#her glam squad

[cantquitu]

.

#florence pugh posting 4 'appreciation posts' about last night's premiere on IG #...for her granny #her glam squad #her dress #and her diamonds #without once mentioning the film premiering #or anyone in it #seems so incredibly mean-spirited #it's v disappointing #and it's not that i hope she has reason to be that bitter #but i guess i hope she's not that petty just cos she can be right now #anyway - #sad all round #sad that olivia has been off social media since shia did what he did

[margseliserobbie]

Margot Robbie attends the Babylon premiere in London, England on January 12, 2023.

#*margot #tw: long post #//I love the back or this but from the front it looks like she’s wearing a red potato sack 😭😭 #of* #//and her hair stylist always does the same two hair styles on her… pls I hope she gets a new hair stylist before barbie press #//and a new stylist and a new glam squad overall lol

[wntw-virtuemoir-edition]

God, I really hope she does something besides just the usual fotoshoots. She got a whole MBA! And I know she worked hard for that. What was the point if she’s never going to use it?

*E

-mba.

which she only strived to obtain bcz her mother got one when her once stable life was also crumbling down around her, so it must be the thing that is the key to turning the life bus around!!!!

#except its not #and once her extended summer break distraction is done #she might realize that #dont get me wrong #i want to see her do something #anything #other than glam squading w goodbye kells #sure she’s retired but she could at least volunteer for something and do some good in the world

[jerseygirl5000]

#her exclusively male (gay) glam squad

[ur-mag]

DWTS’ Julianne Hough reveals jaw-dropping before-and-after photos of her real face without a glam squad makeover | In Trend Today

DWTS’ Julianne Hough reveals jaw-dropping before-and-after photos of her real face without a glam squad makeover Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

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#Celebrities #DWTS’ Julianne Hough reveals jaw-dropping before-and-after photos of her real face without a glam squad makeover #Money #Motors #Politics #ShowBiz #Sport #Tech #UK #US #World

[moonchildstyles]

s'entendre

élan part five: y/n's first night out since the gala couldn't be that bad. right?

wordcount: 14.4k+

—————

(Y/N) couldn't help the frown that landed on her face as she looked in the mirror. 

While her time in Paris had been the best she'd had in a really long while, it wasn't necessarily showing. At this point, she'd missed three of her facial appointments, her skin beginning to cry out from the lack of treatment. Her nails were barely hanging on, her acrylics grown out past the point of comfort. While her mental state was beginning to grow to a wholly positive place, the rest of her wasn't really catching up. 

To top it off, her makeup wasn't cooperating either. Maybe she should really get a glam squad like Harry thought—at least then she would have a chance at being on time for events with a fully formed face.

With Emma joining them in Paris for the weekend, Francesca had insisted they go out and visit the nightlife. Of course, the one night she knew there would no doubt be photos caught of her just from the way her friends were still very active on their social medias, would be when her makeup cooperates the least.

Letting out a rumbling groan, (Y/N) was that close to calling off the night as another smudge of mascara blobbed on the crease of her eye. 

Like always, Harry popped his head inside her bedroom, a pinch in his brows appearing as he took in the otherwise safe room. 

"What's the matter, hm?" he asked, stepping inside her room. His reflection was made in the mirror, a clear view of his eyes stitched on her as she gazed at him through the glass. 

It was a bit petulant, her reaction, with the way she puffed out her bottom lip with a pout. "My skin doesn't look good, and my makeup is only making it worse." Before she could even finish her statement, Harry was shaking his head, lips thinning as if he was bored with the fact she couldn't see facts right in front of her. "Harry, really," she argued against his silent protest, "My makeup looks so weird, right now." 

(Y/N) watched as he settled in behind her, his arms crossing over his chest. His eyes flittered over the mirror, ever-observant. 

"You're very funny sometimes, you know that?" 

That only strengthened the frown on her lips and pinch in her brow. "I'm not being funny right now." 

Dropping his gaze, his features facing the floor, Harry shook his head again. Down the slope of his nose, she swore she saw the edges of an easy smile. Looking up, only traces of amusement lingered on his lips. 

"That's what you think," he countered cryptically, "Let me know when you're ready." 

With that, Harry popped out of her room as quickly as he joined her. Sweeping her eyes away from the doors he exited through, returning to the mirror set in her vanity, she took in the planes of her face. 

Though she could still see texture and bumps, pores and blemishes, it didn't bother her so terribly for a moment. Even the sight of her outgrown nails with dull edges didn't pick at her nerves. 

If Harry didn't think she looked silly, even after he witnessed the glamour she preferred in New York, then maybe it wasn't so bad. 

Even if he didn't say he thought she looked pretty, he thought her complaints against her features were outlandish enough to laugh at. 

Suddenly, she didn't feel like agonizing over her skin anymore. She looked just fine, she decided. 

—————

"Tell me again how you're going to tell me if you're uncomfortable or want to leave." 

Outside the windows at her back, the underground of Paris whirled past, the train moving quickly under the treasures on the surface. The car was on the quiet side for the night, the hour still early before others drunk on champagne would be stumbling through. 

Looking up at Harry through the fan of her false lashes, she repeated the same thing he told her at least five times before leaving the penthouse: "If I can, I need to come and tell you right away. But, if I'm in a situation where I can't reach you, I'm going to look at you and nod three times." 

That slow blooming smile touched the corner of his mouth, sot lips curling as he gazed down at her. "Perfect," he praised her, adjusting his hands from where they were curled around the rail on either side of her, "Jus' remember that for me, please. You're going to have a really fun night, I jus' want you to be safe." 

"Okay," (Y/N) nodded pliantly, gaze dropping down to the slope of his neck, "I—um—I also don't want to drink a lot tonight." 

"Okay," Harry answered cautiously, voice trailing off. 

"I know that's not a rule or anything, but I just... I don't want to get too deep tonight or anything," she explained in a small voice. While she wanted to unwind and play with her friends, she wasn't interested in stumbling around or blabbing things to anyone willing to sit and listen. She hoped she wouldn't have to worry about any photographers, but that didn't mean some couldn't pop up and take pictures of her with glazed eyes to feed into the narrative being spun back in New York. 

Understanding, Harry nodded his head, the green of his eyes softening as he allowed his gaze to slide across her features. "Okay," he said, "We can do that. I'll keep an eye on you, but if y'change your mind, that's okay, too. Whatever is going to make you happy tonight." 

Overhead the feminine French voice blinked over the intercom, arrival times appearing on the small screen at the head of the car. Harry looked over his shoulder taking in the printed times. As much as she teased him, he really was making progress in understanding the language, enough so that he was readily taking on the details of the night and keeping track of her. 

Allowing her eyes to skip over the line of his profile. Dressed low-key as usual, dark colors to help him sink into the background, the softer tones of his skin were left to jump out. The brown shades of his hair made way for sun-dappled blonde strands to make their way through, highlighting the swirling curls. His eyes were bright and clear, framed by dark curling lashes. His skin was creamy and warm, a gentle tan from the summer sun being highlighted from the dotted freckles on his nose and the rosy flush on his cheeks. 

"Thank you," she blurted. 

"Hm?" Harry hummed, turning to face her once more, brows raised. 

(Y/N) felt her skin heat as she processed her action. She hadn't meant to say anything.

"Thank you," she repeated, "For doing all of this. Helping." 

"It's m'job," he answered simply. 

That was a fact (Y/N) couldn't forget, that thin veil between being a constant barrier. "I know, but," she swallowed, feeling a bit silly now knowing that he noticed that line just as much as she did, "It's just a nice feeling—like you care, and all." 

The contact he made with her gaze was easy and open, unwavering. "It's because I do care." 

Just then, as convenient as ever, their arrival was announced. The train slowed to a stop, passengers readying to exit the car. 

Letting go of the rail, Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "C'mon," he murmured, keeping her close as he guided them into the fray of the moving passengers. 

(Y/N) followed absently wherever he needed, her heels hitting the ground in quiet clicks. She wasn't sure what the squeeze in her lungs and stuttering in her chest meant, but feeling Harry at her side made it that much more prevalent.

—————

Looking ahead, (Y/N) spotted the line leading up to Francesca's club of choice for the night. Waiting patrons were roping around the sidewalk, chattering with cigarettes in hand, impatient at the wait time. Even from where they were, out on the sidewalk leading up to the bouncing building, pumping music could be heard. (She's ninety-eight percent sure it was a Dua Lipa song, but she couldn't hear it exactly). 

Harnessed in neon pink tubes was the name of the club: Rêve. 

At her side, Harry ignored the end of the line, taking her to the front just as Fran had instructed. 

A burly bouncer sized them up, already doubting them after they cut the wait. (Y/N) offered her tabloid bunny smile, Harry the structured pillar at her side. 

"Salut! Nous sommes ici pour rencontrer des amis sur un stand VIP, l'un d'entre eux ayant réservé pour la nuit," she chattered, keeping her eye contact with the bouncer. 

The bouncer didn't look entirely impressed as he listened. His gaze inched from hers to land on Harry. "Nom?" 

"Francesca Polair—nous sommes deux de ses invités." 

The bouncer's eyes tripped down her form, taking in her shimmery dress and lengths of skin on display. "Pièce d'identité?" 

While she reached for her small bag with her ID inside, the bouncer unclipped a small tablet that was hung from his belt. Handing over her passport, she watched as he squinted at the American identification. Nonetheless, her name inevitably matched that of what was on Fran's guest list. 

"Vous êtes prêt à entrer. Est-il avec toi?" He asked, eyeing up Harry at her side. 

"Oui, cela devrait également figurer sur la liste. Harry Styles." 

This time the bouncer didn't properly look at the tablet, instead, taking her word for it though he still shot Harry a suspicious look with the way he lingered at her side. 

Holding open the door, he nodding at (Y/N) to push past. "Les tribunes sont au fond, derrière la piste de danse."

"Merci," she murmured, stepping past him with Harry just a step behind.

Inside, the bass of the music that could be heard outside was that much louder, lyrics in French that were too loud for her to focus on enough to translate in her head. The space was dark, leaving only strobing beams of multicolored lights to throb through the club, the only stable beacons being that of the bars lining some of the walls. 

Concentrations of people were found on the dance floor and the bars, leaving walkways in between to travel through. Staff and bottleservice workers traipsed through, fluorescent drinks with herbs perched on the rims were stationed on trays next to full bottles of sparkling liquor and beers that probably had no business being as expensive as they were. 

The VIP section was a straight shot down to the back, easy to spot given the second bouncer manning the entrance and the stream of bottle service staff making their way there. Harry reminded her of his presence with a hand hovering on the small of her back, over the glittering fabric of her dress. 

"Alright?" he asked, dipping down close to her ear in order for her to hear. 

"Mhm," she hummed, nodding her head with stray baby hairs tickling the borders of her face, "We just need to get back there to Fran and Emma." 

Harry followed her line of sight towards the booths lining the back. In that way he always did, a reflex that had to have come from years in his line of work, he took inventory of the path to the back, noting the bodies in the way and the easiest route back. 

"Okay," he murmured, looking determined when he positioned himself in front of her with his fingers looping around her wrist. 

He took the lead then, ensuring her path was clear as she stepped behind him. She couldn't hear if he was speaking over the sound of the music, but she wondered if he was muttering something to those around them that had them parting, no one able to even brush against her as she slipped through the crowd. She could feel eyes landing on her back as she stepped through, but no one stopped her, no one raised a camera at the spectacle. 

Before they could even reach the bouncer, a pitched scream that careened over the pumping music had (Y/N)'s eyes snapping up the raised level that the booths were situated on. Glowing like a mermaid with big waves in her hair and slinky blue dress adorning her body was Francesca, bright smile that much whiter under the lights as she spotted her best friend. The almost empty drink in her hand was perfect evidence of just how she was able to pitch her voice so high. 

"(Y/N)!" she bubbled, racing out of her chosen booth on Bambi legs, "You're here! I missed you so much—come here, come here!" 

She all but pushed the bouncer aside as she met them at the entrance to the section, the top of the small trio of stairs being where she stopped. The bouncer didn't stop them as Harry pulled her into the safety of the VIP area. Francesca barely glanced at her bodyguard before she had (Y/N) wrapped up in a hug, her glass precariously teetering on her shoulder. 

"Emma brought Stavros so she's been all over him," Francesca whined, "I was scared you were going to leave me with her." 

"I told you I was on my way," (Y/N) giggled, peeking through the fluff that was Fran's hair to spy Harry standing off to the side in wait of her. She shot him a look, widened eyes with a quiet smile as if to let him in on the inside joke that was her friend's drunken blubbers. 

"I know, but I forgot. It doesn't matter, though, everything's okay now," Francesca rushed out, pulling away from the hug to pull (Y/N) towards the chosen booth for the night. Suddenly, she seemed to finally notice Harry was there as well, despite the fact that he had been the one leading her into the section in the first place. "Harry! Hi," she bubbled, waving at him with her drink in hand. 

"Hi, Francesca," he said, giving her a nod in greeting before his eyes met (Y/N)'s. It was his turn to give her a small look, their own moment of amusement over her. 

"Are you partying with us tonight?" she asked, eyes bright at the idea of Harry joining in on the fun. 

Harry shook his head, features schooled away from that quiet look he shared with (Y/N). "Not tonight—'m on duty." 

"That's a bummer," Fran pouted. Turning towards (Y/N), she seemingly forgot what had her bummed in the first place, instead replacing her sullen pout with a mischievous smile. "But, are you ready for a drink? We have a couple bottles at the table if you want to do shots!"

Before (Y/N) had a chance to properly answer, Fran led them to the secluded booth off to the corner of the roped off section. There, Emma and Stavros were canoodling away in the padded corner just as Francesca had complained, Emma with her hand sitting on the bare section of chest her boyfriend had on display with his barely buttoned shirt. He looked a little too satisfied with her attention, the way he was sinking into the leather booth and spreading his legs as if inviting Emma further. (Y/N) couldn't blame Fran for panicking at the idea of being left alone with the lovebirds for the night. As happy as they were for lovestruck Emma, the public intimacy was a bit much. 

True to her word, on the round table in the middle of the half-moon booth were two bottles of expensive liquor. Tiny shot glasses were standing in a stack by the bottles, a pair already having been used. 

Just as Francesca moved to pour (Y/N) one of her own small glasses, she was stopped with a hand on her arm. "I don't want to do too much tonight, Fran," she told her in her ear, hoping she could hear her over the music, "I have pilates in the morning, then I was going to hunt for a new nail studio." 

"Oh!" Fran chirped, the remains of her drink sloshing in her glass, "Why didn't you say so? We'll just get you a vodka soda then, so you stay hydrated." 

Before (Y/N) could even laugh at her friend's well-intentioned solution, Francesca was already flagging down one of the bottle service workers to place another order. (Y/N) didn't try to stop her, more than willing of this to be her drink of choice for the night instead of a round of shots. 

Emma, suddenly breaking out of her love bubble, noticed (Y/N) for the first time despite having been standing by their table for a handful of minutes now. "(Y/N)!" she cheered, eyes glazed and lips puffy, "Look, Stavros, (Y/N)'s here!" 

"Hi Emma," (Y/N) greeted, reaching across the table to give her a short hug, "Hi Stavros." 

"(Y/N)?" Stavros repeated back to Emma, a confused pinch between his brows. 

"You met her at the Gala, remember?" she answered, attempting to jog his memory, "She was in the pink dress with the little bag." 

"Oh, yes!" Stavros perked up, looking to (Y/N) with recognition in his eyes, "The crying girl, yes?" 

Underneath her skin, (Y/N)'s blood simmered with embarrassment. With Harry being the only person she'd been around since leaving New York, and Francesca being well aware of how unnecessary that night was to bring up, no one had brought up the Gala and the contents of the night to her face. She knew that was what many people in attendance were going to remember her for, but she didn't think it would be so blatantly broadcasted to her face. 

Emma shifted her gaze to (Y/N), most likely knowing through Francesca that the Gala was a topic that was off limits for the time being. The silence between the trio lasted a beat too long for (Y/N)'s comfort. She swallowed down that prickling embarrassment, instead giving a smile.

"That was me," she laughed it off, "Hopefully I'll stay out of trouble tonight." 

That seemed to be enough to quell the lovebirds' nerves, allowing Emma to smile and laugh along while Stavros gave a peal of laughter that was too enthused for (Y/N) to believe he actually understood what she said. Nonetheless, the awkward beat had been extinguished and now only lived in (Y/N)'s head for the time being. At least no one else was listening, Francesca too busy with her ordering and Harry just a few too many feet away to catch specific conversations. 

"How have you been, (Y/N)? I've barely been able to talk to you since you left," Emma started up, leaning forward to give (Y/N) all of her attention. 

Though she was sure it was a way to fill in the gaps of the conversation and pave over the bump Stavros left in the night, (Y/N) was grateful for the change in subject, recounting her time in the city. Francesca eventually settled in beside her in the booth, giving her own commentary on the things (Y/N) had already shared with her over dinner. Harry was stationed a few feet away, allowing her some space and privacy for the night though she could still feel his eyes landing on her every now and then as she gesticulated through the story of their day of sightseeing.

Soon enough, drinks arrived at the table along with a wish for their group to have a fun night. Her vodka soda bubbled in hand, the first sips holding the aroma of the rosemary sprig that was lanced through the cubes of ice. Francesca and Emma on the other hand downed a pair of shots while Stavros cheered on his girlfriend. 

By the time the burn had left Francesca's throat and she unclenched her eyes, (Y/N) had only made it through a couple of short pulls of her light drink. Francesca looked at her with bright eyes, the strobes from the dance floor tinting them a vibrant blue.

"Let's go dance, c'mon!" she bubbled, already standing on her wobbling legs before she finished speaking. 

Peeking around her, she found the dance floor crowded but nowhere near packed in the way some of the spots in New York could get at this hour. The music was good enough, and she didn't plan on wasting her first night out with friends over a throw away comment from Emma's boyfriend and the fear that she might embarrass herself again. 

Allowing Francesca to sweep her away, Emma and Stavros unsurprisingly staying back for a moment, (Y/N) found Harry's eyes for a moment. He looked at her with that solid eye contact he never wavered on when it came to her. A slight pinch lingered between his brows.

She shot him a small smile and a single nod.

She was going to have a good night. Harry didn't need to worry.

—————

"I love this song!" 

(Y/N) let out an easy, boisterous laugh at Francesca's bubbling comment, throwing her head back with her eyes closed. Did she even know this song? Given the fact Fran's French was nowhere near as refined as (Y/N)'s, there was a high chance she didn't understand a single syllable pumping through the speakers. Nonetheless, (Y/N) kept dancing along with her friend, hands twisting high above her head with her hips swaying.

More than one drink had passed through her hands, a couple passed the limit she set for herself at the start of the night. She would be fine, though, she was sure. She was barely even tipsy, she thought. The Cosmo in her hand was slick against her palm, having replaced the vodka soda she started with.

Across from her Francesca was having the time of her life with Emma and Stavros rounding out their group. Harry was somewhere in the distance, keeping an eye on her. More than once, he checked in from across the room, even sending for another drink for her when he heard her complaining of needing another. He treaded around her carefully, ensuring he didn't infringe on her night while doing his job to the best of his ability. 

At the top of the night, she noticed a few eyes on her, some whispering with those wandering eyes landing on her a few too many times. Though she would love to assume they were only speaking of her dress or sharing comments about the state of her dancing, her years in the light pushed her to speculate these were people who recognized her. As more drinks started flowing, her inhibition for the night waning, she let it go when she caught glimpses of phone cameras trained in her direction, a few people even daring to make their way closer to her on the dance floor. 

Harry kept a careful eye on the situation, watching her movements and keeping track of those around her. (Y/N) was sure a few of the times he stepped in to grab her another drink or check in on her, it was nothing short of a tactic to separate her from the others on the floor, reminding them that she wasn't a gazelle to be preyed on. 

Suddenly, a pair of hands slid around her waist. She jumped in her skin for a moment, her heated skin erupting in goosebumps. Though her dancing lagged for just a moment, she honestly didn't really care about the touch. With her eyes closed, and head trained towards the sky, she halfway figured it was Emma who was dancing with her, having abandoned her boyfriend to cuddle up for a moment. 

Until she heard Emma's tittering laugh from a space away. In front of her. 

Blinking her eyes open, (Y/N) took stock of those around her. Emma was stretching up to her tiptoes as she sealed her lips to Stavros', her hands locked in his hair, only pulling away when he whispered something to her that made her laugh. Francesca was off to the side of her, making moony eyes at an unfamiliar man in front of her, there chattering silent under the thrumming music. On her waist was the hand of someone she didn't know. 

Stumbling in her spot, she tried to whirl around in an attempt to see who exactly it was that was behind her. The hand on her waist tightened, steadying her as he leaned down with his mouth by her ear. 

"Sorry, chérie," an accented voice said over her shoulder, "I didn't mean to scare you." 

Unable to help the peal of laughter that fell from her lips, (Y/N) realized something just then. 

She was drunk.

In a different moment, with a different drink in her hand (probably water), she wouldn't have been quite so welcoming to having someone touch her and use a pet name so casually. 

Instead, she didn't really mind. She could only laugh and hang onto his hand, keeping herself steady as she tipped her head backwards to see him. 

"It's okay," she slurred, "I just wasn't expecting that." Blue eyes stared back at her, topped by black brows. He smelled like smoke and vodka Red Bulls. "Who are you?" 

The man laughed at her blunt question, the sound mixing with the music. "I am Marc," he told her, eyes shifting over her head to where Francesca was standing, "And that's my friend, Alain. We thought you and your friend were beautiful, so we wanted to introduce ourselves." 

"Oh, okay," she sounded, matching his line of sight a little too quickly with her hair fluttered around her face. Much more stable on her feet again, she spun on her heels, facing her mystery man—Marc—properly. "Nice to meet you," she bubbled, taking an absent sip from her drink, "I'm (Y/N)." 

Dipping down, Marc pressed a swift kiss to the soft of her cheek. "Nice to meet you, (Y/N). I've been having to work up the courage to come talk to you since I first came in here." 

While in the back of her muddled mind, (Y/N) knew well that he was feeding her nothing but lines, she wasn't sure if she cared. There had been enough times she had been seduced by a French accent and enough wine to know that this was just one of those things. French men were much more romantic in her experiences, their lines matching the intimacy they were seeking from her. 

Was it such a bad thing to revel in the niceties, though? The last time someone had openly flirted with her now ranked in the top five worst nights of her life, so it felt a little more than nice to have someone piling compliments and cushioned flirting. Was it such a bad thing to indulge herself? To soak in a second of outside validation?

Though the standard wasn't that high, at least he wasn't grabbing her face and demeaning her. 

Letting her hesitations go, drifting to the back of her mind with the help of the alcohol train running off the tracks, she leaned towards him with a giggling smile. "Well, I'm happy you did," she beamed, her eyes hooded. 

Taking another pull of her drink, her straw hit the bottom with only ice clinking against the glass. She almost wanted to whine at the sight. She had been hoping for more. 

"Do you want me to get you another?" Marc asked, nodding towards her drink when she looked up at him. 

"Um, hold on," she told him, already craning her neck to look around him in hopes of spotting someone else.

(Y/N) scanned the blur of bodies for Harry. It didn't take long to see the only sober person in the crowd, his gaze sharp and commanding through the strobing lights. He stood off the dance floor with his arms across his chest. Raising his brows, he matched her gaze. Canting her head, she raised her glass over her head as if that was enough of an explanation. 

Harry gave her a small nod before she was looking back at her new friend. 

"One of my friends has been getting me drinks tonight, actually. So, thanks, but I've got it." A hiccup punctuated her words. 

Marc looked over his shoulder, surely spotting Harry who was making his way through the crowd to her. "You said he's your friend?" 

"Uh-huh," (Y/N) sounded, wanting to see Harry herself but instead opting to sway to the sound of the music. He'd be here soon enough. "He's technically my bodyguard, but he's my friend.

"Bodyguard?" Marc repeated, looking back towards (Y/N).

Even though her vodka-soaked thought process, she noted the way he didn't seem too put off by the fact she had any kind of security detail. Maybe, that was that French disposition—the inability to care that much—but that wasn't something she was able to think about for very long. 

"Uh-huh," she answered nonetheless, a hiccup making her pause, "It's a long story. I'm from New York, and there's been a lot of stuff going on, so, yeah, he's my bodyguard." 

Speak of the devil, Harry popped in then, having elbowed his way through to stand at (Y/N)'s side. He didn't pay Marc a single moment of attention, looking only to her with his secure gaze. 

"Y'want another, or water?"

While she couldn't deny she was reveling under Marc's attention, it was also very clear to herself how much she preferred Harry's eyes on her opposed to her new companion. There were sparks of relief upon seeing him within touching distance again, knowing that he was right there. If there was anything she needed, he was there now to remedy her situation. She knew he was taking note of everything, uncaring of whether or not her makeup was intact, assuring that she was safe and taken care of. 

But, Marc actually called her pretty. He won for the night, (Y/N) decided.

"I think I want another, but then I want water," she shouted over the music, giving Harry her glass for him to discard at the bar. 

Raising a dark brow, Harry gave her that amused look. "That's what y'said last time." 

She laughed easily at his prodding, her grin stretching wide over her lips and head dropping backwards. "I know," she sang, "But I mean it this time." 

"Whatever you say," he teased, "But I'll get you another. Jus' stay right here and wait for me." 

"Merci," she crooned to him, suddenly remembering Marc's presence when he squeezed at her waist. 

Before (Y/N) could offer for Harry to grab Marc a drink while he was at the bar as well, Harry was already off. He made a quick detour, checking on her friends then sinking into the thick of the crowd once more. 

She hadn't even known she was watching the space he disappeared into until Marc snaked his hand up the line of her spine, palm flat against her back as he pushed her into him. (Y/N) turned her attention to him, mouth in a small gape as he matched her gaze head-on. His eyes were a lot icier than she remembered. 

"Do you maybe want to go sit down for a second somewhere?" he asked, dipping down to press his cheek against hers with his lips by her ear, "It's hard to hear you out here." 

"In a second," she answered, hiccuping against his chest, "I need to wait for him." 

"You have a booth for the night, though, right? Up in the VIP section?" he pressed, seemingly not catching her caveat in sneaking away. 

"I-I do, but Harry—my drink." 

"I'm sure he'll be able to find you up there, don't worry," Marc insisted, herding (Y/N) off the dance floor and towards the sectioned off dais. 

Though her footing wasn't the most stable at the moment, (Y/N) still attempted to dig her heels in and stay put. Harry told her to stay here. She had promised him she would keep his job easy while in Paris, and she knew that sneaking off wasn't something that would abide by that promise. 

Out of nowhere, Francesca's hand clasped around her shoulder. In her other hand was Marc's friend's arm, her eyes hooded and glazed. 

"Let's go up to the booth," she drawled, words a little slurred. 

"Are you sure?" (Y/N) asked, the slightly more sober of the duo, "Harry is supposed to come back over here; he told me to wait." 

Francesca shook her head with her fluff of styled hair. "He'll"—hic—"He'll be able to find you. It's okay." 

It wouldn't be so bad if Francesca and Emma were up there with her. Harry wasn't stupid either, the next place he would look after the dance floor would have to be the booth, right? it would be okay. 

Giving a nod to Fran, (Y/N) allowed her to lead their small group towards the VIP area, Marc and his friend happily intermingling with the group and Emma and Stavros bringing up the rear. 

Despite her hesitancy, she did feel a bit better by the time she scaled the small set of stairs. She was nowhere near sober and the music wasn't much quieter than down on the floor, but at least here she wasn't stuffed between bodies. She could open her eyes and see stretches of the floor, her body touching non-humid air again. 

She was happy to see the booth once more, grateful to take a seat and get the pressure off her feet and the heels she had strapped around her ankles. Though Marc didn't slide in beside her like she expected. Instead, stood at the head of the table and lent down to speak to her. 

"I have a couple of other friends I brought tonight. Do you mind if I go get them? I'm their ride so I don't want them to worry," he told her, looking innocently with icy blue eyes. 

"Friends?" (Y/N) asked, unsure if it was the alcohol or the outlandish request that wasn't computing. 

"Yeah, just a few. They're down there," Marc recited, casting a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll be right back, okay?" 

With that, he was heading back down the entrance of the VIP area, leaving (Y/N) and the girls behind. 

Fran, little black straw in her mouth with water finally having been poured in her glass, lent across the booth, gently touching (Y/N)'s shoulder. When she turned, she caught the woozy smile on Francesca's face. 

"Your guy is really cute," she said, her words dissolving into laughter. 

"Yeah," (Y/N) answered absently, "But, did yours tell you that they're bringing friends over here?" 

"Yeah," Fran simply repeated, taking another long sip of her water. 

While it didn't particularly soothe her that Francesca didn't seem to care about the new uninvited guests, she figured there wasn't much else she could glean about her thoughts while in her drunken state. Instead, she let Francesca insert herself into Emma and Stavros' conversation, while (Y/N) searched for Harry. Soon enough, she spotted him approaching the dais, pink drink in hand and water in the other. There was a particularly stern set in his jaw, clearly disappointed. 

Coming to the booth, he ducked down to place the duo of drinks in front of her, the water closer to the foreground. He looked at her through the fan of his lashes, lips a stern line as he lent across to talk to her. 

"I thought y'were going to wait for me down there," he told her, lips by her ear. 

"Um, yeah," she responded, dropping her gaze to the cranberry juice heavy Cosmopolitan she ordered, "That guy—my friend—, he said he wanted to talk to me here so it was a little bit quieter. But, now he's getting some friends he said he didn't want to leave behind." 

(Y/N) didn't have to see Harry to know he was particularly unimpressed with this new information. "He said he's bringing friends? To come and sit up here with you?" 

"Yeah," she told him, voice small with a nod of her head. 

The more she said it out loud, the less and less of a good idea it sounded to her ears. 

"Okay," he sighed, pulling away to match her eye contact head-on, "'M going to be right there, then." Behind him, he pointed at the glass railing that reinforced the boundaries of the VIP section, a good place for him to take up post and keep an eye on her. "Make sure y'stay with Emma and Francesca, okay? Don't let them get separated from you. Remember what we talked about that I need you to do if you're uncomfortable." 

Swallowing, (Y/N) nodded her head, looking at him with wide eyes. Though the scene around him blurred a little too much, vodka-tinted vision, she made sure she locked eyes with him. "Okay. I remember." 

That seemed to quell him enough, though that set in his jaw never loosened. "Good. I'll be right there, just grab me if y'need me." 

With Harry blending into his post, his eyes unwavering on her form, (Y/N) attempted to settle herself with sips of her water. Soon enough, a larger group of people infiltrated the VIP section, their access to get through having been the fact two of the members had been previously seen with (Y/N) and Francesca. 

The group of friends looked a lot different than what (Y/N) had expected. Two more men had joined the fray, along with three women. The entire friend group being that of seven people, adding into the group of four that were (Y/N) and her friends. 

"Thanks for letting me bring them up here," Marc said, sly smile on his lips when he slipped into the booth beside (Y/N), "They really wanted to meet you guys." 

"Y-Yeah, of course," she stuttered out, though Marc clearly stopped listening before she even started. 

His eyes wandered to one of the women he brought up, watching as she flagged down a bottle service worker. (Y/N) could hear her rattling off orders in French, pointing back at Francesca and (Y/N) settled into the booth. While she was busy, the others had descended upon the liquor already on the table, draining the bottles.

"What's wrong?" Marc asked, voice a tad too sweet. As if he didn't have a single idea of what she could be bothered by. 

"There's just a lot of people," (Y/N) answered, clutching her glass of water tight. If she had the attention to spare, she would have looked towards Francesca for assistance, to see if she was the only one thrown off. But there was too much happening, and she couldn't even see Harry through the new mass forming in their booth. 

Marc waved her off carelessly, "Don't worry about them. Just have fun, chérie. The night is still young." 

Around her, she saw the maelstrom that had begun. Drinks were flowing, Francesca happily distracted with Alain, Emma and Stavros in their bubble, and a few of the new additions to the table pairing off with affectionate hands. There was only one woman left—the one that had initially flagged down the bottle service worker—who was carefully watching Marc at (Y/N)'s side. 

Everyone was having fun, she figured. The two bottles they had on their table had been drained with Francesca a moment away from catching her man for the night in a kiss. Even the woman with eyes on Marc was swaying to the music, empty shot glasses in front of her. 

(Y/N) did want to have fun. 

"C'mon, dance with me," Marc persuaded, standing up with his hand held out for her to take. 

After a beat of hesitation, (Y/N) took his offered hand and joined him, paying enough attention to the music above to let everything go just a hair. With Marc egging her on, a hand landing on her waist, she swayed along to the beat, hanging more fun the less she thought. 

It wasn't until she took a sip of her water that Marc interrupted her. 

"No, have fun, chérie," he pressed, taking the water out of her hand and reaching for the abandoned Cosmopolitan. 

"I don't know," (Y/N) started, intending to reject the drink until it was shoved into her hand. 

"Don't be boring, chérie," Marc chided, as if he were close enough to her to tease, "Don't let it go to waste, at least." 

While it wasn't solid logic considering (Y/N) was the one paying for her drink, it was enough of a persuasion to work on her muddled brain. She pliantly fit the thin black straw between her lips, allowing herself to drift into the moment. It wasn't so bad, she decided. The extra people weren't so bad in their sanctioned area. It didn't even bother her that much when three more bottles were delivered to the table, sparklers and all with a procession of excited staff fueling the fire. 

"I told them it was alright to order some bottles for the table," Marc sounded over the music, looping an arm around her shoulders to press her to his chest, "I can pay you back though if you want, I just kind of figured it would be okay since you're from New York and all." 

Looking to the table, she saw as the rest of his friends swarmed the table, Alain even abandoning Francesca to join in the rounds of shots. (Y/N)'s name wasn't even officially on the table, but they'd still managed to put things on her tab. 

Floundering over her response, (Y/N) could feel her mouth gape before closing once more. In this moment, more than anything she wished she hadn't drank so much. This wouldn't be much of a struggle if she could manage to focus or not dredge through miles of muddy tracks in her head. It was easier to let things go at the moment instead of allowing the bubbling blow up that would have transpired earlier in the night. 

"Um—Just, don't order too much," (Y/N) conditioned, her brows coming together in a loose pinch. 

"It'll be alright," he assured her, that arm around her shoulders tightening to get her eyes back on him, "C'mon let's finish our drinks." 

Marc's free hand came up to urge her drink up to her mouth. (Y/N) hesitated for a moment, contemplating for a split second. While it was annoying, the extra bottles ordered in her name at the table, but it wasn't so bad. The night was going fine enough, and Marc was nice. She didn't want to ruin anything or make any kind of scene in the middle of the club. Harry's eyes were no doubt trained on her. 

Even with her father countries away at the moment, she was sure he'd find a way to punish her accordingly if Harry had to report anything unpleasant back. 

Pliantly, (Y/N) pulled the thin black straw between her lips, taking down her Cosmopolitan.

—————

Unsure of how she got here, (Y/N) couldn't help but to stare wide eyed at Marc and his—surprisingly enough—girlfriend dancing on the table. 

At least she assumed that was his girlfriend, with the way his tongue was down her throat and hand was on her ass. 

Honestly, she couldn't be that surprised, considering this woman was the same one that had been staring possessively the whole time Marc was interacting with her. But, how they ended up on the table, dancing to some French song she was not sober enough to understand, (Y/N) did not know. 

Around the table, the rest of that friend group had grown just as rowdy. The floor was sticky with spilled drinks, the waitstaff offering dirty looks from the amount of times one of the couples had attempted to smoke, and the neighboring tables were beginning to lose patience with their chaos. 

Francesca was definitely out of her head for the night, every sip of alcohol definitely hitting her system heavily. While she may have had qualms with the etiquette of their unwanted guests if she were sober, she definitely didn't with the way she was willing to ignore as much in favor of dancing and playing with Emma when she wasn't busy with Stavros. Emma's boyfriend, being the most sober of the group, was less than impressed, whispering something into Emma's ear that (Y/N) hoped was a game plan to get out of here. 

Searching through the mass that had been created around the table, (Y/N) tried to spot Harry. She wanted to get out of here. There was no reasoning with the way these people were behaving, and she wanted to get out of here before she was pushed too far. 

Suddenly, a strong hand landed on her shoulder. Turning on her heel, she startled at the touch. 

Harry stood behind her, his jaw set and brows in a furrow. Dipping his head down, he told her, "We need to leave." 

Even with her head swimming, (Y/N) jerkily nodded her head. "I don't want to be here anymore," she answered, "Th-They're being crazy." 

"Yeah." His answer was simple and stern, flicking his gaze up to the couple dancing on the table. His eyes blazed at the sight of Marc, definitely having played with (Y/N) through the night to get up to this section. "C'mon," he prompted, using his hand on her shoulder to help guide her through the booth before meeting him on the other side. 

Despite her drunken legs, she dug her heels in. "But, Fran and Emma." 

"I'll call them a car, we jus' need to leave before this gets any more out of hand. Tell them we're leaving." 

Nodding, Harry let go of her before she tried to swim across to catch Francesca. Even when she grabbed her hand, Fran kept dancing, on a different planet that kept her eyes plugged and head drowning. 

"Francesca!" (Y/N) shouted, trying to be heard over the music. 

"(Y/N)!" she answered, barely glancing at her with a flip of her hair before she was dancing on an odd rhythm. 

Attempting to catch her attention once more, (Y/N) was stopped as Marc leaned down, his lips swollen and eyes glazed.

"You're not leaving, right?" he yelled over the music, his words watery and slurred, "You're supposed to stay and party with us, New York!" 

(Y/N) stammered over an answer. "I—um—" 

"We've seen those pictures of you, we know you like to have a good time! You can't leave yet!" 

Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, part of her chest felt a little too tight. Of course, they knew who she was. Of course, they'd seen photos of her. 

"I'm sorry, I don't feel good," she responded, uncaring if he could hear her over the music anymore. 

Something shifted in Marc, then. His features morphed almost before her eyes, his eyes darkening and brows tightening. "How are we supposed to pay for all of this, if you aren't here?!" 

"I'm sorry, but I'm not staying here," she affirmed, shaking her head, "I'm grabbing my friends and—" 

"Wow," he spat, cutting her off, "You really are a bitch—just like everyone says," 

Stepping up behind her, Harry placed a stern hand on Marc's chest, pushing him out of (Y/N)'s space. 

"Back off, unless y'would prefer to have a problem," he started, his rough voice heavy over the music. Marc teetered off balance, the woman at his side having to steady him as he looked at Harry with offended eyes. 

"Who a—" 

"We're leaving," Harry cemented, ignoring whatever Marc was going to try to say, "You are going to find a way to pay for all of this, or you'll be hearing from me again. You're not going to be taking advantage of her." 

There was no room left for Marc to argue before Harry wrangled up the girls, Stavros helping to guide both Fran and Emma out of the booth. 

"C'mere," Harry said, offering (Y/N) his hand to help her climb over the back of the booth. 

She happily took his hand, carefully stepping over the faux-leather with Harry grabbing her waist to help her over the structure. Tottering on her heels for just a moment, Harry didn't linger for very long before he was rushing her out of the VIP section. She could feel dirty looks on her back from the staff, but she didn't care at the moment. 

Instead, she clung to Harry as they caught up to Francesca and Emma, Stavros heading their line on his much steadier feet. The closer they ventured to the exit, the more and more drunk she felt. The more removed she became from the pumping music and the other alcohol-soaked bodies, the more the real world was not suited to her current state. 

"Careful," Harry murmured in her ear, righting her from a stumble she hadn't realized she made. Slipping an arm around her waist, he curled his hand around her hip.

"Sorry, sorry," she answered, fixing her gaze on her feet in hopes of staying cautious like he asked. Absently, she grabbed his hand on her hip, laying her palm against the top of hand with her fingers curling in-between the gaps of his.

Harry pulsed his hand, both her hip and fingers cradled in his hold. 

Stavros pushed the exit door open for everyone to follow, the first light of the outside world glimmering into the otherwise dark club. Even with the alcohol muddling her thoughts, (Y/N) still caught the way Francesca stumbled back when she stepped out, her hands blindly reaching up to cover her eyes. 

(Y/N)'s steps slowed, bright flashes pinging out on the sidewalk. Those people—the ones who stole their table and tacked (Y/N)'s name on the end of their bill—they wouldn't have posted about her, would they? While she might not be as hugely followed out here compared to New York, there were definitely international publications that enjoyed snapping her photo and selling it off. 

Heading up the rear, Harry continued to pull her towards the exit, even when (Y/N) saw another round of flashbulbs go off when Emma made her appearance out on the concrete. Shouted questions in French could be heard, bubbling just over the sound of the music. 

"Stay with me," Harry murmured to her, "There should be some cars waiting, jus' stay steady, (Y/N)." 

She wanted to listen, she really did. But, the shuttering cameras and bright blinking bulbs was enough to get her hesitating just enough that she couldn't keep up. She didn't want to be seen like this, not after the way this night had turned out. 

As attentive as Harry was, always observant, he was on a mission and that didn't include (Y/N) dragging while he tried to get her to a safe place. 

As he tugged her over the threshold of the door, Stavros still holding it open, she stumbled against Harry's pulling, her heel catching just right. Flashes twinkled in her face, cameras blinking as photographs were taken of her stumbling outside, clinging to Harry with her breath caught in her throat. The toe of her pump dragged over the concrete, her lost balance weighing her down until Harry righted her, steadying his grip around her waist with his free hand reaching for her hip.

"Y'alright?" he murmured to her, suddenly breathless as he helped her back onto her feet. 

"I'm okay," she told her, voice a peep under the bright attention. 

Pressing questions were spewed in her direction, many asking who Harry was, why she was in Paris, and how drunk she was. (Y/N) ignored them all, focusing on following Harry who now led the group towards the waiting cars. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice low for her ears only, "I didn't mean to trip you." 

(Y/N) shook her head. "It's okay," she assured him, eyes on her feet to calculate her steps, "I just want to go home." 

"We will." Harry's simple answer was just that before he quickened his pace, allowing (Y/N) to keep up as they pushed through the throng of photographers waiting outside the club. 

With Stavros heading up the back of their procession, many of the paparazzi were unable to follow any of the girls without getting through him first. As kind as he was, she could tell he used that Greek glare to his advantage, acting as if he couldn't believe they were following him while being an oblivious block in the road. 

That extra distraction allowed Harry to lead the group somewhere safe, around the side of a building a little too narrow for anyone else to follow. Two black sedans were parked against the curb. 

Without hesitation, Harry adjusted his grip on (Y/N), practically hugging her to his chest. She curled into him, fitting her forehead against the column of his throat with her arms a bundle between them. Harry cradled her with his arms around her waist, keeping her safe with him after the chaos that erupted. 

She could hear him speaking over her head to Emma and Stavros, ensuring they were going to take care of Francesca and that he had taken care of the fees of their reserved vehicle. She wanted to participate, tell Emma she was sorry for the night's turn and assure Stavros that every night (Y/N) was involved in didn't dissolve into a scrambled mess, but instead she kept herself warm against Harry's chest and let him do the talking for them. She would call Emma later she decided—maybe text her if her hangover didn't allow phone calls in the morning. 

"That one's yours," Harry directed, (Y/N) noticing his words only when he unlinked an arm around her to point, "It was nice to meet you. Get home safe." 

Stavros answered back in broken English while Emma was busy herding Francesca along with them. Muttered discussion could be heard with the driver of their vehicle before car doors were opens and slammed shut. The sound reverberated for a moment, before silence settled. 

"Our turn?" (Y/N) asked, pulling away to look up at Harry holding her. 

His lips were thin, eyes downturned as he gazed at her. "C'mon," he responded, loosening his hold in exchange for leading her towards the single waiting sedan

He took charge, speaking to the driver through the rolled down window, even if his French was less than stellar. Once all the details and verifications are figured out, Harry helped her in the backseat, pushing her in first before leaning in and helping her buckle up. While (Y/N) had anticipated that cushion of space to be between them as usual, he surprised her by sliding in right at her side, a long arm laying across the top of the seat behind her head.

Peeking through the rearview mirror, (Y/N) caught the driver eyeing she and Harry, her brown eyes fluttering with recognition. (Y/N) curled into herself then, dropping her gaze to her hands in her lap while Harry's dropped to the cuff of her shoulder. In French, he reiterated the address of the penthouse when their driver didn't immediately pull away from the curb. 

Once the road was under their tires, the sound of the gear shifting and setting them off away from the club, (Y/N) felt herself begin to relax. Even if their driver knew who she was, it was a less daunting experience than waiting outside of a paparazzi litter club while waitstaff inside were no doubt spinning rumors about her low class and patrons were spitting over the fact they had to foot the bill they ran up. 

Casting her memory back to the front of the night was enough to exhaust her into slumping against Harry's shoulder. 

"I want water," she blurted out, nestling into the divot between his shoulder and chest. 

Harry pulsed his arm around her frame, keeping her warm against his chest. "I'll get y'some water as soon as we're back, yeah?" 

"I want to take my makeup off, though," she mused, a pinch appearing between her brows though her eyes fluttered closed. 

"We'll take your makeup off when we get back, yeah? First thing." 

"I want food, too." 

A breathy laugh disturbed where she was cuddled into him. "I'll get y'something to eat when we get back, yeah?" 

Mulling it over for a lingering second, (Y/N) agreed with a nod of her head. "Yeah," she parroted, pleased enough with his operation. 

The gentle motion of the turns and slow stops the car made was enough to settle (Y/N) into a light trance, her head filling with sleep-puffed clouds. She forced herself to stay awake, hoping the elapsed time was as long as it felt. 

"I didn't get to say bye to the girls," (Y/N) said, hoping to keep herself awake enough for Harry to get her water, food, and her makeup off like he promised.

"I told them you'd call, or you can text them later," he explained, shifting over the leather of the seat.

"You don't think they're mad, right?" she pressed, voice quieter, "That I ruined everything with those guys?" 

A pause of silence sat as the third passenger for a moment, heavy before Harry spoke. "Of course, they're not. 'S not your fault any of that happened—you're jus' too nice sometimes, that's all." 

"No one's ever said that about me before." (Y/N) couldn't help the short smile that tickled the corners of her mouth. 

"What do you mean?" 

"That I'm too nice," she beamed, snuggling closer to Harry, "Usually it's the opposite." 

Perfect timing came in the form of their cab stopping outside of the building, easy French words coming from the driver as she turned to talk to Harry. (Y/N) could vaguely hear him thanking her and sending payment off through his phone, before he was sliding across the leather with her in tow. 

"Careful," he crooned, offering a hand as she followed in teetering steps.

(Y/N) laced their fingers together without a second thought. Harry solidified the hold in a pulse of his fingers around hers. 

She was a step behind him with a blinking flutter of her lashes, forcing her eyes to adjust to the world once more after being shuttered for the duration of the drive. The warm lighting of the building helped her find her footing in the real world, no longer neon like the club or fluorescent like the flashbulbs of cameras. Harry kept a steady grip on her hand, taking her to the leisurely paced elevator. 

Staying stuck to his side, huddled into a single corner of the whole cubicle, soft music filled the space between them while (Y/N) recounted the night. While she definitely was not sober, stepping away from the high paced environments allowed her mind to iron out some of the details she didn't think twice about earlier. 

"I don't like when people talk to me like that," she murmured, the number on the carousel just blinking past two. 

"What do you mean?" The warmth of his gaze landed on the side of her face, his hand heavy in hers.

"That guy," she started, her breathing stuttering through the beginning of a hiccup she swallowed down, "The one at the club. He was mad that I wasn't going to be there to pay for what he and his friends ordered. I think he knew who I was even though he pretended he didn't. He called me a bitch." A beat passed. "I think that girl was his girlfriend, too—the one on the table with him." 

Harry stood quietly at her side, the ever-sturdy pillar. He listened, observed. Took everything in, as he always did. 

That silence stuck with them as the elevator chimed as they reached their floor. The doors parted for Harry to usher her through, taking her to the door before unlocking the knob and helping her forward. It wasn't until they were alone, in their private space, that he spoke again.

"I did hear him say those things," he murmured, his voice tight. 

"It was mean, wasn't it?" she asked, kicking her shoes off by the front door, her toes aching after holding her weight for the night. 

"It is," he affirmed, waiting for her to grow steady on her feet before he started towards the kitchen. True to his promise, he started with a glass of water for her, setting it on the counter before he was raiding the cabinets for a snack. He didn't look at her when he spoke again, keeping his attention forward. "You know none of that is true, though, right?" 

"Hm?" (Y/N) hummed, sipping her water with her eyes trained on his back. 

Returning with leftover gougères from the day before (Harry had become really fond of bisqué now that she showed him it didn't matter the season, soup was always a good choice), he set the cheese-baked pastries as her side before he leveled her gaze. 

"No matter what he said,'' Harry started, his words slow and deliberate, "You're not a bitch,"—he all but choked around the word—"It's not up to you to pay for him and his idiot friends. He was trying to take advantage of you." 

"I know," she swallowed, the words hitting a soft part of her muddled brain, "B-But now there's another person that thinks I'm bad." 

"I don't think that, though," he said after a beat, his voice considerably softer, matching the moss of his eyes, "Fran and Emma don't think so—neither does Sully. We all know who y'actually are, and I think that counts for something." 

Standing quietly, bare feet against the tile of the kitchen, (Y/N) allowed his words to swim in her brain. She soaked them in as much as she could, the weight of them heavy. 

"You really don't think so?" she pressed, dropping her gaze to the collar of his fitted shirt, "Even after... everything, and all the stuff my father told you?" 

Harry shook his head, a loose curl splaying across his forehead. "What your father says, means nothing to me. Everything I've seen, is y'trying your best. You're put in hard situations, and then expected to know how to handle them on your first try, all while everyone watches. It's not fair." 

Overloaded, (Y/N) tried to cling to every word he was saying. She dearly hoped she would remember this in the morning, or at least the feeling of it all. The feeling of that light hope in her chest, brighter than that of whatever French bisqué she made or fanciful purchase could inspire. 

Harry understood her. 

"That's exactly how it feels sometimes," she confided in him, blindly reaching out in hopes of catching the hem of his shirt before he did her one better and bundled both of her hands in his own. "I love Fran, I do," she told him, letting his gaze with her own soft eyes, "But, she doesn't understand me like that—like you do." 

"I wish more people understood you," Harry murmured, his words quiet enough (Y/N) wasn't sure if she heard him right. 

"You're like my best friend, now," (Y/N) responded, hoping he could catch her sincerity even if she was a little plastered. 

Those searching eyes traipsed around the planes of her face, skipping along every contour and highlight. She wished she knew what was going on in his head, what thought he had when he catalogued her like a fine gown. 

"C'mon," he beckoned her, unlacing one hand from hers only to grab the plate of gougères, "Let's eat, then we'll get ready for bed." 

(Y/N) pliantly followed, the Eiffel Tower glimmering through the windows of her balcony.

—————

Slipping out of her bedroom, (Y/N) cast her eyes around in hopes of finding Harry lounging about. 

Last night was a whirlwind that ended with her snuggled in her bed, makeup off and hair braided back but still in her dress. She woke with a half eaten gougère on her bedside table, alongside a glass of water and a small bottle of aspirin. While parts of the night were muddied, many things were still clear—including the way Harry handled her and helped take care of her friends. 

That also meant she remembered the small string of photographers that had waited outside the club, cameras flashing as she stumbled over her own feet. 

Against her better judgement, she couldn't help but to check her phone after blinking the sleep out of her eyes, wanting to see what exactly—if anything—was being written by her. 

The photos were the first things she saw, many of them favoring headlines featuring a specific shot of her clinging to Harry as she almost fell, the hem of her dress riding up and Harry's grip strong around her waist. The nature of their relationship was once again called into question, as if his hold was anything but protective. Some even captioned the photos of him whispering to her, apologizing for tripping her, as him whispering sweet nothings into her hair. 

Honestly, many of the articles were on the tame side, the headlines being nothing more than clickbait. The worst they spoke on was her "leg-baring dress", while much more of the pieces were spent speculating about Harry once more and recounting the 132 Gala news. 

She'd definitely seen worse about herself. While none of this was the preferred outcome, it was one she could get through. Hopefully, with the time zones, her father wouldn't see the news just yet. 

After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she left her phone on her bed while venturing outside the suite. Instead of finding Harry like she hoped, she was instead left with a view of an empty apartment, a single glass of her purple smoothie left on the counter.

A smile bloomed on her fatigued cheeks when she noticed the dirtied blender in the sink, scraps of fruit having been tossed in the trash with a freshly wiped down countertop. Harry had to have made this one. 

Maybe that was why it tasted that much sweeter when she took the first sip. Even without the matcha and collagen she usually requested, she felt much more awake. 

Straw tucked between her lips as she sipped her smoothie, (Y/N) debated tracking down Harry to his bedroom, wishing so badly she could see him again in the right-frame of mind. 

Those reassurances he uttered to her the night before were sitting in her head, perfect like a present waiting for her to wake up to. Perhaps that's what had made the sensationalized stories about her much more palatable. What did it matter what they and anonymous blogs said when Harry reiterated how many people in her life knew her and cared for her. 

Turning back towards the living room, she spotted him through the crystal windows on the balcony doors, coffee in hand as he made a home in the lounger. She tried not to overthink it all as she crossed the room, gently knocking on the door before pushing it open. 

"Morning," she murmured, stepping out onto the balcony with him.

Harry's posture straightened, his sleepy eyes gazing up at her through the shadow of his lashes. "Morning. How are you feeling?" 

Taking a long sip of the smoothie, she hoped he caught the way almost a third of it was gone already. "Definitely been better. So much for not drinking, right?" she joked, taking a seat beside him in her own lounger. 

"Y'weren't too bad," he answered, his own amusement leaking through his words. "Y'don't feel sick or anything?" 

Turning her gaze towards the city, she watched the sun rise over the Eiffel Tower, remembering what it looked like with all the twinkle light just hours before. 

"No, I'm alright. Thank you for getting me food and medicine and everything." 

"Of course," he answered simply, taking a sip of his own coffee. 

From the corner of his eye, his gaze lingered on the smoothie in her hand. The ghost of a dimple touched his cheek. 

For the first time in a while, especially after everything she had read being posted about them—about him—, she didn't feel the need to explain or apologize. 

Harry knew her. He knew her enough to know the difference between tabloid features and facts. Even knowing what would undoubtedly be said about him if he were pictured so closely with her—whether it be because of his job or the fact she felt she could call him a friend—he didn't shy away from holding her tight and making her feel safe in the midst of everything. 

Instead of offering any kind words, (Y/N) scooted her chair that much closer to his, eyes on the Tower. 

—————

"(Y/N), how many times do we have to talk about this?" 

Without missing a beat, (Y/N) kept cleaning up the kitchen after having made lunch for she and Harry, her father's voice nothing more than dull background noise as she left the call on speaker. The mute feature was being utilized as he raged at her, not a second thought in her head being spared over his grilling. 

It was a waste of time, she decided. That was the kind of mood she was in today, and that was the kind of daughter he would be getting. Though, to notice at all, would mean that he would have to actually pay attention and let her speak instead of spilling off rhetorical questions before hitting her with insults once. 

It'd been a full day since the articles had been posted about her, more and more photos resurfacing of her stumbling outside and being led away with Harry, while blogs were posting grainy photos from the inside of the club before things went downhill. She knew a phone call like this was coming. 

The only new addition to this particular berating, was the silent audience that was sitting on the couch. 

Harry, leaning against the arm of the couch, had his arms crossed, one hand at his side in a heavy fist with the other cupping his chin, elbow bent to rest on his other wrist. His gaze was unfocused, a piece of flooring holding his attention while he listened to whatever it was that her father was serving up for the day. 

From the way his features pinched and this fist as his side progressively tightened into a white-knuckled grip, she could only imagine the kind of things her father was sharing. He didn't even know there was an audience there to listen in, let alone that it was Harry. No filter was being applied as he spoke. 

Wringing out her washcloth in the sink, (Y/N) tuned in just enough to hear a question that had her hands stuttering.

"Is Harry not enough for you?" her father asked, disappointment dripping from his tone, "Do I need to find someone else to look after you? Do you need a whole team to keep you in line?" 

She rushed to pick up her phone, taking the call off speaker and mute as she pressed it to her ear. 

"No, no," she interrupted him, uncaring of the snap that would be given back for cutting him off, "Harry's doing a good job, just... You know how I am." 

Turning her back to Harry as she spoke, she attempted to find some kind of privacy as if she weren't the only one speaking in the room. He could hear every word—every plea she was about to make to ensure he kept his job with her. 

While she took it as a positive that her father wasn't suggesting to replace Harry, she definitely didn't want anyone else added to the mix. Harry is more than enough for her. 

On the other end, her father scoffed. "Don't I," he mused, (Y/N) able to imagine the rolling of his eyes through the phone. "I don't know what to do, (Y/N)," he started, heaving a sigh, "I've reached out to publicists and handlers, and anyone in the industry to help. No one wants to touch your reputation. It's preceded you at this point, no one wants to work with a brat. I don't have many options left." 

Grateful for the fact her back was facing Harry, she felt a warmth hit under her skin. It was a humiliating thought—knowing that others all around her had spoken so lowly that even publicists that deemed any publicity as good publicity wouldn't touch her. 

"I know," she conceded, swallowing around her dry throat, "But, I don't think any more security is a good idea. It would look bad, don't you think?" 

She was grasping at straws a bit, hoping to dig into the image he held so dear. The one thing he cared about when it came to her. 

A beat passed before he spoke once more, his voice distant and musing. "Now, you're thinking. I think I might have another idea, then."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I think I have an idea," her father perked on the other side, "Let me make a few calls and then I'll get back in touch." 

"Okay, u—"

"In the meantime, (Y/N)," he cut her off, "I'm going to make it especially clear—again—that you need to have your head on straight. You're not making anything easy on anyone when you act like this—myself and Harry included. Stop being selfish and think before you act." 

His tone was definite. Everything he said was nothing more than a slightly different variation of everything he'd already told her. She needed to try harder not to make everything her fault. 

"I know," she answered, a detached response that had been drilled into her, "I'm working on it." 

"Good. Talk to you later." 

With that, before she had a chance to utter her own goodbye, her father hung up. Dead air filled the kitchen as she pulled her phone from her ear, slipping the device into her back pocket. 

"What was that?" Harry asked, not waiting for her to face him before firing off. 

Taking in a deep breath, (Y/N) turned to look at him, fiddling awkwardly in the middle of the small kitchen. "He said he wanted to get you more help—like, more security—, but I was able to get him off that idea. Now, he says he has another idea, but he won't tell me about it until he calls later. He said he had to talk to a few people first." 

Unimpressed, Harry hummed in response. His gaze finally focused when it landed on her face, his pupils exacting and calculating. "Does he always talk to you like that?" 

That wasn't what she expected of this inquisition. She suddenly felt uncomfortable under his eyes. 

"Sometimes," she answered, trying to keep her features a blank slate, "Only when I mess up, though. It's not a big deal, I never listen anyway." 

His gaze was unflinching, unwavering. "Are you sure?" 

"I'm sure," she said automatically, no longer wanting to speak of her father or his words. "Anyway, I feel like he's just going to open a foundation in my name or something—that's his big idea. He does it every once in a while, just to make us all look charitable." 

Harry traipsed his eyes over her form, taking in every detail of her body language and every minute frame of an expression. She felt exposed the longer he watched her. 

Eventually—finally, finally—he released her, standing from his station on the arm of the couch with a sigh. "Whatever he comes up with, I'll be there, yeah? We'll work it out together." 

Even Francesca, her best friend and closest person, hadn't been able to promise what Harry was giving her. She knew he really would be there with her, every step she took now coming with a pair. 

(Y/N) allowed a gentle smile to bloom on her features, watching as he softened some. 

"Yeah."

—————

Unable to help herself, still curious to the fact this person had found her Paris address, (Y/N) opened the flap to the newest letter that had been dropped in her mailbox. 

The admirer's newest perspective came in high quality photos from the club. There were photos of her dancing with Marc—though his face was marred with markings she was too scared to investigate further. There were photos of her sipping drinks with Francesca and Emma before the night devolved, Harry noticeably cropped from the shots though (Y/N) knew he wouldn't have been that far away. Similar markings to what had marred Marc's face reappeared, this time sketching around her face in rudimentary hearts and shapes. Those made her feel the most queasy. 

On the backside of some of the photos, it seemed this person felt they had inside information, claiming to know she hadn't wanted to dance with Marc. They apparently knew she hadn't wanted to go out at all, that she was much too private for this kind of scene and someone had to be forcing her to do this for some reason. It hadn't been her fault that she had stiffed the table (a fact that was far from the truth, seeing as how no one from the club had contacted her or Francesca. Something had to have been worked out). It hadn't been her fault that she left with Harry the way she did, curled into his arms and clinging to him like a vine. She would have never touched him if it was up to her own accord—at least that's what the admirer claimed. 

Everything was written in short, messy sentences, barely legible as if written with the author's non-dominant hand. The rest of the story lay in the typed letter she knew was tucked inside the envelope, the musings of someone determined to fit her into the box of their liking. 

Her palms felt sweaty as she looked at a photo of her face, the lens having zoomed in to catch the pucker of her lips around the cocktail straw, eyes glazed in alcohol. 

How someone had snuck a camera in and Harry hadn't noticed—or at least mentioned it to her—she didn't know. And a part of her didn't want to. 

It was easier to ignore this whole thing, she decided. Bundling the pictures back into the envelope, (Y/N) rushed to place it in her room, the bottom drawer of her vanity gaining a new addition. 

—————

Staring at her phone, (Y/N) couldn't feel anything but dumbfounded as she reread her father's messages.

Dad

         I have a friend from the country club that is interested in taking you out on a date. He's planning on flying out to Paris by the end of the week, and I expect you to go out to dinner with him, to show him and the world why a man like him would be willing to go out with you. 

        He's a successful philanthropist with a good reputation. I think he's the perfect person for you to get to know, and learn how to behave with. It will be good for you to be seen with him. 

          Be on your best behavior.

This was not at all what she could have ever imagined his big plan would be. More than a little far off from the suspected charity Gala that would be thrown in her name. 

She'd been set up before with the sons of investors and introduced to men he thought would help further him in his dealings. All of those instances had been made in the name of his business—made for his best interests. Never had he set her up with the intention of strengthening her reputation or showcasing her for nothing other than publicity. 

Though, from the way her father spoke, she doubted the other man knew it had anything to do with her reputation. As far as he knew, he was being set up with a friend's darling daughter for a romantic evening in Paris. 

The thought had (Y/N) cringing. 

She was supposed to go on a date? To convince people she wasn't a bitch?

(Y/N) was angry. Uncomfortable. Upset. Anything that was the opposite of happy was pulsing through her veins. What was her father thinking?

Did Harry know anything about this?

Heavy in her middle, (Y/N) wanted to rush to Harry's side, ask him if he knew anything about these plans. If he did, she wanted to assure him that she had no feelings tied to this man or this date—that he was nothing to her mind. She wanted to tell him she didn't want to go on this date, that she was being forced to see another person despite having purely opposite feelings. 

She wasn't sure why exactly she felt it was so important to make that much clear, but it was enough to get her off of her bed and out to the living room. 

Sitting on the couch, was Harry with a book in his hand, the cover showcasing the name of a famous French designer. He bookmarked his place with a finger as he looked up at her, taking in her shower-softened form and silky pajamas on her form. 

"Going to bed?" he asked, the gauzy curtains having been dropped around the windows to the balconies. 

Suddenly, she felt a bit silly having bustled out of her room the way she did. What did it matter if Harry thought she wanted to go on a date with this man? Why would he care about who she dated? All he needed to know was where she was going and if he would be needed for security.

"In a minute, but—um—" she started, fiddling with her phone in her hands. 

Shifting on the cushion he'd taken up, he narrowed his gaze with a pinch to his brows. Properly marking his spot, he left his novel to be placed at his side, the full of his attention placed on his client. 

"Is everything alright? Did something happen?" His gaze skipped over her form, examining for any bit of her that needed his help. 

"I'm okay," she assured, shifting on her feet, "It's just..." Harry waited patiently-impatient, unwavering eye contact. "My dad texted me," she blurted. 

"Yeah?" he pressed, his elbows setting on his knees as he leant towards her, "What did he say?" 

Swallowing, she tried to shrug in nonchalance. "You know how he said he had an idea after those pictures of us at the club?" she questioned, listening for Harry's hum of acknowledgment before continuing, "I guess his side was to set me up with someone he knows from the country club. For a date. This weekend." 

Forcing the words through her throat, she watched and waited for Harry's reaction. Though he was much better than she ever would be as keeping a poker face, everything internalized. 

"Yeah?" was his only response. 

"He said this guy has a really good reputation, with charities and all. He's hoping that being seen with him will help make me look better—PR and all." She struggled around the next bit of information, unwilling to say it out loud as if it would make it real. "I think he really wants me to date him, though—this friend. I don't think he knows my father's setting it up the way he is.

Contemplative and deliberate like always, Harry waited before pressing, "Do you know this man? Or would this be the first time you meet him—for this date?"

"I-I'm not sure who it is, but if I knew him already I think my father would have said so. I think this weekend would be the first time." She was more than embarrassed the more he asked. What kind of child had to be set up on playdates so they learned how to behave?

"This isn't the same man that made you uncomfortable before, then?" Harry's voice suddenly held an edge, recalling Barron at the 132 Gala. 

"No, not him." 

"Okay," he mused, the gears in his brain almost visibly grinding away as he thought through every and any scenario. "Do y'want me to be there with you?" 

The edge of her phone case became the most interesting thing in the room then, her fingers picking at the molding. She swallowed, remembering that trapped, angry feeling she had when she read his messages the first time. 

"I don't want to go at all," she started, fitting her bottom lip between her teeth. "I don't know, maybe we could go out this week, and I'll make a scene or something? It could make him mad enough that he calls the whole thing off, and we won't have to deal with it at all." 

"No, we're not doing that," Harry immediately intervened, frustration lacing through his tone, "'S not worth him getting upset with you over." 

"I know," she told him, a defeated slope to her shoulders, "But, I don't want to go. Especially not with him—whoever he is. I-I'd rather stay with you." 

The air softened around them as the words hung between them. Peeking through the fan of her lashes, she caught the easy stare he gave her. 

"It's going to be alright, (Y/N)," he assured her, his frustration having melted into something soft and pliable, "I'm going to be there with you." 

"I'm sorry," she reflexively shared, her tongue working before her brain.

"What for?" 

For going on a date with someone that isn't you. 

"I don't know," she answered, "For taking up your weekend with something stupid, I guess."

"And what else would I have done instead?" Harry countered, his tone anything but biting, "Y'act like I'm not here jus' for you." 

While she knew he didn't mean it the way it sounded, there was a small hand in her heart that clutched at the idea. 

"Don't worry about it for now, yeah? Jus' sleep on it, and we'll take again in the morning. If there's anything else we can do, we'll figure it out then. Okay?"

He was always so in control, the voice of reason she lacked in these moments. 

"Okay. Thank you." 

"I've got you," Harry answered simply, reaching for his book once more. "Goodnight, (Y/N)." 

Sparing one last glance at her bodyguard huddled on the sofa of her Parisian apartment, fashion book in hand, (Y/N) inched towards her bedroom feeling a touch lighter.

"Goodnight, Harry."

—————

s'entendre is a French word for the feeling of understanding someone; to get someone

only a few more parts! thank you sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any ideas or whatever please send them in!

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

[jethrowest]

let me see you stripped down to the bone…

- stripped by depeche mode

congratulations! you’ve been hired as homelander’s entire glam squad! what an opportunity! now let’s try real hard not to let the fumes get to you, okay?

pairing : homelander/afab reader

word count : 5.6k

warnings : homelander in and of himself, toxic workplace environment, something akin to stockholm syndrome, fingering, smut. 18+, mdni

special thanks to @blindmagdalena @sehtoast @homeb0ys and @clockworkzeppelin for letting me scream at you about this!

writing tag

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Homelander is an asshole.

That doesn’t bother you much. You’ve dealt with plenty in this field, which means you’ve learned how to make life easier for all parties. That particular learning curve includes when to stand out and blend in, at times concurrently depending on what variety of asshole they happen to be.

As a whole, the makeup artists and hairstylists at Vought take care of The Seven and go where they’re needed. And as a cosmetologist, you were hired to provide both services for Homelander and Homelander only, which you consider to be one of the most prestigious stamps one could add to their professional passport.

Before you became official, you were colorfully threatened by a Ms. Ashley Barrett, who, after the fact, had no qualms throwing you into the lion’s den to figure your own shit out.

In no uncertain terms were you told that if you fucked any part of this up, your sparkling resume would look best as something to sit her smooth, bare ass on while getting fucked on top of her desk. No lube or protection. It would then be tossed exactly like her salad.

Not an image you could have ever predicted crossing your mind. Honestly, you should have stopped her right there and walked your happy little ass out of her office toward pastures that might have not been greener (you were being handsomely compensated), but certainly not as toxic. While the red flags were a color you couldn’t quite ignore, you were also curious about why they stood out so much more than they did regarding previous employers.

None of this is to say you live under a rock. Anyone who has access to the internet is ambushed daily by these Supes’ personal lives. Homelander’s track record as far as choice in partners went hadn’t been ideal, so you understand that made him less popular at the time. That of course has nothing to do with you or your capabilities.

You opt to wear gray-colored glasses, seeing everything with a neutral blend of black and white. As much as possible anyway.

Nevertheless, curiosity killed the cat. But hopefully not your career.

The first day was awkward to say the least. Immediately, you knew you weren’t going to like your coworkers.

Glints of sympathy changed how they perceived you. A target, whether they intended for this to happen or not, was nailed to your forehead, and it made them buzz around you like avid, greedy wasps keen on seeing how rapidly the honeybee will be brutalized. You didn’t much care for going cross-eyed while staring at that target whenever you crossed paths. They didn’t know you, yet because of who you were working under, deemed you helpless. They didn’t give you a chance to establish yourself before branding you a victim.

Why should you respect them?

Small talk wasn’t entertained either, as their judgment tarnished any future encounters. They ostracized you once you showed no interest in engaging with them. That didn’t disappoint you. You weren’t here to make friends.

You do wonder how those before you fared: if they were jaded when they arrived or if they couldn’t help but succumb to the pressures of being at the top rung of a very unstable albeit sought after ladder.

Ms. Barrett quickly introduced you to Homelander, her parting gift before leaving the two of you alone.

You weren’t completely nervous in his presence. He wasn’t any different to you than the other celebrities you’d worked on, except he could rip you in half like a piece of paper if he was so inclined. But he’s the hero of this country’s story, so really, you should have nothing to worry about.

His demeanor, you noted, suggested arrogance, annoyance, and boredom. All things you’re used to. So you offered your hand to shake, which he eyed with a slightly upturned nose before grabbing, told him it was a pleasure to meet him and got straight to business.

Looking back, he was clearly expecting more out of you. Maybe not a display as excessive as getting on your knees and professing your undying love, but close enough. Somewhere in the middle, perhaps.

Part of you believes he might have also counted on fear. To you, he’s not anything or anyone unknown. Another big name in a fancy suit with impossible demands.

You were given a routine to follow and products to use. You did as you were instructed and found the process to be simple and, as Homelander’s expression revealed, uninspiring.

While you were utilizing a face brush to apply powder, he must have decided he was done enduring your lack of enthusiasm, because he suddenly asked, “What are you wearing?”

You stopped for a split second, no longer than, and continued. “The name of my clothing designer, you mean?”

He scoffed, waving his gloved hand at you, almost knocking the applicator you held to the ground. “No, your perfume. What are the top notes?”

You laughed and that seemed to confuse him. “Why, you want a bottle?”

“I don’t like it.” He sniffed sharply and cleared his throat. “Smells like you should be on the corner selling your used body parts.”

Ding ding ding. Alarm bells and red flags galore. You enjoy a challenge, however, and are a bit of a masochist, so you persevere.

“Well, what doesn’t smell like a cheap hooker to you? I’ll start wearing that instead.”

He cocked a brow, studying you. Trying to figure out if you were being serious or mocking him.

“It’s your first day.” A warning. “Are you on your best behavior, or can you do better?” He leaned forward in his chair, forcing you backward. “You should be working harder to prove yourself. Prove your worth.” He sat back again and shrugged. “Or maybe you really are worth as much as that dumpster juice you doused yourself in.”

At this point, he more than likely envisioned your happy little ass getting offended and storming out of the room. Breaking down, sobbing. Questioning why he was being so rude. One of those or, better yet, a nifty combination.

You’ve heard worse, unfortunately for him. Not always directed at you, but that doesn’t matter. You can handle it.

“You’re absolutely right,” you stated calmly, folding your arms across your chest. He looked at you with pretentious, petulant intrigue. “It is my first day, and I want to make a good impression. Which is why I’m asking you what you would like me to wear so I can continue to keep that good impression intact and, as our professional relationship develops, stay on top of it.”

Homelander’s mouth twitched. He sighed deeply and slouched in his seat, staring at the wall to the left of him. Then he deigned to cast his gaze back at you, resting his cheek on his index and middle finger. He tapped the arm rest with his other hand.

“Ugh, fine. Whatever.” A pause followed that lasted longer than necessary. Were you meant to guess? “Just wear something, I dunno, less. If you would have done your homework like a good little peon, you’d know I have super senses. Highly developed. Can you even imagine what that entails?”

Finally, he freed the canvas you were nearly finished with, and you flicked the soft bristles across the bridge of his nose. You smiled, more to yourself than him.

Felt rather on the nose, as the saying goes.

He didn’t comment on your grin. You didn’t give him time to. But he did huff like you were being obtuse on purpose.

“I can try. And my imagination is giving me some less-than-ideal scenarios,” you replied. Another pause. At least he was letting you do your job again.

You don’t know what compelled you to keep going, but something about his lack of a real answer made you carry on. “Do you have a favorite flower or baked good? Maybe a spice?”

Homelander almost glared up at you. You say almost because, for whatever reason, it didn’t seem like he was directing that harshness at you, though former words and actions proved otherwise. Something inside, perhaps. Or outside of this enclosed space.

“I already told you what to wear. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You took the hint and remained quiet the rest of your session. Soon, you were done.

As you were packing and tidying up your station, he took it upon himself to stand behind you. He lingered over your shoulder, watching the scene play out like he was director and star and you were barely an ant on the sidewalk he acknowledged before squashing.

The heat radiating off of him was impossible to dismiss, a wall of it barricading your backside. He clasped his fingers underneath his cape and inched closer. You thought he was as close to you as he could get without touching you. He was that warm.

When you glanced up, he was staring at you through the mirror. As absurd as it was, you managed to get chills. Goosebumps broke the surface of your skin.

“Fresh chocolate chip cookies. Straight out of the oven. Like mom used to make.” He flashed an unnerving smile before turning to exit.

From there on out, even after you bent to his will and found a gourmand scent that matched what he described, Homelander tested you. Your work ethic, clothing choice, eating habits, and most of all, patience.

Your parents would ask how you were liking your job, how it was working alongside the Supes- not to mention the most famous of all- and you’d lie through your teeth. You felt you had no choice, Ashley’s threat ringing in your ears.

Resume, bare ass, tossed salad...

Oh yeah, it’s going great! They’re all super flexible. I couldn’t be happier!

At least that pun made you feel a little better about hiding the shame of what you’ve allowed yourself to take on.

This was all in the first few weeks. It started to get a little easier after that, which is surprising considering more was added to your to-do list.

You should have moved on before starting. But, for whatever asinine reason, you didn’t.

Every time you go back to your apartment and assess your appearance in the bathroom mirror, you wonder who’s making who up here. He’s changing your looks more than you are his. You’re like his human doll.

You’ve put up with a lot over the years, but this takes the cake and shoves it in your face. As fucked as it is, the flavor is growing on you. Like a fungus. Growing, nonetheless.

You can’t stop thinking about him.

It’s innocent enough, you try convincing yourself. Making sure you have the right outfit laid out the night before, the right lunch (no onions or fish or anything “freaky”!), etc. He is your superior, after all. You shouldn’t be viewing him in any other light.

He’s the most frustrating aspect of your existence these days, but he’s also the one you’re around the most. His penchant for workplace gossip and how unintentionally funny he is tends to make him palatable, which has regrettably become an understatement.

Months go by. You’ve witnessed how alone he truly is. How he has nothing outside of performing his tricks on Vought’s all-encompassing stage. And when he begins asking for your input, starts doing things for you that are so blatant it’s perplexing, you find your stress and vexation melting into cumbersome fascination.

It’s embarrassing. You don’t have the courtesy of enough time to dwell on your feelings toward the situation either, from beginning to whatever end you might be met with. You suppose that could be beneficial in the long run.

It also hits you when you least expect it; when you really don’t want it to.

Your body doesn’t wait until you finally have a moment alone. It decides, while you’re helping Homelander with his skincare routine that he insisted upon because you know more than these vacuous corporate douche-bags, to heat up without warning and slither from your head to your heart until it grasps you unfairly between your legs.

You try not to step into momentary paralysis. You understand to what extent his powers reach. It’s not like he doesn’t go on and on about them. About himself.

Whatever he notices, it’s not right away. A palpable tension fills the air between the two of you eventually. But it takes a more significant amount of time than you would have anticipated to permeate the natural flow of things.

Fuck, you can’t even be safe inside here, where your thoughts, whatever they may be, are yours. You can’t even have yourself. He has every part of you, and you are willingly relinquishing that control.

Your evening, once you can have it, consists of combing over every decision you’ve made leading up to this strange, disorienting space you find yourself occupying. All it does is leave you exasperated in a much different way than before and with an unsettling observation (or hallucination):

Was that the tail end of the American flag outside your window?

You are unacceptably late.

Rushing around, you throw on the first top and bottoms you see from your closet and spritz some perfume on your neck and wrists. You don’t check your phone. You’re afraid of what will pop up on your screen. And, frankly, you don’t have the time.

Your only option for transportation is the subway, as you’re sure the special vehicle from Vought is long gone. Why would they wait for someone like you, even if you’re practically Homelander’s personal assistant? One of his only friends. You doubt he has more than Black Noir, and that isn’t as perfect as it appears to the casual viewer.

You dread what kind of explosion you’re without a doubt walking into once you show your miserable ass up. You’re going to smell like everyone on this train. He’s going to go ballistic.

The question remains: why are you continuing to put yourself through this? It’s not your circus, yet somehow, the monkeys have become your liability.

You know, deep down, what keeps you going back. It’s simply too ridiculous to admit aloud.

Making your way past security, hurriedly presenting your badge, you realize you forgot to brush your teeth, or at the very least, gargle some mouthwash. You thank your lucky stars when you open your purse to a pack of gum tucked away in one of the compartments.

It will have to do.

When you open the door to Homelander’s dressing room, you see a couple of employees standing near the counter where the bag of supplies has been opened and rifled through, looking like they might soil themselves, a frantic Ashley, and an extremely pissed off Homelander in the middle of it all.

Reflexively, you cringe. You attempt to wipe any trace from your features, but it’s too late. Ashley is glaring daggers at you and Homelander can hardly bring himself to look in your direction. The others don’t matter to you. They never did.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I know there’s no excuse-”

“You’re goddamned right, there’s no excuse! I don’t give a shit if god and his whole fucking choir of angels came down from heaven and divinely called you to give them a makeover! What were you thinking?!”

You’re about to answer, though you comprehend her query is more or less rhetorical. She interrupts your slightly open mouth while gesturing wildly, proving your point.

“Oh, that’s right! You weren’t thinking at all, were you?! But I do believe you’ve thought long and hard about what’s at stake here. And you know damn well we at Vought don’t tolerate this kind of sloppy behavior. Not to mention the way you’re dressed! It’s adding insult to injury!” Her hand swipes at the air, the length of your outfit, and you glance down, recognizing how comically mismatched you are. Her correct observation affects you more than it would have months prior, stinging your ego- one of the many things that’s been shelved in order to accommodate the person who won’t even grace you with a glance.

A dramatic groan cuts short any further commentary from the redhead, perpetually stretched thin between her absurd duties.

“Jesus Christ, Ashley, why are your big fucking horse gums still flapping?” Homelander’s booming voice slices through your mind like a jarring, dense migraine. He pinches his brow between middle finger and thumb, eyes closed. “I want you and Tweedledee and Tweedledum t’get the fuck out. Now.”

Ashley is plainly dumbfounded, struggling to see where she went wrong (a pattern when it comes to dealing with the volatile leader of The Seven), mouth agape. She shakes her head. “But sir, are you-?”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about or doing. Clearly.”

Ms. Barrett turns a shade paler, staring at Homelander and blinking owlishly before snapping herself out of her stupor. She hurries her lackeys out of the room, shooing them along like a pair of misbehaving toddlers. She doesn’t give a final look, no further warning. She merely shuts the door behind her.

You also hear it lock.

What the hell does she think is going to happen?

You should have stopped this while you had the chance. You should have never taken this job. You should have stood up for yourself and walked out. You should have you should have you should-

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

His caustic tone sends shivers down your spine. It’s unlike anything you’ve heard come out of him. And you’ve heard enough.

Again, you open your mouth. It fills with blood, thick and metallic and more potent than the mint from your gum. You’re silenced by it.

He stalks toward you and grabs you hastily by the shoulders, swiveling you around so you’re face-to-face with the choices you’ve made. Your mirrored image is reflected back at you, exhausted and searching for any last shred of who you might be beneath his heavy palms.

“Look at yourself! Do you even recognize who’s staring back at you?” No.

“What kind of game are you playing, hmmm? Is this… humiliating spectacle you’re putting on for the money? Your pathetic career? Like it’s goddamned rocket science to pick up a can of hairspray and use it. Monkeys have hands.” He makes a noise that’s akin to a snorting horse, exhaling forcefully past his nostrils. “I mean, did you really think you could pull a fast one on me?” He clutches your jaw, squeezing it between middle and thumb. Every muscle in your body tenses, your heart picking up rhythm.

“Spit that fucking gum out. Don’t think I can’t hear you grinding it between your molars like a dumb animal. You aren’t a mama bird, are you? Y’don’t have cute little baby birds t’force-feed your regurgitated leftovers, do you? Eugh, gross.”

You take a deep breath and exhale through your nose. It presents you with a false sense of security. You do as you’re told, and it lands on the floor in front of your shoe, saliva dangling on a thread as withered as your sanity.

Suddenly fresh breath seems like the most insignificant issue, when Homelander himself once made it out to be something earth-shattering.

You’re such a fool.

He leans in and sniffs your throat. Your fingers lengthen and bend.

You’re so many things at once. Confused, angry, nervous, scared. And, to your dismay, warm. God you’re so fucking warm. He’s heating you up from the inside out. You clench your jaw, still held in place by a firm bind.

“Get rid of those ugly clothes. I don’t care what you have to do. I can’t stand the sight or smell of them.”

You shut your eyes. When you open them, all you see is red. The other emotions are smothered in favor of that brand of heat. What happens next is a blur. You temporarily leave yourself.

“Fine. Have it your way, Homelander. You always do.”

Breaking free of his fluctuating hold, you start tearing at what you’re wearing, tossing everything- including your bra and underwear- to the ground. Your shirt winds up with the gum sticking to its loose fabric. You even take your shoes and socks off, not paying any heed to where your belongings go. Just that they’re gone.

You don’t process the glaring fact that you made yourself naked in front of your boss. In front of the most powerful man this country, and possibly world, has known. You don’t care that things have escalated this far. That they shouldn’t have. They shouldn’t have. But guess what? They did. And these are the consequences you both have to deal with.

“You wanna know what game I’m playing?” You turn around, forcing him backward. “It’s funny, I thought you’d be able to answer that for me, considering all the hoops I’ve had to jump through to not only save my ass, but make sure you had someone to talk to at the end of the day! Who on your team can you say goes above and beyond like that for you?!” He blinks at you now, eyes wide. Features fall to the floor where your clothes reside. You have his full and undivided attention.

An impressively dangerous thing to have.

“What more do you want from me, Homelander? I practically live with you without any of the benefits that usually includes! You’re really going to stand here and berate me like I haven’t given you fucking everything you’ve ever asked me for? Because I made one mistake? I gave up my entire world, which I know doesn’t mean shit to you. But it does to me.”

You fold your arms over your chest. Nothing covers it. You have to know before you lose all dignity. So you ask once more, hoping it won’t get lost in this bizarre mess.

“What do you want from me?”

Nothing. He can’t stop staring at you. You aren’t aware enough to be ashamed, but you are aware enough to be upset.

His infuriating silence compels you to bend down and gather what was a barrier between the two of you. You are no longer needed if he can’t do what he does best, which is spout off, leaking bottled words everywhere like a broken faucet. It’s a pretty simple question, you think.

That’s when the glass behind you shatters.

You flinch, pause what you’re doing and slowly stand. Cautious in whatever your next approach will be.

Surveying the aftermath, you’re relieved to find that you’re far enough away from the mirror so no injuries were inflicted.

When you finally lock eyes with the source, you see red. The atmosphere surrounding you heaves like the distended belly of a rotting corpse; hisses like an overflowing tea kettle; pierces you like lightning.

Homelander’s expression is rigid. His jaw quivers. Irises are a bright, shining scarlet. If you try anything rash, you might be next. But, having been around him for so long, you’re more inclined to believe he’s having trouble processing his own emotions. And that might have been one of the only ways to release them.

You drop the top and pants you managed to reclaim. Your brain hasn’t fully recovered from the constant devastating hit it’s taken, so you don’t want to put a name to what’s pushing you forward. You don’t stop until you’re directly in his line of vision.

Swallowing, you carefully extend your hand. The ruby color begins to crumble and give way to the vast ocean you might have drowned in one too many times. You lost track, blocking what you could out. Too real and intimate to accept for a realm that thrives off of inauthenticity and misfortune.

Homelander inhales harshly and you retreat, pupils hooking themselves to his. Searching for any sign you shouldn’t be right where you are.

Of course there are several; unfortunately, you are currently blind to them. Blind to everything but him.

That’s how it’s been for awhile, hasn’t it?

He has a habit of not granting you the luxury of time.

Quickly, he snatches your wrist and brings your palm flat against his cheek. He exhales, eyelids fluttering, nuzzling into you.

It’s so simple, yet it disarms you in ways you aren’t accustomed to.

Homelander basks in this chaste display of affection, and so do you, in awe of how enraptured he appears. Soaking you inside of his pores.

In turn, your cognizance reappears. You nearly topple over, realization infiltrating every part of you.

You’re not wearing a stitch.

A knock at the door startles you both. You glance over in that general direction and hear from the other side, “You’re on in fifteen, Homelander, sir!”

Gazing back up at him, you witness that same fire expand at a rapid rate. You use your other hand to bring him back down to reality, to ground him. It rests against his chest, delving into and cracking his ribs, flaying him open.

What strikes you is how vigorously his heart is beating. How you can feel it through his uniform.

This is how much you affect him. (Can you fathom that you’re only privy to a fraction?) Having evidence of the tiniest reciprocation drains you of any unwanted discomfort.

His fury subsides. You breathe out. He does, too.

“Go sit in your chair. I came here to do my job, after all.” The tenderness with which you speak seems to ease him further, his shoulders deflating with each word.

That aside, you’re playing with a lit match. You’re unsure who’s going to set who ablaze, but you’re willing to go down with this entire building to find out.

He does as he’s told, watching you the whole way like a mutilated mixture of a snarling cornered animal and a man fervently in love. He almost trips into his seat, not an ounce of grace in his gait.

Sacrificing his entire image just to get a glimpse of you.

Whipping his cape to the side, he sinks into the cushion. You get things ready as you typically do, your movements a bit jittery from the adrenaline sending haphazard jolts to your limbs. Despite this, you’re focused. You are more focused than you remember ever being.

You work efficiently, keeping in mind the limit that’s been put on your time.

Homelander bores holes through you. He doesn’t need lasers for that. You’re exposed and vulnerable and he pries what he fostered apart until it’s distinguishable by no one else but him.

You relearn his perfectly manufactured features. Different lights shape shadows you either haven’t seen before or feigned ignorance of. You commit to memory how he looks, smells, feels, the side of your hand grazing his cheek and hanging on.

He’s invigorating, your excitement building to a crescendo you can’t neglect. The heat in your core disperses, most of it congregating low in your belly and behind your expanding rib cage. His pupils drink you in, urgently and violently.

Your arousal is heady. He licks his lips. A hint of a whine caresses your ears and it makes you dizzy.

How could you have ever denied yourself?

You decide to take further control, testing the waters to a greater extent.

It’s your turn to watch him the whole way down. You straddle him, easing yourself atop his taut thighs.

After a few moments of humoring yourself, of pretending to concentrate on your work, dusting his nose with powder, you straighten. Eye contact has not been severed.

You motion toward his hands, balled into tense, repressed fists at his sides.

“Take off your gloves.”

Initially, it feels like maybe you said the wrong thing, or said it the wrong way. He doesn’t budge. You’re patient, however, so you wait like you’ve always done, the warmth from your cunt mingling with the hardness beneath you. Your mouth waters.

At last, Homelander nods and removes his gloves, tugging on the index of each. He places them on the armrests and transfixes himself to you once more.

“Do you want to touch me?” you ask, voice and body staying impossibly still in spite of your nerves.

Immediately, he shakes his head, “Yes,” the first time he’s spoken since your outburst, and without hesitation, reaches for your chest. You close your eyes, falling into his snooping lifts and tugs and squeezes, giving yourself permission to become possessed by the inhibited imaginations of how selfish, how rapacious his touches might be. How smooth his bare hands are, how ardent each digit is.

Leaning into you, he sucks one nipple into his mouth and palms the other, moaning and vibrating against your flesh. He digs his fingers into the pliant softness of your hip, steadying you with disciplined pressure. You squirm, attuned to every minuscule shift.

The lit match is tilted toward you now, swift and stunning. Your fingers release the brush you’ve been holding. It aligns with the slit of the cushion, forgotten and purposeless.

You wrap your digits around the hand on your curves and guide him toward your throbbing center. He doesn’t fight you. Doesn’t stop your movements. Doesn’t scold or challenge you. Instead, he curls his fingers in a way that makes you unabashedly moan, cupping your folds and pinning his thumb to your clit, adapting to your anatomy.

Your wants.

It seems like breaking away from you is a daunting task, but he does for a moment, brow furrowed, more engrossed and invested than you’ve ever witnessed.

“Fuck.” The curse sounds downright edible, your new favorite flavor. Your name tumbles from his lips like he’s been practicing, a sweet, rich icing on top. You gasp, his tongue adhering to you again, swirling around your peak before lightly biting it.

Rocking your hips back and forth, side-to-side, you grind hard into his palm. He strokes you like he’s studied what pace you prefer, how much friction you crave. You’re so wet, even you’re thrown off by it.

Once he’s finished with your chest, he’s back against the seat, unable to peel his gaze from you. Your full, swollen, glistening breasts.

His mouth hangs open, obscene, desperate whimpers slipping from it. Pupils are like whirlpools that drive you under. Drive you mad.

Homelander adeptly slips two, three digits inside your sopping cunt, unrelenting in his intentions to make up for lost time. The voracity of his actions propels you forward, balancing against his chest. He grasps and pulls at your other hip, groaning loudly in your ear, confirming his approval of how close you are to him.

It’s still not enough.

Pulling you even tighter to his blinding sun of a body, he encloses his free arm around you and desperately bucks his waist. “I want… I want… I want…” he chants. Your nails drag up his neck and along his scalp, overwhelmed by his warmth, his scent, him. Your lips ghost the sliver of skin above his collar, making him growl.

You anticipate and dread and yearn for what’s been building for so long. You clench and release, clench and release, clench and release, body chanting with him.

You’re intuitively thankful for the chair’s sturdiness; however, if it would have collapsed, you’re honestly not sure you would have noticed. Or cared.

You hear him come first. Feel the temperature rise temporarily. It’s so sudden and all-consuming that you naturally follow, his name an instinct you can’t help but divulge. You haven’t come down from the turbulent emotions rushing through you earlier, and that combination catapults you over the edge.

Your orgasm draws more deliberate, vehement grunts and sighs of satisfaction from him, as if your pleasure is inexplicably the same or worth more than his.

You can’t crumple into a boneless heap like you want to. You just can’t. You have to look at him. Look at his bliss; the glazed, barren-yet-so-full-of-you expression, of what these months of working in close quarters have done to him.

What you uncover is not what you were picturing. There’s a mixture of that haze with something almost apologetic below the teeming surface. Clouds of red to skies of blue. Destructive in and of themselves.

Sliding his fingers from your wetness, he wraps his lips around each one that was inside of you and spreads them apart. Your slick sticks to his glossy skin and stretches between digits, a generous amount. You whimper at the loss- the emptying, hollow feeling- and watch, mesmerized and delirious as he savors you.

Swallowing you whole, Homelander sweeps his knuckles across the apple of your cheek and presses his lips hard against yours. He wastes no time inhaling your gasps and moans, licking your mouth and the faint taste of mint, stealing it from you. You ingest what you can of him as well, exploring what was open to you longer than you realized.

He then seizes your wrists. It’s a rough gesture that evaporates into gentle circles along your pulse points. Still, you know you’re going to bruise where he turned the key and locked you into place: wherever he is.

A visible sheen coats his lips.

“I want you to tell me I’m good. Great. The best.”

His breathing is labored. So is yours.

He kisses the inside of the wrist smeared with perfume, your fluids, his saliva; ends with your hand and rests his cheek against the slope of it.

“I want you to be mine. All mine. Mine alone.”

You’re shaking. He moves forward and pets your hair, twirls it; grabs your nape and holds his thumb to the front of your throat. Securing you. Keeping you there.

“You have to stay. Be mine and stay.”

You thrum with an ache he forced upon you. He’ll claim you were starving and he was the only one who could satiate.

You nod. You were never going to leave to begin with.

Homelander made you his. And you thanked him for it.

#homelander #homelander x reader #the boys #antony starr #my writing #let me see you stripped down to the bone #oneshot #god it feels so good getting this out #i’ve been going through a painful writer’s block so 🥹 #thank you everyone who helped and anyone who reads #this is my first full-fledged homelander fic so i’m a bit nervous but! very excited 🖤 #love you all 🥰

[mysweetlixe]

24 Hours: Day in life |Chan|

Summary: In the dazzling world of fame and fashion, "Vogue" offers an intimate glimpse into the extraordinary life of Y/N, a globally renowned sensation, and her equally charismatic boyfriend. For 24 hours, the documentary captures the couple's captivating daily routine, blending glamour with authenticity.

Words: 580

M.list

The morning sun spilled through the sheer curtains of the luxurious penthouse, casting a warm glow on the elegant bedroom. Y/N stirred, blinking her eyes open to the soft rays of light. The satin sheets clung to her as she stretched, a contented smile gracing her lips. Beside her, Chan, the charismatic member of Stray Kids and her devoted boyfriend, still slept peacefully. His tousled hair framed his face, accentuating his boyish charm.

Y/N gently slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Chan's slumber. She tiptoed to the expansive windows, drawing the curtains aside to reveal the breathtaking view of the city below. As she took in the skyline, a soft voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Morning, beautiful."

Y/N turned to find Chan, his eyes half-open, a lazy smile playing on his lips. She chuckled, "Good morning, sleepyhead. Ready for a day in the spotlight?"

Chan sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, "Always, especially when it's with you."

Their day in the limelight was set to be documented by Vogue, an opportunity to showcase the enchanting moments of their lives. As they navigated the chaos of fame, the couple cherished the simple moments together, and today was no exception.

The day unfolded in a whirlwind of glam squads, designer fittings, and camera flashes. Y/N and Chan effortlessly slipped into their roles, exuding grace and style. Vogue's cameras captured every nuance of their day, from the intimate moments shared in the makeup chair to the laughter exchanged over breakfast.

In the midst of the glamour, Chan stole a private moment with Y/N. "You look stunning," he whispered, his eyes filled with admiration.

Y/N blushed, "You're not too shabby yourself, Mr. Bang."

As they left their penthouse, the streets buzzed with excitement. Fans gathered, cameras flashed, and the couple graciously greeted everyone. Vogue's crew discreetly followed, capturing the couple's every move.

During the car ride to the event venue, Chan slipped his hand into Y/N's, intertwining their fingers. "Nervous?" he asked.

Y/N squeezed his hand, "Not with you by my side."

The event was a whirlwind of interviews, red carpet poses, and mingling with fellow celebrities. Y/N and Chan effortlessly navigated the crowd, their connection evident in the way they glanced at each other, sharing secret smiles amidst the chaos.

As the night wound down, the couple retreated to their penthouse, exhausted but elated. Vogue's cameras continued rolling, documenting the more intimate moments of their day.

"You did amazing tonight," Chan murmured, his arm wrapped around Y/N as they stood on the balcony, overlooking the city lights.

Y/N leaned into him, "So did you. I'm grateful to have you with me through all of this."

Chan kissed the top of her head, "Always, babe."

The night concluded with the couple slipping into comfortable clothes, sharing a quiet meal on their balcony. Vogue's cameras discreetly captured the authenticity of their relationship—the stolen glances, shared laughter, and the unspoken love that permeated the air.

As the clock struck midnight, Y/N and Chan closed the door on Vogue's cameras, bidding farewell to the whirlwind day. Alone in the quiet of their penthouse, the couple reflected on the journey that brought them together and the adventures that lay ahead.

In the soft glow of the city lights, Y/N and Chan found solace in each other's arms, grateful for the extraordinary life they shared, a life that Vogue had artfully captured in a day's worth of footage.

#stray kids x reader #stray kids imagine #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagines #stray kids bang chan #bang chan #bang chan imagine #skz bang chan #skz x reader #skz imagine #skz imagines

[wonderfulwonderrful]

Grand Prix Elite Academy (3/10) +18 | professor!Toto x reader fem!futuredriver, sewiss, carlos x reader

Summary: Your life turns 360 degrees after receiving your acceptance letter for the Grand Prix Elite Academy, the most exclusive and prestigious Formula One college designed to shape the future drivers of the motorsport world. You will try to navigate your new life among the Monaco elites, survive the campus dynamics and rivalries between the university faculties, and try to win this year's cup to beat an undefeated Mercedes while trying to befriend your eclectic driver classmates, join the wild Red Bull parties, have a couple of make-outs under the racing circuit benches, lose your v-card and get over that stupid crush you have on professor Toto. Will you make it alive to graduation? Drive to Greatness! Genre: Romance, smut, and comedy. Author's note: This is a Formula One college AU fanfiction set in an elite academy in Monaco, where the F1 Teams are Faculties, their Team Principals are professors, the FIA is the college board, and all the grid drivers are your classmates. You are accepted under a scholarship program that supports young, talented girls, having lots to catch on to after years of putting your racing dreams on hold and becoming the new girl in class, which is always challenging, especially when all of you share one campus. Masterlist: all chapters here

Chapter 3: Know Your Frenemies

When you finally make it back to your dorm room after a physically exhausting day, fuck that new workout class sure is intense! 

To your dismay, you find the place in total chaos: expensive-looking designer clothes everywhere and a group of stylish people occupying all the space. Shoes, makeup kits, bags, and more are on all available surfaces.

Who are these people, and what are they doing here? You have NO IDEA. 

But, gosh! You only wanted quietness to rest and decompress, not this circus you are surprised with when you open the dorm's entrance door.

Soon, you find out it's Naya's glam squad. They are polishing the details for her upcoming Teen Vogue photoshoot. 

The two of you couldn't be more opposite.

One of their team members confused you with a delivery person as you walked in since they ordered takeout, which is rude! 

Then Naya introduces you to them, but no one seems to pay you more attention than necessary as you close the door and cross the common ground to your room; not even a nice meeting you! gets exchanged. 

Fucking rude, they are the intruders here!

-

About an hour later, you sense Naya sliding the large glass door to the balcony where you are, the one facing the sea. 

You are sitting on one of the patio armchairs, enjoying the nightly fresh ocean breeze, finishing your "Further Math" essay, and enjoying a snack to help you not fall asleep. It indeed was a long day!

—You shouldn't be eating that crap! —Naya scolds you and gives a judging look at your bag of Cheetos as she pulls it out of your hands and into the bin, leaving you with just one in your hand. —If you want to make it into one of the good faculties, you need to stop eating this shit and start getting in shape!

Ouch, that last one hurt.

—Anyways, sorry about the chaos —Naya gives you the world's slightest smile. Human emotions aren't her thing, apparently.

—I get it. You are a superstar, so no worries.

—and I'm sorry about your mom; I lost mine too, in a different way, divorced parents; I never see her —Naya continues.

You get taken out by that comment, and by your clueless expression, she adds: —Torger told me about it —Naya explains. —Also, the part where you called him entitled rich man —a silence break comes along. —Girl!

—He was acting pretty rude!

—Maybe you took it to heart. Of course, it's a delicate subject, but Torger understands. He lost his father in the same way. He is just a very straightforward person!

—It doesn't give him the right. Please don't justify him.

—Maybe you are still too thin-skinned. Would you prefer it if Torger had told you mid-fly that the plane would crash or warned you beforehand? He did what he considered best for you.

—To act like an asshole?

—To be open honest with you. Frankly, it's a rare value around here.

—So I should be thankful to him, then? —you look at Naya and are now annoyed at her, too.

This is none of her business.

—No, I'm just saying you should think more before opening your mouth next time. It's just friendly advice; not all principals are as patient as him; under a scholarship, you don't want a report or get in trouble —Naya finishes the conversation with that before fondly patting your shoulder and informing you she is going to bed.

-

The breakfast buffet at the cafeteria is the most impressive one you have ever seen. There's just so much food!

Since it's about 6 am, Charles is sleeping, sitting next to you, head on the table, wearing a red dri-fit hoodie, not being hungry at all.

After around fifteen minutes of sharing breakfast with your new friends at the long table, you are impressed to see how much Lewis eats.

—How many more avocados are you going to eat? —you ask him with wide eyes.

Lewis mumbles something, mouth full of food that you interpret as "three more."

—Even his metabolism is fast! —Carlos jokes, finishing his bowl of berries.

As you all catch up about each other's weeks, you tell them about the Toto incident.

—I mean, it is private, isn't it?! Why Naya has to know about it?! It was a private conversation! —you mumble as you violently smash your scrambled eggs around and ask Leandra to pass you the bread before leaving it on the table again. —Why am I eating carbs?! Jesus!

They all look at you with funny expressions. Carlos tries so hard not to laugh. —You look so cute when in a crisis! —he lets you know, smiling fondly at you. Those sweet, damn big Bambi eyes make your mornings better.

—Nothing is private between those two. —Seb lets you know, looking nonchalant as if this is a common thing that happened, and as he bites the slice of avocado Lewis' is offering with his fork to his mouth.

Something clicked in Lewis's head at the sound of Toto's name. Purposely, he ignored the entire conversation and, for sure, the fact that Naya is now part of your life, not precisely by choice.

—Shit, Y/N! Right! What's your student PIN? I'll text you the invite —Lewis asks you suddenly and a bit out loud. Seconds later, after you two exchange information, a new DM pops up in your GPEA app.

It's a link to an IP address website; you enter it, and a fancy and cool as fuck video shoot, professionally shot and styled of Lewis as half a demon and half an angel, shows up along with a digital invite.

Of Saints and Sinners

Which one are you?

A Lewis Hamilton Birthday Party

Saturday 7th, 1:00 am, Buddha-Bar Monte-Carlo

Follow etiquette attached

Admission reserved

RSVP

You download the unique access QR code generated to be admitted to the party. It is attached with an agreement on the dress code for the party and all the logistics info in case you arrive there by yacht, helicopter, or car.

This is a lot! Ordinary people just text you the address and hour of their parties. God, now you are in desperate need of Leandra to hook you up with a nice outfit.

Lewis tells you, in case you need clarification on the website: —My birthday party is next week, and you are invited.

—All his parties are iconic —Leandra adds while refilling her green juice.

—And super exclusive —Lewis takes pride in it. —But I know many people, so don't expect a small gathering!

—People kill for that access QR code he just sent you —Sebastian states.

—Then thank you so much for inviting me! —you say wholeheartedly, and Lewis sweetly smiles back at you.

-

—Jesus, a lot of me is on display! —you let out as you look at your reflection in the large mirror in Leandra's dorm room while you stare at you behind.

Never in your life have you worn such a short skirt and such high heels. Leandra is thinner than you, so her two-piece white Miu Miu mini-skirt glittery see-through dress is even shorter on you, barely covering your ass, and because you are wearing the tiny matching panties, a lot of skin going on for you.

But she looks so delighted by how you are pulling the outfit.

—What?! You look so good; all boy's eyes will be on you —she reassures you as she continues applying bronzer on your cheeks and doing the final touches.

—Yes, because all of me is out and about!

Your hair looks so voluptuous and shiny, and you are so in love with it! You had no idea it could look like that! The two of you are finishing getting ready for Lewis' party, and "Angel" obviously suits you better.

—Oh, come on! Don't be such a prudest! —by looking at your hesitant and bit insecure look, Lea adds. —But I can give you one of Charles' Rick Owens white pants if you feel more comfortable wearing them on top instead of the skirt; you can slay that look, too.

—Hilarious —you say sarcastically.

—No, seriously, sometimes I wear Charles' pants. He is really petite!

—Oh, good to know in case I have a no-pants crisis!

You both laugh aloud.

—That's it, my masterpiece is complete —she informs you as she slowly steps away and looks you over. 

You turn to take a complete look at your outfit, hair, and makeup. You look like a doll in the most flattering and sexy way!

—WOW

—Yeah, wow.

—I feel like I should pay you! I owe you one, bestie.

Leandra waves her refined hand at you, dismissing your comment.

Lea looks like the hottest demon you will not sell but gift your soul to. She is rocking a Vivian Westwood skin-tight, latex, corset mini dress that fits her silhouette perfectly, accentuating her curves, irs bright red with Victorian details, making her boobs look bigger and better than ever, along with iconic platform heels and genuine pearls necklaces; her hair is sleekly style up.

—Let's mother off that party! —she lets out loud and clear as she picks up her purse and starts checking its contents. —CHARLES! WE ARE READY! CHARLIEEE! —no answer came —I hate it when he puts the headphones on; I'm sure he is playing the electric drums again! I will get him!

You two exit her room to their common grounds when you notice you left your power bank at your dorm and want to scream at the clouds.

—FUCK!! Lea, I'm going to my room to pick up my junk!

—WHAT? —she screams at you from afar. —WAIT!

As she returns to your side now with Charles, he looks you up from all angles, nodding his head non-stop. —I approve! —he gives you a thumbs up.

You laugh and blush at this interaction. —I forgot my fucking power bank and didn't charge my phone like the idiot I am; we need to go quickly to my room.

—Sure, that's no problem. We still have time, but move it, people! —Leandra starts pushing you two out and turning off the lights on your way out.

-

—Let me guess!! Leandra came up with the "Like a Virgin" concept for your outfit. It suits you —Naya tells you from the couch, where she reads a novel in a comfy-looking outfit as you exit your bedroom with a charger and power bank in hand.

Your eyes widen at her words. Shit, she hit a sensible spot. How does she keep doing that?!

She senses you tensing. —Wait! Are you?! Are you still a? Are you a virgin?!

You go red as fuck. Naya looks astounded.

—Oh, I was messing around, I didn't know. I didn't mean it! You look good, Y/N. Well, then, you really need that angel to go down to hell. Have fun!

The desperate need you feel now to ask her, "Hey, you aren't going?" starts to overpower you. Now that she knows an intimate detail about you, you want to know one about hers. But for sure, she already noticed you became close to Lewis; she is not dumb enough to fall for it and spell out what happened.

—I will, thanks. See you!

-

The limousine Lewis sent to pick up all his GPEA friends stops before you three. You are the last ones to get on it.

The looks everyone gives you as you get in are priceless. Max eyebrows go almost to the roof of the car. —You almost made my nose bleed —he jokes, but he is a bit pinkish on the cheeks. —You look gorgeous.

—You look like a fairy who works as a hooker —Pippa tells you fondly. It's pretty accurate.

To Yuki's amusement, Lando dramatically drops himself on the car floor to pretend to kiss your feet.

Charles throws himself over Max to annoy him and starts messing Max's hair around, acting all stupid before the first round of shots. Dances, alcohol, and Inna's old hits songs turn up the mood of the road trip to Monte Carlo.

When you arrive at the venue, the waiting line of cars for the dropoff point is long, but it goes faster than expected, thanks to the partying inside the limousine.

You already feel a bit tipsy when you all hit the red carpet and start throwing poses and doing group photos. 

Then you get the welcoming mezcal shots as one of the hot hostesses greets you.

-

The place is exotic and chic. The red walls match the décor, which features subtle mixtures of gilded moldings and ancient sculptures. The crowd is on fire as the welcoming DJ's set plays. 

You make your way through the many hot-looking angels and devils, hand in hand with Lea, following her around, looking for Lewis to wish him a happy birthday before things spin out of control as the night goes on.

You find him sitting on a lounge sofa near a giant Budha statue with a beautiful blond girl in his lap, instantly making your blood boil, thinking about sweet Sebastian, and you feel you are about to protest when you give a second look and really pay attention.

As soon as she sees you, the girl gets on her feet and welcomes you with a warm hug.

—I'm glad you could make it with such short notice! —Seb greets you.

—Wow, you genuinely are a beautiful angel! No worries! You didn't think I was going to miss this? —you stare at him in awe. His entirely covered-in-crystals embroidered dress is stunning, and the high heels make him look even more like a Victoria's Secret angel. His makeup is on point!

—You look so good that you almost made me feel straight —Seb jokes with you, but he means it.

—Which is a lot to say! —Lewis jokes, reaching you two and wrapping Seb in his arms, placing a hand on his ass. —You look fine —he gestures to you with his hand to spin for him. —Like FINE!

—Happy Birthday! —Leandra and you interrupt him with a hug attack, giving him lots of kisses and throwing around him the golden confetti you brought especially to do this.

—Thank you, my girls! I will meet you later at your table. We still have some things to do, right baby? —Lewis lets you know while placing small and slow kisses on Seb's lips.

You aren't sure if it's sad or honest that the last party you had with these guys was the best party of your life. So naturally, you feel really excited about how the night will unfold.

-

—Damn, you two look good —Carlos lets out aloud, biting his lip while peeking.

Carlos is bare-chested and wearing a red harness around his shoulders. His skin is glowing, his hair is messy and wet, and his tight satin red pants suit him nicely. 

You can't avoid the tingle you feel at how crazy hot he looks.

—Close your mouth —Leandra jokes with you. —Thank you, Carlos. It's the new squats routine that hottie has made me do; speaking of him, have you seen the trainer around? I'm not losing my off-campus shot with him; I have had my eye on him since day one.

—Yes, he is on that table near the exit —he points Lea where. —He came as the porniest angel you could picture.

—Mmm, delicious, those tiny shorts make him justice —Leandra follows the trainer with his gaze before letting you know she will meet you later.

—We are about to light up some in case you want to join us —Carlos offers you, but you politely decline. —I will meet you at our table then —he kisses your cheek very close to your mouth. You don't protest, and you look him walk his way to Charles and Max.

-

To your good fortune, as soon as you reach your table, you want to throw yourself out the window. Spread there on the curved sofa, to your delight, is Toto wearing a see-through wine red shirt, leaving non to the imagination, with tailored matching red pants and pointy porny shoes.

Good-ass, expensive men's shoes make you weak in the knees.

That devil turns you into a worshiper. 

Toto has his eyes set to the side, looking over the party, looking bored by being alone at the table; it seems you two are the first to arrive.

When you start to feel the need to run away, he then turns his head around, probably sensing your eyes on him, and looks straight at you.

You aren't sure if the welcoming mezcal shots are playing tricks on your mind or if he totally scanned your every corner with his eyes.

You feel your cheeks going red as you shyly try to sit in the opposite extreme, trying not to reveal far more of yourself than you should. You try to sit as far away from Toto as possible, which is not that far since it is a small arched sofa.

—Hi —his deep voice greets you as the waiter in charge of your table approaches you two.

—Can I offer you guys something to drink?

Toto, with a devilish smile on his face, grins at the sexy waitress. —We will have whatever she has been drinking before getting here —he then turns to you.

—Ahem —you look at him blankly, a bit taken out. 

—You have a reddish tint on your cheeks, but it's different from when you blush, so it must be the alcohol. I like the other better —Toto says.

That makes sense, but at the same time, it doesn't at all, so he pays you attention, huh? —I have been drinking the delicious mezcal you have been offering around —you answer looking directly at the waitress.

—Mezcal, it is, then —Toto addresses her, and she goes to get the bottle. —Feeling more at home now, Y/N? 

—Yeah, it's been unbelievable.

—That's good, you little angel with wings and all.

You turn a bit to give him a better look at the golden sparkling mesh wings Pippa gave you. —It was a last-minute touch; my friend Pippa thought the wings suited me better than hers. She said they are more in-

—More innocent looking, yeah, you have that aura on you.

The waiter then returns, placing the bottle of mezcal on the metallic golden coffee table in front of you, along with a plate with tablespoons of salt and a line of small glasses filled with different juices. You have no idea what all that is for.

Toto then slowly slides on the couch to move next to you and explain, closing the distance between you and offering you what looks like concentrated orange juice.

—These are to spice the flavor of the mezcal. You sip them after drinking the mezcal to create a blend on your palate. Try it.

And you do. You start taking the mezcal and the juice a bit too much, and quickly, Toto stops you, placing his hand on your glass, preventing you from going all in.

—It's just a bit! For to be able to taste it! —He chuckles at the funny "Oh! Fuck!" expression you are doing. —Okay, I will do the same one. I will show you how.

Then, you two move on to the following five, having lots of fun.

To Toto's amusement, the last one tasted way too lemony, and acid made you shrug your nose and make faces. He starts laughing at your expense and showing that he is tipsy, too. 

You now are walking on drunk territory.

—Stop it —you say, messing around and hitting Toto's bicep with your hand before your senses return and remember Naya's advice. Oh shit!— I'm sorry —you immediately change your tone and get serious, which he instantly picks up.

He comes closer to whisper in your ear. —We are off campus, don't worry —making all the tiny hairs in your neck stand up.

Then, you two move to the salts.

He places a tiny bit on the back of your hand. —Lick it —he instructs you, and you obey, feeling his eyes burning with every move of your tongue; you can't avoid it and dare to gaze straight at him as you slowly lick the spices.

It feels too intimate.

Then, completely surprising you, he licks the remaining salts out of your hand, his wet tongue making contact with your soft skin so that you don't waste them, and he is able to taste them, too.

And now it is your turn to do so, as he offers you the remaining salts in his hand. You feel Toto's warm skin under your tongue, and you can sense a bit of his knuckles and veins as you slowly slide, letting all the flavors into your system.

-

Suddenly, the lights dim, pinching your bubble and signaling the start of the much-anticipated live performance. 

The guests quickly hush, moving their attention to the stage, where Lewis emerges from laser lights and a cloud of white smoke. 

Wearing a dazzling white suit embroidered with rhinestones that seem to glow in the spotlight while wearing a smirk on his face, his brown eyes scan the crowd before grabbing the mic and screaming: —Let's dance this fucker off! —Lewis starts to jump energetically around while Gesaffelstein starts playing his set, making everyone go wild.

-

—Is that who I think it is? —Mick points out.

—What the fuck is Nico doing here? No way Lewis invited him —Lance answers.

—No way he sneaked in —Mick snaps back.

—You are right, but I can't believe it.

—What? That he had the nerve to show up dressed like an angel? —Mick jokes while rolling his eyes to the blonde.

-

Carlos comes to your table to steal you to the dance floor. Dancing the mezcal away makes you go back to your senses. As a new track unfolds, and you two move around, you look back at your table and notice Toto enjoying your moves from afar since lots of you is on display with every cadence.

-

When the group finally gathers, Leandra proudly lets you know she got fucked the hardest she has ever been fuck; the trainer was as good as she expected him to be. For sure, the entire bathroom, if not the whole club, heard her moan.

Then everyone starts to pass around a glass with an almost neon blue liquor, to which everyone sips a bit; you go for it, too.

After that you aren't sure how the rest of the night proceeded. 

Still, you know you had a blast, as flashes of you dancing with Mick on top of the sofa, trying Seb's long hair blonde wig in the girl's bathroom while doing poses and snapping pictures with him in the mirror, Carlos telling you you make the hottest blonde, losing a heel somewhere, taking a shot that was placed between Pipa's tits, breaking a fight between two girls over Lando and more happenings come back to you.

At some point in the night, all goes blurry and kaleidoscopic; until you feel a warm embrace, a strong pair of arms picking up your body and feeling it pressured against a firm body as a warm touch in your ass holds your skirt in place, carrying you into the limousine where Charles and Leandra are as unconscious as you.

And Toto's dark eyes, that's the last thing you remember.

-

The following day, you all feel like trash.

You and Leandra are on Charles' bed, the three of you gathered there with the AC on to the lowest setting and the blackout curtains closed, like vampires rejoicing in the cold, wet dark.

Several empty bottles of electrolytes are lying on the floor in your attempts to hydrate again to feel better.

After sleeping, only God knows how many hours, you hear your stomach roar violently. —We should order takeout —you say in the roughest voice ever.

—Tai? —Lea proposes.

—Like noodles, or what?

As soon as you say that, Charles gets on his feet at the speed of light and storms off to the bathroom, barely making it. You two overhear him puking the life out of him.

Poor baby.

-

After spending Sunday on total repair, Monday feels like a brutal awakening, back to the routine and classes.

But something feels different this time; as you cross the gardens and navigate the hallways, you sense a lot of gazes set on you on your way to the main hall, making you feel paranoid. 

"Okay, you need to calm down, girl."

But when you notice the whispering, you know something is not okay, and you find out what it is as soon as you reach your locker. 

A sign welcomes you: "Is the sad rag looking for a sugar daddy? That's not such angelic behavior for this virgin." The sign is printed along with a crop-out photo of you licking Toto's hand. The picture is zoomed in, so there are no faces for the moment, just hands and tiny bits of your costume from that night.

You start to hyperventilate and panic and jump at the contact on your shoulder. You sense Sebastian next to you, reaching closer to comfort you.

—Everything is going to be okay. Easy. Breathe —Seb softly tells you.

When you two turn around to leave for class, you notice the couple of blondes standing by the end of the hallway, looking at you.

—It's always them, isn't it? —you let out between tears and rage.

—Yes —it's all Sebastian lets out, throwing daggers at them.

Great! Now, the entire academy knows you are a sad virgin who longs for an older man. Awesome.

Thank you for your patience and for sticking around! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. By the way, I edited a lot of the previous chapters! If you feel like reading them again, I strongly suggest it. A couple of things changed, but nothing too major, tho. Sorry! This story needed a bit of an edit.

#toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x you #toto wolff fic #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff fanfiction #toto wolff #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #mercedes fanfic #formula 1 fic #toto wolff imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #formula 1 au #formula 1 college au #formula 1 school au #sewis fic #f1 au #my fic writing #carlos x reader #carlos sainz x reader #toto wollf x oc #toto wolff x occ #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #mercbros

[nerissalmao]

The Sexualization of Octolings

Hey y’all! My friend Ray suggested this lil thread essay post whatever it’s called, and I figured it would make perfect sense to do. I’ve never really made an in-depth Splatoon post before, but I’m not afraid to try. Today’s topic is.. the sexualization of Octolings.

We all know Octolings. We all think they’re cute and fun and cool, but they’re just so.. you know.. sexy. That’s not a bad thing, but it seems like it’s their whole entire species which is literally sexualized and shown in midriff-baring, skimpy outfits. I mean, come on guys. When Callie, the most wholesome Inkling around, briefly joins the Octo Party, she’s suddenly turned into the hottest dominatrix-looking rigid icon ever (a number of my friends started to crush on her after that).

It’s definitely not just Callie. We all know Marina, guys. I don’t even have to show you images to prove what she looks like, her and her love for crop tops. And Marina, as we all know, is an ex-member of the Octarian army, like all Octolings.. like Agent 8, whose Octo Expansion outfit was on the sexy side with a crop top and high-heeled little booties. And who later in Side Order wears a form-fitting bodysuit that shows off their midriff and causes several Splatoon players to meme the fact that their backside seems to be lookin’ large to death. Why is it that Marina and Eight, who used to be in the army, have sexualized attire even now? And when Callie linked up with them, she too was wearing a shirt that in certain poses accentuates her chest, and pants so loose-fitting you can see her actual underwear.

Have you seen the enemy Octoling’s outfits? Yes, they’ve got on armor, but it’s stylized as crop tops and short shorts. Not to mention that most of the enemy Octolings present as or resemble females, and their armor has the age-old shoddy trope of having extra panels for their breasts. They’ve got little booties too and look more like a dancing glam squad or sexualized warrior cosplay than actual warriors, but this is just a design choice and doesn’t affect the way they fight. A pretty weird design choice for a game like Splatoon if you ask me.

I find this very bizarre and random. Because it seems that the entire Octoling enemy brigade has some level of sexiness to them, especially the females. Every single one. But wait on a second. There’s two Octolings we haven’t covered yet. Shiver, an Octoling, has an outfit no more racier than Frye, her Inkling co-star’s. And Acht’s outfit may have a questionable thigh slit, but that’s nowhere near the typical belly-button-bearing short shorts of the Octarian army. That seems to make my theory seem dumb, huh?

Not in the slightest. See, Acht was never in the Octarian army’s fighting unit with the rest of the girlies (they were in the army and wore the same uniform, but as they were never on the front lines they seemed to be able to wear it differently, tilting it so their midriff wasn’t easily seen and wearing a bracelet instead of those tight gloves). As for Shiver, she was born into a clan of Octolings long separated from the other Octarians. Agent 8 on the other hand was once an Octarian warrior, as was Marina (she was later promoted though, but even so along with other enemy Octoling warriors was there during Octavio’s fight with Agent 3), and Callie was turned into one briefly, or something like one, despite her being an Inkling. It seems all the sexualized Octolings were once on the front lines strutting their stuff while fighting. So why is this?

Well, here’s my theory added onto another random semi-theory that I am here to share with you all. You see, in Japanese, the enemy Octolings, preferably the ones you fight, are called “Octo-Amazons”, and the Amazons are legendary female warriors. So perhaps DJ Octavio knew what he was doing with this, and it’s a sort of empowerment move that perhaps the masculine Octolings work on maintenance jobs or something given we never see them, whereas most feminine Octolings are fighters with their female-ness put on blatant display, waggling their little hips as they jump in to do battle with the Inklings. And this practice is so well-known among Octolings that those formerly in the army still tend to gravitate towards more revealing clothes even when they are free. Just a penny for your thoughts, Splatoon community.

#splatoon #splatoon 3 #splatoon 2 #splatoon theory #marina ida #acht splatoon #agent 8 #shiver #evil callie #dj octavio #or maybe dj octavio is gross and purposely sexualizes the octolings to actually take away their will #but given his care for his army in splat 3 it doesn’t seem likely even if the octarian army was described as oppressive #tl;dr the octos from the army especially the feminine ones are more loose with their clothing it’s a cultural thing #and deej encourages it among new recruits like callie too though that could partly be to shock marie like “oh! she dresses so differently” #“OMG SHES DRESSING LIKE AN OCTO” #can you tell i play too much splatoon #send help #all the hashtags. ever.

[spicywhenspeaking]

Star-Crossed Connection: Chapter Three

Nick Folio x Original Female Character

WC: 2.5k -> unedited :/ if you see something wrong ....no you didn't

masterpost

this is a complete work of fiction, some characters while based on real people are totally made up. :)

Seraphina Holloway is Hollywood’s new it girl. But, when an embarrassing viral video of her ex / costar publicly dumping her goes viral, she thinks she needs a quick fix to help maintain her image. When she’s set to appear at her new movies premier she scrambles to find a date to bring that will help take the white hot spotlight away from her public dumping and show that she’s still desirable to all. Enter Nick Folio, drummer of the metalcore band that’s taking over the scene, Bad Omens. He’s a sweet down to earth guy with a heart of gold and when a smokin hot movie star asks him to be her fake boyfriend for a week he agrees to help. But will the line between fake feelings and reals ones start to blur when Seraphina lets her true self show.

Taglist: @cookiesupplier @lma1986 @to-be-written @bngurngheart @jessicafg03 @knivesforapr0 @thatchickwiththecamera @somewhere-diamond @sorrowsofsilence @malerieee @dsireland86 @collapsedglasshouses @jilliemiw86 @samanthasgone -> tags are open !

warnings: degrading language towards Seraphina is used by a character , mild physical assault.

After quickly checking in we found our room and immediately crashed onto the bed, completely exhausted from the long road trip. Tomorrow is the first day Folio and I will have to fully put on the show. Acting lovey-dovey like a real couple. We talked about it a little on the car ride up. 

“So…how do you feel about kissing?” I ask Folio as we draw nearer to our destination. He does a quick double take towards me and then back to the road and I laugh, “I didn’t mean kissing right now you dork. I mean like when we’re at the festival. If we were really dating I’d probably kiss you a little, I’ve been known to like a little PDA” I say again and he nods, his face is thoughtful as he considers. “Um, yeah I guess kissing is fine. I mean I kiss my grandma so kissing you shouldn’t be too bad” he jokes and I push his shoulder lightly. “Hey! I kiss way better than a grandma!” I protest. He raises his eyebrows suggestively, “I guess we’ll see when the time comes.” A blush takes over my cheeks that surprises me. I’m obviously attracted to Nick, I mean he’s totally hot and we definitely have chemistry so I don’t think selling that we’re attracted to each other will be hard. 

“So my assistant Jules tells me I have a four-hour block of interviews and then there’s a photo-op on the slopes that will lead to some free ski time. It should be a pretty fun day….but that does mean Conner will be around and he’s been such an ass.” I explain to Nick as I finish the last of my room service breakfast while we wait for my hair and make-up girls to arrive. “Yeah, I’ve seen the tweets. He’s a dick and if he says half of the shit he’s saying online to your face I’ll punch the shit out of him.” Nick responds and I giggle like a preteen schoolgirl talking to her crush in the hallways. 

My glam team arrives and we decide to do a simple and gentle glam with a soft half up half down hairstyle. I’m wearing a black midthigh dress that hugs my curves paired with sheer tights, knee-high boots, and a thick black wool coat. I do a spin and check myself out in the full-length mirror. Lala my stylist did an amazing job putting my looks together for this week. 

“So, How do I look?” I ask the group in front of me. “You look amazing!” my hair and make-up girls cheer. “Hot as fuck.” Nick says as he rounds the makeup area and gets a better look. Putting his hands on my hips and turning me around to face him. “Absolutely beautiful.” My glam squad quietly exists but my make-up artist pokes her head quickly back in the door to cheekily say, “Don’t mess up my make-up please!!” 

Laughing I rest my head against Folio’s shoulder, “Okay, you ready?” I ask him, looking up into his chestnut eyes. “Almost,” he whispers, moving his hand up to brush as stray hair out of my face and dipping his lips down to softly press against mine. It’s over as quickly as it began, but it’s left me breathless either way. “Didn’t want our first kiss to be in front of a bunch of strangers,” he says against my lips and I feel my knees buckle. “Mmhm, good idea,” I mumble back and pull away to fix my dress and recheck my make-up in the mirror. I look down to check my small white gold watch, “oh, we gotta go! Interview time.” I look at Nick with a smile. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” 

We meet my assistant, Jules in the lobby of the resort where she gives me a quick debrief of what I’m doing for the next few hours. First I’m talking to Entertainment Weekly and then Vanity Fair, Rolling Stone and last is an interview I have to do with Conner for Wired Magazine. Not looking forward to that one, not because of Wired. I’ve loved working with them in the past. It’s Conner, I should have never got involved with him. Ugh. Speaking of Conner, I see him exit from the elevators looking douchier than ever in black ski pants with a matching turtlenecked black thermal. He gives me an acknowledging nod and I roll my eyes, “fucking asshole, nodding at me like he’s not completely shitting on me on Twitter.” I grumble as Nick throws his arm over my shoulder and kisses the side of my head. “Don’t worry about him, sweetheart. He’s all talk.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be on his best behavior with all these journalists surrounding us.”  

“It’ll take about four hours for me to finish the interviews, but, there’s lots to do around the resort. My credit card is attached to the room if you want to get a massage or just hang around and watch a movie.” I say to Nick as we walk closer to the conference room. “Nice, okay I’ll walk around and think about it,” he responds, and as we reach the entrance I turn to say goodbye and he quickly wraps me in his arms and presses a soft kiss to my mouth. “Good luck in there baby, knock ‘em dead.” I can’t stop the giggle and blush that comes through. “Thanks Nicky.” 

I enter into the conference room on the opposite side of Connor. They have the room sectioned off for the interviews. I head over to start my first interview with Kelly Brinks from Entertainment Weekly.

Kelly: hello there Seraphina, you are looking beautiful today. Seraphina: oh, thank you, Kelly. It’s wonderful to see you again. Kelly: and you as well. So we’re here today to talk about your upcoming Movie “Tomorrow’s Promises” a dramatic comedy that you star in alongside fellow Hollywood newcomer Conner Frank. Now how does this movie feel compared to other films you’ve worked in? Seraphina: This movie has one of the largest budgets of any film I’ve worked on so far, however, I know that budget is only a portion that can make a movie better. This is a huge production, that’s probably the biggest change, just the magnitude of the cast and crew. All wonderful and hardworking people making movie magic.  Kelly: This is a rather dramatic role, one we haven’t quite seen you in yet. How did you prepare for such emotional scenes? I mean I saw the extended trailer and you’re performance is looking potentially Oscar-worthy. Seraphina: oh wow, thank you, Kelly. That means so much to me. I did a lot of soul-searching after my father passed a few years back. I still feel a lot of emotions from that and this character and I share a lot of similarities. I was able to tap into some of my real feelings during some of those scenes which I think helped sell the performance more.  Kelly: and an amazing performance it was.  Seraphina: thank you. Kelly: Do you mind if I address the elephant in the room? Seraphina: oh Kelly, whatever do you mean?.. I’m just kidding. Of course Kelly. Kelly: There has been a bit of a rift online with you and your costar, is this something that concerns you moving forward with the rest of this festival week? Seraphina: Oh, Conner and I go way back. We’ve made some mistakes but he’s a great actor and I’m proud of the movie we made. I think whatever has happened in the past is easily left behind to ensure a harmonious festival. 

The rest of the solo interviews went, with lots of questions about the movie and some about the situation with Connor. Which is annoying, but I’m able to maneuver past them with ease. Nathan from Vanity Fair spent about twenty minutes of our interview asking me about my Bronco. Which  I didn’t mind.

Connor surprises me before our joint interview by pulling me into a side alcove, I push him back and huff an annoyed breath. 

“Connor, what the fuck?! You can’t just ask me to talk like a normal person?” I gripe out at him in a harsh tone. “Well, it’s not like you’re easy to get alone these days. What did you hire a male gigolo for the week?” I scoff offended. “Oh fuck off. He’s actually my boyfriend you jerk.” 

“Yeah, that guy? What did you find him in a hot topic catalog?” 

“You really are a piece of work. You come here with a beautiful Victoria’s Secret model but have the audacity to question my relationship? Fuck off Connor, You have made it pretty clear in your tweets that I’m nothing more than an obsessed coworker.” 

“Come on Phini, you know I didn’t mean that,” he says moving in closer and backing me up into the wall. “Get away from me Connor and don’t call me that,” I say and push him back, “we have an interview so get you’re shit together and try to keep it professional. If that’s a possibility for you.” I say walking away but he grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Come on Phini, I know you miss me, baby, There is no way he can make you feel good like me.” his grip on my arm is tight and hurts. “Let me go, Connor.” I try to move my arm but can’t get it out of his reach. 

“You don’t know how good you had it, now you’re with some new guy. Should have known you were just some whore, sleeping her way to the top.”  

“FUCK YOU LET ME GO CONNOR!” I yell louder and he reactively pushes me back against the wall. 

The commotion brings an audience of reporters from all over the room, Kelly from EW comes rushing to my side. “Seraphina, are you okay? What happened?” she asks as she helps me back up to my feet.

“She tripped,” Connor says and gives me a sharp glare. “Seraphina? Are you okay?” Kelly asks again and the sudden attention overwhelms me so I just give a small nod, “mmhm, I’m fine. It was just a trip.” 

You idiot, you’re just letting him get away with it? What’s wrong with you? You’re letting some guy push you around…

“Oscar-worthy performance” Kelly’s words ricochet through my brain. I quickly decided to bide my time, I won’t let his dramatic antics ruin this opportunity for me. I won’t be brought under by his immaturity. He will get what’s coming to him, I know it. 

 Because he’s truly a wolf in sheep’s clothing Connor and I are able to complete the Wired interview without any drama. We are actors after all. 

I get out of the conference rooms as fast as possible to meet back up with Jules and Folio so we can all grab a quick lunch before heading out to take a few pictures and the slopes. I get the opportunity to wear my pink ski suit. It looks so cute with my hair in two French braids. 

The photo-ob is cute, the cast of the movie all takes pictures in front of the snowy mountains and I even power through to take a few with Connor, fighting off the urge to push him over into the nearest pile of snow. 

Our director, Rachel McKnight, specifically asks me for a few photos and whispers in my ear, “Just don’t forget me in your acceptance speech. You are amazing.” she says softly and I fight back tears. “Of course, I couldn’t have done it without you,” I respond back to her. “Go have fun with your guy, he’s quite a looker.” 

I look off to the side and see Folio watching me with a small smile. I turn back to Rachel, my mouth forming a big grin, “he is isn’t he?” I agree. 

With the photo-ob done, we are free to ski at our leisure. “Alright let’s hit the slopes, sweetheart,” Folio says as I approach him and Jules. “Let’s go!” I cheer.

“You looked amazing Ser!” Jules remarks as we walk towards the lift together. “And Rachel asking you specifically for a photo! And not Connor! Amazing!!! I bet she wants a picture of you she can post it on Instagram when you win the Oscar!” I laugh and playfully push her, “stoooop, that would be insane, I can’t even think about that! Let’s just have a fun rest of our day.” 

“Agreed” Folio comments from my side, taking my hand in his as we get to the line to get on the ski lift. 

The rest of our afternoon is a blast, we take multiple runs and at one point Folio gets his skis tangled and tumbles into the snow. I approach him and try to keep the giggle I have brewing at bay. But he just looks so silly half buried in the sand. “Laughing? At a man fallen in the snow? What kind of a woman are you Ser?” he jokes and tosses a handful of soft snow at me. “I’m sorry, you just look so cute!” I say reaching out my hand to help him out.

“Oh really? Let’s see how it looks on you then,” he says and pulls me down into the snow right on top of him. “Oof! Oh, real funny Folio.” 

“Say cheese!” Jules says from above with her phone in her hand. 

“Cheese!!” we both say, smiling brightly despite wearing a full face cover and goggles. “Omg so cute! You gotta post this one Ser, sups adorable.” 

“Sups cute for sure!” Folio jokes while we climb back onto our feet and stretch for our final run. “What a crazy day!” I say once we reach the bottom of the hill and head back towards the resort for dinner.

Jules is quietly engrossed into whatever is on her phone as Folio and I continue ahead. I suddenly hear fastly approaching footsteps and Jules is calling out my name, “Ser! Ser! Oh my god! You have to see this!” she has wild eyes as she catches up to us with her phone stretched out in front of her. “Look !” she pushes the phone into my hands and as I’m asking “What is it?” I look down and see a darkly lit video of Conner and me, the volume is low but you can make out the growl in his voice and see the ferocity in his eyes. You can clearly make out when he calls me a whore and then see him push me into the wall. Folio looking at the video over my shoulder has gone completely still. 

“When did this happen Seraphina?”

#nick folio #folio #nick folio x ofc #original female character #folio x ofc #ofc #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens #nick folio fanfiction #Nick folio fic #folio fic #bad omens rpf #rpf #nick folio rpf

[harrysfolklore]

I WANT PART 3 OF SABRINA CARPENTER

here it is !! the final part (for now) of their series ! i really hope you like it and as always, i’d love to hear your feedback !

PREVIOUS PARTS

ask me anything | masterlist | likes and reblogs are appreciated | support me <3

liked by madisonbeer, harrystyles and 602,865 others

yourinstagram two shows to go and my love on tour run will be over 🥲 forever thankful for the way this tour changed my life

and thankful for you 💖 @harrystyles

view all 32,037 comments

ynfan1 MY BABY IM SO PROUD

harryfan2 she should stay for the rest of the tour

billieeilish ❤️❤️

harrystyles Lucky xx

↳ harryfan1 UMMM luCKY for wHAT? what did i miss

↳ ynfan1 cutie

liked by jefezoff, yourinstagram and 2,201,209 likes

harrystyles Love On Tour. Madrid. July, 2022

view all 64,987 comments

harryfan1 BABYYYY

jefezoff ❤️

yourinstagram i don’t wanna go, mr styles 🥲

↳ harrystyles You won’t x

↳ harryfan2 he comments with his dick

↳ ynfan2 WHATS GOING ONN

liked by harryfan1, ynfan1 and 6,098 others

allthingsharry Deuxmoi via instagram stories 😳😳 what do we think

view all 1,093 comments

harryfan1 SOMEBODY SEDATE ME

ynfan1 oh i knew it

harryfan2 i can’t believe you’re believing deuxmoi

↳ ynfan2 well… they’re literally kissing on that pic

harryfan3 YES MAKE IT PUBLIC

ynfan3 I KNEW THEY WERE TOGETHER

liked by harryfan1, ynfan1 and 3,096 comments

harryupdates Harry cheering for YN during her final Love on Tour performance 🥹

view all 603 comments

harryfan1 HES THE BIGGEST FAN

ynfan1 i’m going to miss yn on tour

harryfan2 he watched her perform every night my heart

ynfan2 CAN THEY MAKE IT OFFICIAL

liked by harryfan1, ynfan2 and 5,267 others

loveontourdaily HARRY AND YN PERFORMING TOGETHER TONIGHT 🥺🥺

view all 864 comments

harryfan1 THEY FCKING KISSED LABDKA

ynfan1 COUPLE. CONFIRMED 😭

harryfan2 their outfits match im crying

ynfan2 IM LOSING MY MINDDD

liked by harrystyles, oliviarodrigo and 605,973 others

yourinstagram tonight was the final night of love on tour europe. as you can see in the first picture, i cried as soon as i got off stage because i’m so emotional over the most amazing experience of my life coming to an end, and my head just can’t wrap around the fact that i spent all my time during quarantine covering harry songs and now i get to be part of his life.

THANK YOU to everyone who came to the shows. to my band, crew, glam squad and everyone who made my set happen every night, i love you guys so much

who knows, maybe you’ll see me during love on tour north america, but this time in the audience cheering for the man of the hour 👀💖

THANK YOU. THANK YOU. THANK YOU

view all 36,286 comments

ynfan1 MY BABYYYY

harryfan1 IS THAT HARRY???

madisonbeer that’s my friend and i’m proud 🥲

ynfan2 DID SHE HARD LAUNCH THEIR RELATIONSHIP??

harrystyles People destined to meet will do so, apparently by chance at precisely the right moment. Thank you for coming to my life x

↳ harryfan1 STOP IT STOP

↳ harryfan2 MY HEART OMFG

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 4,123 others

harryupdates Harry via his Instagram stories 🥺

view all 975 comments

harryfan1 BABYYY

ynfan1 i love this relationship sm

harryfan2 HE’S A BOYFRIEND

ynfan2 and for loving me i’m crying

liked by yourinstagram, lizzobeeating and 2,283,482 others

harrystyles Love On Tour. Lisbon. July, 2022

view all 58,037 comments

harryfan1 MY BABYYYY

annetwist ❤️❤️

yourinstagram that’s my boyfriend

↳ harryfan1 LAJSIA THERE IT IS

↳ ynfan1 SHE DID IT

↳ harrystyles He is x

↳ harryfan2 IM GOING INSANE

#harry styles fake instagram #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles fake social media #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles headcanon #harrysfolklore #harry styles social media au #harry styles story #harry styles fanfiction #opening act!yn #harry styles fic #harry styles fic rec #harry styles request #harry styles series

[gaysindistress]

Sad girl - fourteen

summary: James has an interesting new business proposal and one hell of a condition to deal with.

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings: cursing, Bucky’s smartass, the feelings, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), sub Bucky if you squint.

word count: 2.1k

part 13 | series masterlist

taglist: @missvelvetsstuff @angelsincident @spencerreidisagorgman    @i-have-no-life-charlie @esposadomd @reader-without-a-story @unaxv @iateall-yourcookies  @alana4610 @kandis-mom @beware-my-thorns @ozwriterchick @littlelizardlizzie @goldensunflowe-r @wh0reforbucknasty @cjand10​  @katymae12344  @vickie5446

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

Nat had become her glam squad at this point, helping her get ready for every event she had to attend. Glam squad, shopping buddy, bodyguard, and friend were the titles that she happily wore. Both women were in the bathroom of Bucky’s D.C. condo, getting Doll ready for the party. Neither had even seen Steve, Sam, or Bucky since they’d arrived earlier that morning. She had gotten a text from Bucky to confirm the details for the night but not much else. It stung that he had gone back to short and formal messages after doting on her while he was away. 

The ring boxes sat heavily on the counter, her stare focused entirely on them as she sat and let Nat do her hair. She hadn’t spoken the entire time and her usual chatter was missed by the woman doing her hair. 

“Rethinking your decision?”

“What?” she blinked at Nat through the mirror, “Oh no just confused I guess. He tried to be this macho asshole when he left but then acted like a loving husband while he was gone and now he’s back to being a dick.”

Nat hums in agreement as she gently rubs oil into the ends of the other woman’s hair.

“I thought making him work for my forgiveness would have him waiting for me with a room full of roses but this,” she shakes the phone in her hand, “this is what I get. No ‘how are you?,’ ‘how was the flight?’, nothing. Did I push him too far?”

Taking a deep breath and setting her hands on Doll’s shoulder, Nat meets her gaze in the mirror, “I think he genuinely felt bad for how he tried you and when you didn’t come running back to him, his ego got bruised and now he’s putting up a wall to prevent that from happening again.”

Her shoulders shag in Nat’s gentle grasp, “Oh my god and I got that dress and had that ring engraved and I had this whole plan for the limo. Oh my god what am I going to do?”

“Woah, woah what was the limo plan? You didn’t say anything about that.”

Looking rather sheepishly, she exposes her plan to Nat, “I had Steve arrange for us to have a separate limo to the party so I could… you know…”

Nat raises an eyebrow, “What? What were you going to do?”

“You know, dominate him because he did the same thing to me,” she mumbles weakly, not bothering to look at Nat’s surprised face. 

“You were going to dominate him right before a senator’s party in his honor?”

She barely nods in confirmation and Nat squeezes her shoulders in excitement, “If that isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. You have to do that.”

It’s her turn to be surprised, turning her head to actually look at Nat, “What? You think it’s a good idea?”

“Of course I do. He needs someone to challenge him every once in a while. It might be good for his ego to be taken down a few pegs.”

_______________________________________________

Seven o’clock on the dot and the limo pulled up in front of the condo. Before Bucky could open his door to get her, the other door opened and in a blur of white, she slid into the seat next to him. 

“Bye Nat,” she wiggled her fingers in goodbye to the smirking redhead who returned her wave.

The partition instantly closed and it was just the two of them, the jewelry box in her lap, and a lot of unanswered questions. As the limp pulled away from the curb, she said nothing while she adjusted the necklaces around her neck. She had yet to even acknowledge Bucky and the anticipation is starting to itch under his skin. He’s staring at, eyes burning holes into her as he takes in her form. The corseted top perfectly hugged her chest, leaving enough hidden that he knew she would be the center of attention. The slit showed off the legs he had been dreaming of for the last week and the white against her skin gave her an angelic glow. 

Feeling his burning gaze, she smirked to herself and removed the box from her lap to set them on the seat in the middle, “There’s your ring.”

She could see the gulp he took as he reached for the box and the accompanying look of shock when he saw what the ring was. 

“I had my initials engraved on it. I have yours on my necklace so it’s only fair you wear mine too.”

She watches from the corner of her eye as he takes the ring out to inspect it further before sliding it on his ring finger. 

“It looks good,” she finally looks over at him and sticks her hand out so he can get a look at her ring, “I think our rings make quite the pair, don’t you think?”

The diamonds sparkle under the passing lights, catching every ray of light that comes in through the darkened windows of the limo. He gently takes her hand, sending sparks through her, and turns it side to side to look at it. A small hum comes from him, voice stuck in the back of his throat. 

“You can speak,” her voice is mocking at his silent state as she takes her hand back. 

“Doll you look amazing. Better than I imagined,” it’s deep and gruff, filled with desire. 

“I know,” it’s her turn to take in his form. She had half expected him to be wearing a uniform however she found him in a midnight blue three-piece suit complete with his usual watch and pearl bracelet. 

“You look good too,” her simple compliment made him want to launch himself at her to get more out of her signature red lips, however, she’s faster than him. 

She straddles him, causing him to make a surprised noise but it’s muffled by her hand covering his mouth. The look of surprise and lust is one she wants to cherish except she has a limited amount of time to enact her plan. His hands grip her hips tightly as her free hand pops the button of his slacks and slips inside his boxers. The feeling of her soft hand around him is too much and he throws his head back, moans and curses muffled by her hand still. The noises he makes cause a deep ache inside of her and her underwear are growing wetter by the moment. She fully takes him out and bunches her dress up so she can slide her underwear to the side. Sinking down on him both of them let out loud moans at the feeling. Satisfied with her position, she tightens the hand on his mouth and uses the other to put pressure on his neck. 

“You really thought I would let you get away with trying to dominate me like that?” she purrs into his ear as she sets a slow and deep pace, dragging her hips at an achingly slow pace. 

“You should know better than that. I told you I was in control but yet you had to test me, didn’t you? I should use you to get off and make you wait to cum until the end of the night,” she chuckles darkly as the man beneath her shakes and tries to plead against her palm. 

“It’s cute you think you have a say,” she picks up her pace while the sound of bodies slapping against each other fills the air, “keep your hands on my hips and cum when I say.”

She removes her hand from his mouth to steady herself on his shoulder and filthy, loud moans pour out as they move against each other. As they approach the party, they both tense and chant the other’s name chasing their highs together. 

“Cum for me Bucky, let go with me,” she demands of him as she pants. 

A string of fucks and shits leave his mouth as they cum together. She rests her head on his shoulder as she catches her breath. She checks the time on his watch and slides off of him, both of them hissing at the feeling. 

He watches her as she fixes her dress and checks her hair and makeup on her phone. Shooting him a small smirk, she makes a gesture to his pants, “Fix yourself. We’re almost at there.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says under his breath, tucking himself back into his pants and fixing his suit. 

Just as they catch their breath, the partition slides down and the driver tells them that they have arrived. Taking his hand into hers, Doll says, “After you Sergeant.” 

_______________________________________________

As most politicians’ parties are, this one is especially stuffy and rigid, especially considering that it’s in someone’s home. The wannabe White House is filled with politicians, their less-than-happy wives, and enough security you’d wonder if there’s something more serious and sinister going on. Posing as the most perfect couple, Bucky and Doll had been arm and arm, dazzling everyone with their love-drunk smiles. Neither had made mention of what had happened in the limo however that is the first thing on his agenda when Bucky gets her alone. 

Steve and Sam had wandered off some time ago but the line of pushy senators and their judgmental wives was slowly coming to an end. Same as the fundraiser weeks ago, the men were all too focused on Doll’s cleavage and the women left their hands on Bucky’s arm for far too long. 

“James tells me you two got married a couple of weeks ago,” one overly dramatic woman had said, feigning joy at the couple. 

“Oh yes, we did! It was a small ceremony but so perfect,” Doll responded, her left hand coming to his chest so the older woman could see her admittedly massive rings. At the sight, she’d wrinkled up her nose before whispering a “congratulations” and walking away. 

“She acted like I sucked you off in front of her,” Doll says, watching the woman disappear into the crowd. 

Chuckling, Bucky follows her eye line to the retreating woman, “We did come in looking less than presentable.”

“I made sure we both looked normal when we came in.”

“Speaking of that, care to explain?” 

She can feel his blue eyes on the side of her face so she turns to look at him, “I made it pretty clear, didn’t I? I am not your submissive housewife. I’m in control just as much as you are and you needed a reminder of that.”

“Trying to assert your dominance then.”

“I’d say I was successful,” she says under her breath as Steve and Sam make their way back to the couple. 

Bucky smirks, hand finding the middle of her back and smiles at the two approaching men. Steve informs them that the host wants to make a toast and that they need to make their way outside. 

“You never told me why they were honoring you three for.”

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see,” he says while guiding her towards the backyard which is really a well-manicured garden. 

“Jesus it looks like they live on the set of Bridgerton,” whispering to Bucky, her eyes wide taking in the elaborate hedges and rose bushes around them. 

“Isn’t this what Anthony’s house looks like?”

“We lived in his apartment. It wasn’t until Morgan was born that Pepper decided they needed a house outside of the city and ‘away from the violence’ that they bought that house,” she explains, using air quotes around most of the statement. 

His thought is interrupted by the host, a short older man in a violently blue suit, who begins to speak. 

“Welcome everyone! My wife and I want to say thank you for joining us this evening,” he shouts over the crowd, greedily grabbing his much younger wife, “We asked you here to celebrate three very special gentlemen and what they have done for this country. Steven Rogers, Samuel Wilson, and James Barnes fought bravely for our country in Iraq together only to come back and continue to serve us selflessly. These three men have given most of their lives to protect their fellow American citizens and we can’t thank them enough. In addition to being fearless soldiers, they are also close friends of mine as well as many of you so let’s raise our glasses in honor of them. To Steven, Samuel, and James!” The crowd erupts into a cacophony of shouts, cheers, and hoorahs. Cameras flash, blinding the four as the senator poses with them, no doubt using their veteran and mercenary statuses to garner more votes and support. 

In between photos, she leans over to Bucky to clarify their earlier conversation, “All this to show off his fancy toy soldiers.”

“Something like that.”

“Now I see why you’re such a controlling asshole, always under the thumb of smaller and weaker men.”

The hand on her hand shifts to harshly grab her waist, “Or I have a spitfire for a wife.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #mob au #mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes imagine #mob!bucky barnes x reader #sad girl - bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes and reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel smut #bucky barnes smut #mob!bucky barnes smut

[lightsoutletsgo]

red carpet (insta au) - ln.4

pairing: lando norris x fem!actress!reader synopsis: a peak into the relationship of you and lando while you are filming your new movie (as always, no face or body claims!) y/nsworld

Liked by landonorris, zendaya and 624,392 others y/nsworld told you all some exciting stuff was coming 😉 summer 2023 view all 3,274 comments landonorris I'm so proud of you baby! dragging the whole squad to come and see it! ↳ danielricciardo istg if you give me any spoilers... ↳ landonorris mate i would never ↳ danielricciardo 🧍‍♂️ ↳ y/nsworld 🧍‍♀️ zendaya so so proud of you babe! you're gonna be amazing ↳ y/nsworld omg I miss you!! catchup soon? icony/n OMG OMG OMG I KNEW IT y/nisqueen YESSSS THIS IS OUR GIRL'S ERAAAA

landonorris

Liked by y/nsworld, carlossainz55 and 124,314 others landonorris "I'm organised" she says... "babe have you seen my script?" she says... view all 261 comments y/nsworld I AM organised!! ↳ landonorris you lost your script... twice. 🤨 ↳ y/nsworld I didn't say I was fantastic at organising... 👩‍🦯 carlossainz55 ahhhh so this why you said we couldn't come over for dinner? ↳ landonorris I've learned to just let her spread her stuff across the entire apartment, supply her with coffee and let her do her thing ↳ y/nsworld tbf he learned this the hard way 🤷‍♀️ y/nmyfave omg lando just being best boyfriend y/nandlandogoals they're so cute omg 🥺 y/nsworld

Liked by zendaya, landonorris and 643,162 others y/nsworld one last race weekend with my love ❤️ view all 3,672 comments landonorris thank you for coming darling 🤍 ↳ y/nsworld I'm so proud of you ↳ landonorris ❤️ danielricciardo aww the cutest couple ↳ y/nsworld haha proud of you too danny 💛 landofan y/n really does serve us the best lando pics y/nfan ahhh she served this weekend with her paddock fits landonorris

Liked by carlossainz55, y/nsworld and 143,612 others landonorris had so much fun visiting my love on set today! you kicked ass baby ❤️ view all 972 comments y/nsworld always have more fun with you there love ❤️ carlossainz55 they let you in?! 🤨 ↳ y/nsworld they made him leave before we filmed anything important or super secret 😭 ↳ landonorris excuse me? wait what? ↳ landonorris I feel betrayed 🧍‍♂️ ↳ y/nsworld lando you told @/zendaya the end of the movie. 🙄 ↳ zendaya I'm still so mad at you for that 🙄 ↳ landonorris I- ↳ tomholland welcome to the spoilers team mate

y/nsworld

Liked by mclaren, landonorris and 724,132 others y/nsworld came to visit this one at hq and this is the first thing he wants to show me 😭 view all 4,112 comments landonorris look how cool it is though! isn't it cool? 🥺 ↳ y/nsworld yes baby it's very cool ❤️ landoy/nship he's so baby 🥺 danielricciardo I still can't believe you beat him in that race round hq though 😭 ↳ y/nsworld what can I say? I've been working on my skills 😌 ↳ landonorris liar. daniel told you a shortcut 🙄 ↳ y/nsworld @/danielricciardo did you hear something? ↳ danielricciardo I heard nothing 🤷‍♀️

y/nsworld

Liked by landonorris, zendaya and 843,162 others y/nsworld thank you so much to my glam team for getting me red carpet ready! dress: maisonvalentino hair: jenatkinhair makeup: heidinorthmakeup shoes: jimmychoo accessories: tiffanyandco view all 4,972 comments landonorris you looked incredible darling, I was honoured to be your date ❤️ ↳ y/nsworld ❤️ zendaya oh my god? you look stunning! I'm in love with that dress y/nsworld omg babe you showed UP on that red carpet ✨ danielricciardo congrats y/n! lando would not stop talking about you or the movie the next day! ↳ y/nsworld awww really? he's such a sweetheart ↳ landonorris shhhhh don't expose me 😭 ↳ maxfewtrell mate everyone already knows you're a simp ↳ y/nsworld true ↳ danielricciardo true ↳ landonorris true

landonorris

Liked by y/nsworld, danielricciardo and 721,322 others landonorris ready for that red carpet date with my love view all 3,272 comments y/nsworld you are the best date my love ❤️ charlesleclerc damnnn looking sharp mate 🔥 carlossainz55 ey mate you look good danielricciardo omg be my date next time? 😩 ↳ y/nsworld I- 😭 ↳ landonorris omg yes 😩 ↳ y/nsworld y'all wilding 😭 landodannyfan they really said 'right in front of y/n's fruit salad' ↳ y/nsworld they really did huh... ↳ landodannyfan omg omg OMG SHE REPLIED WAIT WHAT? IM CRYING

y/nsworld

Liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 672,349 others y/nsworld going to be taking a little break before my next project starts. it's been non-stop work for me for a while so I've decided to dedicate the next few months to family, friends, my boyfriend and doing the things I love (besides my job!) 🤍 btw! follow my new film camera account: y/nonfilm here is where I'll be posting pics from my travels (and behind the scenes of race weekends!) view all 4,972 comments landonorris proud of you baby ❤️ zendaya so proud you're taking time for yourself girl 🧡 ↳ y/nsworld so excited for our weekend away! 🧡 y/nmylove she's so talented omg y/nfan I'm obsessed with the aesthetic landoisasimp once again, thank you for feeding us ma'am ↳ y/nsworld my pleasure! also love the username 😉 BONUS: landonorris

Liked by y/nsworld, carlossainz55 and 134,261 others landonorris "babe let me take a picture of you for my new account" view all 4,972 comments y/nsworld what can I say? I'm an incredible photographer 😌 danielricciardo is it just me or is it giving weird elvis impersonator vibes? ↳ y/nsworld omg stop 😭 ↳ georgerussell63 I'm crying 😭 landoandy/nvibes their relationship is so cute I can't deal landofan pls they're so random 😩 y/nandlandoworld it's the way that she's only been on break for a week and already we're getting so much meme content 😌 imagine how much we'll have by the end of her hiatus 😭 y/nsworld 😉😉

#mimi.smau #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 insta au #f1 fluff #f1 fanfic #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic

[smartycvnt]

My Girl

Title: My Girl

Pairing: Nick Jackson x Reader

Summary: Nick proposes to Y/n at a party.

Word Count: 736

Nick looked like a prince in his suit. Y/n hadn't been able to take her eyes off of him all night. She had never seen anybody else look so handsome before. Nick always looked great to Y/n, but tonight, there was something else to it. She was certain that she'd be chasing other girls away from by the end of the night when the drinks started to flow.

Unbeknownst to Y/n, Nick was having similar thoughts about her. The ring that he had bought four months into their relationship was burning a hole in his pocket as he started at her. The glam squad that Nick had hired for this event had gone above and beyond with their work.

Nick's heart had been beating a little faster all night because of Y/n. He swore that he got palpatations whenever she'd look over at him and smile. All he wanted was to get the stupid mingling part of this event over with so that he could go hang out at the bar with Y/n. She had been nursing the same drink for nearly an hour and a half as she waited for Nick to get finished.

"You really wanted trouble tonight, didn't you?" Kenny joked as he put his arm around Nick's shoulders. Nick didn't have to look over at his longtime friend to know that he was talking about Y/n. "More powerful men would have gone to literal war for a woman like that."

"I don't need an army to fight for her," Nick said. Kenny laughed it off as he turned his gaze over towards Kota. "She really is something, though, isn't she?"

"Always the most beautiful girl at the party, even if she didn't believe it until you told her," Kenny said. He had grown up with Y/n, and there had once been a time whenever he would have given anything to be in Nick's position. "Do you think you'll ask her tonight?"

"I think that I might." Nick slipped his hand into his pocket and fiddled with the ring a little. Kenny patted Nick's chest before he walked away. Nick quickly started and finished up a couple conversations with people who Tony wanted to meet with before he went over to the bar with Y/n.

"Finally, I was starting to get bored. These things aren't any fun without you next to me," Y/n told Nick. He blushed a little as Y/n leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. "Did I tell you that you look like an absolute dream tonight?"

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you." Nick smiled as he looked down at Y/n. The two of them fell into an easy silence as they watched everybody else at the party. Nick let his arm drape across Y/n's shoulders, and Y/n snuggled up against his side.

"I love you," Y/n said quietly. If it had been any louder, Nick would have missed it. Y/n wouldn't have been upset, she hadn't said it for any reason other than she wanted to. He had no obligation to say it back to her because Y/n knew that Nick loved her back.

"I feel so lucky to have you in my life. I know that we haven't talked about it a lot, but I want to marry you," Nick said. Y/n backed away from him a little to get a good look at him. She hoped that he was being serious. Her heart would have been shattered if he was joking with her.

"Really?" Y/n asked hopefully. "You're serious?"

"Deadly serious. I've known that you're the one I'm supposed to marry for almost a year now," Nick said. Y/n smiled as she reached up and pressed a kiss to his lips. "I've even got a ring."

"I guess you've got a question to ask me, don't you?" Y/n teased.

"Will you marry me?" Nick asked as he pulled the ring out of his pocket.

"Absolutely. It's all I want to do," Y/n answered. Nick slipped the ring onto her finger, holding back tears solely for the fact that there were people around them.

"I hope this lasts forever. You'll always be my girl. Mine and mine only," Nick said as he took Y/n's hand in his.

"Always," Y/n promised.

#my writing #one shot #aew x reader #aew #nick jackson x reader #nick jackson

[gabessquishytum]

Hob's new girlfriend is a model. She hasn't hit it big or anything, but she's booked a few things the general public would have seen her in.

She has an upcoming lingerie shoot and she asked Hob to come with her - she's not overly worried, she has heard only good things about the shoot's photographer, D. Endless, but lingerie shoots are sometimes dodgy even with a good photographer. Even though they haven't been together for a long period of time, of course, Hob agrees to come with.

Hob had never been to a fashion photo shoot before, it was very cool -- all the hustle and bustle, and pretty clothes and people, it was amazing. Hob was trying to stay out of the way and just take it all in when this absolute Amazon of a woman, gorgeous and regal, sleek with two inches of height on Hob, just breathtaking, put a hand on his chest and in a captivating voice asked why he wasn't getting ready for the shoot, his hair and makeup should be done by now,,,,Hob opened his mouth to speak when an assistant?!? materialized from thin air and the woman shifted her hold to Hob's chin (she might have been caressing his chin cleft; Hob 😳) still staring but speaking to the assistant behind her about which of the setups she wants him in. Then she walks away.

Hob tries to tell the assistant, Matthew??, that he is not a model, and Matthew listens to him, but he says what Dream wants, Dream gets and proceeds to push Hob towards the shoots glam squad (he sees his girlfriend in passing but can't break away to talk to her). Hob is fluffed, burnished and made up --- they even style his chest hair (after Dream walked by heard they were taking about shaving it and told the squad it stays).

When Hob is finally out in front of the camera (in tiny briefs, looking hot[ter]), he sees his new obsession -- Queen Amazon, /Dream/ -- and says something to the effect of you do realize I am not a model, right.

Dream smirks and says but you clean up so well. Hob blushes. Again.

Dream puts her camera down and walks over, let me take a few shots, and you'll see....focus on me and it'll be easy....

so this is actually the story of how Hob Gadling got a new girlfriend and part time career.

YESSSS regal Queen photographer fem!Dream!!!!!! Wonderful, I love it.

The thing is, Hob is actually not very confident in his body. So being almost naked in front of a hot woman and a camera? Terrifying. Even so... Dream somehow puts him at ease. She tells the story of what she's trying convey in the photos, and Hob relaxes as he listens and tries to do what she wants from him. It ends up with Dream straddling his lap (she's so beautiful and statuesque, Hob nearly melts) and pointing the camera down at his crotch. The intensity and eroticism of the shoot, the closeness between their bodies... yeah, Hob is half hard and whimpering.

Apparently, that's what Dream likes in a man.

Hob spots his girlfriend somewhere along the line - she's standing on the other side of the huge warehouse studio, but their eyes meet. A moment of understanding passes between them, and although she looks upset, she also seems to understand. She's a free spirit artsy type too. As long as Hob sticks around for the rest of the shoot like he promised, she's happy to move on.

Dream eventually finishes with Hob and pats him gently on the head, instructing him to stick around while she finishes working. Hob does as he's told (and puts on some clothes). He has a feeling that he's going to trail around after this woman for the rest of his life. He can hardly wait.

She lets him eat her out on the couch they just used for the shoot, when everyone else has gone home. And she uses his face like it's her throne. She tells him that she can't wait to take pictures of him like this: blissful and high on her pleasure. Those pictures will be for her eyes only.

Hob is just praying that if this is a dream, he'll never have to wake up...

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #gender bent dreamling