“She gave you a compliment,” he prompted.

“Thank you,” you offered, feeling more exposed than ever.

You vaguely heard him ordering a whiskey for himself and wine for you, but you were distracted by all the other people sitting around the bar. You tried to not pay attention, but you had to make sure you weren’t imagining things. It seemed like everyone was looking at you.

“Sit up straight,” you heard him say, and you did as you were told. “Shoulders back,” he teased, and you obeyed, pushing your tits out even further.

He tucked your hair behind your ears, murmuring low. “That’s a good girl… How does it feel, all these people staring and leering at you?”

“Um… It feels… embarrassing, and… um…” You were ashamed to admit the second part.

“And what else?” He prompted.

“...And, um… I’m also… really, really turned on…” you confessed, flushing as you spoke.

“Mmm… mhmm. That makes sense. A wanton, lustful girl like you. I bet you’re dripping wet, aren’t you?” He taunted you, knowing very well that it was true.

“Yes… yes, Sir,” you admitted. Glancing around, you got the irrational feeling that all of the people ogling you could suddenly tell just how wet and horny you was.

“There’s a pool table,” Mark pointed out, as if reading your mind. “Maybe I should make you play pool with me, so you’ll have to bend over and show everyone that soaked pussy of yours, too. Would you like that?”

“I, um… if it would please you, Sir.”

He rubbed his thumb along your bottom lip.

“I love it when you’re nothing but eager to please,” he praised. Leaning forward, he kissed you lightly, grazing your cleavage with his fingertips and peppering your exposed skin with goosebumps.

The bartender delivered your drinks, and for two rounds you talked of other things. While you talked, Mark casually caressed your bare legs, sometimes slipping dangerously close to the super short hem of your dress. You squirmed in your seat, fighting the urge to spread your legs for him right then and there.

After two glasses of wine, you needed to go to the ladies room. It wasn’t that far away, but you would have to walk past several tables and clusters of people to get there. You took the risk of asking Mark if you might be allowed to put your cardigan back on for the occasion.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “What do you think?”

“Um… No?”

“Correct. And why not?”

“Because… I need to be reminded what happens… to naughty, dirty girls, like me. I need to learn my lesson.”

“That’s right. Now let me see you show off that slutty little body of yours for everyone in here,” he chided.

“Y-yes, Sir…”

In the bathroom, the only humiliation was when two drunk girls stepped up next to you at the sinks. You were moving slowly, not wanting any part of your body to escape from your dress.

“Wow,” one of them said, gaping at you. “Slut much?”

She and her friend burst out laughing. You tried to ignore them, but as they made their way to the door, the other girl chimed in.

“We should get a picture of her! Mike and Chris will never believe we saw a real-live hooker!”

They laughed again while she pulled out her phone and the other one called back to you.

“Smile, you’re on candid slut camera!”

There was nowhere to hide, and they were blocking the door. You’d started with your back to them and had to turn to dry your hands, so they probably got pictures of you at every angle. As they disappeared, laughing and calling you names, you realized they could do whatever they wanted with the pictures. Send them to their boyfriends, put them on the internet…

After enduring more leers and taunts on your way back to Mark, you told him what happened.

He sighed and shrugged. “If they were naked pictures of you, I wouldn’t allow it,” he promised. “But since you’re just mostly naked… I guess that’s what you deserve, isn’t it?”

You swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Our tab is paid, and I’ve been sitting here wondering…” he mused, “should I make you flash someone? Or maybe hike up your skirt while we’re on our way out?”

You squeezed your legs together and wriggled on your stool, awaiting his verdict.

“But I decided I want the rest of you all for myself,” he declared, and you felt a subtle wave of relief. You would’ve done it for him of course… But full-on public exposure was unchartered territory, and you weren’t absolutely certain how you felt about it. You were happy to wait and find out another day.

All the same, Mark still led you out of the bar nice and slowly, with no cardigan to hide behind, giving the small crowd their last looks at your barely covered body.

In the car, you got your sweater back for the ride home. It provided more warmth than coverage, and he certainly took advantage of how laid bare you were willing to be for him.

Reaching over, he tugged down the neckline of your dress, exposing your propped-up tits and rock hard nipples. He worked his magic, pinching and tweaking them while you moaned and writhed in your seat.

“Turn towards me, dirty girl, I’m done sharing you. I don’t want anyone getting a glimpse of your naughty little nipples.”

You obliged, turning to face him, hiding your naked breasts from outside view. At the next stoplight, he made you hike up your skirt for you. When you did, slowly sliding the fabric the mere inches it took to expose yourself, he took hold of the front of your g-string.

“Did you enjoy our outing, naughty girl? Walking around barely dressed, showing off your slutty little body?”

He tugged your g-string upwards, pulling the fabric back and forth between your legs. You quivered with the exquisite ache of it. “Y-yes… oh, god… yes, Sir… I… I loved it…” You conceded.

“Of course you did… look at yourself.”

You took stock of the state you were in… tits on display, skirt hiked up exposing your ass and all your dripping wetness… squirming in the passenger seat of his car while he toyed with you.

“I-I know… I can’t help it…”

“I know you can’t.” Mark’s voice was laced with a teasing kind of pity that sent a thrill through you.

The light turned green, and he released his hold on you. Without instruction to do otherwise, you stayed in your naughty, exposed position. He once again treated you to the torments he’d been considering, and the thought of living out his suggestions made you practically want to hump the seat…

“So, I figured there were a few options for finishing your lesson… I thought about taking you to the grocery store in that outfit, where there would be more people and brighter lights…” you let out a small whimper, but he just smirked and went on. “Then I thought about setting up my phone again, to record you getting yourself off right here in the car… like making your own little porno.” He offered brightly.

You bit your lip over a small, shameful smile.

“Yes,” he went on, “I thought you might enjoy that one a little too much. Wouldn’t you?”

You’d stopped at another red light, and he reached over to give your bare ass a few sharp smacks.

“Yes… oh… yes, Sir…” you plead.

“Obviously you’re desperate to come at this point, since you’re a dirty, naughty girl who not so secretly loves her punishments,” he admonished.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” you apologized. “What can I do… to prove to you that I’m learning my lesson?”

“Hmm…” he considered. “I do have one possible idea, but I’m still thinking about it. For now, I think you should watch this. I remembered you already made your own porno today.”

Procuring his phone, he pulled up a video and handed it to you. It was the recording he’d made of you earlier in the evening, when he had you stripped almost naked and up against the wall.

You spent the rest of the car ride obediently watching as Mark covered parts of you in whipped cream and then took his time licking it off, savoring every moment. You were a little ashamed to see how often you stole glances at the camera, since he’d left it facing you. Especially while he was all too briefly going down on you. You kept looking at the screen, watching yourself struggle to hold still, while all you wanted to do was writhe under the agonizing pleasure of his touch…

“What do you think?” He asked.

“I… I keep looking at myself, on camera,” you answered.

“Of course you do. Your entire punishment came about today because you love porn so much, you decided to order some alone in your hotel room, and pay for it with a credit card. That makes you one horny, desperate girl, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir…” you agreed, knowing just how true it was. Your libido always got you into so much trouble. You could never get enough.

Mark pulled into your driveway, but after shutting off the car, he made no move to get out. The video of you starring in your own porn had ended, and he took his phone back from you.

Turning to face you more fully, the streetlight illuminated his irresistibly sexy profile. “Tell me what you did to yourself, in the hotel room. I want details,” he said.

“I, um… was laying on the bed… watching, um…”

“Naughty Secretary Nights?” He prompted.

“Yes…”

“And what exactly were you watching?”

“Um… a secretary mixed up some important files… and she um, her boss made her strip, and, um… bend over the desk… so she could be punished.”

“Of course… and how was she punished?”

“With, um… lots of spankings. And then, um, she had to beg, to be fucked…”

He smirked, reaching a casual hand across the space between you to gently graze your nipples.

“I bet you loved that, didn’t you?”

‘Y-yes… yes, Sir,” you admitted.

“And what were you doing, while the naughty secretary begged to be fucked?”

“I um, oh… um, I was on the bed, in my lingerie… then I pulled down my panties…”

“Were you on your back or on your stomach?”

“Um… on my stomach, so I could see the TV better…” you flushed with the shame of it, and he twisted each of your nipples.

“That sounds about right. So you pulled down your panties, and then what?”

“I… ohh… um, oh… I rubbed m-my clit… until I came… ohh, god…”

“And did you play with your nipples, too?”

“Ohh… y-yes, Sir,” you almost screamed, “but it j-just made me m-miss… y-you… oh god…”

“Uh-huh… I bet it did.” He pinched harder, making you moan and arch your back toward him. “And I bet you really want to be fucked right now, don’t you?”

‘Yes, oh god… yes…”

Chuckling, Mark used both hands to torment your aching nipples at the same time, rubbing and flicking and pinching just the way you liked it… loved it, craved it…

“Oh, come now. You know you’re going to have to beg,” he teased.

“Please…. Please, Sir… oh, god, please fuck me… please…”

“Mmm, I love the sound of that. Do it some more.”

“Please fuck me, please…. Oh, fuck, ohhh god… please… I’ll do… anything… ohhh…”

Releasing his hold on you, he sat back and watched you catch your breath, your tits still heaving from his exquisite torture.

“Good. Because I want you to walk from here to the porch, just like that.”

You whimpered, squirming in your seat. “W-with my cardigan on or off?”

“That’s a good question.” He pondered for a moment before answering. “I think you can leave it on, but when you get out of the car, don’t adjust it. If it falls on its own and covers your ass, that’s fine. But if it doesn’t, you leave that slutty little ass of yours on display for whoever happens to be looking, understood?”

You nodded, feeling ravenous from all of his excruciating and delicious provocations.

“Y-yes, Sir… Understood.”

“Good girl. And of course, you are under no circumstances allowed to wrap that sweater around you. No matter what, I want you to give our neighbors a good, long look at those indecent, bouncy, punished tits of yours.”

You lowered your lashes and nodded through your blushing. “Yes, Sir. Whatever you say.”

“That’s right. And maybe - if you can show me how good you are at following instructions - maybe once we’re inside I’ll fuck you.”

A small whimper escaped your lips as he climbed out of the car. You turned and followed suit, being extra careful not to adjust your clothing at all.

It was hardest when you stood completely upright, and your cardigan stayed propped up by your ass cheeks. It went against every instinct you had not to cover yourself, but with Mark standing on the porch watching your every move, you knew you had to do as he’d instructed.

Walking to the porch, you were more aware than ever before of which neighbors still had lights on. You did your best to keep your eyes on him, so you wouldn’t notice someone peeking out their window and lose your nerve.

As you reached the porch, your sweater finally slid down to cover your ass, but your relief was short lived.

“You can face the street while I unlock the door,” Mark said with a wicked glint in his eye.

Doing as you were told, you turned your body toward the street, putting yourself on full display under your porch light. Not only were your tits still spilling over the top of your French sling, but with your dress still hiked up around your waist, you realized you hadn’t been allowed to adjust your g-string, either. It was still tugged up between your pussy lips where Mark’d left it, so you were now showing off your most vulnerable parts of yourself for all to see.

And he certainly were taking his time with the door lock.

“Wouldn’t you know it… damn thing is sticking again,” he claimed, full of faux innocence.

You stood dutifully by his side, and just before he opened the door to let you in, you was mortified to spot a couple of figures in one of the lit windows across the street. You couldn’t tell who they were, but you sure knew what they saw…

Before you had time to process your embarrassment, Mark had you in the front hall with the door closed behind you. Shoving me you against the wall, he tore off your cardigan and grabbed your tits from behind.

“Is this what you want?” He taunted, playing with the wetness between your legs. “I want to hear you beg, slave. Tell me what a selfish, horny little slut you are.”

Whimpering, you craned your neck to loop at him. “P-please, Sir… Please, Master… Please let me come… I’ll do anything you want… Please… I-I’m a horny, desperate, selfish little s-slut… And I can’t get enough… Please…”

Satisfied, he led you to the couch. “Desperate, I like that ad-lib. It’s so true, you are a desperate little slut.

“You see this big, comfortable couch?” He added. “Straddle the arm of it.”

Graciously, he took of your thong, then tied your wrist with it. Then he leaned down to you and said, “Let’s see how well you follow instructions. I want you to make yourself come, by humping this couch.” He smirked. “You know I just really love making naughty little sluts fuck my couch.”

You realized you’d been frozen. Not wanting to be further berated, you quickly set to work, humping the arm of the couch as you’d been instructed. As soon as you started thrusting your hips back and forth over the fabric, you couldn’t help but moan, it feels so good.

Mark stepped back and appraises your movements. “Yeah… This shouldn’t take long.” Squeezing one of your tits, he pinched your nipple. “Make sure to tell me when you come, slut.”

You’re mortified to see him go into the kitchen. You’re left there, humping the furniture, moaning and writhing all by myself. God… you really were a horny, desperate little slut…

As Mark assessed, it didn’t take you long to come. Obliging as ever, you followed instructions and cried out, arching your back. “I’m coming… Oh god… Yes… Fuck… I’m coming…”

It’s such a release. When you open your eyes, you’re startled to find him standing next to you, watching with amusement dancing in his eyes. Then he settled on the couch, adjusting you so you’re sitting with your back to him and your ass nestled against his groin.

Your mind wasn’t left to wander for long, as you’d taken Mark’s cue to start fondling and pinching your tits, making you squirm on his lap. You felt his hard cock under you, and it just made you squirm more… until he spanks you between your legs. “Hold still, slut.”

As far as words went, not much turned you on like that simple command. You did your best to still your body instantly, though you kept panting under his torment.

He then played with your wetness and it’s so hard not to move. Your panting got worse and turned into whimpers. He started spanking your cunt again, over and over. All you could do was to hold still and take it. Your tits were turning red from his molestation, and the wet smacking sounds of your spanked pussy were so loud you could all hear them over your cries of painful pleasure.

You felt his breath on your ear as he murmured, “You’re about to come, aren’t you, slut?”

“Y-yesss… Fuck… Yes, Sir…”

“Beg for it.”

“P-please, Sir… Please, may I c-come?”

Mark started spanking your pussy harder and faster, and when he did, your body was consumed by the orgasm that courses through you. You couldn’t help it, you arched your back and moan, thanking him for getting you off. “Good girl,” he says reassuringly and stops touching you once he could tell you’re coming down. He wiped his wet hand across your face, making sure to smear cum across your forehead, cheeks, lips, and neck.

“You’d want to hold on now because you’re about to get fucked like a nasty slut you are.” He breathed into your ear while undoing his fly.

You gripped the far side of the couch with both of your hands and as soon as you did, he thrust into you so hard you shouted. "Oh!"

His hands gripped onto your hips and his cock started pounding you. It was hard and hot, almost felt like your insides were burning. But you liked it. You’d always liked how Mark felt, and how merciless he fucked.

"Mark, oh...fuck," you moaned so quietly you could barely hear it. Still, the sound of his own name coming out of your mouth while he pumped his cock deep into your cunt made his breath quicken.

He gave each of your ass cheek a rough slap, teeth nibbing on your earlobe. “You love being fucked like this, yeah? Like a filthy whore that deserves to get all of her holes filled with come.” The third and fourth smack landed and he breathed out a ‘fuck’ when your skin reddened even more.

You started to clench inside, and orgasm building. "Can I come...please?"

Mark looked down at you. The skirt bunched over your waist, bare assed, tits crushed against his chest, your hair was a wild mess. He grinned, almost condescending. “Yeah, you’re gonna come again? Fuck, go on, slut. Cream my cock.”

Heat crashed you right then and there. Your entire body giving up from the orgasms you’d had. Mark was close, his hip pistoned into you with a maddening speed. And he saw you, mouth open, eyes rolling back, panting, utterly undone, ropes of hot come splashed on your walls. He grunted, biting down on your shoulder while chasing his high.

You felt it, felt him tightened, his balls contracting even more. His cock thickened, swelled, stretched you even more, and you started to fall into overstimulation - bucking, gasping, pushing hard back against him.

He finished with several more strokes, and laid over you, breathing hard. “I really hope you’ve learnt your lesson, baby.” He smiled slightly, brushing hair away from your face and placed a kiss on your swollen lips.

#nct smut #mark smut #mark lee smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 1 year

Text

"Don't Touch Me" (Loki x F!Reader)

Summary: Cursed with the power of necrogenesis, you are held captive by the Avengers, who think you are too much of a threat to be allowed to roam free. When they decide to give you a chance to prove yourself, they entrust your care to Loki, who whisks you away to a safe house in New Asgard.

Pairing: Soft!Loki x Captive!Reader Content Warning: angst, comfort, smut (18+ ONLY), reader is a prisoner, Soft!Dom!Loki, narratophilia, magic bondage (soft), praise kink Word Count: 5.1k **Please reblog this if you like it! Thank you!**

Hours? Days? Weeks?

For all you knew, it had been a year since your capture.

Three years prior, you’d woken one not-so-fine morning to discover that everything died at the slightest touch of your finger. Whether it was a plant, animal, or person, nothing alive was safe from you. You didn't know how or why it was you, but the fact was: it was you. You went from normal insurance claims adjuster to reaper overnight. It was no small thing to get used to.

You shut yourself away, learned to make friends online and in other countries whom you would never meet in person, tell the pizza guy to leave it outside (money’s in the mail slot), and to put the idea that you;d ever meet a man out of your head forever. You had yet to kill a human, thankfully, but every day you felt the anxiety build within your chest as you knew that record couldn’t possibly remain ‘zero’ forever.

You were a monster. The best thing for a monster to do was to hide in its cave.

Yet, you’d managed three years of hiding, wearing leather gloves from the second you awoke to the second you went to bed (aside from in the shower, of course), and staying as far away from cities as you could. Perhaps, given how introverted you were naturally, you could live a quiet life in peaceful solitude. You were considering buying a cabin in the Appalachians, near a waterfall or a creek one day. It would be lonely, but at least you would be free and unafraid of accidentally killing someone who insisted on shaking your bare hand. The little town in Connecticut where you were keeping a low profile was close enough to NYC that you could see the light pollution on the southern horizon at night, and it would do for the time being.

Unfortunately, your time ended. A surveillance camera had caught an accident of yours in a local park, where one of your gloves had blown off and flown down a path, and in chase, you’d tripped and tried to grab onto a tree branch to stop your fall.

The entire tree came down behind you, barely missing your body, dead as if it had been dried up for centuries in the blink of an eye.

That tape had made it to the eyes of Nick Fury himself over the course of only a few hours. The Team moved in on you on a typical Monday morning, just as you pulled on your gloves, ready to leave the apartment for work. What else could you have done but pulled off your gloves in an attempt to defend yourself? Despite being unable to take out any of your assailants, of which there were four, you’d taken out half of the park’s greenery, and a few unfortunate pigeons that couldn’t get out of your way as you stumbled and desperately scrambled away from the archer, the one with scraggly hair, the red witch, and the birdman.

Before you knew it, you were subdued and wrapped up tightly so that none of your skin below your chin was exposed, and you were taken to a solid glass holding cell somewhere underneath a compound in the Hudson valley: the headquarters for the New Avengers Initiative.

You were fed through a trick door in the side of the 12 x 12 cell (not that you were particularly hungry at any point). You were never taken out or touched, only handed sanitary items through the door and told to shower through a water spout that hung from the ceiling after most of the lab team studying you went home. Dr. Banner gave you 30 minutes without cameras trained on you every day.

Not that it mattered much. You still sat there day in and day out, refusing to speak or answer any of the thousands of questions about your powers that you didn’t want to answer. You refused to eat, and you did little more than sleep or sit on the ground, staring off into the middle-distance.

You began to get weaker, and that was when you first saw your champion.

It was none other than Loki of Asgard, the god who’d torn New York City apart, then played an integral part in stopping the end of the world at the hand (quite literally) of a god much bigger than he. While the rumor was that he still wasn’t considered fully trustworthy, his role in saving humanity was apparently enough to give him a spot on the Avengers squad.

On the morning he’d come down to the cell to get a look at you, he appeared tired, a bit annoyed to be there. “And what do you want me to do about her?”

“She’s a villain, she’s got your…um…background,” said Dr. Banner. “Perhaps she’ll talk to you. She will likely die in a few weeks if this continues. Something has to give.”

“So you called me forth from my respite to show me your latest trophy? Do you think I would approve of you taking captive someone who won’t even speak her name?” he asked, sounding less impressed and more disappointed. “What makes you think she has ill intentions?”

Loki rounded a corner with Dr. Banner, and he was finally in your view.

Your first impression was that he wasn’t quite as intimidating as you’d expected him to be. He was tall, but you’d anticipated a figure at least half a foot taller than what strode up to your cage, dressed in a black leather tunic, trimmed in gold, and form-fitting black trousers of the same color, tucked into green knee-length boots. His hair was tied in a tail at the nape of his neck, and several strands in the front were loose, framing his angular face. His eyes were intense and focused singularly on you as soon as he got you in his sights.

“Did she try to kill you?” he asked, making a beeline for you, standing up along the glass, watching you with interest as if you were a zoo animal.

“She did put up a fight. She may not have super serum strength or anything, but you try apprehending someone who can stop your heart with a flick,” Banner explained.

“And I trust you explained to her what was happening, and gave her the chance to come quietly?” Loki inquired, smiling gently at you, making you turn your head away bashfully.

“Well, no,” said Banner sheepishly. “We were under the impression it wasn’t going to be on the table. According to our intel, absolutely anything she touches dies before it hits the ground, you understand.”

“It sounds as if you wouldn’t have known either way,” scoffed Loki, getting down onto his knee, bringing his eye level closer to the floor, closer to you. “And you all think I’m the bad one. At least I eventually called my sins what they were and changed my ways.”

Banner shrugged. “Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he said. “Maybe if you can get her to talk, we can consider getting her out of there.”

Loki nodded. “I will do my best, and I won’t treat her like a war criminal for defending herself in the process.”

The doctor left the god alone, dimming the harsh fluorescent lights, making the environment slightly more comfortable.

He smiled at you, and even though you knew he was in earnest, something about the sharpness of his grin, the unnatural whiteness of his teeth, gave him an air of sinister jest. You were still afraid to look him in the eye as he shifted around the cage next to where you leaned against the glass.

You heard three light taps by your right ear, making you flinch.

“Hello, there,” whispered a soft, deep voice. “Please don’t be frightened of me. I’m not frightened of you.”

You finally used your voice for the first time in ages, compelled to respond to your dashing jailer without even really thinking on it. “That’s because of the glass.”

“I’m sorry? These walls are thick, would you mind terribly speaking up?”

“The glass,” you repeated. “If we were on the same side, you’d be afraid of me.”

“Forgive me, Miss,” Loki replied, “But I’ve been told enough about you to pass judgment on that, and I say, you aren’t a danger.”

“But how can you tell?” you asked meekly, feeling a tear at the corner of your eye, quickly blinking it back. It was remarkable at how fraught your situation felt: it was enough to extract intense emotions out of every single word you said.

“Darling,” your ally leaned in, as if to whisper a gentle secret in your ear, “I trust my instinct. You look about as helpless as a gosling. I can see how the skin on your neck trembles.”

“I don't know why or how this happened. Please don’t expect answers,” you pleaded. “Please, tell them to let me go.”

Loki sighed and looked down. “My word isn’t, as of yet, in the best position here, though I am working on it, I assure you.”

“Please,” you said, the desperation in your voice losing intensity, giving way to an exhausted weakness. “Please, help me. I just want to live alone where I can’t hurt anyone. I won’t ever go looking for trouble, I swear--”

“--ssh, I know, pet, I know,” Loki said quietly. “Cease worrying. Loki will take care of you.”

Loki will take care of you.

The sentence, particularly its’ delivery, made goosebumps rise along your arms, although you felt them appear for a reason you didn’t quite find familiar at first.

He stayed with you for nearly twelve hours, taking his meals with you, talking gently about inconsequential matters to distract you from your circumstances.

When he was finally forced away so that you could have your evening shower, he turned back one last time before leaving. “I will always be back for you,” he vowed. “Y/N, you’ll be free by morning.”

For the first time since your arrest, you slept soundly, your angular, Asgardian savior filling your dreams with feelings of safety and love.

Loki had promised your freedom by morning. He was true to his word.

“Look, I don't exactly feel confident in letting you two go off into the wild blue yonder to cause havoc,” said the imposing Nick Fury, who, quite frankly, frightened the ever living hell out of you. “I was ultimately convinced,” he looked bitterly at Loki, who shrugged innocently, “but there are terms. If I get wind of either of you sneezing without permission, you both come right back here and get thrown into the motherfucking dungeon.”

“We don’t have a dungeon,” Loki mumbled, a smart-ass grin rolling across his face to try and break the tension. You smiled for the first time in a long, long while.

“Watch it, Laufeyson,” said Fury. “You’re the one sailing this boat. Don't sink it.”

Neither of you wanted to arouse his ire any further, so you decided to quietly slip away and out of the city, taking a quinjet being flown by Banner out to a place you’d never realized existed.

“New Asgard,” your handsome escort explained as you began your descent. “The survivors among my people settled here after the fall of our homeworld and the slaughter we faced when we tried to escape. There aren’t many. It is…regrettably…a bit spartan.”

“Better than that terrible cell,” you answered softly, barely audible. Loki, with the natural hearing of a god, still made out what you’d said, and he gently took your hand and gave it a squeeze, making your heart flutter when you looked into his promising blue eyes.

Indeed, the place was no bigger than a fishing village. In fact, that was essentially what it was. Even Loki scrunched his nose at the sight as you disembarked and let Banner fly off with the plane. Loki had never let go of your hand, and each of you had a small bag slung over your opposite shoulders.

“Welcome to New Asgard,” he said, a bit of disappointment lacing his tone. “We are going to be staying here until Fury sees fit to declare us tame enough to come home.”

You walked up a path to the small town square, every house basic in construction small in scale, and underwhelming in neighborly feeling. Most of the Asgardians were dressed in heavy knitted sweaters and boots and kept their heads down and eyes on their work.

“Weren’t you their prince?” you asked quietly. “Why aren’t they bowing?”

Loki sighed. “Our system of government has changed somewhat since relocating,” he said. “Also, the present King isn’t exactly fond of me.”

You decided to take things one moment at a time (there were too many conflicting emotions swimming in your head to warrant fixating on one anyway), and to let his cryptic comments go. You were going to be here for a long time, so perhaps it was best to let it go. Loki would open up to you in time.

You were nearly knocked over by two children running in chase around you as you meandered. Loki grunted, but remained soft for your sake. “We will need to inform these people, however, to mind themselves around you,” he said, holding back his annoyance.

“Even if it happened by accident, I couldn’t live with myself,” you mentioned.

Loki stopped you and scooped a hand under your chin, looking you in the eye with warm assurance that also had an air of dominance to it, almost like an attractive young school teacher, stern but also kind in his insistence for your obedience.

“Yes, you can, and that is why we are here together,” he said. “Please remember that we are here to help each other, and I am here to protect you.”

“It’s them that need protection from me,” you moaned, disheartened. “If it weren’t for the gloves…” you trailed off.

Loki shook his head and let you go. He tapped your glove. “These will be coming off. Today.”

“No!” you said quickly. “Please, Loki, don’t expose me to everyone like that.”

Your escort shook his head. “Let’s get inside and discuss this. I do believe rain is coming.”

He was correct. Just as the pair of you found your small hovel towards the far end of the shoreline, a chilly splattering of precipitation began to fall about you. Taking out a brass key, he brought you inside, taking your rucksack and tossing it by the bedroom door carelessly.

The cabin was one three rooms: a living room, a bedroom, and a kitchen barely big enough for two people to turn around in. The bathroom also hardly had enough room for a human-sized creature to stand comfortably, as it was about the side of a phone booth plus perhaps a few square feet. There were furnishings, but the sofas, chairs, and tables all look like they’d been scavenged from an old lady’s garage sale at best.

The bedroom only had one large bed, taking up most of the minimal space by itself.

You stood, stupefied, in the middle of the room as Loki observed. You kept your gloved hands close to your chest as you anxiously looked around.

“You may as well get comfortable while I make us some tea,” Loki suggested. “This miniscule cottage is our indefinite home.”

You sat quietly, refusing to move your hands as Loki set up a small tea set he found in the cabinets, taking the steaming kettle to your cup, and in a moment, the smell of peppermint filled your nostrils, putting you slightly more at ease.

He sat beside you, not touching anything on his side of the table, instead bringing the attention back to you once again. He was like an explorer discovering new territory; he needed to know everything about you.

“Pet, I will wait until you are comfortable removing them, but I would like to see them come off today,” he said, again with that attractive stern-but-kind tone that was beginning to make more than your heart flutter. “I would like to feel your skin on mine.”

“You wish to die, then. I can’t control it,” you said quietly, looking away.

“That’s merely because you were never given the opportunity to see if you could,” said Loki, absentmindedly holding out a hand, making you shrink back reflexively.

“Please, don't touch me!”

Loki quickly withdrew, giving you your space and shrinking toward the opposite end of the couch. You couldn’t help but notice he looked a little hurt. “I…I’m very sorry,” you apologized, hoping you didn’t scare off your guardian. “You’re wonderful, and I can’t be the one to take your life, even by accident,” you blurted out.

Loki bit his lip, looking at you again. “Wonderful?”

You nodded. “I believe you when you say you’re not afraid of me. But…I am, okay? I’m a monster.”

He sighed, thinking for a moment on what to say next. “I know monsters. I’ve met them, slain them…you are no monster.” His gentle words filled you with warmth. “And furthermore,” he continued, “I would allow you to touch me, barehanded, right here and now.”

“No.”

You felt his hand on your shoulder, lithe but steady. “The thing about magic, Y/N, is that no matter what form it comes in, what you see is never the complete picture. Any and all magic can be trained, whether to contain or expand.”

You twiddled your thumbs nervously. “I don’t even know where this came from, so how can I know what the key is to controlling it?”

“Willpower,” Loki said, matter-of-factly. “It’s simply how any magic works.”

Loki had stealthily shifted so that your outer thighs were touching, and you were more than a little aware of it. Then, you looked up at your helper just as he brushed a strand of hair away from your brow, tucking it behind your ear, making you sigh a little.

“Ms Y/N, am I startling you?” he asked. “I don’t want you feeling ill at ease with me.”

You didn’t reply.

“If I had to be sent out to a wooden box in the middle of a Norwegian mud pile, I must say I could not have found a more exquisite creature to share in my exile,” he whispered. “I only hope my saying so isn’t too forward.”

“It isn’t,” you answered bashfully. “Loki…I haven’t thanked you yet for what you’ve done for me. And…I think I know how I want to.”

It was as if Loki could read your thoughts, for it was here that he leaned in for your first kiss. You were timid at first, but seeing as it was your escort who initiated contact, you had nothing to worry about, so long as he remained the one to make the first move.

As you pulled apart, you went to remove your cardigan, but you felt Loki’s hand press against yours from through the leather glove you still wore.

“It is your own soft flesh I want feeling my muscles, your fingers I want exploring every part of me,” said Loki. “I have given you every dignity I could throughout this process, but if you cannot give me this one, we cannot--”

You whimpered, and Loki instantly regretted his words. “Y/N, I apologize!”

Shaking your head, you looked at him again, letting your lips perk up at the corners. “You’re right. And, although this has never happened to me before, I don’t want to…to miss out, you know? I just…what if I touch you in the wrong way by accident? If I jump or get nervous?”

Loki smiled. “If you’d really like to, I have an idea. Let me guide you along the way.”

“How?”

“I’ll simply communicate with you. Use my words to describe every gentle move I make. Would that suit you enough to give this a try? I must confess, with each passing moment, I just want to hold you more and more, and listen to your sweet cries--”

“--I…but…”

“There is one more thing we can try,” Loki suggested, brushing your eyebrow with his thumb before laying a sweet, shallow kiss on it. “I can bind you with magic. Softly bind you, so that if you needed to move away, you could, but the weight would be enough to keep you from inadvertently brushing against me with every twitch of pleasure I give to you.”

You felt a hot blush run up your face as the desire laced in between his words filled you with need.

“Wait…”

You took a deep breath and shut your eyes, tugging at the very tip of the ring finger of the glove on your right hand.

Loki ran a thumb across your hot cheek. “You must be brave. I believe in you.” His goddamned touch nearly made you break your concentration, but you were still able to slowly, gently, cautiously, pull off the glove, setting it on the table with a trembling hand.

“If this doesn’t work, I’ll die,” you said, your voice quaking.

Loki was smiling with enough confidence for you both. “There won’t be a need, pet.”

You raised your hand, keeping your eyes focused on Loki, who sat up straight, the kind, empathetic look in his eyes never wavering. If he was in fact nervous, he was a brilliant actor, because you were getting no impression that he felt any sort of peril in the moment.

Finally, you found enough courage to lift your bare hand and bring it in the general direction of your guide. For his part, Loki still did not flinch, even when you felt as if you were about to foolishly commit a murder.

“Loki, I’m sorry if this doesn’t work,” you said meekly, trusting your arm forward before you could change your mind, and closing your eyes.

You felt his cool skin make contact with the pads of your fingers after landing on his left cheek. You didn’t immediately open your eyes, instead waiting for the sound of a body hitting the floor, the sound of a final breath being forced out of the lungs, or the sensation of Loki’s skin going unnaturally cold.

The only thing you felt after several moments was a second set of fingers gently settling over your hand. You opened your eyes, and the tender sight of Loki holding your palm against his skin, his eyes closed as he genuinely savored your touch, was all you saw, and you suddenly felt fifty pounds lighter.

“Oh, Loki…” you sighed in relief. “You’re still here.”

“You don’t want me to die, and thus, I haven’t. Just as I said, yes?”

You smiled and slowly took your hand back so that you could remove your other glove, and with another quick breath, you placed each hand on each of Loki’s, curling your fingers in between his. “Still alive!” you said with a small smile as you finally began feeling at ease for the first time in three long, chaotic years.

“More alive than ever, little princess,” Loki said, leaning over and rewarding you with a longer, deeper kiss. It went electricity down your core, radiating down your legs. You were finally allowed to feel your yearnings, and now, tonight, you could finally act on them. You certainly couldn’t think of a more beautiful, gentle, sexy partner to give yourself to than Loki.

“I think I’m ready for you,” you whispered. “I…I really want you, Loki. You’re the first being to show me such tender kindness, especially after I became a ‘reaper.’”

Loki chuckled without breaking his seductive demeanor. “Is that what you call yourself? Well, princess,” he said, gracefully pulling you off of the sofa to your feet, “the only thing you shall be reaping are the rewards of your obedience to me.”

Smiling, thrilled at the sexy shift to Loki’s tone, you nodded. The god asked, “Y/N, we know your touch won’t destroy me, but would you still like for me to bind you?”

“Yes.” You weren’t agreeing solely out of fear for Loki’s safety, not any more. “Please, an..and please talk to me, too.”

“With pleasure, princess. You were so brave for me, you’ve earned it,” Loki said slowly, leading you to the large, simply-constructed bed and shutting the door behind him. “Now, lie down, no need to remove any clothes.”

You obeyed without a word, which pleased your bodyguard as he stood, towering over you as you lay supine on the mattress. “Good girl,” he said melodically, the voice warming your core, smooth as butter and low as a gentle hum. He snapped his fingers, and with a quick wipe of green mist, both of your clothes fell instantly away, and he now stood before you entirely naked, and you splayed before him similarly.

“My, your skin radiates with warm beauty! Raise your arms out and to the side, or whatever position you would feel best.” You did so, again, without a word, taking your wrists and laying them out at an angle, making your breasts pull apart from one another and creating a gap in between them.

He waved his hand and snapped again, and you felt your wrists go heavy, as if a sandbag was weighing them down. You could move them a little, and you got the feeling you could twist yourself free if needed (not that you wanted to), but you were still securely on the bed, pinned at the wrists and ankles, your legs spread apart, exposing your quickly-wettening pussy to the air as well as your partner.

Loki moaned with approval. “Now, if you need me to lift these, please say so. Understood, lovely?”

You nodded. “Yes, Loki. I’ll do anything.”

Loki looked thoroughly satisfied at your answer. “Oh, you are so obedient! A natural submissive,” he said happily. “It is fortune’s highest blessing to be sharing a bed and home with you tonight…”

He lowered himself over the bed. ��May I climb over you and look down upon my conquest?”

You nodded. “Yes, Loki.”

He climbed between your legs, kneeling up between them, his solid, chiseled torso towering above you, intimidating you the perfect amount to thrill you. “Now, I’m going to nibble on that darling little space you have right…here…”

He lowered his head between your breasts, using tongue and teeth to stake his claim on your skin, leaving tiny marks that only nipped a little as he worked his glorious sex magic on you. Every nip, lick, and moan from him made your folds wetter, heavier, needier.

“Y/N, I’m going to touch you now, in this sensitive spot between your legs,” Loki narrated. “I won’t put a finger inside your passage, but I am going to enjoy drawing little figures between your lips and pinching your pleasure bud. And you are going to writhe under me, increasingly needy as pleasure builds up, throbbing for my release…”

You gasped in pleasant surprise as he almost immediately took a hand and inserted two exploratory fingers between your folds. “Norns, my girl is dripping with desire for me. My good girl wants to please her savior!” He pressed his erection against the inside of your thigh as if to display with pride how quickly he’d been turned on by how you were grinding your hips, bucking against his hand.

His silky sweet words echoed in your brain, delirious with arousal. You wanted him to sing these narrations to you over and over. His rich, deep voice was almost enough to send you over your edge. Every word, every action he took, drove you crazy with delightful ache. He fiddled with your clit like it was a tiny marble between his thumb and forefinger, and every flick or twitch of it made you moan and pull against your invisible restraints just enough to feel helplessly anchored in place.

“Y/N, you are so wet, so ready for me already,” he moaned. “I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to fill you with my cock, and you’ll feel your walls stretching around me as I enter you--”

True to his word again, Loki took himself into his palm, positioning himself above you, his tip at your entrance, then, gently, slowly, he thrusted forward, and you felt a slight pinch as he claimed your cunt. Indeed, it felt like every cell inside you had to stretch in order to sheath Loki’s god-sized cock, but the little bit of pain you felt in the moment was quickly washed away in the violent shudders of pre-orgasm tremors that were already reaching critical mass in your core.

Loki arched his back, immediately growling in pleasure as he began thrusting, picking up tempo, sliding up and down your slickened walls with just enough friction to urge him to the edge quicker than he anticipated.

“Damn, but I’m coming…”

You were close, and you knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out for you much longer. “How hard are you coming?” was the smutty question you chose to coax his orgasm from him. “Tell me please! What does it feel like being inside me, Loki?”

Loki grunted animalistically as he concentrated. “You’re milking my cum from me, girl, you’re about to be so full of my seed--”

With the help from his narration, you finally felt your orgasm thunder down your passage and shake your thighs, pushing a high-pitched whine from you as your mouth fell open and your eyes slammed shut.

“Ah! There she is! My good girl!”

Loki’s fall almost immediately followed, marked by four remarkably hard thrusts as he came inside you, his breath heavy and quick. He brought a hand down to your clit and gently massaged it as your orgasm poured out into the open.

“Yes, ride it out with me, that’s my girl,” Loki purred.

Once you both were spent, Loki took your magic bonds off of you. It was still light outside, but you both agreed you were exhausted from your romp, and that perhaps an hour’s nap before supper would be welcome. Still naked, you both went underneath the covers, Loki turning onto his stomach so that he could rest his head under your arm, using your shoulder as his pillow.

“For as long as we are here, you will have nothing to be afraid of, pet,” your lover promised.

“Nothing?” you asked hopefully, already knowing that the strong, wonderful god in your arms was going to protect you for as long as you needed him.

“Your death touch, you have nothing to fear, for it brings me to life,” he whispered softly in your ear. You sensed he was nodding off, and sure enough, with that, his head fell on your shoulder, his breath settling into a softer, quieter rhythm.

Loki will take care of you…

You took a hand and began combing it through his hair, once again enjoying the old-but-new sensation of something other than leather against your fingertips.

@lokisgoodgirl @sarahscribbles @xorpsbane @mischief2sarawr @mochie85 @muddyorbs @michelleleewise @joyful-enchantress @fictive-sl0th @lady-rose-moon @coldnique @chantsdemarins @glitterylokislut @kellatron55 @holdmytesseract @holymultiplefandomsbatman @peachyjinx @trickster-maiden

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