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gurugirl · 1 year

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A Balancing Act | Ch. 1*

Series Summary: Harry is a famous, rich, handsome, pop star and he’s been in therapy since his boy band days. When he meets Y/n, a beautiful and successful artist, he cannot take no for an answer when it comes to her. He’s determined to make her his even if he has to bend the rules a little at first.

Chapter Summary: Meeting Harry Styles at the hotel she was staying at was a surprise. But to have him invite her to his room for a drink was unexpected.

Warning: smut

Word Count: 17,748

Commissioned by @cinnamonone (thank you!! xoxo)

A Balancing Act Masterlist

Harry remembers the days when he used to go into his therapist’s office for his sessions. But after fame hit the paps knew where he was going, learned his schedule, and he was constantly bombarded. And of course, the fans caught on so there’d be screaming people trying to get his attention as he hopped from his car to the back entrance.

Lately, though, she’d been coming to his house instead. She charged more for in-house visits but Harry wasn’t bothered by the extra cost. Her time and flexibility were worth it to him so he’d happily pay the added fee.

They normally sat in his office together for the sessions. It was always like chatting with a close colleague when he’d have her over. Harry would usually have pastries and green juice or matcha to share and they’d talk about their week. She’d even talk to him about hers a little. Which always made him feel so comfortable around her. It invited him to really open up and he learned to be vulnerable with her over time.

He'd been seeing her since his One Direction days which meant in-person visits weren’t always possible if he was traveling, but Pat took a lot of late-night calls and FaceTime time sessions over the years. And Harry trusted her more than he trusted most people. She’d earned his trust. She’d heard his deepest, darkest secrets and knew all the dirty details about all of his past loves and flings. She wasn’t a sex therapist but she often gave him advice that helped him in that department.

And today she was doing just that. Listening to him drone on about his last lover, the older woman with two children who left her fiancé to be with him. He felt bad about everything in their relationship – from the beginning, he knew it wasn’t going to last and it was only meant to be a quick fling. But then he did develop feelings (Harry loved to fall in love and it was usually quite messy) against his better judgment. And then when she left the father of her children it became even more complicated.

“I just felt like I owed her. She’d given up so much for me and it was crazy of me to feed into that. I should have told her then and there that we wouldn’t end up together but I think a part of me just wanted to have the stability. But instead, it just dragged on for too long.” Harry had recently seen her at an event and she ignored him, just as he ignored her, but that didn’t mean it didn’t affect him because here he was in therapy with Pat talking about her.

Pat tapped her pen on her notepad and nodded. She’d heard all this before. But the guilt he felt was continually bubbling up and pouring out in their sessions even though they’d been broken up for the better part of a year.

“Harry, let’s talk about that. The stability part. Do you feel like you still need to be in a relationship to be stable? We’ve worked on this in the past and it sounds like that’s still a constant in your romantic attitude.”

Harry knew he was someone that just loved being with someone. Long-term, a week, a night… he just enjoyed the attention and he loved giving attention. And he was good at it. Well, he gave a lot of himself even if the relationship wasn’t serious. That’s just how he was.

“I know I need to be more confident to be alone and not have someone in my bed or my life all the time. I mean, I haven’t even had sex in like, a month.”

Pat laughed and shook her head, “I know Harry. And probably the whole world too. I know how hard that is for you – to never be able to have any privacy even if it’s just something fun," she paused as nodded, "And so a month... That's not really that long, but I’m assuming you’re referring to the model you were with in Tokyo about month ago? Pictures of you two were plastered everywhere.”

Harry nodded and chuckled, “Oh yeah. That was just… we were drunk so I wasn’t careful but I had fun ya know? I just want to be able to have fun and not deal with the public knowing that we probably fucked. Or all the weird speculation. It’s not anyone’s business. Sometimes I make mistakes and get caught in public but it’s tiresome. I want to be able to go out and do normal things but I can’t.”

Again, these were all things Pat knew about and had heard verbatim. She truly felt for him, though. Was even protective of him as if he were her son. Harry was so charming and likable and just a genuinely nice person that it was hard not to feel like he needed protecting at times.

But what could she do? He was a grown man now. A grown man who enjoyed love and all the kinds of things that went with it. But more than that he loved his job. Which was where the biggest problem lie. Harry’s job was a drawback for most people he’d attempted a relationship with. Some could handle the long distance, the frequent flights and stays at hotels, eating and dressing and showering on the road, screaming fans, women and men throwing themselves at him, stalking him, feeling entitled to his attention when he was out in public eating breakfast.

And he’d never give any of it up for a relationship. But that didn’t make it easy. Harry hardly remembered what it used to be like before he became famous. He was catapulted into the limelight as a teenager and was in one of the most popular boybands the world had ever known. But when he went off on his own for a solo career, assembled a talented group for his band, cut off his long hair, and began writing songs and crooning in well-fitted suits in small venues and theaters his fame rose year by year. Every album he put out was more popular than the one before.

With fame came flocks of fans. Who were willing to do nearly anything to get a glimpse up close of the charming boy with big green eyes, sweet dimples, and a deep voice. So yeah. Relationships suffered.

“You always have the option to just stop. Finish off your contract and then forget about fame. But you don’t want that. So doing normal things in public will be hard while you’re so famous.”

“I know. I wouldn’t want to stop. I love what I do. Just wish I had more privacy.”

“But I’m proud that you’re not isolating like you did for a while there. Wouldn’t even answer my calls for some time. Remember? You’re doing okay now, though. I think you’re improving. Your fame continues to grow and you are adjusting to it.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah. That was a rough go. Not being able to see family or close friends during the pandemic really got to me. I am still surprised by how I responded to that all that. Doesn’t feel like that was me, you know? Feels like such a long time ago.”

“It affected many people in ways they hadn’t realized it would. People who had never struggled with depression or drug use before had to fight for their lives to get better.”

“Yeah… I was just alone with all those thoughts. Missing… her. I even called her one night. Don’t remember the conversation because I had taken sleep pills right before but saw that I’d called her the night before when I looked through my phone. Realized it was bad then.”

“Camille?”

Harry shifted in his seat and sighed. He didn’t like to say her name. That had been the hardest breakup. Because he really loved her. It no longer stung like it used to but he thought of her often, “She had a boyfriend of course. Still does. And he’s far better for her. Can go with her whenever and wherever. And I couldn’t because I was so busy. And she couldn’t come with me either because she’s got her own acting and modeling career. Just… I’m okay with that all now. But there were nights when I was alone in that big house and I couldn’t stop picking apart all the things that went wrong between us.”

“Too much time to think. Even I dealt with overthinking and dwelling.”

Harry glanced at Pat and smiled, “We’re all so similar. Us humans. Even we can surprise ourselves at times by torturing our brains and combing over details long past.”

Pat was proud of how insightful Harry was and how far he'd come.

. . .

Harry’s next show was in Chicago. He was getting himself pumped up for stage time. His outfit was being tailored once again, his hair styled, a bit of bronzer and highlighter, moisturizer on his arms and torso, lips stained a deep berry shade, nails painted lavender…

Music and his fans and being on stage were Harry’s favorite things. Well, he had another favorite thing that he could have that very night. It was easy when he was on stage and singing his heart out. A little eye contact and a raised brow to the cute curvy girl with the big tits at the front of pit, a hand wave and a wink, a tequila ordered for the pretty blond in the balcony seats he had a good view of, or calling out the tall guy in the middle of his concert and continually flirting with him in front of thousands (millions after the videos made it to social media). It was easy. Harry just had it so he could really have his pick, for the most part. If he wanted.

And like every one of his sets, at the end he was exhausted yet pumped with adrenaline. Meeting some of his lucky fans and taking pictures backstage was par for the course. Nothing out of the ordinary for a night after a concert.

But he had another show the following evening and so Jeff was giving him the signal it was time to head out and get back to his hotel so he could call it a night. The morning of a show was always early for rehearsing, a good workout, an ice bath, meditation…

Harry was ushered into the back entrance of the posh hotel he was staying at and used the freight elevator to get to the top floor to his room without anyone seeing him. Which he hated. He hated having to hide and duck away from fans. Hated being treated like a big secret no matter where he went. But on the other side of the coin, he cherished his privacy so it was necessary.

Jeff left him alone after Harry settled into his suite. He had the TV on and was about to call his mom because she’d be up at that time, but then there was a knock at his door. It was past 12:30 am so he couldn’t imagine who it would be.

Harry slowly opened the door to see a hotel employee standing with a bouquet of flowers, “These were sent here earlier, Mr. Styles, but we forgot to put them in your room. My apologies for the mistake.”

Harry took the bouquet and smiled at the young man, slipping him a tip and telling him not to worry.

Pulling the card out of the flowers he put the lovely bouquet down on the buffet and opened it to find out who it was from.

“We miss you, H. Hope you’re well. Love XX”

It was his ex. The one he’d wasted nearly two years with. He’d gotten to know her children and this card was meant to pull at his heartstrings with the ‘we miss you’. And it worked. The guilt built up again. He didn’t miss her or their relationship, but the guilt he carried for everything that happened to them during and even after was upsetting. He just wished his life was truly private like a normal guy. And then maybe he could move on and get real closure.

And against Jeff’s advice, Harry decided to go down to the hotel bar by himself which would be open for another couple of hours. A drink would help. Maybe a chat with someone nice. He hoped there weren’t any crazy fans down there but he’d rather risk that than sitting alone in his suite for another minute.

The bar was mostly empty. There were a few couples at tables, some individuals sitting and drinking at the bar. Harry grabbed a small table near the front with a good view of the bar and was greeted quickly to get his order.

He looked around casually and realized no one seemed to notice him. It felt nice. A moment of peace in public without anyone snapping photos or taking videos.

Across from his small table was a woman he suddenly took note of. She was dressed smartly. A silky green blouse tucked into charcoal trousers. She was looking at her phone and sipping a cocktail of some sort. She was pretty with delicate features and he couldn’t help himself when he noticed her pretty round bottom taking up the stool she sat on. Harry wasn’t a pervert but he had the perfect view of her. He was just a man after all and he appreciated beautiful women and men at times.

The server brought his drink to him and grinned widely, “Enjoy your whisky neat, Mr. Styles.”

Suddenly the woman turned her head and made eye contact with Harry. Her eyes widened before she quickly looked back down at her phone. She recognized him. Harry knew right away. But he was intrigued that she looked away. He decided to get her attention.

“Wish I could do that.”

The woman lifted her head and turned to look at Harry, confusion on her face as she looked behind herself and then back to Harry, “Sorry, are you speaking to me?”

Harry chuckled, “Of course I am.”

She set her cell phone down and tilted her head as she turned toward him, “You wish you could do what?”

Harry nodded toward the cell phone she had on the table, “Scroll through social media so casually.”

She stitched her brows together as she looked down at her phone and then back to Harry, “What makes you think I was scrolling through social media?”

Harry laughed and he guessed that was a fair question, “You’re right. I guess I don’t know what you’re looking at. Sorry if I offended,” he lifted his glass up toward her and then took a sip.

She smiled and lifted her own glass and then took a sip in response.

But now Harry was very interested. He wondered what she was looking at but also found her response to be refreshing. Instead of fawning she was smart and snappy with him. Even though she clearly recognized him, she wasn’t giggling and asking for an autograph or a photo.

He stood up and took a chance to ask if he could join her. He knew it was gutsy but he was rarely turned down and the woman was intriguing.

“Mind if I sit here with you? A little company is nice.”

Now Y/n was very much feeling her nerves peak when she realized Harry Styles was sitting next to her table. And then he’d made conversation with her. She was surprised he was speaking to her at all and now here he was asking to sit with her. She had no reason to say no. So when she nodded and he pulled the stool out that was closest to hers and placed his whisky on the table she swallowed down the bubbling nerves and called on her natural self-confidence. She was a confident woman. She was successful and lived a good life that she worked hard for. She was smart and grounded. But she was also hyper-aware that she was not his type. So even if for the briefest moment she thought she caught him looking at her ass she had to have been wrong.

Their conversation was surprisingly fascinating to her. She imagined he’d have a lot of things to say but she didn’t realize he was such a deep and interesting person. His insight was very spot on and he was sensitive and a good listener.

When the server came over and told them it was last call they both ordered one more drink. Y/n wasn’t ready to call it a night and neither was Harry.

“So, what are you here for, in Chicago, exactly?”

“Oh, there is an art show this weekend. I, uh… I have a bunch of my pieces at the Carrie Secrist Gallery right now.”

Harry paused. She mentioned she was an artist but he didn’t realize she was here for work, “Wow. Really? Carrie Secrist Gallery,” he said the name of the gallery quietly as if to catalog the information, “So will you be here tomorrow night again?”

“Yes. Booked the room for the weekend. I leave Sunday afternoon. Hopefully, my work gets all sold so I don’t have to repack and ship it back home.”

Harry nodded and watched her lips as she spoke and then her eyes. He couldn’t stop from letting his gaze drop to her plush lips. And Y/n noticed it too. It had her palms sweating. Maybe it was just the alcohol.

“Would you want to come to my show tomorrow evening? I can get you some really good seats – two if you’d like to bring anyone. I’d love it if you came. Maybe after we could do this again,” he gestured around them.

She was momentarily stunned. It was so out of the blue, unexpected. But it was also only an invitation to his concert. Which… still… this was a personal invite from Harry Styles and an opening to see him afterward which was quite something.

His green eyes and the smile on his pink lips were so close to her. She felt like suddenly with the way he was eyeing her that perhaps there was more to his invite. She’d been pushing that feeling down since he asked to sit with her but now it was glaring. Obvious. It was obvious that he was seeking something else. Maybe a quick one-night thing before he left for his next destination.

“What time would I need to get there?”

“Show starts at 7 with the opener.”

“Hmm… the gallery where I'm showing my art doesn't close til 7. I’d be getting there too late-“

“Well just come after that’s over. I’d still love to see you even if you’re a little late.”

She nodded and tried to rationalize everything. Could she really do this? Perhaps it was nothing at all but this didn’t feel like nothing and her instincts were usually spot on. She had no reason to say no except that he was super famous and what would it all look like logistically? But looking back at his face she just saw a handsome, confident man. There didn’t need to be any strings attached or consequences. It could be fun, “Sure. That could work. But it would just be me. Anyone I’d want to bring wouldn’t be able to make it in time for tomorrow night.”

Harry’s grin widened and his famous dimples dug into his cheeks, “Even better.”

. . .

Y/n had a hard time sleeping that night. She was hoping to have a couple of drinks to wind down after the adrenaline of the gallery showing. Her evening had been excellent. She sold some of her most expensive pieces, had a fabulous dinner with the curator and a couple of other artists, and then met and had drinks with Harry Styles.

The following day at the gallery she was on fire as well. Her good mood was contagious and every one of her paintings sold. She was asked to dinner again after the gallery closed but this time she declined, citing a concert to get to as her reason for skipping out.

She received a text halfway through her day as promised with a link to the details of her ticket retrieval at the will-call window. Lifting her phone up to the person manning the booth she showed them the QR code and watched on as they called someone and got off the phone, “Just wait here for a moment. Someone’s coming to get you.”

Being ushered into the back of the venue and then through a hallway she followed behind the man until he finally led her to an area with balcony seating and a good view of the stage, “Mr. Styles has said anything you’d like is on him. Can I get you a drink?”

Y/n still felt like it was so surreal to be here at a Harry Styles show on personal invitation and now being offered something to drink. On. Him.

“Is chardonnay on the menu?”

The man nodded and left in the blink of an eye.

Harry wasn’t on the stage yet. The opener was just finishing up and the crowd was full of young girls dressed in brightly colored, outfits. Lots of feathers and fringe and glitter and rhinestones.

The man returned with a glass of chardonnay as Y/n looked out over the crowd and leaned over the balcony. She wasn’t sure what to expect when she arrived but her spot had a good view and she was happy she wasn’t down amongst all the pretty young things in front of the stage below.

The moment Harry came on the energy in the room was thick and everything was all about Harry. Fans with signs, lots of screaming, and most everyone sang along.

She couldn’t help but to dance and sing a little. The excitement and his enthusiasm spilled over everyone. Including her. Y/n noticed that it looked like Harry was watching her from the stage. He’d look up toward where she was with a grin often enough that it made her wonder. She thought perhaps he was smiling and looking toward someone else but it was definitely her because she watched as he mimicked her awful attempt at dancing by twirling around and shaking his hips exaggeratedly. She felt her face grow warm when some of the fans began to look up toward the balcony where she stood. Luckily there were other people where she was (who she later found out all had tickets from members of the band – a sort of VIP section for friends and family) so it wasn’t immediately obvious it was her he was grinning at.

The entire concert felt like a whirlwind. Harry’s charisma and style of entertainment were so contagious and exciting. Y/n felt like she was on adrenaline as she was being led backstage. The area was bustling as well. Lots of fans, mostly young girls, a table with small bites and beverages, and sitting areas.

She saw a couple of the band members taking photos with a group of people and then she heard shrieks and turned toward the commotion. There he was flocked by a group of fans and taking photos with one or two at a time. His smile was dazzling, genuine. She noted that he’d changed out of his stage outfit into a pair of basketball shorts and a sweater. He looked so casual in his outfit, yet there was no mistaking that this man commanded the room. That he was the star everyone wanted a piece of.

Y/n decided to keep herself occupied and look around while she waited for Harry to free up a bit. She wasn’t quite sure he’d really be seeing her afterward like he mentioned the night before. And the text she received earlier with the ticket details came from an automated six-digit number separated by a dash in between. Which made sense because he probably didn’t want her to have his number.

But she’d stick around to at least say hi.

“You came. Thank you,” Y/n turned to see the man behind her, with his handsome grin looking right at her.

“Oh, well, of course! Figured why not? It was a great concert by the way!”

They chatted for only a few minutes before they were interrupted again. Harry gave Y/n a look of apology, “Meet me at the hotel bar in like an hour?”

“Okay. I will try to be there in an hour,” she was going to just say absolutely yes, 100% she’d be there but that all sounded a little too desperate for her taste. She preferred to keep things level. And who knew if he’d even show up?

In her room, Y/n went back and forth between changing into something more comfortable or just keeping her current outfit on. She decided to keep on what she had and instead freshened up her hair and dotted on the smallest bit of undereye concealer.

It had been a while since she’d been interested in anyone. And she didn’t know what Harry wanted but the night before she was picking up certain vibes. She could be wrong. Perhaps she’d misread the whole situation. But she thought it could be fun to get out a little. Try and move on from the trauma of her last relationship. She tried not to think of it when she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Moving on had been something she’d been attempting to do for a while. A fun night with a handsome pop star could help a little. If that’s where things led. Hopefully.

At the bar, she ordered soda water to start. She didn’t want to get sloppy, just in case it turned into something more than just a friendly chat. It was around the time Harry said he’d meet her. She’d give him a little leeway since he had just gotten finished putting on a concert for thousands of adoring fans.

But when another thirty minutes had passed she checked her phone to find that there was nothing from him and no sign of his cute dimples in the bar anywhere either.

She waved at the bartender, “I’ll have a glass of house chardonnay please.”

She figured she might as well have one more glass of wine for the evening before calling it a night.

Looking at Instagram while she waited for her drink she realized she had a dm. It was from Dante. An artist she hit it off with at her last showing. They’d been messaging back and forth a bit but nothing had come of it. He lived a few hours away from her so getting together again hadn’t really been brought up. Except now.

Hey, I’ll be heading your way for an art exhibit soon. Would love to catch up in person if you’re free. Would you be interested in seeing me again? I’ll let you know when I’ll be in town when I find out more.

Smiling she began to type her response when the bartender placed her glass of wine down along with an envelope with her name written on the front.

She looked up at the young man in question

“Concierge handed this to me right after you ordered.”

“But how did you know this was for me?” She lifted the envelope up and flipped it over to open it up.

“Because I have your credit card with your name on it when you started your tab. Plus they described you. It’s from a very special guest I’m told.”

A very special guest.

She pulled her lips into her mouth to hide the grin that was about to take over as she looked around the bar, still, with no sign of Harry.

Pulling out the contents of the envelope she took a sip of her wine.

Sorry, I ran late. Take a drink in my room with me? p1900 - H

Blinking her eyes she felt her pulse pick up as she folded the note and tucked it into her purse. She gulped down another bit of chardonnay and grinned to herself, already having completely forgotten about Dante.

So she had read this right. The nerves in her belly bubbled up as she waved at the bartender, Check please!”

After making a pitstop at her room to really “freshen” up she realized that the floors stopped off at 8. After that was P.

Penthouse.

Hitting the P, she leaned her back into the wall as the elevator took her to the top floor.

The moment she stepped out of the elevator she was greeted by a man, “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh!” She suddenly remembered who she was dealing with. Harry Styles, a world-famous, A-list pop star. Of course, he’d have security. “Yes, I uh… Harry invited me up-“ She reached into her purse and pulled out the note, “Here.”

The man unfolded the note and then looked at her with a smile, “Y/n?”

So he’d told them her name…

She nodded as he handed the note back to her, “Follow me.”

She figured this was something Harry had done before; had people brought to his room. The occasional one-night stand. Some fun for the weekend.

The man knocked at the door and only a handful of seconds passed before Harry was standing in the doorway, wearing the same after-concert outfit he’d been wearing when she left the venue earlier.

He smiled at her, “Come in,” and then looked at the man, “Thanks, Shamus.”

The suite was huge. That was no surprise. She’d seen a few nice suites in her days. Being an artist wasn’t always so lucrative but she was always invited to the good after parties. She had a lot of artsy fartsy friends, some very well-off.

“I’m really sorry about being so late. I just got caught up and then before I realized the time it was too late. I’m glad you were still at the bar.”

“Yeah,” she said as she walked around toward the sitting area with the large woven rug and plush couches, “about that… what if I wasn’t in the bar? I was about to go back to my room.”

“Well, then I guess we would have missed one another. That would have been a shame.”

“But you have my number. You could have reached out.”

Harry scratched the back of his neck as she sat down. She was acting far more confident than she really was. But this was part of what she did. She was constantly put into situations where she needed to be confident and sell herself. Her art was an extension of herself. So when she needed to make some sales at shows and galleries she learned just how to do that. Her art sold itself for the most part. But there were enough people who wanted her story. Sometimes, she was what sold her piece. She’d do whatever it took to not be a starving artist anymore.

“I know I could have. But… I hope you don’t take offense. I have a rule not to give out my number so easily. Not that I think you’d use it to do anything but I’ve just had some really bad experiences. People I’ve trusted have betrayed me and changing my number is something I have nightmares about,” he laughed as sat down next to her on the couch.

She laughed with him. She actually could sort of understand it. Being a woman was like that in a way. Giving out her number to someone could be risky. It was a gamble to have her information out there with someone she didn’t know well.

“I’m not offended. But I really thought you’d changed your mind. Though, in all honesty,” she stretched her arms overhead with a yawn and leaned back into the very shockingly comfortable couch, “I was sort of looking forward to my bed. I’m exhausted.”

Harry leaned back and draped his leg over his knee, “I know what you mean. If I were you I’d much prefer a comfy bed than to spend any time with me either,” he laughed and then put his arm along the back of the couch, “but really… if you’re tired, don’t feel pressure to stay. I am glad you’re here, though.”

There it was. He gave her the choice. So he could have the green light. The thumbs up. He was clever. Telling her she didn’t have to stay but also letting her know he wanted her there. The ball was in her court.

“I’m curious as to why you think I’m interesting enough to invite back to your room for a drink, of which I’ve not yet been offered,” she teased with a chuckle. She didn’t want to seem like some pushover but at the same time, she felt a little flirty. She’d had such a good night at the gallery and she hadn’t been alone with a man nearly as attractive as Harry in… well, she’d never been alone with a man as attractive as Harry. And he was very much giving off the air of flirty himself. The way he kept putting his finger up to his lip, the eye contact, his arm reaching across the couch behind her… His body language was a dead giveaway.

“You don’t think you’re interesting?”

Y/n smiled. He was good. Of course that was a good line to use on someone he didn’t know. She was wondering something very specific that he’d yet to admit. That she was there for some fun. A quick romp. He had a need that he wanted filled and so did she. The reason he’d asked her to his room was for that. Yet he insisted on playing coy.

“I know I’m interesting. But you don’t know me. So why is it that you’ve asked me here?” She raised her brows at him as he stood and walked to the buffet across the room.

“I felt comfortable with you from the start. It’s nice to have a conversation with someone new once in a while. Not someone in the industry,” Harry turned back with a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in his other, “and sorry I didn’t offer you a drink. Wine?”

Nodding her head she watched as Harry sat back down next to her, a little closer this time as he uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses.

Clinking their glasses together Harry sat back into the couch again. The silence had been a little awkward as he poured their drinks and Y/n was feeling a bit unsettled. She wasn’t sure what to say. As confident as she normally could be, this was getting very real and her mind wouldn’t stop wandering to what would be happening in thirty minutes or an hour from then. Would he be really going all in with her? Trying to get laid? She wouldn’t mind it, not at all. She’d happily let Harry Styles fuck her if he wanted. But would he be thinking about how her thighs and her tummy were plump and soft (mushy really was the better descriptor)?

She’d looked up his past exes because what else would one do before meeting up one on one with Harry Styles? She knew it was a bad idea but once she got a peep of some of the women he’d been with in the past… well, she certainly didn’t fit that mold. She didn’t think she was ugly. Not at all. But she wasn’t a model. She wasn’t a hot body, lush-haired, perfectly put-together wealthy woman of the world.

She was an artist. She made a good living nowadays, but nothing crazy. She lived in the Midwest USA and would go six months without getting her haircut, much less even visiting for a style. She dressed cute, she thought, but not high fashion. Not with leather, and silk, and cashmere and braided linen… Her makeup style was a crapshoot. She wore a nice, tinted moisturizer (with sunscreen because she couldn’t be bothered with the extra step), cream blush, mascara, and if she was going out, red lipstick. That was her bold makeup move. Red lips. Contouring was a foreign concept to her.

“The wine is good. Thanks,” she said lifting her glass up before taking another sip.

“Oh yeah. I enjoy a little wine once in a while. Not really much of a connoisseur but this is one of my favorite red blends.”

Y/n nodded and looked down at her glass. He was obviously feeling the nerves as well. She felt him shift next to her as he put his arm back behind her on the couch again.

She thought about just putting the moves on. Getting it over with. But then he started to talk.

“Tomorrow afternoon I fly out to Brazil. Haven’t been there in a while. Feels like with the pandemic everything just stopped. Glad to have things sort of going back to normal. Ya know? But… What about you? Do you live near Chicago? You mentioned you live in the suburbs.”

They chatted a bit, revealing small things about themselves little by little. Eventually, she even wound up telling him her age and that she’d been in a long-term relationship that ended tragically but she didn’t give him all the details. She didn’t want his pity. But it felt natural to tell him a little bit more after he opened up to her about his last girlfriend and how it was his longest relationship but that he had felt stuck in it halfway through. That she had kids and how difficult that made everything.

Y/n knew who he was talking about as well. He didn’t need to say her name because she’d googled it all beforehand.

And she was aware that she wasn’t as old as his last girlfriend. She was only about a year older than Harry was but he was so sincere and mature that he felt older. Yet, there was a playful edge to him that was refreshing. And he was an excellent listener. Just as he had been the night before.

That was another reason she felt comfortable revealing small things about herself to him. He acted like what she was saying was worth being heard. He didn’t look at the clock on the wall, or let his eyes glaze over in boredom as she spoke. He asked her questions about what she’d said, remembered her sister’s name when she mentioned that she had two nieces, and even asked her about how her art show went – remembering the name of the gallery.

“And how did it go tonight at the Carrie Secrist Gallery? Did you get all your pieces sold?”

She laughed at his question – the way he said the name of the gallery. She thought he was probably showing off a little. He was naturally very charismatic and charming and she was falling for it hard. He’d bump his knee into hers every so often and his eyes never left her face which had her skin growing warm. He was flirting in the most subtle way.

“It went well! Actually, I sold all of my pieces. I did give a discount for one of them to be displayed at a restaurant because I figure that’s like advertisement, right? But yeah. It was a really good night.”

Harry cocked his head to the side and she noted how he watched as she sipped her wine and licked her lips. He wasn’t being coy anymore. His obvious gaze was his way of moving it along.

She stared back at him and felt her skin start to prickle with nerves. It was bold to look him directly in his sharp green eyes when he was sat so close to her. She watched as his lips turned up in a small smirk and he leaned in closer, “What perfume are wearing?”

She had to pause to think. It was her travel perfume. She liked nice scents and had a few back home but when she traveled she didn’t bring her usuals with her because they were too costly to risk being broken. And normally when she was traveling it was because she was participating in an exhibit or show and that meant she would wear very little of anything scented. Mostly out of respect. Like being on an airplane and wearing a beautiful spicy perfume that you’d put on before a date. You just wouldn’t.

“I think it’s like… um… I honestly don’t know the name. It’s a sample of something that I bring when I travel. Like a powdery, clean scent. Something nonoffensive. Would hate to lose out on a sale because I was wearing some wild cotton candy, musky, floral perfume or something,” she laughed.

Harry nodded with a small smile as he watched her mouth move around her words. She couldn’t help but notice how he looked from her lips and slowly brought his gaze back up to her eyes.

“What about you? You smell nice.” It was true. He did smell good. Clean and a little bit masculine. It was definitely some kind of cologne.

He looked down over his t-shirt and scrunched his brows in thought, “You think? Felt like I might be smelling a bit off.”

Y/n shook her head with a grin, “No. You smell nice. Clean.”

“Well, I did shower after the show. I get so hot and sweaty on stage. Sometimes the outfits don’t breathe at all. Just like, my hot skin trapped under saran wrap is what it feels like,” he laughed as he spoke but the visual had Y/n’s mind going into dark and dirty places. Perhaps he’d said it on purpose.

She stayed quiet as she sipped the last bit of her wine and then leaned forward to place the glass on the table in front of them.

“Would you like another bottle of wine? Or… something else?”

Clenching her jaw she looked at his empty glass next to hers.

Or something else…

“Well, I don’t know about having more wine…”

“Okay. Me neither to be honest. Also not quite ready to go to bed just yet. Do you want to like…” he pulled his lips into his mouth and raised his brows as he bumped her knee with his.

He didn’t need to say it. She knew what he meant. She kept her eyes on his with a grin on her face as he leaned in so close she could smell the wine on his breath, “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

She was compelled to pull him toward her and put her lips to his instead of answering him verbally. She’d been watching his pink lips wrap around his words in the unique way he moved his mouth for long enough. They looked smooth and she was curious how they’d feel against hers. But the moment she felt his tongue slip out and wet the bottom of her lip she felt her mind go blank except for the thought that she was kissing Harry Styles. Sitting in his hotel room way past her bedtime with security outside of his door and an empty bottle of wine on the coffee table at her feet.

His hand moved to the back of her neck and pulled her in closer, to which she happily allowed herself to be moved toward his body. Her own fingers flitted into his thick hair, the curls winding between her fingers, just as soft as it appeared.

To her surprise (and delight) he didn’t try rushing from kissing to trying to take her clothes off. In fact, he continued kissing her and pressing his tongue into hers and lapping over her lips, squeezing the back of her neck with one hand and her soft hip with the other for longer than she might have ever kissed anyone before. His mouth against hers was erotic and wet and a bit eager even. As if he hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time. But she matched that energy because she actually hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time.

He pinched her thigh a bit harder as she moved closer, her blouse-covered breasts brushing against his taut shirt-covered chest. She knew he was in good shape because she’d seen the pictures of him wearing open vests and jackets baring his well-built upper body while prancing on stage. Tonight’s outfit showcased how beefy he was with a well-fitted t-shirt and leather pants. A reminder of where she lacked.

As his hand slid upward to the curve of her waist she pulled away a little, really not feeling like he’d enjoy her extra bits once he touched them, “I… sorry…” she shook her head and sighed, feeling embarrassed.

Harry’s lips reached for hers again, brushing them softly over hers, “Sorry for what?”

But his mouth on hers was intoxicating and the way he was still grabbing at her and pulling her in made her forget what it was she was worried about.

The truth was that Harry loved what he saw and the way she felt so soft and plush under his hand. Her mouth, her hip, her waist. And she smelled pretty and her eyes were making him lose his mind. He wanted her in his bed and on his cock (if she’d allow that). Her voice was soft and feminine and she was smart and funny.

Harry had no trouble finding someone for the night. He’d been very lucky since his One Direction days but fame was like that. It also didn’t hurt that he was handsome with a deep voice and a big cock. But recently he decided to start being a little more choosy. Perhaps to find someone he could spend more than a night with. It was hard to do, though. Because he was on the road a lot and most people couldn’t keep up with his lifestyle unless they could go on the road with him. Which was usually an impossibility.

And after Y/n had left the venue a young woman was flirting heavily with him; batting her lashes and touching his arm, and giving off all the signals that she was a sure thing. Normally he’d have just stuck with that and had a good time with her for the evening. That was the easy route. A pretty girl very willing and eager whom he could send away after without feeling too bad. Did that make him a bad person? He didn’t think so. It was just sex most of the time. He was always safe and respectful and the kind of sexual tension that would build up while he was singing and dancing (and honestly that was when he was feeling his most attractive and confident) was normal after every show. It wasn’t like he had sex with someone new after each concert. But the option was always there.

But tonight he really wanted to see Y/n again. The cute girl was the easier option, but Y/n was the kind of woman he wanted to keep with him until morning. Let her sleep in his suite and have a couple of rounds with her. There was no way to know if it could ever be more but she was something different. His therapist, Pat, had told him to stop going with what was easiest. To take a step back and look for more substance. She told him he was clearly looking for something deeper and while there was nothing wrong with a bit of fun, deep down he needed more. And he knew she was right.

Harry’s hand roamed upward to the underside of her boob and even with the blouse and the bra covering her flesh he could feel how soft and heavy her breast was. He wanted to tear her shirt off and take a look but he’d let her lead the way because she seemed like she knew what she wanted when she slid her palm over his thigh and close to his crotch. Harry was solid and already thickened under his shorts, which was quite obvious from the way the fabric tented outward. He pulled her in closer again, hoping she’d grasp him over his shorts.

But instead, when Harry pulled at her she lost her balance and so the hand she was slowly moving upward as she worked up the courage to palm over his obvious erection suddenly was planted firmly over his cock, her hand trying to steady herself so as not to crush him under her palm and so she didn’t fall forward into him like she was about to.

They both parted from the kiss, Harry laughing and Y/n apologizing and quickly removing her hand, “Oh my gosh! Are you okay?”

Harry was more than okay when he looked into her pretty eyes and saw how flustered she was, how swollen her lips were from kissing, and the way her eyes were blown out.

He put his hand over hers and pulled it back to cup over his hard dick, “As you can tell, I’m just fine,” he grinned and looked down at the state of himself and her eyes followed him. She knew he was hard, she felt it when she fell into him. Which was quite exciting now that she was having her hand guided over him, he squeezed around her fingers so she had to tighten her grip around him. She panted and looked up at him. He was girthy and the way his dick was stuffed under his shorts, bent a little bit as it was constricted by the elastic. She could tell he was hung. Very much so.

“Do you want me to… can I?” She asked, licking her lips and looking back down at his big bulge and Harry leaned back, putting his arms back along the couch.

“If you want. But if you do that then be warned that I am gonna want to return the favor.”

A laugh was forced out of Y/n’s nose as she looked back into his eyes curiously, “Be warned? As if that would be a bad thing?”

Harry shrugged, “You never know.”

Y/n bit her bottom lip and slowly tugged at the elastic of the shorts he had on to reveal he was sans underwear. The shock of seeing his thick deep pink tip so quickly had her gasping unexpectedly and pausing her motion. She could tell he was big just by the way he felt, but seeing it bare before her eyes…

Looking back up at him he nodded at her to continue so she pulled at the material, pushing it down and then finally getting a full at him, long and pretty, hard as a rock. He was fully engorged and heavy in her hand when she slid her palm over him. Yes, this would do.

Getting to her knees on the floor in between his legs she kept her hand on him, not wanting to let go. It was unbelievable that she was holding Harry Styles’ thick cock in her hand and he was hard for her. She clenched her thighs just imagining what it might feel like wrecking her insides because it would.

She licked her lips and leaned over him slowly, leisurely pumping him upward. Spitting over his tip she looked up at him and pressed her mouth to his slit with a tiny peck and used her hand to coat his cock with the saliva. She spat again to give her hand more glide and on her upward stroke, her palm squeezed around his frenulum. Harry moaned and leaned his head back. His pink lips parted.

Positioning herself more comfortably she lowered her mouth again to the underside of him, licking upward until her tongue glided over his tip and she popped his bulbous crown into her mouth and sucked. He reached down to put a hand into her hair and grunted as she got lower over him.

He tasted good. Of course, he hadn’t come yet but he was clean and smelled nice. She was never a fan of the taste of come but she was certain with Harry, she’d gulp him all down with a smile on her face despite whatever he might taste like.

Harry loved getting head. He didn’t always ask for it, and he didn’t technically ask for it this time either but she wanted it and he wanted to feel her warm mouth and plump lips wrapped around him since the night before when he first met her.

He was not disappointed either. She was taking him in well. He knew he wasn’t easy to take all the way, which was part of the reason he didn’t always ask for a blowie. But Y/n was good. He tried not to tighten his fingers in her hair, wanting her to go at her own pace but he did grasp the back of the couch with his free hand and found himself letting out a pathetic whimper when she swallowed around his tip.

She was enjoying this. She was pretty good at giving head, though it had been some time, she was a bit rusty but it was like riding a bike really. After a few swallows and deep strokes, his tip hitting the back of her mouth and making her gag lightly, she began to get the hang out of it again. And he was clearly enjoying it.

She was making a bit of a mess too. Drooling and coughing… the fabric of his shorts that was pressed under his balls was wet. Which reminded her…

Using her free hand she began to roll his scrotum in her palm gently. His balls were round and full and heavy and when he gasped she could tell that was a good sign.

“Oh my god… ffffuck, Y/n!” Harry couldn’t help it when he tightened his fingers in her hair. He was going to come already. A little bit embarrassing but she was good and the noises she was making and the way she was sucking him in, wet and warm… plus… he was getting a very good view of her with her mouth wrapped around him. Drool dripping down her chin and she’d look up at him every so often and that was doing him in. The fact that she was pushing him down her throat so deeply and then looking up at him as she gurgled around him was making him lose it.

Now, Harry was a bit dominant in the bedroom. Well, a lot actually. He didn’t always show it, especially not with one-night stands or with someone he’d just met. He liked to ease them into it unless they were clearly into it. And there was something that told him she liked it a bit rough. So when he pushed her down a little further and her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she moaned around him he coughed out a gasp and clenched his teeth to hold himself back. He wanted to have her on his cock like this for a while longer but she was conducting his perfect ideal for a blow job.

“Open that throat up for me, baby… gonna choke you with my come…” he panted his words and watched her closely as she hastened bobbing up and down over him. He took a risk to say what he wanted and she liked it. He had a feeling she would.

Y/n moaned at his words and the way he handled her hair and pushed her down over him. His sudden dominant display was welcomed and felt her arousal drip past her thong onto the insides of her thighs when he told her to open her throat for him. It was the hottest thing she’d heard in a long time.

And she did choke on his come. Salty and bitter, with an edge of sweetness. She swallowed and around him coughed as he flooded her throat. Tears poured from her eyes as she gulped him down the best she could and listening to his moans and grunts was satisfying to her.

Eventually, he released her hair and let his body melt into the couch as she licked him clean until his cock was softening in her mouth. He watched her when she sat back and wiped the back of her hand over her mouth with a small smile. The tears on her cheeks were mixed with streaks of black from her mascara and her mouth was puffy and wet.

“Come here,” Harry grasped the front of her neck and leaned in as he pulled her close so he could kiss her hard. She put her hands over his thighs to steady herself as he pulled her up and then moved her onto the couch under him. He pushed her down and lowered himself to her neck and licked upward toward her jawline, “Let me see you. Want to see your tits and your pussy. Can I, Y/n?”

She nodded as he pulled at her top. She sat up a little so he could pull the material off and she was quick to undo her clasp at the back. She was wearing a bra that was slightly complicated because her breasts were large and heavy so it was quite the device. She doubted he’d be able to figure it out fast enough.

“Holy fuck…” Harry groaned as he put his large hands over her tits and caressed the soft skin before lowering himself to attach his mouth to her left nipple and then her right one.

She hissed when he pulled at her nipple, sucking it into his mouth and squeezing gently at the other side. She hadn’t had anyone play with her tits in a long time. She’d really been missing intimacy. He sat back a little and pressed her boobs together before dipping back down to use his tongue all along her smooth flesh, tucking the wet muscle in between her breasts and licking upward toward her neck.

He continued kneading her tits as he settled himself onto his shins and sat back and looked at her face, “So fucking pretty.”

She arched her back, causing her hips to roll upward and Harry looked down to her hips, moving his hands down to the waistband of her skirt. He massaged her soft hips and watched as the material of her skirt lifted the slightest at the way he was squeezing her. He clenched his jaw and looked back into her eyes and raised his brows as if to ask her permission to keep lifting her skirt upward. She’d already nodded in response when he asked her moments ago but he wanted to know if she’d changed her mind or not.

Y/n brought her hands down and lifted the hem of her skirt up to just the part where her thighs were wholly exposed but her panties weren’t in view yet. Keeping her eyes on his she pushed at his hands to lower them so he could finish the job if he wanted. It was her way of giving him permission to pull her skirt up so he could see her.

And it wasn’t that Y/n was super confident in her body. In fact, if there was anything she was insecure about it was her weight and her body. She did well to push down the anxiety she felt about that and didn’t like to make it known she felt self-conscious, but she was. And here was Harry Styles between her legs and looking at her half-naked body, finally getting a view of her panties as he lifted her skirt. She knew she was wet between her legs already and watching the expression on his face she held her breath hoping he wasn’t grossed out by what he saw.

She watched him lick his lips as his brows set in a serious expression. He shot his gaze up to her eyes and then back down to her wet panties. She breathed a gasp when she felt his finger slip along the topmost part of her thigh just under the crotch of her panties, “You’re wet.”

She gulped hard. She knew there was nothing she could do to hide how wet she’d gotten from sucking him off. But when he thumbed at her thigh and collected her arousal before sticking his whole digit into his mouth and licking it clean, she dropped her mouth open in surprise.

“Mmm… do you know one of my favorite things to do is to put my face in between a woman’s thighs and make her come on my tongue?” He licked his lips again and pressed his thumbs to the elastic of her panties, pushing just under the fabric over her hips as he looked at her.

“I… no. I didn’t know,” was all she could respond with. She was anticipating what was to come and she couldn’t believe it so her brain wasn’t quite connecting with everything else at that moment.

Harry kept his eyes on hers as he began to lower her panties. He wanted access. Wanted to get his mouth on her and have her shaking and coming, getting his face all wet, dripping down to the couch below…

When Harry pulled the fabric down to her upper thighs he shifted to pull the material down and off her legs. He needed to have her spread apart for him so the panties needed to go.

When he finally allowed himself to look at the soft skin and the bit of hair she had all around her warm and wet pussy he closed his eyes and moaned when he gripped onto her hips, letting his fingers sink into her skin.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good. Okay? You want that, Y/n?” He yanked his shirt off over his head, revealing his well-defined chest and scattered tattoos. He must have planned on making a mess.

She nodded and looked down over her body and back into his eyes as he lowered himself over her. He went in tongue first and closed his eyes as he made the first lick upward through her slit and coated his tongue in her.

She moaned softly but then he quickly reached a hand down to the leg that was nearest the edge of the cushion and gripped onto the underpart of her thigh, making her spread out for him as he nudged into her further, lapping and sucking at her.

“OH!” She panted as his lips lowered to her entrance and his wide nose swept over her clit as he shook his head and pulled at her so he could push in further.

She grabbed onto the back of the couch with one arm and her other hand pushed into his soft hair. She rolled her hips upward and moaned at the way he felt on her, but he kept pushing her back down which was driving her nuts, in the best way. He was going in like a starved man and forcing her hips down to keep her still.

Harry wasn’t shy to eat pussy or do it his way. He found that women generally enjoyed the way he did it. His objective was always for it to feel good and for whoever was on the receiving end to come. And he really wanted to make Y/n come because of how good she’d just sucked him off. Swallowed his cock halfway down her throat and choked on his come. He wanted to give her something in return because he wanted to show her how good he could be. Hoped that he was better than anyone before him (because he liked being the best at everything he did).

“Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit!!! God! Harry, f-ffffuck!” When Harry shifted and stuffed two fingers inside and began to pump them in and out as he kept his mouth over her clit she knew she was gonna be a goner. Because this was her own go-to move when she masturbated.

She had a slim dildo she used that was curved and hit her insides nicely and loved combining that with her clit sucker[TK7] . It always got her off and Harry’s mouth and fingers were hitting all the spots she needed.

Going into this with him she figured it could be fun. Might get some pleasure, perhaps something to think back on fondly. She hoped for more than just that (if he could give her an orgasm that would have been preferred) but was prepared for just some fun but doubted an orgasm or anything like what was happening. The man was just as charming with his face between her thighs as he was talking and singing into a microphone. The humor and his charisma didn’t stop on stage. Harry was good. And sexy.

She stiffened as her muscles began to vibrate. Harry seemed to know that she was coming as he pumped his fingers into her harder and faster and continued slurping at her clit.

Only when she began to come down did she realize how loud she’d been. Her moans and cries were sure to have been heard by anyone standing near the door. Her slight embarrassment was quelled when she felt Harry’s lips still sliding over her pussy as he moaned. She was a mess and from what she could see of his face, that was too.

Pressing at his forehead as she giggled her words, “Harry! Okay… okay!” She wiggled away from him.

Harry sat up and looked down at her with a small smirk on his damp face. His eyes were hooded and he looked like he was ready for more, which she was not expecting. Figured he’d gotten what he needed and would have her on her way.

But instead, as he stood up she noticed that the strain at the front of his shorts was back with a vengeance. After pulling his shorts off, he pulled at her hand, helping her stand, and wrapped his fingers around hers as he led her to the bed.

She watched him walk in front of her, tall and well-built. A tush she could bite into. Would love to sketch and paint him in bronze, pink, olive, and brown. His thick dark hair, the lean neck holding up his big, yet handsome, head. Broad shoulders and a smooth back, strong, meaty thighs atop his sinewy lower legs. She could do his frame justice on a canvas. Add in a bit of gold and red, and plenty of dark, fine strokes to delineate his muscles. She’d use her script brush for the scattered hairs…

His mouth met hers and erased her thoughts and her gawking at his naked physique. The first thing that was apparent was the way he tasted. Like her pussy. She was not quite expecting it. She’d been out of the game like this for a bit and so kissing someone was already a fairly exciting prospect. But to have it be Harry Styles and then to have him taste like he’d just eaten her out? Now that was never something she’d had on her radar for sexual conquests. This felt like a bucket list item that would always just stay there, on the list. Except it was so far out of her realm of possibility that it never would have made it to such a list. But as it were, here she was, being pulled to his bed, his cock hard and long next to her, his mouth damp with her arousal, and then what?

“Take your skirt off for me, love.”

He didn’t ask her. He told her.

She knew that once her skirt was pulled off she’d be completely naked. In front of Harry Styles. With that body. But she complied. Bringing her skirt down over her hips and thighs until it fell into the floor in a small pile. She looked down over herself but tried not to think about the way she looked naked to him. He didn’t seem to mind her extra bits. In fact, he seemed to be rather enjoying her as she was. But she couldn’t help the way she felt so exposed.

He bent down to kiss her again, his fingers running into her hair with one hand and his other hand moving down her back and to her bottom, squishing her flesh and rutting his hips into hers.

Harry parted with a gasp and held her out so he could look at her, “You’re so fucking hot, Y/n. Climb on the bed for me.”

Her whole body was vibrating. The way he was looking at her had her nervous and vulnerable. She sat her bottom on the bed and watched him as she scooted into the middle of the mattress. Harry stood at the foot of the bed and watched her. He wasn’t shy about where he let his eyes roam. Right between her sticky thighs, over her belly up to her big tits.

“Lay back and spread your legs.”

She wasn’t used to being told what to do during sex. Her husband was the last man she slept with (years ago) and he wasn’t commanding in bed at all. This was all a first for her but it made her feel something she hadn’t really felt before. Being bossed around this way was exciting.

So she did as he said, putting her back on the comforter and hesitantly spreading her legs apart, bending at the knees and putting her feet flat onto the blanket.

She felt the bed shift as Harry climbed up next to her and he put his hands on her shins and looked at her shiny pussy.

His small moan vibrated through his chest as he looked the pretty girl in her eyes, “Can I fuck you? Is that all right?”

Y/n nodded quickly and shot her eyes down to Harry’s cock. She couldn’t believe he was so hard again. But she felt like that was probably somewhat of a compliment, “I don’t have any condoms, um-“

Harry crawled over her, his thighs spreading between hers, causing her legs to part further, “I have some. Are you on birth control?” He grazed his mouth over hers and as he pressed his lips to hers she felt his cock against her pelvis.

Panting her words and rolling her hips upward, “Yes I am.”

Harry’s lips slotted between Y/n’s as he settled his hips against hers, slowly putting himself through her labia to feel her first. Without having to put on a condom. He knew it was necessary but to be able to feel her warm against his skin, wetting it, the hair scratching it…

Y/n gasped when his cockhead nudged at her entrance before he slid up through her crease and it bumped into her clit. It was salacious. Almost as if he were testing the waters to not put on a condom. Her body and her mind were beginning to synch up into lust and want again. He’d just given her an orgasm but she was on her way to that point of no return once again.

And Harry never went without a condom with a one-night stand or a quick weekend fling. Of course, once the relationship was established there was no need but never before had he wanted so badly to enter a woman without really knowing if he could trust her or not. She said she was on birth control but how could he know?

Reluctantly he got off the bed to grab a condom from his suitcase and paused next to the bed to roll it down from his tip to his base.

Y/n watched. He was thick and long. The hair at his base was dark and masculine. He crawled back in between her legs and kissed the insides of her thighs and lapped upward quickly over her pussy one last time for good measure before positioning himself over her with his shaft in his hand, aiming himself at her cunt.

The room was lit with only one lamp and the bed was soft underneath her body. She couldn’t quite believe that she was in that moment, with Harry Styles above her. She hadn’t had sex with anyone since her husband. But here she was, with a man’s cock pressed at her entrance, waiting for her to finally give permission so he could push into her. So he could fuck her. So Harry Styles could fuck her.

Rolling her hips upward slightly and grasping onto his lats, “Please.”

Harry panted out a breath as he fit his cock into her, the initial entry needing a bit of force to squeeze his thick head past the threshold of her tight muscle. She gasped at the widening of her opening. It felt good to have a man poking into her rather than her silicon dildo for once.

She held onto his back for dear life as he doused himself in her. She was soft and thick and tight. It was incredible and warm. His strokes were long, slowly sinking in deeper and deeper with each rock inward.

“How’s that feel?” Harry’s cock was feeling very good, he hoped the noises she was making were a good sign. He thought it was but wanted her to be more vocal.

“Oh my god, Harry… fuck that feels good.” She purred.

Harry put his hands over her tits and continued fucking into her, his thighs giving him leverage for each plunge.

“Yeah? You like that? Tell me what you like, baby. What do you need?”

Her mind went blank as his long dick slicked in and out of her, spreading her, touching her deeply… What did she like? What did she need? It had been so long and never had she needed to vocalize it before.

“You, Harry,” She hissed when he bucked his hips inward, a deep thrust that sent her body surging upward from the force of his drive.

“Me? Oh baby, you have me, can’t you feel that?” His words came out pinched in ecstasy, “But talk to me. What do you like?”

Slowly moving a hand upward to her neck he wrapped his fingers around and squeezed only the slightest as he continued rolling his hips into her. He tweaked one of her nipples with his other hand and she gasped as her lips parted.

“What about this? You like when I do this?” He dug the pads of his fingers into the side of her neck before loosening but keeping his hand over her throat.

She nodded quickly, not expecting to have enjoyed it but she did, “Yes.”

“And this?” Rolling her nipple between his fingers and giving her a good hard jerk of his hips inward she grunted and nodded again.

“Good girl. You like it a little rough then. Let’s see what else we can learn…” he spoke as he gripped her neck solidly, but still giving her space to say no if she needed. He leaned over her, his face directly above, “Open your mouth.”

She complied and parted her lips.

“Tongue out.”

She jutted her pink tongue past her lips and Harry spat down into her mouth and then cooed at her as he watched his saliva drip down her tongue and into her throat, “I can tell you like that too. Is that right? Are you my dirty girl?”

Moaning and feeling her body floating away from her brain she nodded, “I’m your dirty girl.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath at her words. It was just what he wanted to hear.

“You are, aren’t you? My dirty girl likes getting fucked nice and hard,” he punctuated his statement with a harsh thrust, “Choked, spit on… Fuck baby I think you might just be my favorite girl. What else do you like?”

She was officially stunned and gushing from his words. And his cock too of course. But the way he was talking to her and showing her what she liked made her feel like a new woman. It was an experience she wouldn’t soon forget.

“Aww… poor thing. Having a hard time speaking, dear? Need some help?”

She gurgled a moan and nodded. Her belly was on fire with how deep his cock was. Everything around her was fuzzy.

Suddenly Harry pulled out and grasped her hips, pushing her to roll to her front, “Hands and knees.”

She whined as she pushed herself upward, spreading her legs and pushing her knees and palms into the blanket below.

“Shh, shhh… no need to cry, baby. Daddy’s here.” It was a risk. To say it. To call himself Daddy. But it was his favorite. He loved being called Daddy when he was fucking anyone who was even just a little bit submissive. And Y/n was quite submissive but he had a feeling she didn’t even know it. Based on how confident and cheeky she was when he met her and when she got to his room earlier he knew he had the potential for a brat on his hands but for her to also be a bit submissive? And this pretty? He’d hit the jackpot.

He smacked her bottom, both sides with a solid whack causing her to jump and groan, her head lolling downward as she reared back, her pussy and ass on display for him.

“And you like that too don’t you pretty girl?”

She nodded her head and moved her hips back again, most likely searching for his cock to fit itself back into her but he needed her to start talking a little more.

“I knew you would. But I need to hear your words my lovely little thing. Can you talk to me? Do you want more spankings? Or do you want something else?” He grinned as he squished the plump flesh of her thick bottom, the view something he’d sear into his memory and bring with him on tour until he could have her again. He knew he’d want to see her again after this.

“Fffuck…” she moaned softly. She didn’t know what she wanted. She just wanted whatever he was doing to continue. She was absolutely loving it. And the Daddy thing? She had never called anyone Daddy before. Not even her own dad. It would need to grow on her.

Harry grasped the base of his shaft and dragged his tip through her folds gently, up and down, pressing himself at her center and she pushed back to make him go in but he backed away, smacking her bum again and making her jolt.

“Ah, ah, ah… Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want. I need to hear it from those pretty lips.”

Y/n swallowed as her heart raced and not just from how turned on she was. From nerves. She was surprised by the reaction he was pulling out of her. But she did want a couple of things and there was something in how dominant he was being that made her feel like she needed to comply.

“Fuck me and spank me. Please.”

Harry smiled and slid his cockhead into her folds again, “Yeah? I love it when you say please. Makes me very happy. I’ll give you what you want. But I want something from you too, Y/n.”

Harry watched as his tip parted her shiny crease as he pushed upward, spreading her arousal all around.

When she stayed silent Harry brought his free palm down to her bottom, the smack sounding in the room, “Well aren’t you going to ask what I want?”

She gasped and took a breath, “Sorry. What do you want?” Her words were coming out breathy and light.

“I need you to keep telling me if you like something. And ask me if there’s something else you want. Understood?”

“Yes.” She nodded her head and bit her lip, waiting for him to slip inside again.

Harry removed his palm from her bottom and gathered her hair between his fingers and pulled her head up gently, “Can you guess what else I want? What else makes Daddy really happy?”

Shaking her head and peeping the word no Harry leaned in to speak into her ear, “I just gave you a hint little girl. Let’s see if you can use that brain of yours to figure out what I like.”

Her eyes fluttered at the feel of his breath at the back of her ear and his fingers pulling at her hair. It wasn’t registering to her what he wanted. He gave her a hint?

“Come on… I know you can figure this one out. It’s not that hard. Or are you kind of dumb when my cock is right here, nudging into you? Hmm?” He pushed in the smallest bit, allowing his tip to tuck into her for a moment before bringing it back out.

She whined and licked her lips. It was true that it was hard to think when he was handling her the way he was.

“Sorry. I’m not sure.”

Harry’s dark baritone vibrated off her ear as he spoke, “S’okay. We’ll take our time til you figure it all out. Do you want Daddy’s cock?”

She nodded quickly and Harry chuckled as he spoke, “Yeah? Well then tell me, dear, who’s cock do you want?” He nudged in again, prodding her crease and pushing just into her opening. It was taking all of his resolve not to just hammer into her at that point.

But hearing him say that, it clicked. She knew what he wanted, “Yours, Daddy.”

It felt odd coming out of her mouth. She wasn’t sure if she liked it but the moment he stuffed her again with his large cock she keened and moaned and knew that he deserved to be called Daddy if that’s what he wanted. He gave her what she wanted so she’d give him what he wanted.

“Yes… good girl. I knew you could do it, baby,” Harry spoke through gritted teeth when he sunk in to the hilt. He pulled back and then fucked into her quickly. His pace soon became harsh as he let go of her hair and pounded her from behind. Smacking her bottom with his palm every few strokes her flesh grew red slowly and her moans grew louder.

“Oh! Yess! Ffffuck!” Her body was rocked forward at each strike of his hips into hers. The sound of skin thudding wetly and smacks of his hand to her flesh were loud in the room.

Harry held onto her hips, squeezing tightly as he gave her bottom a break from the strikes.

“My dick is coated in your cream. Ffuuck little girl. Goddamn best girl I’ve had. Can you rub your sweet little pussy for me? Put your fingers where you need them. Show Daddy you’re a good girl.”

Harry’s deep voice and the sound of his fat cock penetrating her wet hole were egging her on as she brought her hand between her legs to get herself closer to the edge as she rubbed her clit.

His engorged cock twitched when he felt her fingers brush against his balls as he thumped into her over and over again.

She began to see stars as she sputtered inarticulate words. Harry was going in hard but he felt so good inside of her. The way he was holding her hips kept her grounded as his balls whacked into her on each thrust. She could feel how wet his scrotum was from her arousal soaking him.

But then her eyes popped open and her whining and choked moans halted when he released one of her hips and put his fingers over her bum. On her anus. She hadn’t expected it.

Harry slowed his movements as he spoke, “Oh did that surprise you? How am I supposed to keep my hands off your tiny hole here,” he rubbed it as he spoke, still fucking into her deeply but slowly now, “when she’s looking directly up at me all empty and needy?”

She felt liquid drip over her bottom when Harry spit down onto her puckered hole and rub his saliva around, “Can I? Just a finger. It’s going to feel so good.”

Y/n panted and nodded, “Okay.”

Never once had she done anything sexual with her bottom. She’d never played with herself there, nor considered having anyone do it for her either. Her husband had certainly never tried.

More spit was rubbed over the hole and she felt Harry’s finger slowly push in as she continued rubbing her button and Harry continued filling her cunt with his heavy cock. It felt odd. Not like being fingered in her pussy. A very different sensation but it wasn’t bad. Well, she’d say that it was actually pretty good in combination with everything else.

“Relax for me. Let me make you feel good.” His finger fucked into her ass as he slowly began to increase the tempo of his hips.

“Ahh!” She squeaked out as he dipped into her cervix and she clenched over his cock and his finger at the ache.

“S’okay. M’cock’s getting in there deep, isn’t it? Do you want me to stop?”

Shaking her head she spoke with her words coming out in punches between his thrusts, “Please! Don’t stop! Need you!”

She did need him. Needed him to keep doing what he was doing. Needed his dirty words, his big cock, and his long fingers. She was going to come if he continued.

Harry panted and groaned at what he was seeing and feeling. Not only was she making him feel so good, but watching her pussy being fucked and her ass being fingered was a dream.

He slid his finger in and out gently and he could tell that she was starting to relax a little. A good sign. He’d love to fuck her bottom one day. Get her nice and open and just wreck all of her holes.

Harry’s long, fast strokes into her pussy were devasting her insides. She knew she’d be limping the next day but that thought only excited her.

Applying just the right amount of pressure to her clit as she rubbed, feeling Harry’s finger slipping in and out of her, and with the way his cock was working into her so deep she could no longer stop her body from shaking and her lungs from gasping for air loudly.

Harry felt her walls squeeze and pulse around him as he continued rolling his hips into her steadily, fucking her through her orgasm, her moans and gasps, her fingers at her clit, and her thighs shaking… he smiled as he threw his head back to feel it. To feel her in her orgasm. Her soft insides, wet, and contracting around him.

“Fuck, baby… it’s that good is it?” Harry looked down at the scene below. Absolutely filthy. His wide cock parted her fluttering pussy as it gripped him tight. Her arousal was slathered over him.

As she began to loosen up and he could tell she was done he gently pulled out, both his cock and his finger, “Good girl. Can you lie on your back? I’m almost there. Just need a little more. Want to make you come one more time.”

Y/n gulped and adjusted herself onto her back, “I’m not sure I can come again.”

Harry climbed over her and put his palms over her tits again, “You’ll come again.”

She watched him as he allowed his gaze to look over her body. She really wished he wouldn’t look too closely like he was. She felt a bit embarrassed. Being chubby was always something she contended with for as long as she could remember. As confident as she conveyed herself in her day-to-day, the truth was that once her clothes came off she felt well below average.

Harry gently brushed his fingers along her cheekbone and slowly pushed back in, the front of his thighs pressed into the back of hers.

The feel of him re-entering her was sharp and achy. He’d already done quite a number on her. She was positive she wouldn’t have another orgasm. Impossible.

“I love how you feel. Fuck, baby.”

He angled himself so he was pushing down into her, splitting her pussy and pressing deeply.

“Ahh!” She hadn’t expected the way it would feel when he pushed her hips upward and fucked down into her. It was tight and he was long and it pinched the smallest bit but when she looked at his face she saw ecstasy. He was definitely close.

“So tight isn’t it? Taking me so good, Y/n. Wanna feel you come once more. Just squeezing the fuck out of me again so when I come I can feel you milking me, sucking my dick into your cunt, begging for my come.”

Y/n moaned at the words. It was hot. Harry’s strong body and his roughness, and the way he spoke were so hot.

He moved his hand from her cheek down to her neck and softly squeezed, “It’s so messy down there sweet girl. Just drenching me. Can you hear that?” His question was punctuated by the noises their bodies made together. His lengthy prick pushing into her and dragging back to the tip before impaling her again. Over and over. The slick sounds of his condom coated in her, spreading her open. Her body felt it all. She had been so sensitive after her orgasm and now her insides were aching in delight. The feel of him wide and thick inside and then deep as he dipped all the way in sent zips and currents through her body.

Harry enjoyed the way his body felt inside of her. It was lavish and soft and warm and she was so wet for him, so needy. Her big tits were swaying as he thrust deep and her nipples were peaked. He loved how she looked with his hand over her throat. He wanted to do so much more. Preferred it far rougher but this was their first, and perhaps only time. He didn’t generally enjoy scaring them off on night one. A few rounds on separate occasions and he’d show what he was really into. He hoped this wouldn’t be their last time. He felt like she’d enjoy what he was into. Felt like she might be too. She liked to be choked a little. She called him Daddy even which was making him lose his mind. She’d be into the idea of playing into his breeding kink too he bet.

And that thought sent him so deep into his fantasy he began to feel his orgasm swell into his balls. Just imagining her plush body and wide hips taking him like he needed. He needed to fuck a lot. He normally masturbated about twice a day when he didn’t have someone to come inside of. But when he was in a steady relationship he’d drain his cock all day long when there was time for it.

He could just see Y/n’s cunt dripping with his come and he’d make her lie flat and keep it inside of her so it would soak into her. The idea that she could get pregnant by him. Fill her with his sperm and make her body grow thicker and softer with his babies. Her tits would swell and engorge.

But that was just a fantasy. Now he was fucking so hard and so deep into the hottest woman he’d had in a long time. Her plump hips and soft pussy were begging him for more. Even though she insisted she couldn’t come again, he could already tell she was getting even slicker for him. Her body preparing for her third orgasm. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her mouth was wide open.

“Y’gonna come for me, little girl. Come on Daddy’s cock. You can do it. I know you can. Can feel you fluttering around me already. So needy for more aren’t you?”

The words she wanted to say were yes and don’t stop, please! But instead, she gurgled and choked her moans when his pelvis rubbed over hers, offering her clit the friction needed. A few more of his harsh strokes and the way their bodies connected, rubbing and pushing into one another had her button being worked just like she wanted.

Harry coughed out a laugh but then groaned when he felt her begin to shake, “Oh, baby. Ffuck… thought you said you couldn’t come again? Hm? Look at that…” his strokes were long and deep as he felt her body give way to another orgasm. Her spasming cunt squeezed his cock deliciously and Harry pumped himself into her so she could come properly while getting railed and having her clit stimulated all at once.

And just as she was beginning to relax Harry finally released. He choked out a moan and stilled his hips, pushing in so his cockhead was pressing deep into her, wishing he was coating her insides, filling her with her sperm. But as it was, this was not bad either. In fact, even with the stupid condom, it was really good. The best. He hissed as his cock throbbed inside of her, his long dick pumping his come out to the tip and into the condom.

She felt him twitching inside of her as his orgasm shot through his cock. He was a glorious sight to behold above her. His panted breaths and mouth dropped open as ecstasy took over his features. Her pussy was doing that to him. It made her smile as he stilled his hips and let out a low rumble. She did that to him. She’d made him come twice in one night. She made Harry Styles have two orgasms and he gave her three. Unheard of. Absolutely insane.

Her chest was still rising and falling heavily as Harry opened his eyes and looked down at her. She felt it, the way he looked at her. How connected they were. This wasn’t just sex. Or maybe it was, she really wouldn’t know because she’d been out of the game for some time. Perhaps this was just how he was with everyone he fucked. Made them dreamy and drowsy and feel things deeply for him. His charm was off the charts. Perhaps it was just that. Maybe nothing more.

Harry leaned down kissed the edge of her mouth and then pressed his lips firmly over hers, his cock still half-hard inside of her. He could get used to this. She was so open with him and somehow they just worked together. And even though this was all physical, Harry couldn’t help but wonder if this connection went beyond the physical. He did like her. A lot. Already. But that was how he was. He’d fall in love and then fall out of it just as quickly. He had to be careful. Not to hurt himself. Not to hurt her. He gazed down at her with a tired smile.

“Stay the night. Want you again in the morning. Would like to have you here with me in bed. Keep me warm.”

She swallowed and her heart thrashed in her chest. He was too good. This man could make anyone fall in love. She knew it. But she wasn’t going to say no. She likely would never have the chance with him again. And if the following morning was anything like what had just happened, well, she quickly found herself nodding, “Yes. Okay.”

. . .

She felt her thighs tingling and her hips were aching when she squinted her eyes open. She couldn’t read the clock on the table next to the bed. Her vision was blurry but the sun was peeking through the cracks of the curtains. It was morning. And the only reason she’d woken up was because Harry was lying behind her. He was moving the slightest with his chest pressed against her back and his breath on her neck.

She lifted her head and Harry perked up when he realized she was awake, “Good thing you’re awake. Was getting lonely here,” he spoke as he softly grazed his hand up over her tummy and then indulgently squeezed at her breast.

She swallowed and croaked out her words, “I would have slept longer I think.”

“You can go back to sleep if you really want,” he suddenly shifted and rutted into her bottom and it was then that she felt his stiff cock pressing into her. She wasn’t sure she was ready for more of him, “Um… I’m a little sore-“

“Yeah? Did I go too hard for you last night?” Harry continued pushing his cock into her cheeks. They were both naked so the sensation of his warm, big, prick pushing into her plump flesh was quite salacious.

“I actually loved it. Never thought I’d like anything like that…”

“Mmm… loved it you say? And you’re sure you’re too sore for one more? I can go in gently and make you come again. One more for the road?” He kissed her neck as he continued humping her. His cock was already leaking he was so hard for her, so needy for her pussy again.

Harry was quite convincing. And she was already getting turned on by the way he was pressing into her and kissing her neck. And he wanted her again?

“Well, if you can be gentle then I think I’d like that.”

Harry smiled into her neck and massaged her breast in gratitude before bringing his hand down to her hip and pulling at her so he could see her pussy lips peeking out between the back of her thighs when he backed up just a bit and stroked his cock through her soft labia.

“You’re already wet for me, baby. So needy for Daddy’s cock even when she’s sore. Gonna take good care of you okay?”

Pressing his tip to her entrance he groaned when he realized he needed a condom. He felt like soon enough, if she wanted to stick around, they’d forgo the safety measure. He wanted so badly to fuck her raw but it was too soon, “Fuck. I need to grab a condom. Stay right here.”

Harry was back behind her in only a handful of moments. She’d already begun rubbing her clit in preparation for him. She wanted to make sure she was fully aroused and ready for his wide cock.

“Good girl. Keep rubbing yourself like that. See how juicy you are already? Perfect…” he nearly purred as he pushed into her tight muscle. It was especially taut as he snapped forward and his wide crown finally popped into her. Once he had the swollen tip inside of her he pushed in until he was met with a bit of resistance. She was extra sensitive and snug but the sensation was incredible as her soft walls squeezed around him, the deeper he got the tighter it felt.

He was slow and gentle just like he said he’d be. He massaged her tit and kissed her neck and her jaw as he slowly rolled his hips into her.

“S’like fucking an angel. Your pussy is so goddamn perfect, baby. M’obessessed. Your body,” he pinched her nipple, “your tits, your lips,” each part he commented on he fucked inward with a slightly harder push, just to make his point as he lowered his hand down the curve of her waist to her hip, “your fine ass. All so perfect.”

Y/n breathed his words in as his cock drove into her deep, filling her so fully and perfectly. Those things had never been said to her before. Not in that way. She slipped her fingers back and forth over her clit and the tips of her fingers were grazing his cock as he fucked into her slowly, deeply. Everything was wet and perfect. He was right. This did feel perfect. Felt better than any other fucking ever. Harry was so good in bed. He hit all her spots (mentally and physically).

“I need it. Harry, I need it so bad,” she surprised herself as she moaned the words.

But suddenly Harry stopped, pushing his cock as deep as it could get and he grabbed her chin and turned her head so she could see him from her peripheral, “Call me Daddy when I’m fucking you. Be a good girl and I’ll let you come again.”

Why did she find that so hot? So fucking appealing? She had no idea. It was like something had been turned on inside of her that she had no clue was lying there beneath the surface. Maybe it was just Harry. But whatever it was she’d be fantasizing about this and needing this dominance in bed from any future partners.

“Sorry. Yes, Daddy. I’ll be a good girl.”

Harry groaned and released her chin and began to pump into her plump folds and she sped up her fingers as he spoke into her ear, “Say it again. Say you need me.”

She swallowed and her face was boiling hot as Harry’s long cock pressed into her guts and then backed out, punching her walls apart with each plunge, “I… fuck… yesss! I need you, Daddy. Please…”

Harry choked out a groan and smacked her bottom, “God I’m gonna imagine those words coming from your mouth every night. Say it again. Louder. Come on baby…”

Her voice was shaky like her thighs as her brain began to unravel and her orgasm started to spring out from her center, “I need you, Daddy! I’m your good girl!” She moaned as loudly as possible and Harry smiled with his cock happily coated in her.

Just then a knock came to the door, “Mr. Styles?” Someone spoke from behind the wood.

“Fuck,” Harry spoke lowly. He never stopped rolling his hips into hers as he shouted, “I’m busy!”

“Sorry to bother you. But we’ve been trying to call you all morning. We have a package delivery for you from the Secrist Gallery. Shall we just leave it out here?”

Everything paused. Y/n craned her neck to look at Harry and when their eyes met she saw his dark pupils and wet pink lips, messy hair. He was an angel, grinning at her, “Just leave it out there. I’ll be out soon.”

“Secrist Gallery? Did you-“

Harry pushed his mouth to hers and began to thrust again, speaking against her lips, “Keep rubbing that pussy for Daddy. It’s time to come. Need you to come.”

Her half-melted brain complied and as Harry increased his pace their bodies began to slap together, wet noises coming from them on each stroke. Harry kept his tongue in her mouth and his fingers pinching her nipple as they writhed together.

She felt him slicing into her, his cock suddenly harder than steel inside of her and her fingers slippery over her clit. He was shaking, holding back his release and his kisses became sloppy, wet, wide-open-mouthed, tongue all over her lips and inside of her mouth.

She inhaled sharply when the dam broke. She moaned into his mouth and he moaned into hers as they both came at the same time, she pushed against him to get him deeper inside and he stuffed himself into the hilt, his balls thick and bursting tucked up against her as he spilled into his condom. Her vision went dark and her ears began to ring as Harry continued to kiss her, lick her, suck the life out of her.

It was insane how hard she came. She had never had a man so effortlessly work her up and make her come like Harry had. Wave after wave of electricity zipped through her body as she pulsed and sucked his cock in, gripping around him.

Eventually, they stopped moving and began to breathe again. Heavy pants and soft coos fell from their lips. The afterglow was incredible. Harry hadn’t felt it like that before. And he hated that he had to leave. That he needed to send her off and go away to his next destination.

When her brain began to fit itself back together inside of her skull she turned again to look at him as he slid out, “Did you buy a painting? Of mine?”

Harry rolled onto his back and smirked at her, “I did.”

She laughed and smacked his chest, “Which one? Why didn’t you say anything? How did you do it? I didn’t see you at the gallery.”

Harry sat up and pulled at Y/n’s arm, needing her closer, “I had one of my assistants go and take a photo of each one. I picked the one I liked the most. You named the piece The Lonely Dark. Love it. I loved a lot of them. But figured for now just one will do since I’ve got to have it shipped to LA.

The Lonely Dark. A sort of nod to her husband. What had been and the way she felt at night when she was alone with no one. She swallowed and Harry kissed her cheek, “Is it okay that I bought one? Is that weird?”

Y/n laughed and shook her head, “No. I’m flattered that Harry Styles wanted to buy a painting of mine. I’m gonna tell everyone that you own one of my pieces now.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll invite you to my house in LA when I get back to the States after the next leg of my tour so you can see where I’ve hung it.”

She pushed at him in jest, “Yeah right. Don’t tease. You don’t actually want me at your private home.”

Harry grabbed her hand and brought it up to his chest with a frown on his face, “Why wouldn’t I?”

Shaking her head she blinked her eyes, “Because. You’re Harry Styles. I’m some girl from the Midwest who paints. I’m just saying, don’t say things like that when you don’t mean it.”

“But I meant it. I really like you, Y/n. I want to see you again.”

It was unexpected. She didn’t imagine he’d actually be inviting her to his home or telling her he wanted to see her again. But she was so stunned by his admission that she couldn’t think of anything to say except, “Well then you’re gonna need to give me your number.”

Chapter 2

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creedslove · 1 year

Text

BETRAYED - PART THREE

Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: Pedro invites you to be his plus one for the night but his attention is caught by another woman and leaves you with a broken heart

Warnings: angst, age gap, established friendship, unrequited love/one sided feelings, Pedro being a dick but also a tiny little bit of fluff

A/N: I'm so sorry but I can't manually tag anyone on the post, the app won't just let me do it!

1.7k words

PART ONE | PART TWO

If someone had asked Pedro where he got his obsession with you from, he would be too embarrassed to tell. But first things first, he would clarify that he was not obsessed with you, he could never have such a weird, creepy feeling towards you. He loved you. He loved you like a friend, like a brother, he cared for you, he enjoyed having you in his life, you always supported him, believed in him and he was so grateful for that. He had never had enough of you in his life, except when you demanded something more than he could give you. He couldn't be your boyfriend, he just couldn't imagine mixing things up like that, of course you were pretty, he wasn't crazy to think otherwise, but how could he give you something he didn't have? You were young, he was older, you probably would want to get married and have kids, and well, he had chances of that throughout his life with a few women and he always backed down from this kind of commitment. Plus, after his much deserved breakthrough he was finally able to experience the Hollywood lifestyle for bit, women, parties, money. He would've been crazy if he'd said no to that, right?

Still, he didn't get why for the past few days he just couldn't get you out of his mind, of course, you two were friends, he worried about you, as you hadn't been talking much and though he knew damn well what he did to you in order to make you pissed off at him, he still pretended he didn't. He told himself it wasn't a big deal, he even convinced himself if you'd found a hot guy at the party, you would've the same to him. In his defense, there were probably hundreds of attractive men there, and you could have hooked up with any of them, so there was no need to throw a fit. Well, that was just what he told himself when he felt his heart clench at the sight of you online and not talking to him, or when you saw you posting stories with your friends or daily things you once shared with him, and saw he wasn't included.

Then, he began dreaming about you. And that was something he did not expect. Every night he would have the same dream over and over, he'd would see you in his home, looking comfortably and cozy on his couch, curling up in a blanket, sometimes with a book in hands or sometimes watching TV. When this little toddler would come running towards you and jumping onto your lap, giggling and calling you mommy. Even in the unconscious of sleep, his heart still clenched at the sight, especially when the kid would look towards him. Sometimes, the toddler was a little boy, and sometimes it was a little girl. When he dreamed about you and the boy, he always had the same eyes as Pedro and the messy hair. When he dreamed about the little princess and you, she looked exactly like a tiny version of you, but with the same beautiful brown eyes as well.

Pedro then, would wake up with a gasp and panting, rubbing his hands over his face and looking around. The dream always felt so real and each time he went to sleep, the desire to see you again grew stronger and stronger inside of him. So it was a fair assumption that he waited excitedly to see you at the dinner party he was throwing. There were other people attending, of course but he couldn't even hide the fact that the only one that truly mattered was you.

Pedro waited for you the whole night, he was warm and sweet to everybody, as always, greeting people, making them comfortable and being the star of the party, but he felt something was missing. You were missing. He still checked his phone anxiously every ten minutes to see if you'd texted him, maybe to let him know you'd be late or something but couldn't hide his disappointment when he got nothing. Eventually people got hungry and he had no other choice but to serve dinner. He had picked your favorite dish and couldn't wait to see your face once you realized it, but as you never showed up, he didn't get the chance to see your beautiful eyes lighting up and your sweet smile.

He sighed heavily once the last guests left his house and grabbed his phone one more time. He had texted you multiple times during the evening and it wasn't worth it, so he went to bed instead, knowing he'd see you at least in his dreams.

•••

You decided to go to the gym after days of not showing up, you would always say you were too busy with work, or your finals but the truth was you were straight up avoiding Pedro. You just didn't want to risk running into him there and have to face him, not when his gym clothes hung tight against his fit body, or when he smiled at you, his skin with the sweaty glow of someone who just finished an intense activity, one that you fantasized very often. No, you couldn't let yourself be fooled again, if he wasn't going to be a decent friend, then you weren't even sure if you still wanted to be friends. But that was not the time to depress yourself overthinking about that. You grabbed your gear and headed to the gym.

Pedro had already worked out that day, but his phone beeped when he got a new notification. He'd turned on the notifications of your profile, so he'd know whenever you made a new post. Opening your story he saw you were in your usual gym clothes

"Ay ay princesa, tienes un cuerpo maravilloso" he whispered as he watched his picture and frowned as he noticed he hadn't seen you in forever at the gym and groaned, finally realizing you were avoiding him on purpose. He felt so angry he decided he would talk to you personally, even if he had to follow you to the gym.

He didn't get much traffic on the way and grinned as he saw your car at the parking lot. Getting his sunglasses on, he walked through the sidewalk and entered the building, greeting everyone he knew and looking for you. It didn't take long for him to recognize your frame, he'd been watching your body for a couple of years and enjoying the view to the point he could recognize you in a crowd of people. He only didn't recognize the man that was next to you. You were getting ready for yoga practice and doing stretching exercises with the help of the guy Pedro had never seen. He was taller than Pedro, and more muscular as well. Judging by the way other yoga girls looked at him, he could assume your new friend could be considered handsome.

And he didn't like that.

In fact, he hated it.

If Pedro thought he was angry when he found out he was being avoided by you, he was in for a ride when he saw the moment the man placed his hands on your hips. You had to bend over and stretch and he was giving you support, but to Pedro that was a real absurd. How could that asshole touch you like that in front of everyone? How could you not say anything? For so long he was the only one who touched you like that, even if it wasn't in a erotic way, still, he was the only man who had his hands on you.

His blood boiled and he never felt that way, actually he did, several times when he was dating other women throughout his life, but he never felt that towards you. At that point he didn't even know if he should go and talk to you, he actually felt ashamed of being there, watching you from afar like a goddamn stalker. He was about to turn back and leave when he heard the yoga structure dismissing the class and your giggles as the other man got behind to talk to you alone. He could hear only your muffled voices but was able to catch some of the conversation and quickly learned the guy's name was Liev. He rolled his eyes, finding the whole scene pathetic and infuriating but stopped once more when he heard you agreeing to go out for a coffee with him.

Pedro felt rage shake his body, he didn't believe you ditched him and the dinner he'd especially made for you but yet thought it was acceptable to go out with a guy you had just met. He wanted to storm into the room, get you away from that weird guy and put some sense into your mind, but apparently it was no use.

He quickly returned to the parking lot and got into his car, trying to calm down and think straight. There was nothing he could do, he wasn't your boyfriend, at that point he wasn't even sure if you were still friends and yet he was possessive, you were his and no one else's.

He saw you walking out with Liev and decided to follow you, feeling his heart clench once he realized you went to the bakery you both used to go at least once in a week. Pedro felt such disappointment he couldn't put into words, how dare you do this to him?

He wanted answers, so he drove to your house.

An hour later you returned home, you felt tired from your workout session, but also a little excited at the man you'd met. He was very handsome and nice, and you figured there was no harm in spending some time with you, so you went for a cup of coffee with him, and that turned out to be two cups of coffee and one slice of strawberry cake, and you were not disappointed, he was sweet and fun. It reminded you a little of when you first became friends with Pedro, which brought a pang to your chest and you quickly dismissed, reminding yourself Liev's intentions were different, especially at how much he flirted with you. You placed your gym bag down and walked through the living room.

"We gotta talk, Y/N" Pedro's voice was cold and made you jump, startled as you turned back and saw him sitting on the couch. You swallowed hard, never expecting to find him there, watching you like a predator.

_____

A/N: Two things: I confess I was kinda anxious to post this because the first two pieces people really enjoyed it and I was worried this one wasn't good enough, so I hope with all my heart you guys didn't find it bad.

Also, I chose the name Liev, because of Liev Schreiber, but it was a just because choice. In real life he's taller than Pedro and his body type is more of a bulk, which makes him bigger and he's also older too (55yrs) but it won't be relevant for the story (yet) so you can picture whoever you want!

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal headcanons #pedro pascal headcanon #pedro pascal works #male actors #hot actors

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wutheringcaterpillar · 1 month

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I’ll Always Be Your Boy

Summary: Tommy reminisced back to his lost love, his first and only love. It had been years since he’s seen you, and one night when he pulls into your driveway, it all becomes too much for far too long. He needed to be reunited with you, even if the cost was his life.

Warnings: Suicide, drug addiction (opium), trauma, flashbacks, mentions of death, mention of tommy’s mom, mention of miscarriage

Partially inspired by the song below, be prepared with tissues y’all🥹

The brisk midnight air rolled in through the foggy car window as he pulled into the rocky driveway, still trying to figure out what the fuck he was doing here. Tommy hadn’t seen you in years but yet you still crossed his mind, he still worried about you even though he had taken the most vulnerable part of you and shattered it into a million tiny pieces. Now here he was staring at the damaged, once white house that he once promised to fix up before the argument. The wooden fencing now fading, the deteriorating paint now detailing the uncut grass, green vines covering the width.

Pulling out his cigarettes, he brushed the unflamed end over his plush, chilled lips.

The trees bristled, whistling and bellowing through the atmosphere, scattering leaves around the yard.

Tommy thought back to a a particular afternoon, reminiscing the way you laughed when he tripped and fell into a mud puddle, the way you smiled brightly whenever he would partake in hobbies you enjoyed such as creating masterful works of art out of chalk on the stoned sidewalk.

You were graceful, mesmerizing everything Tommy could’ve asked for in a woman, most of all you cared for him. Making him soup when he was feeling ill, running a warm bath to a temperature of his liking, knowing how to calm him from an angry fit or a stressful day.

God did he miss you, he’d do anything for the chance to take it all back, to treat you kindly and cherish you, give you anything your little ecstatic heart desired, but he fucked it up and he blamed himself every second of every passing day.

He wished and prayed that you knew there was no moving on, you held his heart and he was still that boy you fell in love with all that time ago.

A day hadn’t passed where he didn’t think of you but times were becoming tough. The business was failing, any woman that approached him, he simply ignored, only wanting you back.

Stepping out of the car, he approached the house ignoring the silhouettes of storm clouds rolling in accompanied by a deep, rumbling thunder.

Scanning the rooms, he stopped near the kitchen doorway, glancing at the stove where he had partaken in baking sweets with you. He didn’t like desserts himself but what you made you happy made him happy, and he’d always at least taste whatever you made. He would try to help, to assist in rolling dough, gathering ingredients and putting trays in the oven but you always shoved him playfully away after burning a batch of baked goods, putting him instead on the job of decorating.

Smiling softly, he carried on, stopping every now and then as he walked down the crooked, abandoned hallway, glancing at the dusty photos that still stay portrayed on the walls.

A photo of your first date in a milkshake shack, splitting a chocolate shake while giggling with one another, this was just moments before you had convinced him to go rollerblading and he can still say to this day, that was the most fun he’s ever had, for some reason it made him feel alive.

As he carried on scanning the house, he’d heard objects moving while the abandoned floor boards creaked. He could see the shapes of shadows in the distance but he didn’t feel scared or endangered. Perhaps it was you.

“It’s just me love, nothing to be afraid of.” He wished he could see you, he had missed you tremendously but still blamed himself for your death. He should’ve been there, he could’ve stopped it, and now he was reaping the consequences with a broken heart.

When he approached his final destination, he was greeted with a hole in the rickety old door, flashing back to the time where you’d had your first and last fight over what now seemed to be a pointless event, an event he regretted. If he had knew that would be the last time he saw you, the final thing he’d said to you, the frigid, cold words would’ve never escaped his lips, and he knew very well that the argument was a misunderstanding.

Dragging his feet over to the bed, he removed a bottle of opium from his jacket. That was the only thing getting him through this. He had tried to off himself multiple times, just wanting to see you once more, they even had to confine him in the draft which was nearly unheard of.

Pulling out a needle, he punctured his arm after increasing the dose. Almost instantly he could feel his thoughts slowing, a euphoric rush running through his veins causing him to feel tired and lay down on the abandoned bed. The awful fight replaying in his mind.

Bursting through the door, you jumped in the sitting position of your bed, the book in your lap tumbling down onto the floor from being startled.

Tommy stood in the doorway, bottle of whiskey in hand with drenched, disheveled hair from the pouring rain.

“Where have you been? I needed you, and you weren’t there!” Tears brimmed at your eye lids seeing him in this state, knowing that you should’ve been there but you couldn’t.

Standing up while the tears streamed like a river down your heated cheeks, you closed the door and turned to Tommy.

His angelic blue eyes had a clear perception of pain, himself also crying. Tommy never asked you for anything, not once.

“Y’know not everything is about you, maybe if you stopped and looked around every once in awhile you’d realize that but I guess it was stupid on my part to believe you ever truly loved me. You are just a selfish girl, and I can’t believe that for a moment I thought you gave a shit about me.” You tugged at his arm, begging and pleading for him to hear your side of the story as to why you weren’t present at his mother’s funeral but he wouldn’t listen. Hearing your excuses only fueled the anger and extreme upset inside of him but he didn’t know you were dealing with a loss of your own.

“Listen to me, please! I love you Tommy I do, you just don’t understand I-“

“No, no don’t do that. You don’t get to do that I have a crystal clear understanding that I can’t be with someone who doesn’t and never has given a shit about me. Enjoy your life Y/N, because I’m not sure if I want to be in it anymore if all it’s going to be is excuses. I really thought you were different, but you’re just like any other useless whore.” Slamming his fist through the door in aggravation and immense upset, the sound echoed through the house. His words stung like a bee, a sharp and direct hit to your heart.

The following morning Tommy woke from a deep slumber, arm reaching for you only to realize you weren’t there, half of the bed was empty.

He had regretted those things he said, he should have heard you out but all of his withheld emotions came crashing down on him like a hurricane.

Getting up and dressed, he decided the best way to apologize was to go and retrieve your favorite flowers and take you out on the town. He could be such an ass sometimes but he was still learning.

Heading to the kitchen Pol was shocked to see him out of bed, bright eyes and bushie tailed, dressed to the tens.

“I’m surprised you’re up so early given the events of last night. If you need anything don’t be frightened to reach out Thomas, we all need a little help sometimes. Sweet girl she was.”

“Who are you talking about? If it was that Lee girl I’m not surprised, bat shit crazy she was.” Tommy poured himself a cup of tea, adding only cream before reaching for the paper and sitting at the kitchen table.

“No one told you?” Tommy looked at his aunt confused while taking a sip of his tea. Pol relaxed her tone knowing full well this would break her nephew’s heart. With sympathetic eyes, she settled her hand atop of his.

“There was a fire last night. Y/N didn’t make it.” Tommy froze, this couldn’t possibly be true. Pol could see the panic and disbelief in Tommy’s baby blue eyes. When she tried to walk over and console him, he bolted for the door needing to see for himself.

In a fiery fit of anger and sadness he sped over to your house, seeing the damage that has been done. In that moment his heart shattered into a million pieces and he punched the steering wheel repeatedly.

“Fuck!” The thick walls of his mind were closing. If he had controlled his temper, he would’ve been there, he would’ve been able to pull you out of the fire and save the most important piece of his heart. Why you? Why not him? He had nothing to live for without you. He never even got the chance to apologize.

The only thing that seemed to be intact was your car parked in the grass near the mailbox. Stumbling out of his car, he needed to know, know what it was you weren’t telling him that day. What it was he didn’t even give you a chance to say.

Rummaging through clothes, and misplaced papers and pens, he opened the glove box only to find something that changed everything the day of his mother’s funeral.

Pulling out the small piece of paper, his hands trembled as he stared down at the ultrasound of what would have been your bundle of joy.

All of your emotions from that day seemed to seep into his mind. You must’ve been so scared, felt so alone. Why didn’t you tell him?

Flipping the paper over he noticed writing.

TIME OF DEATH: 11:25 am.

11/20/1913

10 weeks old.

You had miscarried just two hours before the funeral and he was too busy shouting out you to know. The tears sprang freely, his heart aching as he wept in the passenger seat feeling the world crashing down him, accompanied by the profound loss of someone he loved.

As the opium kicked in, he lay his dreary, spinning head onto the singed pillow, clenching his fists in what was left of your crisp sheets.

His eyes became heavy, limbs weak while his head span in a euphoric frenzy. Your face flashed through his mind, memories and moments shared together.

The sun was rising through the window peering in through the burnt curtains as Tommy’s vision became blurry and he could see sparkling orbs forming aside him a figure kneeling on the floor with what looked to be a child.

“Come daddy, mommy’s waiting.” The young girl’s voice was subtle, calming. She lay her delicate small hand on her father’s.

Through his clouded perception he could see she had his bright blue eyes and your facial features. She was beautiful just like her mother.

Beads of sweat formed upon his temple, the rush taking over his body bringing a sense of tranquility. Just before he stopped breathing, your voice spoke melodically through his head, bringing a sense of comfort.

“I’m here now. You can let go. We’ve been waiting for you.” He had never felt more at ease then he did now, drifting off into unconsciousness, awaiting his sweet descent into his lover’s arms being reunited as a family, forever content.

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x you #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #ranaewrites #peaky blinders #Spotify

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katiexpunk · 2 months

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Caller Number Nine | Pairing Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're a radio host of a popular late-night segment on relationships, advice and more. After a particularly bad night of calls, your final call of the night takes you by surprise.

Warnings: Javier is a flirt. Alcohol/marijuana. Humor/Banter. Flirting. References to infidelity and a man's negative view on his wife's postpartum body (the reader puts them both in their place). Both reader and Javier are lonely. New York. Slightly dom Javier. Biting. Javier gives reader a hickey. Murphy the Cat (this cat is DEA). Bodegas and a wholesome shop owner named Carlos. Some Spanish. TUWOMT call back to Paddington 2 but in a Javier AU. Javier calls the reader a slut once (she likes it). Praise kink. Thigh riding. Use of pet names. Just a hot fuck. Creampie. Unprotected sex. Fingering. Pizza on ranch. Dave Portnoy gets mentioned (iykyk). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. For immersability, the reader has no major physical descriptions.

W/C: ~6K

A/N: Let's just say this story was inspired by the slutty mustache that has made a triumphant return. I’m also just really into pizza with ranch right now, too, idk. If you need me I’ll be internally freaking out about the fact that there are almost 1,400 of you interested in my silly little stories. Thank you. 🥹🖤

Masterlist | Notifications | Read on AO3

People suck at listening. You used to, too. But over time, call after call, you have become intimately acquainted with the quiet moments—the pauses between heartbeats, the breaths taken before confessions spill forth, the silence that stretches like a canvas waiting for emotions to color it.

These moments, often overlooked in the noise of daily life, are where you find the truth that guides you through the tangled web of love and relationships you navigate every night on your show.

For you, the quiet is not emptiness but a space brimming with potential. It's in these pauses that you listen most intently, not just to the spoken words but to the ones that tremble on the edge of silence, too shy or too scared to make themselves heard. You have learned that what is not said can be just as important as what is, and you can hear those unspoken fears, dreams, and desires.

Each night, as the clock winds down and the world outside your studio window holds its breath, you lean into the quiet, inviting it into your show. You encourage your callers to do the same—to listen to the quiet within themselves, to the truths they've buried under layers of fear, doubt, or societal expectation. "In the silence," you often say, "you'll find the answers you've been too busy to hear."

Most of the time the callers are open to your feedback, their hearts open and kind.

Most of the time.

Tonight isn’t one of those times.

++++

“Have you ever had Brussels sprouts made for you at midnight by a gorgeous woman in no pants following multiple orgasms? I have, and they’re fucking delicious,” one caller said. It was obvious after minutes of talking to him that he was failing to heed your advice that if he didn’t stop sleeping with women who weren’t his wife, she would likely find out one day and leave him. God, you hope she does.

“I love her, you know? I just don’t find myself that physically attracted to her after she had the baby, it’s not my fault…” another said. Ugh, fuck off, dude. You were quick to shut that one down, to tell him that he was being a boy, to go to the store and buy his wife some goddamn flowers and apologize for being such an asshole.

Like a broken record stuck on repeat, this is how the night continues. One bad call after another, each seeming to echo or outdo the last in its what the fuck factor.

In the dimly lit recording studio, a soft hum of equipment fills the air, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of LED lights on the soundboard. You think briefly about letting out a scream before your last call, surely the foam walls would absorb the sound.

The glow of the computer screen casts a soft light on your face, accentuating the furrow of your brow and the downturn of your lips. You're a picture of frustration, a stark contrast to the empathetic persona that your listeners know and rely on. Each bad call tonight has chipped away at you. You drop your head into your hands and rub your temples for a brief moment before looking up at the clock, its hands inching their way to your liberation.

Just one more call.

The phone lines blink red. Your hand, a little steadier than you feel, reaches out and cues up the next caller, your voice finding strength as it always does when you speak into the void.

“Hi there, caller number nine. You’re on the air with Midnight Confessions. What’s on your heart tonight?”

“Ah shit – oh, uh probably shouldn’t say that on air huh – mm, wasn’t expecting to get through,” the man admits, his tone telling you he’s nervous, and probably a little drunk.

“Guess it’s your lucky night then. And it’s a late-night show, you can curse all you want to. What’s your name?” you ask, trying to ease him into the conversation.

There’s a pause, the kind that tells you the caller is weighing his options on whether he should give you his real name or not. Finally, he exhales softly, his mouth close to the receiver, enough for the exhale to cut through the static.

“I’m Javier. And you are?”

“You can call me the voice of the night,” you reply, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, the first genuine one in hours.

“Didn’t realize I called the crime fighters hotline.”

The joke catches you by surprise and you let out a little laugh.

“Can’t say I’ve gotten that one before,” you respond before eventually giving him your real name. “So tell me, Javier, what would you like to talk about tonight?”

There’s another pause, longer this time, before Javier’s voice returns softer, and you can tell the tone is about to shift.

“This is stupid, I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry for wasting your time tonight ma’am,” he says, and you can tell he’s seconds away from hanging up.

“Javier, wait –” you say, but he doesn’t respond. The line hasn’t disconnected, so you know he’s still there.

“Listen, I don’t know you – and you don’t have to tell me anything – but I can tell from the tone of your voice that it sounds like you’re carrying quite a bit on your shoulders. It’s brave of you to want to open up about it. Sometimes, talking to a stranger is easier than talking to someone you know,” you say, letting the dead air hang heavy for a second, “let me try to help.” You try not to make a habit out of convincing callers to spill their guts, but something about this call, this man, compels you to.

Javier sighs a sound that carries a world of worry. “I don’t even know where to start. My whole life, I’ve defined myself by my job, and without that, I –” his voice starts to crack, and he stops. You hear the clank of an ice cube against glass, and he continues again, “I realize how alone I am, how I don’t have anyone or anything. I feel like the only company I have these days are the ghosts of a past life.”

You don’t have the full context of his confession, but it hits you deeper than expected, echoing a sentiment that's all too familiar. You think about how most of the time, when you’re not working, you’re either turning to dust on the couch or in the company of fictional men you read about in books.

"Javier," you start, your voice softer, threading through the silence with care, "I understand more than you might think. You're not alone. It might feel that way right now, but I promise you’re not,” you say sweetly.

When he doesn’t say anything, you continue, “Losing a part of our identity, especially one that's been a cornerstone of who we are, is like losing our direction. But it's also an opportunity, a chance to rediscover yourself, to find new aspects of your life that give you meaning and joy."

You pause, giving Javier space, letting your words hopefully seep in to provide some comfort.

“What does that mean – that you understand more than I might think?” he asks, not acknowledging the rest of your statement, a curiosity in his voice.

“It means –” you start. Oh god, here we go. You’re not often like this with your callers, but this feels different. The studio, with its blinking lights and the gentle hum of the machinery, suddenly feels more intimate, as if it's just you and Javier at this moment, connecting through the airwaves.

“When I was little, my mother always knew my things, quirks, you know? Things like the fact that I’m scared of heights, that I get cranky if I don’t eat breakfast, and that I only like ranch dressing on pizza and never salad. It’s all trivial, small little details, but from this, I think I learned that being known is to be loved.

You take a deep breath, and let the silence swallow you whole for a moment before continuing.

“When I say I understand more than you might think, I mean that I’m still one of those people who’s waiting for someone to tell me how much I mean to them, still hoping for someone who will know those things about me, too,” you pause.

“Someone who will hold my hand tightly when I’m on a rooftop so I don’t somehow tumble over the edge, someone who will make sure I eat breakfast, even if it’s just a shitty granola bar, someone who will buy the fancy ranch, even if it only gets used on greasy pizza.”

You hear Javier chuckle through the line.

“Something funny?” you ask, a little confused, slightly embarrassed that this call has somehow reversed the roles and you’re the one spilling your confessions over like a broken yolk into his hand.

“No, no – it’s just ranch on pizza, that’s uh, that’s…disgusting,” he admits, a playful tone to his words, the sadness before seems to be gone, but you know his humor is likely just a mask.

“Excuse me, I’ll have you know ranch on pizza is a classic, and quite delicious. Thousands – no millions – of people like ranch on their pizza, it’s not that weird,” you quip.

“Right,” he rasps, “I’ll take your word for it, sweetheart.” You bite your lower lip and try to ignore the heat that’s risen to your cheeks, the little thrill you feel in your stomach from your banter. You’re quickly brought back to reality when you look at the clock and realize your call time is nearing an end.

“Well, Javier, you're my last call of the night and I’m afraid it’s time to wrap the show up. Is there anything else I can help you with before I let you go?”

“No,” he says, his voice a low rasp, thick like honey, “thanks for saying all of that.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say, the smile still on your lips like sugar from cotton candy. You slump back into your chair and the line disconnects.

++++

As the clock ticks past one, the studio lights fall to darkness, leaving only a solitary desk lamp to cast long shadows across the room. You loop the familiar weight of your backpack over your shoulder and put on your headphones.

You lock the studio door, and step into the brisk night air — it’s March, technically Spring, but the remnants of Winter are still holding tight. The city's pulse is tangible, even at this late hour, as you navigate your way to the subway. With only the Eagles in your ear to keep you company, you watch as the Graffiti-streaked walls blur past.

Once off the subway, you think about heading straight home to promptly melt into your mattress, but the rumble in your stomach reminds you that you haven’t eaten since lunch.

Might as well go see Murphy. He’s always happy to see you.

You round around the corner and the bodega lights come into view. The ground beneath you is damp and you’re careful not to step into any puddles as you make your way to the shop. You push open the shop door and the familiar chime of a bell alerts Murphy to your presence.

“Hi Murphy,” you coo, crouching closer to the ground so he can rub up against you. “How’s my favorite boy?” You say, scratching his favorite spot under his chin, feeling the comfort of his soft fur and rhythmic purr. If Murphy had it his way, you’d live at the Bodega, ceasing only to exist to give him love.

Your stomach growls again and you rise, “Gonna get some dinner now, okay Murph?” You walk through the tight aisles, grab a can of tuna as you pass by the canned goods, making your way to the frozen section in the back.

Chicken nuggets it is, you silently tell yourself before grabbing the frozen bag and making your way to the register.

"Hola, Carlos. ¿Cómo va tu noche?" (Hi, Carlos. How’s your night going?)

"Oh, hola.” As much as you’d love to practice your Spanish with Carlos, he needs to practice his English more and you’re more than happy to oblige.

"Good to see you. Listened to your show tonight, what a piece of work some of those people were,” he responds, using his index finger to punch numbers on the cash register.

"Tell me about it. How much do I owe you?"

"$7.50. Murphy says thank you for the donation,” he smiles, holding up the canned Tuna, and like clockwork, Murphy jumps up on the counter and starts assaulting the can with his cheek.

“Like he gave me any choice,” you respond, handing over $10. Carlos gives you your change and you give Murphy a few final loving pats on the head.

“¡Hasta mañana!"

"Buenas noches."

Back in the quiet of your apartment, the microwave fights you, its door refusing to stay closed until you jam it shut with a wooden spoon. With dinner finally spinning inside, you sink onto the couch, the night’s weight lifting off your shoulders. You feel yourself nodding off before the sound of the microwave beeping and the rumble of your stomach wake you up.

Dinner done, you smoke a joint, the smoke curling lazily in the lamplight. Your mind goes fuzzy and you stare up at the ceiling, trying to make shapes out of the popcorn on the ceiling. Your mind drifts to the thought of your last caller and you let your mind wander as you imagine what he might be up to tonight. Is he asleep? Or is he staring up at his ceiling, lost in thoughts as you are?

The only thing you know for certain is that you’re both alone tonight. At least there’s some comfort in knowing you’re not the only one.

The city outside continues its restless murmuring, but your mind goes silent as you fall asleep.

++++

You're grateful to have the next night off. Not like you have plans, but at least you don’t have to show face or wash your hair. Even if you did have to go out in public tonight, it wouldn’t matter — that’s the beauty of New York. You could look like a gutter rat and nobody would give a shit. But still, the freedom of an evening without obligations feels like a luxury, a small pocket of time where the demands of the world fade into the background.

Staring at your nearly empty fridge, its emptiness staring back at you, you sigh. Fuck. And then it hits you, unexpected but undeniable, a craving for pizza. Not just any pizza, but a pie from your favorite local spot, where the crust is always perfectly crisp and the cheese melts in a way that feels like a hug for your taste buds.

Stepping out into the evening rain, you make your way to the pizzeria that’s only a block away. The moment you open the door, a warm wave of garlic, tomato, and baked dough envelops you. The line isn’t long, but it gives you enough time to deliberate over your order, though deep down, you know you’ll end up choosing your usual — a Margherita.

You peek up from your phone and notice the man in front of you at the order counter. Broad shoulders strain against the fabric of his shirt, his tight jeans outlining a figure that speaks of strength. Dark hair and tan skin contrast strikingly under the fluorescent lighting. He orders confidently, his voice smooth, almost familiar. As he’s about to cash out, he adds “Can I get a side of ranch too, please?”

“No problem,” the cashier says, a little too happy to oblige his request. She’s flirting, you don’t know her, but you can tell. When the cashier asks for a name for the order, it confirms what you think you already know.

"Javier." The name hangs in the air, a familiar sound that sends a jolt through you.

It couldn’t possibly be.

The words escape your lips before you have a chance to second-guess it.

“I thought ranch on pizza was disgusting.”

He turns to face you and oh. You might have guessed that he was attractive from his voice, but seeing him is something else entirely. He’s strikingly handsome, with a dark mustache trimmed perfectly above his lip, his jaw stark and chiseled. The corners of his lips turn up in a smirk.

“Shit. Caught red-handed by the crime stopper herself,” he says with a wink.

Okay, so he’s handsome and charming. You’re so fucked.

As Javier steps aside, your gaze lingers for a moment longer before you place your own order. You feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you do.

“No plans tonight?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“Not really, just this. Might swing by to see my boyfriend on my way home,” you say, noticing the way his expression shifts into disappointment, it’s subtle, but it’s there.

“Oh,” Javier says. He thinks for a second that maybe you were lying last night about understanding what it’s like to be alone.

“Yeah, we’ve got a hot date with a can of tuna,” you respond, smiling as you watch his very visibly confused face, the furrow of his brow. You can tell he’s not quite sure how to respond, the words a tangled knot in his brain, or perhaps conjuring up some weird kinky thoughts about what a date with a can of tuna could entail. He’s not sure he wants to know.

“I’m just messing with you,” you laugh. “He’s a bodega cat up the street, I usually swing by every night after work and I’ve developed a soft spot for the little guy. His name’s Murphy.”

“Wait, Murphy? From Carlos’ shop?” Javier asks, and you’re a little surprised.

“You know Carlos?”

“Yeah, yeah — he’s friends with my father. Great guy,” he adds, nodding to the pizzeria worker who hands him his order. You notice the blush on her cheeks when he says thank you.

You watch intently as the other worker packs up yours, placing two to-go containers of ranch on your box.

You grab your pizza and use your free hand to grab one of the containers of ranch and extend it to Javier. “For you,” you smile as you hold it out to him.

“Eat with me?” He asks, grabbing the ranch from your hand, your skin briefly touching.

How could you say no?

You smile and nod, and follow him through the restaurant. He holds the door open for you and places his hand on your lower back as he guides you out. You feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. He’s just being a gentleman, but something about the touch causes something in your core to run hot, a hint of arousal in its warmth.

In typical New York fashion, you find a relatively clean stoop to sit on. With the pizza boxes open on the step in front of you, the steam wafting in the cool night air, you smile at Javier.

“Are you ready to have your world rocked?” You ask, holding the pizza up long enough for the strings of cheese to disconnect from the box. He does the same.

“After you, Cariño.”

Cariño. So he’s a flirt, too.

You dip your slice into the ranch, a perfect amount clinging to the tip, before you bring it to your lips. The anticipation builds with the scent of garlic and herbs wafting up.

You barely pause to savor the moment before you declare, “Some people say the first bite of pizza is the best, but I disagree.” You dunk it back into the ranch and take another, this time bigger than the first, “The second bite is really where it’s at.” Since when did you become Dave Portnoy?

Javier watches with amusement as you delight over your dinner. “Go on now, after you,” you nod, continuing to work on your pizza like a starving dog. You watch as he delicately dunks his pizza into the ranch, and like a baby bird, takes a small bite. You study his expression, a mix of curiosity and amusement, as he carefully chews. His face gives nothing away, a poker face if you ever saw one, until he finally delivers his verdict, “Can’t say it’s my favorite.”

“What?” you gasp, half in disbelief, half in jest. You playfully nudge him, your hand reaching out to liberate the neglected ranch from his box. “Let me save this from your indifference,” you tease, claiming the ranch for your own. The banter feels easy, much like it did when he called in the other night.

“So tell me, Javier,” he stops you “You can call me Javi,” he says.

“Javi,” you smile, picking at a tomato on your second slice. “What made you want to call in the other night?”

He looks at you as you bring the tomato to your mouth, and lets his gaze linger on your lips. You notice.

“That’s a good question. Um,” he says, taking another bite before continuing, his elbows on his thighs, staring out into the street. “Truthfully, I was a little drunk, and a lot alone. I think I just wanted someone to talk to.”

“I get that,” you acknowledge.

“What? You probably talk to dozens of people every day,” he responds, turning to face you this time.

"False. I listen to dozens of people every day, but I don’t really get to talk. At least, not about things that matter, not truly." He gives you a long look, then nods, understanding etched into his features. He doesn’t pry further.

A comfortable silence settles between you as you both work on finishing your pizzas.

"What about you?" you finally break the silence.

"What about me?" he echoes, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

"I spilled my plans for the night, my glamorous date with Murphy. What's on your agenda?" you ask, leaning forward slightly. His tight bicep muscles press up against your arm.

"This," he gestures broadly to the city around you, wrapped in the open night. Then, with a sheepish grin, he adds, "Well, actually, I was planning to go home and watch Paddington 2."

You laugh hard enough to let out a little snort. He looks at you with affectionate eyes, like you’re the cutest thing he’s seen in a while.

“Paddington 2? Like, the bear movie?” you manage between chuckles.

“Yep. I cried through the entire thing the first time I saw it. It made me want to be a better man.”

“I see, well I’ll have to take your word for it, I’ve never seen it.”

"Do you want to come over and watch it?" he proposes, the question hanging in the air. It’s a bold move, especially since you've only just met, but there’s an earnestness in his invitation that makes you pause, considering.

"Only if we can swing by and say hi to Murphy on the way," you quip, bumping your shoulder against his lightly.

“Deal,” he says with a wink.

++++

As the saying goes, you make plans and god laughs.

It's almost as if you could have, perhaps even should have, anticipated this turn of events.

Paddington 2 might as well have been code for want to come over and fuck?

The energy crackling between you two is undeniable, magnetic. His blend of wit, handsomeness, and confident charm weaves an irresistible allure, drawing you in closer with every word, every glance.

It's one of those rare, electric connections that you read about or see in movies, but seldom experience in real life. Yet here it is, unfolding in real-time, a reminder that sometimes the most memorable moments are those you never see coming. You rarely see yourself as the main character, but tonight you feel like one.

In the narrow stairwell, his hips press firmly against yours, your back against the cold wall, arms pinned above your head. His lips find yours with an intensity that leaves no room for hesitation, a crash of desire against desire. You surrender to the moment, tilting your pelvis into his, a plea for more.

The world around you is a blur; it's just the two of you, enveloped in a haze of passion. His hands, desperate and eager, fumble for his keys—a brief interruption in your heated exchange as he struggles to unlock the door without breaking the heat of your gaze, the connection of your lips only momentarily severed. The anticipation builds with each fumbled attempt, heightening the intensity as you eventually enter his apartment and he has you pressed up against the door.

His lips trail from yours down the razor edge of your jaw, the hallow of your throat, over your collarbones, and down the valley of your still-clothed chest. “Javi,” you moan, and he responds with a groan into your chest. He looks up at you through his gorgeous lashes, “Can I take this off, Cariño?”

“Yes, yeah — shit, yes, please.”

He makes quick work of your shirt and assists it over your head, before returning his lips to your soft skin and working to undo your bra at the same time. “God damn” he mumbles under his breath, and you can’t help but feel the warmth rush to your chest and cheeks, “so pretty.”

You can’t even remember the last time you were touched like this, nonetheless kissed. Your skin erupts in goosebumps as he makes his tongue trail over one of your nipples, the other being teased slightly between his fingers. The sensation causes you to tilt your head back in ecstasy and you let out a soft moan. “Oh, yeah? You like it when I do that, baby?” You nod your head in response. “Use your words.”

“Yes, oh god — feels so good.”

“That’s better.”

You bring both of your hands to the waistband of his denim and pull him in closer to you, close enough to feel his hard cock, desperate to be touched. He brings his hands to grip your hair, baring your throat to him. He forces your legs apart with his knee, shoving it against your core. You begin to slowly grind on the denim.

“Want more?”

“Fuck, yes — ” you whimper with another grind against him. He kisses you again, one hand tightly gripping your hip and the other wrapped in your hair. You cling to him, arms wrapped around his middle until you drop them to find his belt buckle. His lips find yours once more, and he sucks the bottom one into his mouth before biting it and letting go.

He steps back, and you work to remove the rest of your clothing and shoes. You shimmy your pants over your thighs, taking your underwear with you. He thought you were beautiful from the moment he turned around and saw you, but seeing you standing in front of him, chest heaving, bare and perfect just for him, is another story. He slides his pants and underwear off in one go, kicking them off the side along with his boots.

He only gives you a moment to admire his form, cock hard and thick, the tip of it red and weeping, before he surges forward and kisses you with new passion. He licks the seam of your lips before forcing it open with his tongue, swallowing every one of your moans like they’re a gift just for him.

When you both can’t breathe, he pulls back and peppers kiss down your neck once more before he sucks a hickey into your neck, eliciting a breathy moan from you. He smirks against your skin and moves to the expanse of your shoulder, finding a new spot to bite and suck.

He forces his thigh between yours again, pushing the expanse of it right up against your bare pussy. You moan and cling to him, once again riding his thigh. “You gonna come on my thigh, baby?” He questions against your skin, feeling your shoulders shudder from his breath ghosting along your neck. He tightens his grip on your waist and rocks you forward, “Use me. Want to feel you soak me,” he hums, kissing your neck. You’re lost in the haze of your arousal, chasing the friction you so desperately need.

“Answer me, Cariño.”

“Y-yes.” You breathe, tightening your grip on him. You grind against him more, faster, harder. “Want it so bad.” And fuck, you do, you need it so bad but you’re not sure you can get there from just this.

“What do you want, beautiful?” He questions with another bite to your skin. “Do you want to come on my thigh like the good little slut I know you are?” You whine at the filth of his words, the warmth of his praise causing your belly to tighten. He tightens his grip on your hips and guides you faster on his leg, his fingers digging into your skin, hard enough you hope you bruise.

“Show me how pretty you are when you come, Cariño — make a mess of me,” Your body seizes up and you throw your head back and let out a guttural moan. The spot where your pussy rests against his thigh gets wetter. When you tilt your head back up, his eyes are what throws you over the edge. He holds your gaze as he watches you come for him, on him, because of him. “Fuck, that was gorgeous,” he moans, holding you steady as you come down from your orgasm.

“Bed. Now,” he demands, guiding you through the hall and to his bedroom.

You fall back onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress with a small oof, your breasts bouncing with the movement. He holds his heavy cock in hand by the base as he gently strokes himself, and watches as you part your legs wide open for him and finger yourself.

He continues to work himself while staring at your tight, slick hole, dripping just for him. His eyes go impossibly dark as he watches your fingers saw in and out, you’re really quite the sight.

“Shit, Cariño. Look at your little pussy,” his voice in between a whine and a whimper, as he steps forward between your legs and begins to position himself at your entrance. One hand on your knee, the other holding himself, he presses the head of his cock into you, making you moan, his tip alone is a stretch you’re unfamiliar with — it’s intense but good.

He’s not trying to taunt you, not really. “Just wanna make sure you’re nice and ready to take this fat cock,” he says, pressing just the mushroom head in and out of you. The slow drag of it is excruciating, enough for you to let out a plea of please fuck me. “Look so good like this, baby. Can feel you sucking me in, she wants it bad, doesn’t she?”

You nod, “More, Javi. Need to feel you inside of me, please,” you plead, holding your thighs behind your knees, spreading yourself wider for him, giving him full access to your cunt.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, thrusting the full length of him into you, and ohhhhmyfuck.

Your pussy walls flutter and tighten around him, and he lets out a wrecked groan. He draws his hips back and slams that back into you with enough thrust that your tits bounce. His thrusts are hard, but slow, giving you time to adjust to his size. He’s quick to pick up the pace, causing you to sob in pleasure, broken moans leaving your lips as he knocks the wind out of you with each snap of his hips.

He draws himself nearly out, his cock glistening with your slick, and he grabs both of your hips to hold you steady as he fucks into you. “Look at the mess we’re making together, Cariño. So fucking beautiful, you’re taking this cock so well.” You’re starting to realize that he’s a smooth talker both in and out of bed.

You wail as he picks up his speed, panting and grunting, groaning as he watches the thin skin of your pussy stretch around his girth. He releases one of his hands from your hips and brings the pad of his thumb to the swollen clit between your folds, and begins to rub tight circles.

“So tight, baby, little cunt’s trying to make me come, isn’t she?” He groans, his pace slowly slightly, his stomach muscles tightening and his jaw clenched shut.

“Want you to, want you to fill this hole up with all of your come. Want to feel you drip out of me, need to feel you.” Your words spur him on more, and he continues working your clit, his cock thrusting in and out of you, “oh god, please, please, please.” You’re not usually one to beg, but something about him has it pouring out of you.

“Yeah? Want me to fill you up, baby? I will if you come with me,” he says, an intensity, an urgency behind his voice. You’re so close, you think you’ll be able to come with him, but before you have the chance to get there, you watch as he squeezes his eyes shut to try and collect himself, but he’s too close, nearly over the edge of his orgasm. His cock starts to swell and his movements get a little sloppy.

“Come in me, Javi. Want to feel you,” you moan, your voice a seductive whisper, and that does it.

His hips stutter, “Fuck, Cariño,” he groans, his voice a wreck, as he buries himself to the hilt inside of you and starts to throb ropes of his warm spend in you. There’s so much that it spills out of you and down your asscheek.

“Oh such a messy, pretty pussy,” he groans, admiring the way your cunt looks stuffed full of him, the glisten of your release and his on his cock, “Milking me so good.”

“Gonna make you come for me again beautiful,” he says, cock still spearing you, throbbing and pulsing as he collects some of his spend on his fingers and brings it to the needy button between your legs. It doesn’t take much to get you there, and within seconds you’re on the brink of your orgasm.

The warmth that pools in your belly grows and radiates through your limbs until your whole body feels tingly and your vision goes white.

“Oh my god, Javi, I’m coming,” you wail, a blubbering mess of pleasure, until you’re drowning in the sea of your orgasm.

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweet girl,” he groans, both out of pleasure and a little bit of over-stimulation on his already spent cock, “So. Fucking. Pretty. Such a good girl,” he says as he works you through the last of your orgasm. After you come down from your high, he gently pulls out of you, and a little trail of his come follows and spills out onto the sheets below.

“Jesus, Javi. That was something else,” you say, blissed out and thoroughly fucked. You nestle up into his chest like it’s easy, it comes naturally, a movement you don’t even question. He wraps his arm around you and plants a soft kiss on the top of your head in response.

“Can I say something?” He asks, and you look up at him a little worried. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I’d buy the fancy ranch for you.”

END

If you like this, please consider a reblog. <3

Trying a thing where I don't use a tag list to see how it goes. To be notified when I post fics, follow @katiexpunkupdates

END A/N: the line she gives Javier in response to knowing what he means in the first part of the fic is adapted from a poem. I wrote it down, but forgot to name the author. So credit to the author, whoever it is.

#javier peña #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #pedrohub #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #pedrostories #narcos smut #the slutty little mustache has returned

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ohtobeleah · 8 months

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Dark Red // Jake Seresin

Summary: Jake Seresin is usually pretty cool, carm and cock sure of himself. But when his wife has an accident? He hits the deck pretty hard.

Warnings: Character death. Mentions of car accidents. Fainting. Jake Seresin x F!reader.

Word Count: 2.7k

Author Note: Day Eleven of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: ‘Fainting.’ Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

It was enough to shake you that was for sure. The sheer force of the car behind you that had run right up the back of you and sent your bonnet into the back of the car in front of you, practically sandwiching you in, was enough to rattle you.

It was enough to have the airbag deploying in your face, breaking your nose that would surely leave two very black and swollen eyes from the sinus pressure. It was enough to shatter the glass of your front and back windscreens like they were paper thin. The forces had crumbled the aluminum of your 1999 Ford Festiva with ease. Like a paper bag being trot on. The same car Jake was adamant that you finally upgrade from. The same care that you were so attached to.

Guess there wouldn’t be any love lost when Jake found out that your beloved Festiva was totally gone. She was to put it simply—unsalvageable. But at least you were able to walk away relatively unscathed.

“Would you like us to give your emergency contact a call?” Jake Seresin had been your best friend for just over ten years. The two of you had only just recently gotten married after dating for eight of those. There had never really been any real rush to put pen to paper and make all the legal arrangements and challenges. You were pretty content in the role you played in Jake's life. But when his career started to see him in more life threatening situations, he started to wonder what exactly he’d be leaving you behind with. It made sense on paper to get married and it made even more sense to share the Seresin name with the six month old fetus kicking it in utero. Little Baby Seresin.

“My husband’s at work—“ You sighed to the woman checking on your little boy's heart, strong and stable. No signs of distress from his end which was the best possible outcome. “You can probably just clean me up and send me on my way.”

“Hmm—“ Although there were no obvious signs, Linda Masters thought it would be in your best interests to stay overnight for observations. She was waiting to hear back from your OB. “I’d rather keep you in overnight, just to make sure baby doesn’t decide to change his mind.”

“Okay, but when you get someone to call, just make sure you let him know that we’re fine.” You were really insistent on that, you knew how Jake could get when it came to you. For someone who was usually so cool, calm and cock sure of himself, he could get a little flustered to say the very least whenever something involved you. “He doesn’t need to leave work, but he can definitely swing by with an overnight bag afterwards.”

“Oh boy.” You knew that voice from a mile away. “Seresins ganna go into cardiac arrest when he finds out that little miss is sitting in my Emergency Room.” Doctor Benjamin Ocka or more affectionately known by the Daggers as, Doc Ock, cooed as he came up to your bedside. “I was called for a consult?” He addressed the technician who was just packing away her ultrasound machine.

“Y/n Seresin, six months pregnant, sustained a broken nose and possibly sinus damage from her airbag. There doesn’t seem to be any other major injuries, just a couple of bumps and bruises.”

Ben chuckled as he assessed your nose, ears, eyes and mouth. Your bloodied nose was huge, swollen as swollen could be. He knew immediately that you were gonna be on bed rest for a few days. Especially when it came to the part in the healing process where your sinuses would swell so much that you wouldn’t be able to see.

“I’ll call Hangman shall I?” He sighed as he placed his little light into the top pocket of his doctor’s jacket and sat beside you. “Bubs okay?”

“Perfectly fine, we’re staying for a sleepover just to be sure.”

“I’m probably gonna need to readjust your nose.” He frowned softly as he kept assessing your face. “Little bit of surgery but we can discuss that once the swelling goes away—if you can breathe and can deal with a crooked nose for a small period of time I might like to hold off on non essential plastic surgery till after Baby Seresins here.”

Ben was Payback's husband. He was as charming and as a part of your little group as any of the spouses and all Roosters girlfriends were. He cared about the people who took care of his husband in the sky and made sure he got to come home every night.

“Sounds good, but yes—please, call Jake and let him know we’re fine.” You pleaded. “Lead with they're totally fine, if anything this is just a courtesy call from your wife to say that it’s take out for dinner.”

“He’s gonna flip out Y/n.” That was your moment of defeat. You sighed into the pillow of your emergency room bed and let your head lull to the side as you placed two very protective hands across your belly.

“I know.” You grumbled. “I know he is and he’s gonna be so happy about that damn Festiva too.”

***~***~***~***~***~***

Jake only wore a Garmin watch when he was on the ground because it was connected to his phone. He only wore a Garmin watch so that if someone called him during the day, all he had to do was look at his wrist and decide if the call was worth taking on the clock.

Jake only wore a Garmin watch for moments like these, where he sat in the middle of a debriefing on this afternoon's drills and saw Payback's husband's affectionate caller ID, ‘Benny Boy’ flash up on the screen.

“I gotta go.” Jake knew deep down Ben wouldn’t call like this if it wasn’t an emergency. “I’ll be right back.” Jake stood so fast that the feet of his chair made a high pitched squeak against the smooth concrete floor. All eyes were on him, colleagues and instructors alike as he rushed out of the hangar and fished his phone, which had been on silent, out of his pocket.

His heart nearly stopped inside his chest when his body and mind immediately knew what to ask as his thumb swiped over the screen of his phone before he held it up to his ear. Shaking, Jake knew that it had to be about you—why else would Ben be calling in the middle of the day when they were both on shift?

“What happened? Is she okay?” It took all the breath out of Jake's lungs when he spoke. He never wanted to get this call. If anyone ever asked him about his biggest fear in life, he wouldn’t say dying in a dog fight or crashing into the pacific. No. He’d say losing the love of his life. “Ben?”

“Hey man.” Ben tried to be as calm as he could be because really, you were fine. There was no cause for concern, just a broken nose. “Y/n had an accident, not her fault, distracted driver situation.” Jake felt like his entire world was crumbling around him as he took panic filled strides towards the locker room. “She’s fine, her nose is busted pretty good but other than that her and the baby are—“ There's a very loud, very audible thud on the other end of the line as Ben checks your lab reports at the nurses station. “Hello?” He questioned with concern laced in his tone. “Hangman? You there?” Ben knows he’s not. “Fuck—“

Meanwhile, on the floor of the locker room, laid Jake Seresin. Completely out cold and unresponsive as his teammates sat in their debriefing wondering what the hell had gotten into the newlywed man they all loved to hate and hated to love.

Jake had smacked his head on the corner of the long metal seat that ran down the middle of the locker hall. He was face down, bleeding pretty bad and had his cheek squished so hard into the grate on the floor it was gonna leave a mark when he peeled himself up. Like those parks you get when you have a killer nap.

The crimson red that pooled on the tiles was thick and spread thin into the grooves of the tiles. It crept its way across the locker room floor like vines. Jake was under, but even in his unconscious state you were the only thing on his mind. You smile, your infectious laugh, the way you looked carrying his son, so swollen and perfect. His wife. The love of his life.

“Can someone go get Seresin?” Mav sighed as he held the bridge of his nose behind the podium. “Rooster, go drag him back here before I send him up there blind.” Everyone knew it was an empty threat, but regardless, Bradley stood to his feet with an exaggerated sigh and headed down the hall in the direction of where he thought his wingman had gone.

Bradley wasn’t expecting to walk into the locker room and see what he saw. He was just trying to make sure Jake didn’t get torn to shreds for ditching during the debriefing. But to his shock horror—as he rounded the corner into the locker room, his heart jumped out of his chest at the sight of his wingman lying face down on the grime covered tiles. There was probably dirt caked into the grouting from when his dad roamed these halls.

“Holy crap—“ It was the first thing out of Bradleys mouth as he made his way over in a hurry. “Hangman?” The way Bradley said his wingman’s callsign was laced in pure panic. “Jake man, you okay?” Rooster shook Jake's shoulder gently at first—but when the six foot something blonde didn’t stir, he shook him a little harder. “Hangman! Wake up man, c’mon open your eyes.”

“Mmhph—“ It wasn’t a word, but a sound, and Bradley was happy with that as he rolled Jake over onto his side to start with.

“Jake you’re bleeding.” It was everywhere. Bradley looked around frantically to try and find what may have been the cause of such a head wound. But when his eyes locked onto the corner of the cold, old metal bench—he knew immediately. “Don’t move alright.”

“Y/n—“ Jake grumbled as he tried to sit up. “My wife.” It was pure need and adrenaline that coursed through Jake Seresins veins the second he’d come to. “I need to get to Y/n—“

“Woah, take it easy Hangman.” Bradley tried to steady Jake as he tried to stand. “You hit your head pretty hard on the bench, we should probably get you to medical?”

“Hospital—“ Was all Jake groaned as he stood, Rooster watched in horror as the blood gushed from Jake’s gash. It looked deep and angry, like he’d been cut almost through his skull. “I need to get to the hospital.” Bradley can’t keep up to save his soul. “Y/n—“ As Jake stands to his very unsteady feet, he mumbled your name over and over as his fingertips reach up to touch the crimson red dripping down his face. “Oh fuck my head.”

“I’ll take you to the hospital if you can remember what happened?” It’s the only way Rooster can think of putting two and two together. Why did Jake need to get to the hospital to see you? And why was he passed out of the floor of the locker room? “Jake? Why’s Y/n at the hospital?” It’s a question laced in as much concern as it is dread. You’re not due yet, what if something happened to the baby and that’s what caused Jake to break? “Is she alright? Is baby Seresin alright?”

The silence that lingered as Jake stumbled his way over towards the door had Rooster's heart caught up in his throat. He knew how much Jake loved you and his unborn child. He knew that the man with the bloodied forehead and the sure fire concussion would move mountains and part seas just to kiss a paper cut on your fingertip. So when Jake stopped in his tracks, swayed side to side as if he was going down again, Bradley knew something had happened that completely rocked Jake Seresins world.

“They were in an accident—“

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

It was the way Jake came racing into the emergency room that worried you the most. He slammed right in for the doorframe like he either didn’t see it or like he’d been running a million miles and hour to get to you.

You hadn’t yet been moved from the emergency short stay area into one of the wards, which you were thankful for the second Ben spotted Jake stumbling towards you with a head laceration.

“Oh my god, what the hell happened?” You asked Rooster as he rushed in after Jake. He knew he was about to cop an earful. “Bradshaw, why is my husband bleeding?” You barely got to ask before Jake was at your side.

“He fainted when he got the call you were in hospital.” Rooster explained softly as he pulled up a chair for Jake to sit beside you in . “Here you, sit down man before the room starts spinning.” Bradley ushered Jake to sit as he reached out for your hands. “You and bubs alright? What happened?”

“We’re fine.” You tried to explain. “Nose is pretty sore but we’re fine.”

“Baby I swear I can’t ever lose you.” Jake began as he sat as close to your bedside as he could. It was the sweetest thing, although you suspected it was all coming from the concussion you knew your husband definitely had. “You or bubs.” Jake placed a gentle hand across your stomach. “My heart nearly burst out of my chest when I got the call.”

“I should probably take a look at that—“ Ben interrupted as he sent you a shy, all knowing smile. “Hit the hard deck, did you Seresin?” Ben chuckled to himself as he gave Jake's head the once over. “I specifically remember telling you that your wife was fine.”

“‘M’panicked, can’t lose her boss.” Jake replied softly as his eyes never left you, it pained him to see you like this. Bloodied and bruised, but alive. “I think I hit my head though.”

“He smacked it pretty hard on the corner of the metal bench in the locker room.” Bradkey added as Ben started to clean out the head wound at your bedside, he knew there was no point asking Jake to move when the answer was going to be a hard no.

“I’ll order a tetanus shot because that thing is grotesque and get some antibiotics sorted.” Ben stated as he worked, Jake however—he never took his eyes off you.

“Did you really pass out when you were told I was in an accident?”

“Can’t lose you.” Was all your husband mumbled against your hand as he kissed your palm. “Can’t lose you, won’t lose you or baby Seresin.”

“We aren’t going anywhere, love.” You sweetly replied as you reached out to caress Jake's chin. “I promise.”

“My head really hurts.” He whispers softly as you chuckled to yourself. “Gotta work on my landing huh?”

“Yeah bubba.” You sighed. “I need you around for the long hall.” As you gently stroked your husband’s chin you saw his eyes begin to roll as he swayed to the left. Jake's entire body stiffened as he lost all sense of direction, his surroundings were gone in the blink of an eye as he began to seize uncontrollably.

“Woah! Hey! HEY I NEED SOME HELP OVER HERE!” Ben shouted as you watched on in helpless horror as he went with Jake to the ground. Placing him in the recovery position. “LETS GET HIM BACK PEOPLE!”

“Rooster, what's happening?” You sobbed behind your hands as tears poured down your face. “Jake?” It was the last thing you remembered before everything went cold and dark. The last thing you remembered seeing when you woke not a few moments later, was your husband and father of your child—hemorrhaging before you.

All because he bumped his head.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt

#ailesswhumptober2023 #leahs whumptober masterlist #Jake Seresin whump #jake seresin x female!reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman fic #tw: whump #tw: death

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nthspecialll · 9 days

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If there is one character that I am proud of it is Oville Swanson. A lot of people don't like him because he is loud and doesn't at the first glance a lot to the story, however there is much more to him.

I am not a religious person at all, however his relationship with religion breaks and warms my heart at the same time. He grew up knowing he what he wanted to be, he wanted to serve god, he wanted to do good, but he lost himself instead, starting drinking, doing morphine and in the end, fell in sinful love. He fell in love with a married woman, when she fled he was alone and he was so broken that he "just added bigamy to the list of sins he had already commited."

It didn't mean anything to him, he was so lost that he didn't care, yet he still clung onto his religion. In chapter one, the one time he doesn't have access to alcohol, we hear him quoting the bible, reading up from it, even though it mostly sounds like he is trying to convince myself to believe it.

Then in chapter two we see the complete loss he has suffered as he is constantly high or drunk and we can also find his bible hollowed out with morphine hidden in it. Meaning at some point between chapter one and two he was willing to sacrifice something with so much meaning to him for morphine.

He continues to suffer, and suffer, and get worse, we can even see an interaction between Micah, Grimshaw and Swanson where Micah kicks Swanson and he doesn't do anything, he lets himself get kicked as he sits quietly on the ground. Grimshaw stands up for him though, says he is ill and takes care of him.

We also hear him say "I am sorry, I wish I was different" to Morgan and appologizing to Dutch for taking up space and relapsing. In the mission with Morgan he also says "home, yes, I can go have tea with Margrete" (the married woman) in a really dreamy voice before blacking out. I don't imagine it is fun to have to go over the loss of your lost one over and over because the drugs you use to numb yourself sometimes makes you forget your lover died and you think you can go home to them.

It is first somewhere around chapter four and five that he finds himself again, finds his religion and gets himself together, I imagine that the church in Saint Denis helped as well as the sudden need for someone to step up and take over the other boy's shoes when they were in Guarma helped. I imagine that he had a similar talk with the sisters and brothers of Saint Denis as Arthur did. I imagine he felt ashamed, seeing his brothers and sisters and having to explain to them how far he had fallen.

Even after the loss of his family, his home, practically everything, he sticks to his religion, this time it isn't a burden, this time it is a rock to support himself against and from 1899 and forwards he uses his experience with the Vanderlinde gang as a way to reflect and bond with others who thinks they are too far away from salvation.

His experience, his life, his salvation, was so moving that he was offered a posision as the head of the church in new york and for that I am so happy for him and so proud.

#rdr2 #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #john marston #rdr john #dutch van der linde #red dead redemption community #rdr2 john #reverend swanson #red dead fandom #red dead redemption two #rdr2 micah #micah bell #rdr2 susan grimshaw #susan grimshaw

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sc0tters · 10 months

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Not Gone For Long | Quinn Hughes

summary: you broke up with Quinn two weeks ago, but what happens when you two run into each other at a bar?

request: yes/no

warnings: none.

word count: 1.63K

authors note: I have had this idea in my head for literal hours icl but since I came up with it I’ve been dying to get it written. This is also my first attempt at writing an imagine for an NHL player, so I hope you like it!

Never go to bed angry with each other.

That was the first rule that you and Quinn made when you got together and neither one ever believed that if it was broken it would soon bring the end of the relationship, but it did.

The two of you had spent two months fighting before you finally mustered up the courage to pull the plug on the relationship when he was on a two week road trip with the team.

And with that three years of a relationship were sent down the drain.

You never thought that leaving him would be easy. You knew that it would be tough on your heart as he was everywhere you looked, on billboards, the TVs at bars, even on the insides of your eyelids when you attempted to sleep.

Your best friends were your total support system during the last two months as they made sure that you never had more than a few seconds to think about the boy that you loved obviously not counting your time in your bedroom because that’s where he seemed to attack your mind.

The apartment you once dreamed of before Quinn was now the place you called home. It was a one bed place but it was all you needed as you settled back into the mundane life.

Unbeknownst to you Quinn had been a total wreck from the moment he walked back into the apartment to see it in a shell of its former self. If it wasn’t for his teammates he would have knocked on every door in Vancouver until he found you, but when the boys reminded him that you had left when he was gone for a reason it made him want to stay home instead.

Quinn wanted to be mad at you for leaving in the way that you did yet the only thing that replayed through his mind was how the last thing he said to you was “see you soon,” no kiss, not even a hug, he just walked out of the apartment. Leaving you by yourself for the next two weeks.

The moment Ellen learnt about the break up she went was on the next flight over on a mission to comfort her son. That night he cried so hard that his lungs ached and his throat burned.

It didn’t help that the Canucks had been through another subpar season, but his upset state wasn’t helping that as he hadn’t scored since you left. Sometimes he wondered if you still watched his games, each time that he’d skate onto the ice he’d search for your face in the crowd and each time he was left empty handed.

Somehow despite all this, your relationship didn’t actually end on bad terms, you two still loved each other and had truly learnt that absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

The fight that broke the camels back though now felt minuscule, if he didn’t want to come with you on your business trip to Paris you didn’t really care. You’d settle for those two weeks without him rather than the last two months, every day of the week.

Now it was present day and your friends managed to convince you to join them on a night out. It was going to be your first as a single woman. You had even managed to get a smile onto your face, not a fake forced smile but instead a real one.

Yet it felt like a balloon full of water burst above your head as you saw him.

Quinn had been dragged to the same bar by his teammates as they celebrated the fact that the season was over.

Your friend saw that you tensed up and as she followed your line of sight she was quick to apologise “we can go somewhere else if you would like?” She proposed not wanting you to have a bad night.

But as there were five of you in the group this was a moment you didn’t want to be selfish in “this bar is big enough for the two of us.” Your voice was soft as you shook your head not letting your eyes leave the boy as you stared more so in shock.

He looked like he had lost weight, hadn’t shaved so his facial hair was now growing out of control, the curls that you loved but he hated were now proudly sat on his head.

Quinn wished that he had seen his hairdresser though the second he saw you. He actually heard your best friends laugh first, it was funny how the sound irritated him.

When he thought he was dreaming or that his sleep deprived mind was playing tricks on him, he spun his head around locking eyes with you.

His cold beer glass masked the sweatiness of his hands as he chugged the last of the bland liquid before he got up “anyone else need a refill?” He watched as you walked off heading in the direction of the bar.

It was the perfect time to talk to you, yes he knew that it was selfish but part of him just hoped that you were as caught up by the breakup as he was.

So he made his way over to the bar, making sure to avoid the drunken men that walked into his path as he was desperate to never lose sight of your little green dress that he loved so much on you.

You thought he never noticed that when the told you he liked that dress on your first date you went out and bought it in seven other colours. But he did, Quinn noticed everything yet that original dress still remained his favourite.

The familiar sound of your acrylics tapping on the table sent shivers down his spine “hey,” his voice came out like a croak causing your eyes to go wide.

You stared at him through the corner of your eye knowing that if you faced him, it would have been over for you “hi.”

If you two hadn’t broken up his fingers would have been on your jaw forcing you to look at him “can you look at me?” He asked feeling the tears begin to well at his eyes “please?” The beg was enough to make your hearty break all over again.

You looked at him not caring that you makeup was now very much ruined as tears ran down your cheeks “I’m sorry,” you blurted out not knowing what else to say.

But it was also true, you did feel sorry about breaking up with him. You wished that you’d handled things better. Yes this was the best way to protect your heart but besides for that it was the worst possible option for every other thing.

Just like old times Quinn didn’t hesitate to comfort the girl as he wrapped his arms around her pulling her into a hug “I know,” he placed a kiss on your head ignoring how your tears were soaking his shirt.

The coldness of those tears hit him like a dose of reality, you left because the relationship had grown cold.

This was the first time he had hugged you since January, it was now April.

He never meant to stop putting in effort but one day it sort of started and he didn’t know how to stop it. And he was so stressed about hockey that he let the fights you two had fall into the back of his mind.

Whilst he had spent the last two months thinking you were the bad guy, he realised that it had been his fault all along.

That was almost the problem with the whole thing, you each blamed yourselves for putting the knife into the relationship.

Quinn swore that he had been doing it over time and you were just the one to give it the final push.

You finally got your breathing under control causing you to look up at him as your chin rested against the his chest “why are you here?” You asked not trying to be rude but you swore that if you were in his shoes even you wouldn’t want anything to do with yourself.

He let out a soft laugh as he dragged his thumb against your cheek “missed you,” he confessed as he watch the pad of his finger clean in the smudge of your mascara.

Hearing that he must have also had a rough time made you feel sick to your stomach “thought you would have hated me.” You mumbled still thinking that this was all a dream.

Quinn would have been lying if he said that your words didn’t break his heart “could never hate you.” He softly smiled trying to tell you that he meant every word.

As much as he enjoyed being with his friends he wanted to leave “come with me?” He asked holding his hand out for you to grab.

The way his hand interlocked with yours told you that this wasn’t a dream “we should talk somewhere a bit more private.” As much as you wanted to say that you could go back to his apartment and be fine, you knew that things needed to change.

And if they didn’t then you would be having to move on forever.

The stars shone down on Vancouver as you two snuck out of the bar, despite the fact that both friends groups watched the interaction neither decided to stop it.

Sitting in his car that parked at a lookout spot looking over the city as you two ate food from your favourite takeaway restaurant you learnt one thing:

You weren’t letting him go as easy as you did this time.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #hockey imagine #oneshots #imagines #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x y/n #hockey imagines #nhl oneshot #nhl imagine #amber writes fics

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jessicaslittlelovesickmess · 4 months

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Are we soulmates?

Pairing: Larissa Weems x Reader

Warnings: angst, toxic!Larissa, pregnancy

Pt2

“Do you think we’re soulmates in every universe?” You asked Larissa as she sat in your living room “are we even soulmates in this one?” She responded with your daughter on her lap.

It crushed you

You had given everything up for the woman across from you, your daughter had been born during your time at Nevermore. Larissa said shifting was safe and didn’t require protection who knew the teachers pet could be such a liar.

So you dropped out letting Larissa live her life while you raised her baby, taking up a second job so she could continue her studies. Larissa had big dreams to become the principal of Nevermore and you lost the motivation to have any.

You had been dating the blonde since your first year of Nevermore, things had been perfect until that stupid girl came- no it wasn’t her fault.

Morticia had become of the object of Larissa’s desires causing visits to become scarce, you knew she wasn’t attracted to you anymore. Not since you had given birth to Delilah, your body had changed it was only natural it would’ve.

Your little Delilah Brienne Weems meant the world to you

“I love you” she smiled but didn’t take her eyes off the girl playing with her rings, you nodded of course she said that. You wanted a family it didn’t need the white picket fence as long as you had Larissa and your daughter. Unfortunately Larissa didn’t want that just yet.

It wasn’t until Delilah turned three, you sat at the dinner table in the middle of the night Larissa still hadn’t returned. Your head in your hands as you sobbed, who had you become? A shell of a woman begging to be loved.

Larissa had woken you up when she finally got home, liquor on her breath and lipstick smudged she looked cocky. You were tired not sure if it was only physically anymore as you followed her up the stairs watching her get ready for bed.

You laid down facing away from her as she slipped in next to you “I don’t love you anymore” she whispered as she wrapped her arms around your waist. She was only drunk you told yourself as you fell asleep, when you got woken up the next morning Larissa was gone Delilah now on her side of the bed.

She was too young to understand where her mama had gone too little to just see mommy everywhere but you hoped it didn’t last. That Larissa would change her mind but she didn’t and things flushed themselves down the drain.

You loved Larissa violently

Losing yourself

Larissa had gotten her way, she had broken you

It had been thirteen years since Larissa had left never looking back she often wondered how you had been, how Delilah was. But now as she waits for her next interview she knows she no longer needs to wonder about her family the one she left behind.

You walked in behind two children a hand on each of their shoulders, your eyes blank as you stared at her she now wondered had you been married. “M-mom?” Delilah whispered her voice cracking as tears welled in her blue eyes it broke Larissa’s heart she had caused that.

The boy only looked confused as he watched his older sister “my little flower” Larissa smiled sadly “Don’t” Delilah stunned the older woman. “You don’t get to call me that” she sneered as she turned to hid in your side “who’s this?” Larissa asked “Theo” he whispered.

She looked up at you with a silent question but you shook your head no as you took a seat in-front of her desk. “You know Delilah, your mama and I used to attend this school” Larissa spoke gently only to receive a lashing from her daughter.

“I apologise Delilah for leaving” she sighed making matters worse as the girl got up quickly leaving, Theo chasing after her.

You sighed sadly “I do apologise for leaving I wasn’t in the right headspace Y/n” she pleaded almost, you looked away not wanting to give her a reaction. “I found I regretted it, I got the job but nobody to go home to, nobody to hold, I have everything but at what cost?”.

“Well who’s fault is that Larissa?” I asked sitting up straighter in my seat “mine” she whispered staring at her hands. “I was pregnant and I planned to tell you but you left… you just left” you shrugged biting your lip still not facing her.

“I’m sorry”

“Sometimes sorry isn’t enough”

“I know”

“You know?”

Finally your eyes met now staring into the eyes your children shared “I loved you Larissa” you laughed “I love you in every universe” she whispered. “Do you take it back in every universe?” You scoffed shaking your head “we’re here for our daughter’s enrolment”.

You might be single but you had moved on no longer begging to be loved by someone who’s love had terms and conditions.

#imagine #wlw #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x female reader #larissa weems imagine #larissa weems #larissa x reader #wednesday 2022 #gwendoline christie oneshot #gwendoline christie imagine #angst #hurtfic

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forest-hashira · 4 months

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'Til Death Do Us Part

hi everyone! this is my (first) entry for @kentopedia's "Love Through the Ages" collab/event! this is a retelling of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, but with Gojo/Reader. if you want to know the full vibes for this, i listened to Moon Song and I Know The End by Phoebe Bridgers on repeat while writing this.

read on ao3 here | wc: ~3.3k | cw: gn reader, satoru is a musician, major character death (reader), hurt no comfort, unhappy ending

Falling in love with you was easy. In fact, it was probably the easiest thing Satoru had ever done in his life; even easier than picking up the lyre as soon as he was strong enough to hold it; even easier than the singing lessons he’d outgrown the need for when he was still just a young boy; easier than charming every young woman he ever came across, leaving a long string of broken hearts in his wake.

But not you.

With you, he’d taken his time, had actually gotten to know you until it felt like he’d known you all his life; he knew your favorite season, what times you liked to take walks in the fields outside of town, even your favorite place to watch the sunset. He also knew that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Falling in love with you was easy, and even after you’d fallen in love with him, too, asking you to marry him felt terrifying. But you said yes, and all that terror had melted into elation.

There was hardly any time at all between your engagement and your wedding, both of you eager to belong to each other forever, so in love it was almost painful. Though the wedding itself was small – and barely a month after Satoru proposed – it was the most joyful day in both of your lives. Being surrounded by the laughter of your loved ones, everyone dancing and enjoying good food and dancing had made you feel lighter than air, even long after the sun had set; for once, you weren’t even sad that you had missed watching it from your favorite spot.

Falling in love with you was easy. Loving you was easier. Losing you was the most painful thing Satoru had ever experienced.

It was only days after your wedding, after you had promised to be at one another’s side until the end, in the very field where you’d first told him you loved him, where you’d shared your first kiss.

You had cried out from a sharp pain in your ankle, and when both of you looked to see what it was, you watched a large snake disappear into the flowers. In a panic, Satoru had ripped the fabric of his tunic, wrapping it tightly around the wound, silently, desperately praying that the poison would move slow enough for him to get you back to the town, where he could only hope someone would know how to cure snake bites. He couldn’t lose you, not like this, not so soon after he’d made you his.

When he’d gone to carry you – to pick you up and rush back to town with you in his arms – he had seen your skin was already an unnaturally pale, ashen color, a sheen of sweat over your whole body.

“No,” he’d whispered, shaking his head, as if that would magically give him more time to save you. “No, no no no.”

You’d only smiled at him, though your eyes were already starting to go a little unfocused. “It’s too late, my love.” Your hands had tangled in the front of his tunic, the soft blue fabric crumpling so easily between your fingers. “But this isn’t such a bad place to die, is it? I’m with you, and the flowers are blooming, and the sun is shining.” With every word, you’d had to lean more and more of your weight into him, your legs losing strength by the second.

“Let’s just sit together for a moment, my love, and enjoy the breeze. I don’t want to be scared when I go.”

The words had nearly shattered Satoru, but he had nodded, easing both of you down to lay amongst the flowers, cradling you close to himself the whole time. He’d stared down at you without blinking, unwilling to miss a single heartbeat of the time he had left with you; the fact that you had looked up at him, too, was both a blessing and a curse.

“Don’t go,” he’d pleaded, throat tight with the tears he was fighting back. “I don’t want you to go. I love you.”

“I know,” you’d whispered back. “I don’t want to go, either. I love you, Satoru, and I wish we had more time, but we don’t.”

“It’s not fair.”

“No,” you’d agreed, a bittersweet smile on your lips. “It’s not fair. But neither is life. And I’m happy to have spent as much of mine with you as I got to.”

Words had failed him then, and he’d leaned down to press one last kiss to your lips, knowing deep down that this would be his last chance. And he had been right; you’d managed to return his kiss for a moment, before going completely still in his arms.

Satoru had stayed in that field with you and wept for hours after the warmth left your body, only forcing himself to stand and take both of you back to town when it began to grow dark and a chill drifted in on the breeze you had been so eager to feel in your last moments.

And so, he had carried you home, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying, but his face otherwise blank, too numb to feel even grief at that moment. No one that saw him had tried to stop him, the sight of the typically lively musician so hollow, so quiet, had left everyone shaken.

The days after your death all blurred together; the only one that stuck out significantly from the others was the day of your funeral, because it was the only time he’d cleaned himself up and left the house, and even that was because Satoru knew he was expected to be there, the grieving husband to round out the picture of a Perfect Funeral. It had made him sick, and he’d excused himself as quickly as possible.

He spent much of his time crying, or staring at the wall, or ceiling, replaying that last afternoon with you, obsessing over how he could have done things differently, how he could have saved you, even if he knew logically it was pointless; what was done could not be undone, especially not death.

…Could it?

Once Satoru had the thought, he could not bring himself to abandon it, so he began instead to meticulously detail his plan.

The days were already growing colder, which meant that Lady Persephone had returned to her husband’s realm of the Underworld; perhaps he would be able to use that to his advantage.

Satoru had a purpose again, something to get him out of bed and moving; he had a goal to achieve, and no earthly force would stop him. He spent days polishing and tuning his instruments, and days longer composing and perfecting a song to play for the King and Queen of the Underworld; if he was going to convince the keepers of the dead to release one of their charges, everything needed to be perfect.

He was vaguely aware that a couple people – Suguru and Shoko, perhaps? Anything outside of his task was fuzzy at best – came to check on him occasionally, just as they had before he had manically begun to prepare to do the impossible. If they tried to talk him out of it, he can’t remember; even if they had tried, it wouldn’t have worked. His sole focus was on getting you back, and nothing would stand in his way.

By the time Satoru felt he had done everything he could to prepare for his journey, almost two weeks had passed since you’d died in his arms.

Your husband dressed warmly, both because he was unsure what to expect in the Underworld and because having your scarf wrapped around his neck gave him confidence that his plan would work; how could it not, when wearing the scarf wreathed him in your scent, as if you were already back with him again?

The sun was barely up when Satoru left your home, his lyre wrapped carefully in muslin and tucked into his bag. He knew the entrance to the Underworld was close enough to walk, but he didn’t know how long it would take him to get there, and he didn’t want to waste any time at all. Though he had left so early in the morning, there were still a few townspeople that saw him, asked him where he was going, but he ignored them all; conversation would only delay his journey, and he wouldn’t have that.

The musician made good time, all things considered, reaching the entrance to the Underworld about an hour past midday. He paused for a moment, took a deep breath to steel himself, then stepped forwards into the darkness.

He had no torch to light his way, but the path beneath his feet seemed to glow on its own, as if guiding him along; as if the Lord and Lady were expecting and didn’t want to be kept waiting because the foolish mortal lost his way. So, seeing no other option, he followed the soft, almost foggy glow as it led him deeper and deeper into the earth and – hopefully – to the throne room of Hades and Persephone.

Time didn’t quite feel the same below the surface – it felt thicker, somehow, and heavier, catching on his clothes and sticking to his skin like honey – which meant he had no idea how long he’d been walking. The only thing that kept him from panicking was the faintest scent of pomegranates, coming from the same direction the path seemed to lead.

Eventually, Satoru did reach the throne room, though he couldn’t have recalled what it looked like later if his life depended on it. For as much as he looked around, the whole room could have been made of diamonds and liquid gold could have rained from the ceiling; none of that mattered to him, because it had nothing to do with you. His gaze went straight to the couple in their thrones, and he fought to keep his nerves under control; now was not the moment to get stage fright for the first time in his life.

“Your Highness,” he said, bowing so low he felt the way his hair shifted to cooperate with gravity, the dusty purple of his undercut no longer hidden beneath the pale strands of his frosty hair, so white it practically glowed in the dusk of the throne room.

“What brings you to my realm, mortal?” Hades asked, his expression impassive, though his eyes simmered with something dangerous.

“I have come to play you a song,” Satoru answered simply, standing from his bow and removing his lyre from his bag, unwrapping the fabric from around it with great care. He adjusted his hold on the instrument until it sat nestled in his arms in the best position for him to play, then lifted his gaze back to the gods. “If it pleases my Lord and her Ladyship, of course.”

This was the one catch in his plan: if he was denied permission to play, he had no chance of returning home with you at his side.

“Oh, please?” Persephone turned to face her husband, a pleading expression on her face. “Let him play, my love. We never have mortal visitors, much less artists, and I want to hear what he’s prepared for us!”

The King of the Dead hesitated for a few moments, staring at his wife, but Satoru caught the way his smoldering eyes softened, the way the hard lines of his mouth eased, and the musician knew he would be allowed to play.

“My wife wishes to hear you play,” the god said, turning back to the man before him. “I hope you don’t disappoint her with your skills.”

With another, smaller bow, Satoru began to play, and soon thereafter began to sing. He sang about you: all the ways you loved him, and all the ways he loved you in return. He sang of his life before he met you: how he had played around, led people along and broken their hearts with his carelessness, simply because he was bored. He sang of your lives after you’d met: how you had brightened his mornings and sweetened his days and warmed his nights; how you had planned a future together you had never gotten to see. The harmonies from his lyre blended with the melodies of his voice, painting the image of you so vividly Satoru swore he could see your shape in front of him again.

It wasn’t until he finished his song that he realized he could see you there in front of him, though your form wavered around the edges, like you were a little less than solid. But you were there, and you were smiling, and he felt like falling to his knees and crawling to you right then and there; the only thing that stopped him was realizing that both Hades and Persephone were openly weeping.

He, Gojo Satoru, had brought gods to tears with his music, and with his love for you.

Emboldened by seeing your face again, Satoru spoke. “Please,” he begged, his voice eggshell-thin, cracking under the stress of his request. “Please don’t make me return home without my love. I cannot bear to make the journey alone again.”

At first he received only silence in response, and though he was not a patient man by nature, he forced himself to wait until he was spoken to, not wanting to risk upsetting the gods before him.

“Once a soul has entered the Underworld, it cannot be allowed to leave again,” Hades responded once he had composed himself, which felt like years after Satoru had made his plea. “I am very sorry.”

The musician felt his heart sink at the denial, and he began to consider begging to be allowed to stay, instead, if he couldn’t bring you back with him.

“Oh, please, my love,” Persephone cried, messily wiping the tears from her eyes as she gazed at her husband. “You let me go home again when my mother begged for my return. Why can’t you grant him this same mercy?”

“Because order must be maintained,” the Lord of the Underworld answered. “Rules must be followed, you know this. Your own return home has its own rules, after all.”

“Then give me rules I must abide by. I swear I will follow them as faithfully as possible.” Though he knew interrupting a conversation between gods could be dangerous, Satoru simply could not stop the words from tumbling from his lips.

“Please.” The goddess’s voice was petal-soft, a warm, hopefully breeze cutting through the chill of the Underworld.

The silence was heavy, crushing the air out of every part of the room, suffocating the musician where he stood. Despite the pain, Satoru only had eyes for you, your warm gaze giving him the strength to push through, to wait for Hades’s answer before completely giving up hope.

“If I let you both return to the surface world,” the god’s voice, though low and rough, rang out clear. “You must follow one rule.”

“Only one?” It seemed too good to be true.

“It is a difficult one.”

“Anything,” Satoru rushed out. “I’ll do anything.”

“You will lead the two of you out of the Underworld, but until you both are on the surface again, out of my domain, you are not to turn around. I promise you will not be alone, that you will return with your love, but you must not turn around before you leave this place. If you turn around, you will have to leave here alone, and you will never be allowed to return until your own death.”

“If I’m not allowed to turn around, are we at least allowed to speak to each other?”

“Yes, you can converse on the journey. Now, take your lover and go. Once you leave the throne room you must keep your back turned at all times until you reach the surface.”

Bowing deeply, Satoru thanked the god profusely for several moments, then straightened and stepped forward, reaching out and taking your hands, helping you from where you sat on the floor of the throne room.

“Let’s go home,” you said, smiling so sweetly at him it made his teeth ache. He nodded eagerly in agreement, taking just a moment longer to take in your features before guiding you to the entrance of the throne room.

“Are you ready?” he asks, turning to you one last time as the two of you stand in the threshold. “I’m not sure how long the journey back is, and if you grow tired we can’t stop.”

“I’m ready when you are,” was your answer, giving his hand a light squeeze to show you meant the words.

Satoru nodded back, once again pausing to admire your face, your smile, everything about you, before turning away, still holding your hand as he stepped out of the throne room and began the trek back to the surface, back home.

He was silent for a bit at first, feeling your hand in his enough to assure him you were there, but eventually both his nerves and his natural chattiness got the better of him. He said almost every thought that came to his mind, though he tried to make sure to ask as many questions as possible, eager to hear your answers, your sweet voice a soothing balm to his raw and frayed nerves.

The journey felt shorter this time around, though whether that was because he was retracing his footsteps, or some other strange property of time in the Underworld, Satoru couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t going to complain about it, either, because not turning to look at you was proving much more difficult than he had thought when he was first given the rule.

When he finally saw the entrance to the surface, sunlight still visible on the horizon, a beaming grin broke out across his face. “We’re nearly there,” he told you. “See? We’ve nearly made it.” Unable to help himself, he picked up his pace, still pulling you along behind him.

He didn’t notice your hand slipping from his own as he closed the last few paces to the entrance.

His joy was palpable as he practically leapt through the gates, back onto the surface, into the grass that waited for him as the sun began to set behind him.

“We did it!” Satoru cheered, spinning around to look at you. “Oh, my love, it feels so good to have you—” The sight of your sad smile had his gaze dropping to your feet.

You hadn’t yet crossed over the threshold.

And he had turned around and looked at you.

“No,” he begged, racing towards you, desperate for at least one last kiss, one last embrace, even if he could not keep you with him. “Please, my love, I’m so sorry.”

Before he could reach out and touch you, though, your shape had already begun to waver, rippling like the surface of a pool disturbed by the wind. You only shook your head, your smile never leaving your lips. “It’s okay,” you assured him. “I love you. I’ll see you again someday. Live well for me, okay?”

“I-I’ll try,” he choked out, tears thick in his voice even before they spilled from his eyes, though there was no stopping them as your form wavered more, then faded fully from sight.

He fell to his knees and wept, loud, heaving sobs, gripping handfuls of grass as he pressed his forehead to the ground, forced to mourn you a second time.

ok so this was baby's first sad ending/hurt no comfort so pls don't come for me if it was bad i'm so sorry idk how to do this i don't like sad endings but this is my favorite myth i couldn't bring myself to change the ending

tagging: @kentopedia @kentohours @mitsuristoleme

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo jjk #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo angst #jjk au #jjk angst #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jjk fanfic #jjk reader insert #orpheus and eurydice #orpheus & eurydice #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #dividers credit to saradika & cafe kitsune #fallon's fics

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the0maski · 6 months

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Fear headcanon’s I have, but can’t explain, about the Link’s and some endings of their adventures.

Sky: has a massive fear that people are just using him. I think I picked it up from some dialogue in the game, where Zelda apologized for using him??? It’s been ages since I played SS, so my mind could have had made this one up, but something like that stuck to me. His "laziness" is just his way of protecting himself. If someone asked him for something, and will just send him and come with him, he is getting suspicious of that person. Even if it was to go get some books for class.

Time: He was lying about regretting being forgotten as a hero. He was extremely happy being back in time and having an actual chance of changing things. He never overcame his abandonment issues and the need to be enough, that’s why he helped Twilight. Also I have a strong feeling that his spirit never moved on, because he never felt he belonged anywhere. Where does a rejected soul go?

Wind: Massive fear of people drowning and people getting kidnapped. The crew has to stop him from jumping into the water to save someone, or kill someone. (He killed Ganondorf, he will do it again) He is acting on instinct on those moments, so as much as Tetra likes him as her right hand man, she can’t take him everywhere.

Legend: What I thought was that Koholint Island, wasn’t completely a dream. The island actually existed somewhere else. Dreams are made from things we see in real life sometimes, so the Wind Fish had passed that island at some point. But by falling asleep she doomed the acutely island to falls asleep with her. Legend was sent to wake up the Wind Fish, because there was a Koholint Island somewhere, where people are about to die because they can wake up. Legend never found that out…and has a hard time seeing himself as a hero for along while. What hero has blood on his hand?

Warriors: Scared of woman. And man. And probably everything that can betray him. He doesn’t get help unfortunately, since his paranoia had helped them extremely at war and some battle plans. He is one of the Links I see that will also never have a happy ending…

Wild: Extremely clingy, his issues are just as skyrocketing like Time’s, but the difference is Wild is extroverted. People notice that something is going on, but since Wild is a stranger to most at the beginning of his adventure, no one knows how to help. After Zelda comes back, she immediately notices that Wild needs help, and those a lot of research to help him. Wild gets better with time, yet he still clings to some people a lot.

I don’t have one for Hyrule sorry, boy has already everything, distrust, low self esteem and so on, from what I see in the fandom. Once I get to play his game or watch a play through I will understand him better.

Same goes for Four, all I could say, that he is probably afraid of getting falsely accused. (Red in the Manga). Splitting into four isn’t painful for him, if he does it for drama.

Twilight is a good boy, with a loving family and village that acutely cares about him, so all he has was a very strong broken heart. This man falls in love and HE FALLS IN LOVE! So leave him alone, he has done nothing wrong in his entire life. Yes he is afraid of rejection but he gets support. I love him to much to hurt him.

#I really want one stable Link but the goddesses said no #my mind goes into really dark places with Warriors and Time #they are just like me for real #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu thoughts #lu chain #lu time #lu wild #lu legend #lu sky #lu wind #lu four #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu hyrule #lu headcanons

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doumadono · 7 months

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Warnings: violence, viking!Dabi, viking!Shoto, earl!Endeavor, viking!Natsuo, viking!Hawks, fem!reader, viking themes

Summary: in a Viking world of power, secrets and warriors, a young woman captured during a raid finds herself entangled in the life of Dabi, the enigmatic eldest son of the ruthless earl. As secrets, scars, and desires collide, their unconventional connection unfolds in a tale of love, danger, and destiny

Word count: circa 6.1k

A/N: if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know ♥

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER • NEXT CHAPTER

ACT II - SHADOWS OF DECEIT

In the steamy chamber, you, your initial shock gradually replaced by compassion, hesitated for a moment before approaching the bath where Dabi sat. You knew it was your duty to assist him, but the sight of his scarred skin made you cautious. Your hands trembled slightly as you prepared to help him bathe. "Can I help you bathe?" you offered quietly, not fully sure how to start the conversation.

Dabi regarded you with those piercing turquoise eyes, a hint of curiosity evident. "You can," he replied simply.

As you assisted Dabi in the bath, your hands gently touched his scarred skin, your fingers moving with care over the gnarled patches. The silence between you was broken when you couldn't resist your curiosity any longer. "How did you get these scars?" you asked, your tone soft and understanding.

Dabi leaned back, closing his eyes briefly, as if summoning the strength to share his story. Eventually, he nodded, and his voice carried the weight of a painful history as he began to recount the tale of how he had come to bear these disfiguring marks. "It happened when I was just a child," he began, his words tinged with a mixture of bitterness and sorrow. "My own father, the earl of this village, attempted to kill me by pouring boiling tar on my skin. He saw me as a threat to his position and did everything he could to eliminate me."

You listened with a heavy heart as Dabi continued to describe the cruelty he had endured, the story of a young boy who had survived a brutal attack and grown up to become the man you saw before you, marked by both physical and emotional scars.

As you worked, the steamy chamber filled with the scent of herbs and the sound of water splashing. "It's scary and so sad," you murmured softly, your words echoing the sympathy that welled up within you in some way.

Dabi frowned, turning his head slightly to face you, his eyes locked onto your. "Don't pity me," he snarled, his voice laced with defiance. "I don't need that."

You felt a pang of regret at your words but continued your actions, gently washing his skin, the soap and water mingling with the steam. Your touch was a silent reassurance, a way of offering comfort without words, as you carried out your task with care and understanding.

The bath process, while seemingly mundane, became a moment of connection and shared understanding between two individuals whose lives had become unexpectedly intertwined in a world of harsh realities.

Dabi couldn't help but break the silence with a question that weighed on his mind. "Aren't you angry with me for what I've done anymore? You seem so calm?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You paused for a moment, your gaze fixed on him, and then you responded firmly, "I'll forever hold a grudge for what you and your men did. It's unforgettable and unforgivable. The pain of losing my friends will never fade, but what can I do? I'm nothing but a slave now."

The words hung heavily in the air, and the room seemed to grow even more suffocating. It was a stark reminder of the atrocities that had occurred during the raid, the wounds that would never fully heal, and the complex emotions that tied them together in a world where forgiveness was a rare and elusive commodity.

The bath eventually came to an end, and Dabi rose from the water without the slightest concern for his nakedness.

You quickly averted your gaze, not wanting to intrude on his privacy by looking at his unclothed form.

Dabi noticed your discomfort and chuckled, his voice laced with a snarky edge. "Haven't you seen a naked man before?" Dabi asked casually, as he nonchalantly wrapped a towel around his narrow hips. His tone was light, as if he was attempting to ease the tension that lingered in the room, although the enigmatic smile on his lips suggested a hint of mischief. His comment, while teasing, hinted at a sense of amusement.

Shyly, you admitted, "I have seen a few times before, but… it does make me uncomfortable." Your voice held a hint of bashfulness as you confessed your unease.

Dabi grinned mischievously and remarked, "Well, well, you must be a sweet virgin then, untouched by a man before."

His comment caused a rosy hue to spread across your cheeks, and you cleared your throat, struggling to find a response. Finally, you replied, "That's not something I think is necessary to discuss, sir."

Dabi chuckled darkly, his eyes locking onto yours as he told you, "I appreciate your help, but I no longer require your assistance. You may proceed to other tasks."

With a respectful nod, you bowed your head and quietly left the chamber. Once the door was closed behind you, you took a deep breath, attempting to steady your racing heartbeat. Why was your body acting that way?!

Meanwhile, Dabi donned fresh, warm woolen clothes and flopped onto his bed with a smile that refused to leave his lips. As he lay there, he couldn't help but ponder the intriguing encounter he'd had with you. Your presence had stirred something within him, a fascination that was as unexpected as it was undeniable. Thoughts of you lingered in his mind, and he couldn't help but wonder what secrets and complexities lay behind those attentive eyes.

You and the elder woman, Hilda, whose name you had learned, found yourselves working together to prepare the evening supper and clean the Great Hall. There was little conversation between you, both recognizing the need to focus on your duties in a world where neither of you had many options.

As the evening descended, the Great Hall was transformed into a place of feasting and celebration. The long wooden table was laden with a lavish spread, featuring roasted meats, freshly baked bread, hearty stews, and a variety of fruits and vegetables. The earl, Endeavor, and his sons, along with the most honored warriors and shieldmaidens, gathered at the table.

Amidst the flickering torchlight, they feasted, drank, and discussed the latest raid and their plans for the coming months. The atmosphere in the Great Hall was one of camaraderie, where bonds were forged over stories of battles and victories, and where alliances were strengthened through shared experiences in a world where strength and strategy reigned supreme.

From your vantage point in the small chamber that you now shared with Hilda, you couldn't tear your eyes away from the raucous scene unfolding in the Great Hall. The feasting and celebration, in the wake of the brutal raid that had cost so many innocent lives, left a bitter taste in your mouth. "I hate them," you whispered through clenched teeth, the anger and sorrow in your voice evident. "They killed so many noble, innocent people, and they're celebrating!"

Hilda remained quiet for a moment, her eyes fixed on the revelry below. When she finally responded, her voice was heavy with the weight of the past and the harsh realities of their world. "It's a cruel world, my child. Sometimes, we must endure the unbearable in order to survive."

As Hilda instructed you to bring some wooden logs for the fireplace, you reluctantly nodded, asking to borrow one of her large furs to shield yourself from the biting cold of the night. She handed it to you, and you wrapped the warm fur tightly around your shivering form before stepping out of the small chamber and leaving the Great Hall. The night was unforgiving, but the task at hand beckoned, and you were determined to fulfill your duty.

Unbeknownst to you, Dabi's sharp gaze caught your departure, and he furrowed his brows as he observed your exit. He couldn't help but wonder about your sudden absence, but Natsuo, by his side, provided a distraction by refilling his mead and engaging him in another conversation.

Unbeknownst to Dabi, another pair of keen eyes observed your departure from the Great Hall that night.

The path to the stable proved unchallenging, as you followed Hilda's directions, taking two left turns and then one right. The wooden structure loomed ahead, its massive door firmly closed. The village appeared deserted, with most of the villagers having retired to their huts or gathered within the Great Hall, consumed by their own activities and discussions.

After a bit of struggle, you managed to open the stable door. As you stepped inside, the warmth and the distinct, earthy animal smell enveloped your senses, causing you to wince slightly, not being accustomed to visiting stables frequently. Inside, a row of horses stood, their large, powerful forms exuding a quiet strength.

Your eyes fell on one particular horse, a magnificent black stallion with a flowing white mane that contrasted sharply with his dark coat. There was a certain allure to the creature, and a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You approached him, and with a gentle hand, you reached out to touch his soft nose.

The horse, seemingly recognizing your gentle demeanor, nuzzled your hand, allowing you to pet him. The texture of his coat was smooth and warm beneath your touch, and his eyes, deep and expressive, held a sense of wisdom. With genuine admiration, you whispered, "You're a beautiful creature, aren't you?" You whispered, petting his cheeks and forhead.

As you admired the striking black stallion in the stable, your first thought couldn't help but connect the dots – the resemblance was striking. You couldn't help but wonder if this magnificent horse was, in fact, Dabi's steed.

With a sense of accomplishment for having befriended the horse, you looked around the dimly lit stable. The moonlight streamed through the opened door, casting elongated shadows across the interior. After a brief moment of humming to yourself, your eyes fell upon a pile of wooden logs tucked away in a corner. The silver glow of the moonlight illuminated them just enough to be visible. You carefully made your way to the corner and began to pick up a few logs, cradling them in your arms. The weight of the logs felt reassuring, and you knew they would be essential for the warmth of the Great Hall's fireplace. With your task complete, you made your way back toward the door, ready to return to your shared chamber and continue your duties alongside Hilda.

As you turned around to leave the stable, you heard a brief, low chuckle, and your eyes darted toward the source of the sound. In the doorway, a figure stood, his presence initially hidden in the shadows.

"Well, well, so you're our new thrall," a voice, deceptively sweet, called out from the figure, and he stepped into the moonlight.

Uncertain about who this person was, you bowed your head respectfully and replied, "I'm sorry, but I need to take these back to the Great Hall."

You attempted to pass by the man with the logs in your arms, but before you could do so, a strong hand latched onto your arm, pulling you closer with a sudden force that caused the logs to tumble from your grasp.

"Wait, wait, easy," the two-colored eyes of the young man bore into yours in the dim moonlight.

As you saw him more clearly, you couldn't help but notice the striking contrast in his appearance. His face was remarkably handsome, his eyes mismatched with one being a captivating turquoise and the other a deep gray. His hair followed suit, evenly split between white on one side and fiery crimson on the other.

"Please, sir, let me go. I don't need any trouble," you whispered, attempting to muster the courage to speak more fluently.

The young man, his confidence evident, allowed his gaze to wander over you in a way that was both bold and borderline cocky. His eyes took in your figure, assessing your presence with a mix of curiosity and amusement. There was a playful, mischievous glint in his mismatched eyes that seemed to suggest he enjoyed the effect his scrutiny had on you.

You couldn't help but feel a mixture of discomfort as Shoto's attention remained fixed on you.

With a brazen confidence that made your heart race, the man gently took your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He slowly turned your head from left to right, examining your face closely. "Well, I think I know why my brother spared your pathetic life," he mused with a sly grin, "You're not so bad looking with your doe-like eyes."

Before you could react, he leaned forward and inhaled deeply, his breath brushing over your neck. He let the tip of his tongue trace along your skin, tasting you with a sensuousness that sent shivers down your spine. "Mmmm, delicious, truly," he murmured, his voice laced with a tantalizing allure that left you trembling. "Did you already warm my brother's bed?" The man chuckled darkly, his tone dripping with mockery. "I pity you if you did. He looks so gross, and he is just a ruthless dog," he continued, one of his hands slipping down to rest on your hip. "But if you'll be a good girl, I can help you out, little one."

His words were a disturbing blend of disdain and desire, leaving you in a disconcerting predicament, trapped between your vulnerability as a thrall and the unsettling advances of a man who seemed to delight in pushing boundaries. "Let me go," you pleaded once more, your voice laced with desperation as you tried to yank yourself from his grasp. A whimper escaped your lips when one of his hands slipped beneath your skirt, pulling it upward. His smooth hand glided up your leg and caressed your inner thigh.

"Mmmm, so soft. You Christians have the softest skin, I must say," he mused with a dark chuckle. "Oh, don't resist. I promise I'll take good care of you. What? You've never been possessed by anyone until now? That's even better," he continued, his words a disturbing blend of arrogance and desire, "I'll show you what a real man has in his pants."

Your heart raced, and a sense of fear and vulnerability washed over you as you found yourself trapped in this perilous encounter with the young man. Summoning a surge of courage, you swiftly raised your knee, delivering a well-aimed strike to the man's groin.

He groaned in pain and released his grip on you.

Seizing this opportunity, you made a break for it, rushing out of the stable and turning left, only to stumble and fall into the arms of a tall figure who had intercepted your path. Gasping, you looked up and realized it was Dabi.

"Are you okay?" he inquired, tilting his head with concern.

Still trembling from the encounter with the other man, you instinctively snuggled closer to Dabi, casting an anxious glance back to see the man leaving the stable as well.

"Oh, Touyaaa," the younger man mocked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with our dear father, celebrating your successful raid?"

The tension between the two brothers was palpable, and you found yourself caught in the middle of their complex dynamic, uncertain of what to expect next.

"I could pose the very same question, Shoto," Dabi retorted, his tone low and filled with irritation.

So it was Shoto Endeavorson, the youngest of the earl's sons, you realized.

"Missed the festivities, Dabi?" Shoto continued to taunt, his voice dripping with mockery. "Or did you get tired of drinking mead and listening to the warriors' war stories?"

Dabi, his expression unyielding, responded with a hint of sarcasm, "Unlike you, I had more important matters to attend to."

Shoto's grin widened as he continued his verbal assault, "Important matters? I'm sure you were busy with looking for your new thrall here." His eyes flicked toward you with a knowing smirk. "She's a delicate one, isn't she? I can see why you're so taken with her."

Dabi's grip around you tightened as if to shield you from Shoto's insinuations, and he retorted in a low, measured tone, "Jealousy doesn't suit you, brother."

Shoto's taunts only grew more sarcastic, bold, and dark. "Jealousy? Me?" he feigned innocence, his grin never wavering. "Why would I be jealous of your newfound… entertainment?" He cast an appraising glance in your direction that made your skin crawl. "I can have any girl I want. I can't say that about you. Ah, our dear Touya, always the less loved of us, has managed to find himself a woman who pities his tragic past and those unsightly scars. How delightful," Shoto sneered with biting sarcasm, not stopping himself from checking you out again. "She has nice legs and ass. I'm sure her pussy is sweet too."

Dabi's patience was wearing thin, and the tension in the air thickened. His voice was low and dangerous as he warned, "Watch your words, Shoto."

But Shoto seemed determined to push his brother's buttons, his tone now dripping with malice. "Oh, Touya, you've always been so protective. But perhaps it's not jealousy I'm feeling, but concern." He walked in closer, his voice a venomous whisper. "After all, we wouldn't want another accident like the last time, would we?"

The insult hit its mark, and Dabi's temper flared. In an instant, Dabi gently pushed you aside and closed the gap between himself and Shoto. His hands shot out, gripping Shoto by the front of his shirt, nearly lifting him from the ground. "Apologize to the girl," he grunted, his voice laced with a protective edge.

Shoto, far from intimidated, mocked the situation. He sneered at Dabi, his voice filled with defiance, "Apologize? Why would I apologize to a mere thrall, Touya? She's nothing but our slave."

It happened in the blink of an eye - Dabi was the first to land a powerful blow on Shoto's face.

The confrontation between Dabi and Shoto escalated rapidly, the air filled with tension and the sound of fists connecting with flesh. The fight was fierce and unrelenting, each brother determined to gain the upper hand.

Dabi's anger fueled his strength as he delivered powerful blows, attempting to subdue his defiant younger brother. Shoto, however, was agile and determined, his own strikes landing with precision.

Amidst the chaos, you screamed for help, your voice echoing through the little paths, desperate for someone to intervene and separate the two men.

The battle raged on, a whirlwind of fists, grunts, and the sound of bodies colliding.

Dabi and Shoto ended up on the ground, a tangle of limbs and fierce determination. Shoto somehow managed to pin his older brother to a sandy path, raining blows down upon him.

Desperate to stop the violence, you rushed forward and grabbed Shoto's shirt, attempting to pull him away from Dabi. However, Shoto abruptly turned, and with a swift, brutal motion, aimed a blow at your face. The impact sent you sprawling to the ground, and you whimpered in pain, feeling warm blood trickle down from your injured nose.

"Touya! Shoto!" The deep, commanding voice reverberated through the air, halting the fight in its tracks. The imposing figure of the earl himself stood nearby, putting an end to the violent clash. "What are you doing?! Stop it right now!" Endeavor's voice commanded authority, and in that moment, Dabi seized the opportunity to push Shoto off himself, swiftly getting to his feet and bowing his head.

"Forgive me, father."

Shoto also stood up, dusting off his clothes, and gave you a cold, dismissive glance before looking up at his father. "Not my fault he started it. I just…"

"Enough!" Endeavor's growl cut through the tension. "Return to your chambers. I don't want to see any of you tonight." The earl's stern order left no room for argument.

Shoto quickly retreated from the scene with a scoff as he witnessed Dabi extending his hand to help you up from the ground.

Dabi asked if you were okay, his tone genuinely concerned, but you simply nodded and moved away from him. Being your captor, you weren't willing to stay too close to him for too long.

He offered to lead you back, but you declined, shaking your head and wiping the blood from your nose with the hem of your sleeve. Instead, you returned to the stable to retrieve the wooden locks you had left.

Later that night, after Hilda had treated your nose, you lay in your bed, shivering slightly from the cold. The unfamiliar surroundings and the tumultuous events of the day made it difficult for you to fall asleep. The night seemed to drag on, but eventually, exhaustion claimed you, and you slipped into an uneasy slumber.

In the days that followed, you hadn't seen either Shoto or Dabi. The routine of daily chores and duties kept you occupied, and it was during these tasks that you had some pleasant conversations with Natsuo, the middle brother. Despite your different backgrounds, you found him to be a kind and intelligent young man, and you developed a growing respect for him.

As you worked on preparing food, cleaning, doing laundry, milking cows, and collecting herbs, you found solace in the busy routine. It kept your mind occupied and helped you feel like a part of the settlement.

During the evenings, you always found a quiet moment to say a little prayer, clutching the small cross you wore as a charm on your necklace. It was your silent act of faith, a private connection to something beyond the Viking traditions and beliefs. So far, no one had noticed your small act of devotion.

One evening, Hilda asked you to bring food to Touya's chamber as the prince hadn't eaten anything for almost two days. Reluctantly, you agreed, taking a wooden tray and heading to his private room.

You knocked on the door, but there was no immediate response. Deciding to step inside, you found Dabi sitting in front of a long mirror, focused on sewing something. "Good evening," you greeted him, holding the tray with a meal. "I brought you a meal."

Dabi's tone was unusually cold as he said, "Leave the tray and go."

Confused and concerned by his abrupt change in behavior, you couldn't help but frown. He had never been this harsh with you before. You mustered the courage to ask what was wrong, and when he turned to face you, your heart sank.

Dabi was sewing his cheek right by the corner of his lips, mending the area where the purple skin had cracked from the healthy one. The sight of his self-inflicted wounds left you in shock, and you gasped, unable to contain your horrified reaction, instinctively covering your mouth with your hands. Oh, God…"

"There's no God of yours arund," he replied. "Just leave."

However, you couldn't bear to see him in pain, and you shook your head, silently offering to help him. "Let me help you, my lord."

After a long moment of tense silence, he finally nodded in reluctant agreement.

You approached him carefully, not wanting to make the situation worse. "I can assist you with that," you offered, your voice soft and filled with concern.

The wound on Dabi's face was a gruesome sight. His cheek, near the corner of his lips, bore a jagged tear where the purple skin had cracked in several places. Blood oozed from the fissures, creating dark, crimson streaks down his pale skin of his fingers. In one hand, he held a needle, and in the other, a set of metal staples, tools he was using to attempt to mend the torn and damaged flesh. It was a painful and gruesome process, and you couldn't help but wince at the sight. "Are you in pain?"

Dabi, his voice strained and hollow, spoke, "I don't feel much anymore. My dark skin, it's been destroyed to the point that I can't feel much of anything." He went on to explain, "It happened after my fight with Shoto. He hit me in certain spots, several times, and it left me like this, with my skin tearing like a fucking paper." The indifference in his words contrasted with the evident pain he had endured.

You felt a pang of guilt, knowing that this had happened as a result of your fight with Shoto. You took the responsibility for their intense confrontation upon yourself. "I'm so sorry, Touya… I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Dabi's expression softened as he replied, "It's okay. I don't hold a grudge. Honestly, I'm just grateful that I was in the right place at the right time. I shudder to think what might have happened if I hadn't been there for you that night. My youngest brother, he's unpredictable."

You carefully assisted him, holding the needle and thread as he began to mend the torn skin. Each stitch made you wince in sympathy, and you couldn't help but ask, "Am I hurting you?"

Dabi, with a playful smirk, teased, "No, not at all. I'm just mocking." His words were light, and he continued the process, bearing the pain as he let you help him, a strange connection forming between you in that moment.

Once the task was completed, you couldn't shake the curiosity about the full story behind Dabi's scars. "Could you tell me the whole story behind your scars?"

He glanced at you, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Are you sure you're strong enough to handle it?" he teased.

You looked back at him, determination in your gaze. "I want to know, Dabi. Please share it with me." Despite the teasing and his enigmatic persona, you wanted to understand the man behind the scars and the mask.

Dabi nodded, and he began to recount the harrowing tale of his scars. His voice carried the weight of years of pain and betrayal as he spoke. "I was just a child when it happened. My father, the earl, decided that he needed to 'toughen me up' for the battles to come. It was just him making an excuse. He invited one of his most loyal warriors, a man known as Hawks, to help with my 'training.' The so-called training involved boiling tar being poured over me. The pain was excruciating, and I could feel my skin blistering and burning. Hawks and my father just stood there, watching, as I screamed in agony. They hoped I'd die." His voice trembled slightly with the memories, and there was a profound sadness in his eyes. "I endured that torment, and it left me scarred, both physically and mentally, I won't lie. But I didn't succumb to my wounds," Dabi explained, his voice holding a note of grim determination. "No, I survived. I was reborn, but not in the way my father intended. I emerged from that torment stronger, more ruthless, and unwavering in my purpose. This is the person I've become, shaped by the brutality I endured." His eyes held a fierce resolve. "As for my father's hopes of having an great heir, well, he can rest assured. No woman would willingly share her bed with me, not after what I've been through. His precious Shoto is likely to inherit the title of earl when he passes, and then his kids. It's a fate I've accepted, but the sorrow within me is still strong as it was the day it happened."

As he shared this shocking and heart-wrenching story, you couldn't help but feel a deep sympathy for the man before you. His past was filled with unimaginable suffering, and it had shaped him into the person he was today. In a moment of empathy, you placed your hand on Dabi's scarred shoulder. "We come from two different worlds, yes," you began, "and I can't pretend to understand everything you've been through. But I don't pity you. Instead, I see how the cruel path you've walked has shaped you. It's made you strong, in your own way."

Your words seemed to take Dabi by surprise. He looked at you, his turquoise eyes locking onto yours, a hint of shock in his expression.

As you turned to leave his chamber, the impact of your words lingered in the air. Dabi couldn't help but think about what you had said. Despite the brutal circumstances that had brought you together, there was something about your meeting that had left a mark on him, like the tar all those years ago.

Two months had passed since you were brought to the Viking settlement, and the seasons had shifted from summer to full autumn. The days were marked by rain and cold, but you were slowly acclimating to the new climate and your life as a thrall.

During this time, you found yourself spending more moments with Dabi. He allowed you to assist him with various tasks, whether it was helping him with chores or lending a hand in the stables with his stallion. The surprising part was how friendly his horse had become with you. The stallion would allow you to feed him hay, carrots, and apples, forging a peculiar bond between you and the majestic creature.

These moments, in the midst of a harsh and unfamiliar world, were becoming a source of connection and comfort in your life as a thrall.

Shoto dismounted his horse, his boots hitting the rocky terrain as he arrived at a quaint little hut nestled in the mountains. The view from this vantage point was breathtaking. Below, the settlement sprawled out, framed by the bay's sparkling waters that lapped against the shoreline. It was a mesmerizing sight, a serene blend of natural beauty and human existence.

He tethered his horse and entered the hut, a touch of irritation in his voice as he spoke, "Finally. I was getting slightly worried you failed me."

The hut's interior was dimly lit, a fire crackling in the hearth, and an air of secrecy hung around them.

The tall man, with his golden eyes and a hint of mockery in his voice, replied as he sat near the fireplace, "Failed you, my lord? How could I fail you?"

He was Keigo, one of Shoto and Endeavor's most trusted subordinates. Hawks was a formidable Viking warrior known for his imposing presence. Tall and lean, his blonde hair framed a strong jawline, and his golden eyes had a piercing intensity that sent shivers down his enemies' spines. What truly set him apart, though, were the intricately detailed wings tattooed on his back, a symbol of his prowess and the source of his moniker, "Hawks." Among the many tales surrounding Hawks, one gruesome reputation stood out. He was known for performing a ritual called the "blood eagle" on his defeated enemies. This horrifying act involved the careful removal of the victim's ribcage, which, when spread out, resembled the wings of an eagle. It was a terrifying spectacle designed to send a message of dread and fear to anyone who dared to cross paths with him, solidifying his reputation as a ruthless and feared warrior.

Shoto folded his arms, still a touch irritated. "I need to know, Takamison, did you do as I instructed? Did you find the information we need?"

Hawks nodded to Shoto, his golden eyes filled with the excitement of discovery. "I did as you instructed, my lord, and I've learned some intriguing information. Earl Gizzor is indeed working for another, very powerful earl. He resides in the northern part of Sweden. What's even more interesting is that this earl used to work closely with your father, Endeavor, years ago. They were allies in many ventures, but it seems their partnership turned sour due to a significant conflict of interests and businesses."

His voice held a hint of anticipation, eager to see how Shoto would react to this newfound information that could have far-reaching consequences.

Shoto lounged casually in a chair near the fireplace, his legs crossed, and one arm draped lazily against the chair's back. "Alright," he said with a nonchalant air. "Tell me everything you've discovered."

Keigo, still standing, couldn't resist a hint of mocking amusement. "Well, my lord, before I share such valuable information, I believe it's only fair that I see my payment first, don't you think?" He grinned, clearly enjoying the moment of leverage.

Shoto's eyebrows narrowed as he reluctantly reached under his leather vest. He retrieved a small woolen money bag and tossed it casually at Hawks' feet. The bag jingled with the sound of golden coins.

Hawks picked it up, his glare quickly replaced by a sly smirk as he counted the coins inside. "You're surprisingly generous today," he commented. After a brief pause, he leaned in, his voice lowered. "The powerful earl your father used to work with is none other than Toshinori Yagison."

"All Might," Shoto grinned. "Well, well."

"So, what's my mission now?" Keigo inquired, polishing his sword.

Shoto couldn't help but grin widely. "You see, after Touya's successful raid, he's been gaining favor in our father's eyes. I can't allow that to happen; Touya can't regain a powerful position in our family again. I need him either dead or sent on a mission he'll never return from."

Hawks considered Shoto's words, and a dark, intriguing plan formed in his mind. "I've got an idea, a mission that might just solve your problem," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Hawks leaned in, outlining his devious plan to Shoto. "Here's what we'll do. We'll create a fabricated map, detailing a journey to a remote and dangerous territory, one that's rumored to be filled with riches. I'll make sure it falls into the right hands—specifically, someone who will share it with Dabi. And once Touya embarks on this perilous journey, we'll ensure he never returns. Whether it's the treacherous terrain, bandits, or an 'unfortunate accident,' he'll be out of the picture for good."

Shoto nodded in approval, his grin revealing the sinister pleasure he took in the plan. "Very well, Hawks. Let's set this plan into motion, and rid me of my brother's growing influence."

Hawks pulled aside his shirt, revealing a massive scar that marred his otherwise unblemished skin. The scar extended from the side of his neck all the way down to his lower abdomen, a gruesome reminder of the harrowing encounter he'd had in the North of Norway. "I ventured to a dark place up north," Hawks began, his voice heavy with the memory. "A desolate, forgotten land where it's easy to get lost, and danger lurks in the shadows. I was attacked by something… something I've never even seen. It left me with this."

Shoto couldn't help but flinch at the sight of the scar.

"The locals speak of a malevolent force, a powerful draugr said to inhabit that forsaken place. It's haunted, and some claim the spirit of a vengeful Viking warrior resides there. I barely escaped with my life, and I'd advise no one to venture into that cursed territory."

Shoto listened intently, and a wicked smile crossed his face. "Perfect. That's precisely the place we need to send my dear brother. If the draugr doesn't get him, the treacherous terrain will."

Shoto left Hawks' hut with a dark grin etched on his face. As he mounted his horse, his mind was abuzz with the sinister plan he was concocting. The idea of getting rid of Dabi, his older brother, appealed to him more with each passing moment. With Dabi out of the way, he would be next in line to claim the throne after their father's demise. The pieces of his twisted plan were falling into place, and he was ready to set it in motion. As he rode back towards the Skjaldvargr, a wicked glint danced in his eyes, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of power and anticipation. Shoto was determined to ensure that Endeavor's days as the earl would be far from long and happy. He was willing to do whatever it took to ascend to the position of power he believed he deserved, and nothing would stand in his way.

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