#jes stark

[superiorkenshi]

Tiktok essaie de me remettre dans mes Tony stark feels et c'est super efficace

#faut comprendre c'était le personnage qui ma fait me sentir mieux pendant le lycée #j'aurais jamais tenue le lycée sans lui #cest terrible mais cest vrai #jai plus chialer a la mort de tony stark qu'a la mort de ma grand mere #pendant un ans premier degres jetais en deuil tu parlais de lui je fondais en larme #c'est terrible #j'avais le coeur brisé #kenshi's life #tony stark #marvel #mcu

[champsamizayn]

okay now when is ftr gonna be aew tag champs

#or hobbs and starks #sorry i am not a bucks enjoyer </3 i agree je's tag run was getting stale tho #aew liveblog #aew

[moonchildstyles]

retrouvailles

élan part six: y/n goes on a date, harry finds out a secret, and something shifts.

wordcount: 15.5k+

—————

"Y'think I did alright?" 

(Y/N) swore her cheeks were going to ache for the rest of the day with the way her wide smile stretched over her lips. 

"I think you did really well," she told him, her voice laced with warm amusement though she was far from teasing. 

She was being honest, really. Hearing Harry speak in the small amount of conversational French he knew to her new nail tech as well as the receptionist of the salon she'd found today, was one of the sweetest things she'd ever seen. While his accent was improving, she cherished the flourish he still gave to his e's and the care he gave to his consonants. 

"'M getting better, huh," he pressed, sounding a little too proud. 

"Your accent definitely is," she mused, spotting the entrance to their building not too far ahead from where they were strolling down the pedestrian walk. 

"Good," Harry responded simply, the edge of a dimple pressed into his cheek, "I've been practicing." 

Somehow it was possible, but (Y/N)'s smile widened. "I've heard." 

He wasn't exactly the most quiet as he recited simple words she'd taught to him after he thought she fell asleep. He preferred to sneak out onto the balcony, and practice with the light of the Tower shimmering in the distance. She liked hearing his voice like that, just a hair muffled through the door and his improper French. 

It didn't take long before Harry was holding open the door for her to head inside their apartment building. No one other than the doorman was occupying the small space. (Y/N) offered a fleeting smile in his direction, her attention captured by the grandiose display on the desk counter. 

In a crystalline vase, cut expertly to allow waves of rainbow light to glimmer over the warm eggshell walls, was an oversized bouquet of roses. The petals were deep spirals of velveteen red, deep dark in the center before going crimson on the edges. They had unfurled perfectly, not a single speck of discoloration or wilting. The stems were a healthy forest green, strong with clipped thorns as they held the large blooms in place. Interspersed between the roses were glossy leaves of emerald greenery and stark white puffs of baby's breath. It was full and large, stuffed and heavy with more immaculate roses than (Y/N) thought could exist in the world. How the vase wasn't toppling over from the sheer size, she wasn't sure. 

They were gorgeous—pristine. (Y/N) even slowed her steps some to caress her eyes over the blooms for a moment longer. 

Nonetheless, their synced steps eventually landed her at the doors of the lift. Harry, at her side with his own attention pressing forward, entered the code for the lift to take them upwards. 

Just as she took her eyes away from the bouquet, the doorman suddenly shouted through the lobby in accented English, "Wait!" 

(Y/N)'s steps faltered, the elevator doors having parted open. She glanced over her shoulder, feeling his shout being directed to her though she couldn't imagine why. 

The doorman looked at her with wide eyes, his brows raised. "Mademoiselle?" 

"Oui? Comment puis-je t'aider?" she trilled, watching as he stepped closer with her to catch up. 

From the corner of her eye, Harry's security instincts kicked in, stepping closer to her as a form of barricade. 

Eyeing Harry, the doorman slowed feet away, keeping that space between as (Y/N) peered around the broad of Harry's shoulder. 

"Les roses," he started, gesturing towards the towering bouquet, "Elles sont pour vous, mademoiselle."

"Pour moi?" she pressed, her brows pinching. 

"Pour toi. Ils vous ont été déposés il y a une heure."

"Oh," she sounded, allowing her gaze to wander back to the glamorous roses behind him, "Merci."

Taking it upon himself, Harry took the flowers from the counter, keeping himself between (Y/N) and the doorman as he moved. Offering nothing more than a quiet thank you, (Y/N) helped him into the waiting elevator, Harry having held the doors open in case he had to usher her through. 

Once alone in the lift, (Y/N) couldn't help but to run a finger over the blooms. Harry watched intently, observing and cataloguing as if he had something to be suspicious over. Truthfully, she couldn't completely blame him. She couldn't think of anyone who would send flowers to this address for her, especially something this grandiose. 

In the back of her mind, a niggling panic arose. This wouldn't be that admirer of hers, right? 

Silence followed them into their apartment, (Y/N) speaking up as she held the door open for him to slip through with the tottering vase. "Is there a card or anything you can see?" 

"Yes." Harry's voice was clipped as he answered. Nothing more was offered. 

She waited for him to set the bouquet down before she searched through the stems, finding the small card amongst the greenery. The slip was heavy, made from embossed cardstock—definitely more than what a regular florist would offer. 

Flicking it open, the writing inside was a shimmering black, inky and definite. The writing was elegant, scrolling and scripting, handwritten with a lilting hand. 

       Even before meeting you in person, I know these roses pale in comparison to your beauty. See you soon. x

        Elliot 

Every beautiful thing about the note was cancelled out when she read that name. 

That was the man who was tasked to take her out for dinner in a few days, her father's friend. 

"Oh," she sounded. 

Harry was silent at her side. He must have been able to spot the details when she couldn't.

"They're so pretty," she said, folding the card away, almost pouting at the roses, "I'm sad he had to be the one to send them." 

A beat passed before Harry spoke again, "I don't trust them."

Canting her head, she tried to see what he saw in the flowers. "What do you mean? They're gorgeous." 

His arms coming cross around his chest, Harry stayed firm in his stance. "I don't like it. He shouldn't know your address before he's even met you. Taking the time to find a florist in Paris, finding something this extravagant, I don't know. I don't trust them." 

"I mean," she started, tipping her head in the other direction, "I'm sure they're fine though, right?" 

"I don't know," he answered shortly, "I'm going to have to think about it. We might have to get rid of them." 

Peeking from the corner of her eye, she saw the pinched expression marring his features. He almost seemed offended to be looking at the roses. 

Her features dropped some at the idea of throwing out the bouquet. "Oh. I like roses, though." 

Harry's face pinched further at her words. 

—————

Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, (Y/N) forced herself out of her room, letting a shiver run up her spine at the cold floor under her feet. Through her bleary gaze, the first thing she saw was the streak of red that was the bouquet of roses sitting on the kitchen counter. 

It took a couple of blinks before she realized that the flowers on the counter were very much not the same as the bouquet she received yesterday.

This bundle was significantly smaller, only a dozen compared to the fifty or so blooms from the day before, only small clusters of baby's breath added in. The same vase was being utilized for this bouquet, the white ribbon that tied the stems together still included and now dipped in the water filling the vase. The red was brighter, a couple of the flowers not quite as open as the ones she'd seen before, the greens on the lighter side. 

Propped against the vase was a slip of pink paper taken from a notepad (Y/N) usually wrote their grocery list on. 

She didn't lift her eyes from the bouquet as she approached, the morning light seemingly making the blooms glow. Reaching for the note, her features softened, rounding and curving into a quiet smile. 

      Good morning. I know these roses aren't as nice as the others, but I hope you think they're just as pretty.

        Harry

His letters were blocky and absolute, none of the flourish the other man had left on the note. She definitely liked these much more than the flowers she received before. 

Brushing her fingers over the soft petals, she attempted to bite back the wide grin that threatened to take over her face. With the note in hand, she spun on her toes, searching for Harry as if she missed him in the space. 

Spotting him through the windows of the balcony doors, she didn't waste any time before she was crossing the living room to join him in the morning air. 

Knocking on the glass, she stepped onto the balcony as Harry looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup.

"Morning," he murmured, eyes glancing towards the note clutched in her hand. 

"Good morning," she chirped, shifting her weight on her feet with that fluttering feeling lingering in her tummy. 

"Y'alright?" he asked, noticing the way she couldn't seem to stay still.  

Looking at Harry now, all she saw was the man that picked out those flowers waiting for her inside. He picked her a bouquet that was worlds better than the grandiose arrangement she saw the day before, if only because it came from him. She liked his note much better, too. 

"I am," she said through her beaming smile, "Thank you for the flowers." 

Harry minutely perked up though his features stayed straight-laced. The grip on his mug tightened, his eyes brightening that much. "Yeah? Y'like them?" 

"I love them."

For the first time since she'd met him, (Y/N) watched as a small smile landed on Harry's lips. The glances of dimples she gained and the ghostly smiles that disappeared before she had a chance to truly take them in were all blown away with the way he allowed that small grin to mold his features. He gazed up at her with that smile on his lips for a moment before he cast his eyes out towards the Parisian cityscape. He brought his free hand up to knuckle at the tip of his nose, his smile partially hidden behind his hand. 

"Good." 

—————

(Y/N) read, and reread, and reread her father's coaching text at least five times before the message began to sink in. 

The first couple of messages were the usual host of guidelines, imploring her to not drink, to stay on her best behavior, to act lady-like (code for: don't try to sleep with him, because she was a whore, of course), ect. She rolled her eyes at first, reading those rules like they were supposed to be pasted to the fridge for a kindergartener to follow. It wasn't until the final message came through that her attention shifted to something serious. 

Dad

      And, Harry is to stay back tonight. He's already a distraction to the media, and shouldn't be there when you're meant to be on a date with someone who is able to handle you just fine. 

The plan all week had been for Harry to accompany her, be right at her side through the whole night no matter what. Not only because he didn't particularly trust her father's circle of friends after the 132 Gala, but also at (Y/N)'s request. That plan had been the only reason she hadn't fought tooth and nail to get out of this stupid date—the whole reason she hadn't done something equally as idiotic to get her father to cancel the plans in favor of punishing her. 

Just thirty minutes ago, sitting in front of her vanity to get ready to go out with another man, Harry had been on her mind. She wondered if he would like the red lipstick she slicked over her mouth, or if he would think it was too much. She wondered if he would like the bounce of her hair or if he would think it was too big. She wondered if he would think of those roses he bought for her when he saw the red of her dress. 

Now, none of that even mattered—if it had mattered at all in the first place, anyway. 

Harry was going to drop her off, and leave her to her date. 

The idea had (Y/N) deflating where she sat on her bed, her shoulders holding a defeated slope. 

She didn't want to get up, she didn't want to face this night. Tempted, she half-typed out a text feigning food poisoning to her father, a quick fix to get out of this whole thing. 

But, she knew better. Delaying this would only cause her more grief. Her father might even follow through and fly out to Paris himself to keep an eye on her. 

Falling back against her mattress, bouncing against the springs without a care for her hair, she heaved a sigh. She was going to have to leave her room and paint her face with a famous smile, but afterwards, she could forget it all happened. It would be over and she could return to her Parisian bubble that consisted of pilates, nail appointments, the farmer's market, and Harry. 

She just needed to get through tonight. 

Steeling her resolve, (Y/N) reacted to her father's text with a thumbs up and shook him out of her head. With her heels strapped to her feet and phone thrown into the bag hanging off of her wrist, she pushed the double doors to her room open and stepped out into the living room. 

Sitting on the couch, waiting with phone in hand, was Harry. He glanced at her over the top of his screen only for his scrolling to pause, eyes widening through the frame of his lashes. (Y/N) saw the trail his gaze made over her form, skipping through the curves she fit into her rose-red dress, the minute slit on the side that allowed the fabric to flare around her thighs. Her accessories came in complementing hues, pearls in her ears with glimmering gold shining against the red. 

A beat passed before he seemed to become aware of himself once more, clearing his throat as he made a move to put his phone away. 

"Y'look... really good," he started, his voice strained as he stood to the full of his height, his gaze dropping down to his feet, "Are y'ready to go?" 

"Thank you," she answered, decidedly less chipper than she would have expected after hearing his compliment. Her father's text was taking up too much space in her head for anything sweet to slip inside. "My father texted me while I was getting ready." 

"Yeah?" he asked, beginning to inch towards the door though (Y/N) lagged behind. "What'd he say?"

Following him in minute steps, (Y/N) swallowed. "Has he talked to you today?" 

"No," he answered shortly, pressing open the door for her to meet him at the threshold, his gaze heavy on her as she obviously stalled. "Why?" 

"He—Harry—" she struggled to find the words, hoping it didn't come out as pathetically defeated as she felt, "He said you're not allowed to come with me tonight." 

Harry stopped. His steps halted, his expression going blank as he looked at her. 

"What do you mean?" 

"He thinks you're a distraction for the media. If you were in any more pictures with me, especially when I'm supposed to be on a date with someone else, that would only cause more drama." 

Slowly, Harry closed the door to her apartment, sealing them inside for a moment longer. His hand flexed around the doorknob. 

"He thinks that?" Harry pressed after a beat, his tone sharp. 

(Y/N) silently nodded her head for confirmation. 

It only took a moment longer of that silence before Harry was undoing the work of shutting the door. Determined as ever, he pulled it open, beckoning her to follow after him as he stepped into the hall.

"I don't care. 'M going with you." His words were absolute like cement, unwavering and unmoving. "'M not leaving you with some man who you've never met before, and couldn't even bother to call y'before tonight—yet, he got your address to send 'flowers'." 

"Harry," she called, following him out into the hall, "I—We can't." 

He didn't budge, standing beside the elevator, the down arrow lit up showing the lift had already been requested. "I don't care, (Y/N). 'M not leaving you alone—your dad can get fucked." 

Her steps stuttered as she moved to catch up with him. Never had she heard him be so explicitly mad at her father—or explicit, at all really. No one ever really became angry at her father the way she did, let alone express it so bluntly. No one had ever seen the things that she had when it came to him. 

Nonetheless, (Y/N) still couldn't let him sabotage himself. 

It was just like he said earlier in the week. Her father's wrath wasn't worth wriggling out of a few hours of discomfort—for she or Harry. 

"Harry, no," she tried again, staying where she was when he tried to herd her into the requested lift. The sparkling panelling in the back of the elevator acted as a mirror, showcasing her and Harry in its reflection. "I can't let you do that. You'd lose your job, then you really would have to l-leave me here." 

She hadn't expected the way her tongue tripped over the word leave. She hoped Harry hadn't noticed. 

Harry's jaw squeezed, a hand coming up to knuckle at the tip of his nose as his gaze fell to the floor. "'S not fair," he murmured, "I can't leave y'there."

"I can't let you do anything else, though," she reasoned with him, dropping her voice to match the volume of his own, "My father would be so angry with us. He wouldn't let you stay here with me." 

While that explanation was the truth, she had a feeling Harry would never be the one that was in proper trouble with her father. It would somehow make its way around to be her fault; that she had poisoned Harry's mind. That could be the only reasoning as to why he would comply with (Y/N)'s wishes over her father's. But, he didn't need to know all of that. He just needed to stay put, that was all she asked. 

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze flicking up in a glance at her. "(Y/N)," he murmured, the syllables of her name cradled in his voice. 

"I know, but I promise I'll be fine. And, if I'm not, I'll call you right away. After this is all over, you can take me home, and we can try to watch a Julia Child episode again." A careful smile touched at the corners of her mouth then, hoping that lighthearted act would rub off on him. "I'll try not to fall asleep this time, either." 

While his mood didn't seem to be particularly lifted at her plan, it was enough to get the hinges in his jaw moving again and the stark set of his shoulders loosening. Only after a lingering pause did she hear the grumble of his voice once more. 

"Okay." Picking up his chin, he matched her eye contact head-on. "You promise me you'll tell me if you're uncomfortable?" 

She knew what he was asking her, the night of the Gala flashing through her head, too. 

"I promise." 

With a single nod of his head, he flattened his hand between her shoulder blades and herded her into the lift.  

—————

Harry maneuvered the car through the now familiar streets of Paris, taking her to the expensive location her date had requested. 

Elliot, she thought with an internal cringe. She was going to have to actually call him by his name, instead of referring to him as some guy. 

With the Eiffel Tower glimmering only a few miles away, (Y/N) wasn't surprised to see the restaurant that had been chosen for the night. (It was a terrible tourist trap, nothing particularly special that could justify the price other than the view of the Tower from the patio). It was just the kind of expensive nonsense her father loved to partake in when he visited, the same seemed to go for his friend. 

The car was still running as Harry did nothing more than step on the breaks as a means for parking. All he needed was to hear her word and they could be out of there in a split second. 

"I'll be back at nine to get you. No later," he cemented, his lips a thin line as he laid his sharp gaze on the eatery. 

"Yes, no later," she parroted, pitching her voice into something lighter in hopes of tricking him into a better mood the same way she'd done for herself. "I'll see you soon, okay?" 

"Okay." 

With her hand on the door, (Y/N) hesitated. She didn't want to leave him now, especially not when he was so obviously on edge. She didn't know how to ease him other than promising again and again that she would get into contact if she needed him. 

She just wanted him to know that she was far away from this date, too. That if it were up to her, this wouldn't be going at all, that she was miles away in their apartment. 

Without overthinking it, she pushed the door open with the most prominent thought in her head slipping through her lips: "I wish I was doing this with you, tonight." 

(Y/N) could feel Harry's eyes on her as she climbed out of the car, leaving before he had much of a chance to offer any response. 

—————

This man—Elliot—is her father. 

He is almost an exact replica of her father inside and out, this man just has a better hairline and faker teeth. 

The similarities started the second it appeared he didn't know how to stop talking, going on and on about himself. He didn't know how to pair wine, despite boasting about the vineyard he supposedly owned here in the French countryside. ((Y/N) had to keep herself from wincing when he suggested starting the night off with foie gras and a deep red wine). He loved France, and wine, and charity, he'd said. 

So, he was a liar, too. Just like her father. 

No wonder he thought this would work out—that she would like him. Her father loved himself so much he couldn't imagine this date not being perfect with the similarities he shared with Elliot. 

(Y/N) hid her frown behind her wine glass, listening as he made a fool of himself and the foundations he ran. (Supposedly, of course. With the way he spoke of them, they sounded more like cash grabs than anything real, a set of others running the operation while he was nothing more than the figurehead and beneficiary). He didn't even notice just how disconnected she was from this conversation, though she couldn't be surprised. To notice anything at all would require him to stop thinking about himself for longer than a breath.

"See! I knew you'd like that wine," Elliot boasted, looking pleased with himself as he ran a hand through his graying hair, "Your father said you were a drinker, so I had a feeling you'd enjoy this." 

A part of her bubbled close to overflowing, wanting to spit at him that she actually hated the wine—it was too prickly and bitter, and overall just shit—but she tamped it down. It was enough to get her father red in the face if he found she was drinking against his rules, she didn't need to add on the fact that she blew up in this man's face over it. Nothing quite like a drunken rage to get her on the front page of a tabloid tomorrow. 

Instead, she offered a sickly sweet smile after taking in a large gulp of the horrendous wine. "Yep," she falsely beamed, "That's me!" 

He didn't even blink at the bitter tone to her voice, the scathing sticky sweetness that laid underneath her words. 

Her savior came in the form of a scattered waiter approaching the table, his footsteps echoing a bit too loud in the otherwise empty restaurant. (Another small flex on Elliot's part—he'd bought out the entire eatery for the night, leaving them alone with nothing but the limited waitstaff and kitchen workers in the back). 

Their waiter—whose name she wished she caught before Elliot had rudely cut him off in favor of ordering terrible wine—offered a painted smile, a bit too perfect to be authentic as he all but tripped over himself for a flawless service. In accented English, as her date didn't know any kind of real French, he asked, "Are you ready to order your mains this evening?" 

Before (Y/N) could do anything but smile, Elliot was chomping at the bit, speaking in broken French as if to impress her. 

He boasted that he would be ordering for the both of him, that he knew what she wanted. The waiter looked on with wide eyes, taking down the order in his little notepad. (Y/N) looked on unimpressed, listening as Elliot ordered himself a steak, commanding it to be cooked way too much, with a sauce that was much too rich for the white wine he was supposedly planning on pairing it with. She dreaded to hear what he thought she would like, especially with the way he flitted his dark eyes to her with bouncing brows, as if she could be anything other than enticed through this interaction.

In another move that was so terribly like her father, Elliot ordered her a chopped salad. Dressing on the side, as well. 

(Y/N) had to rein herself in, keeping a bubbling peal of laughter from leaking out. If not for the fact this was really happening to her in this moment, she would have loved to hear a story like this in a comedy routine. 

"That will be right up, sir. Thank you," the waiter praised, giving a small bow of his head before he turned to scurry away once more. (Y/N) envied him for his ability to eke out of the room. 

Though, before he could make it too far away, (Y/N) stopped him with a gentle hand on his forearm. She extended backwards in her seat, catching his attention. 

"Miss?" he murmured, "Did I miss something?" 

"Oui désolé. Il n'a pas commandé correctement pour moi," she answered, noting the way his eyes widened at hearing the fluent French slip from her mouth. 

Pulling out his leather notepad, he nodded his head, "Oh, mes excuses. Que puis-je mettre à la place?" 

"Pas de soucis, merci," (Y/N) smiled, hoping to ease some of his nerves and make it abundantly clear that she knew she was too good for the man sitting across from her, "J'aurai le penne au salmon à la crème Parmesan, s'il te plaît." 

The waiter nodded, looking a touch more comfortable as he spoke to only her, writing down the new order after putting a definitive strike through the previous. With a promise to return to check on them shortly, he disappeared into the reprieve that was the kitchen, leaving (Y/N) to suffer on her own. 

"I didn't know you knew French," Elliot said from across the table, forcing her attention back to him. There was a pinch to his brow, tightening his already Botoxed features. "What did you say to him?"

"Hm? Oh," (Y/N) sounded, feigning confusion as if she had no idea what she'd just done, "I ordered for myself. I think he thought the side salad you got was for me." 

Clueless to the fact that she was amusing herself at his expense, his furrow deepened. "It was for you." 

"No, thank you," she said, sticky sweet and unbearably kind, "I actually really love the pasta from here. A salad isn't enough for me." 

Elliot tripped his eyes down her form, glazing over the red dress she picked with Harry in mind. "You couldn't listen to me for tonight?" 

"Oh," she canted her head, blinking her eyes owlishly, "I didn't know the salad meant something to you. Just a misunderstanding then, I guess." 

It was eerie the way he looked exactly like her father as he took in a deep sigh, as if he had reason to be disappointed in her. Freud would be too happy seeing as how her father set her up with a man just like himself. 

"It's alright, sweetie. Keep that in mind for next time, though. I've got you now—you don't need to worry about reading the menu and ordering for yourself anymore." 

In an attempt to keep herself rooted to her spot and not stomping outside the door, (Y/N) tightened her grip on her wine glass. She wouldn't have been surprised if the stem broke under her palm. 

"I definitely will," she laughed, feeling a hair away from delirious at this point. 

Pleased with himself, Elliot sat back. "I feel like I've been talking about myself all night," he laughed, shaking his head as if his arrogance was a silly oversight, "I've been meaning to ask about something I read." 

(Y/N) had to keep her eye from twitching. "Really? What was it?"

"That boy you've been pictured with," he started, his voice much too loud for the quiet space. (Y/N) had to consciously make an effort to keep her jaw from clenching as he referred to Harry as a boy. "Your dad said he was your security, but I wanted to ask about him myself." 

Buying herself some time with a calculated sip of her wine, she swallowed down the acrid taste before asking, "What do you want to know?" 

"Is he your boyfriend? Or whatever you kids call it now," Elliot bluntly pressed, "I read you cheated on Mr. Moore's son with him. Is there any truth to that?"

"No," was her immediate answer, "He's just my security guard." 

In the back of her mind she knew those words didn't fit correctly in her mouth. 

Elliot raised a challenging brow. "That's the truth?" 

Forcing herself to do nothing more than grow stoic at his idiotic pressing, (Y/N) met his eyes directly without wavering. "I know the stories can be convincing, but this is what I'm telling you. It's the truth." 

This was her version of biting back, dropping that tabloid bunny facade with placating smiles and the willingness to accommodate to be whatever person the one in front of her wanted. She couldn't outright slap him, so she'd have to settle for not being the naive butterfly he wanted. 

Giving a slow nod, (Y/N) watched as her date ran through what she'd told him. He didn't seem to even understand that she was pushing back on him, his ego too large to see much else. "Okay," he settled, "Well, if this continues between us, I want to make it clear that I would prefer him to leave Paris." 

(Y/N) sat dumbfounded for a beat. 

Elliot continued on, "He's not needed if I'm here with you. I also believe he's taking advantage of his position in getting to touch and 'protect' you. You don't need him around." 

Through gritted teeth, (Y/N) asked, "You think so?" 

"Mhm," Elliot hummed, a bit too proud, "He's taking advantage of you as far as I can see. He takes from you since you can't overpower him—it's a hard thing to notice when you're the woman being taken, but it's obvious to others." 

Swallowing, (Y/N) forced her jaw to unclench and a deep breath down her lungs. 

She was livid. Truthfully, she couldn't care less what this man thought of her in any way—another way he was similar to his father—or if he chose to demean her for the rest of the night. But, when it came to Harry, the only innocent person in this whole stupid mess who'd done nothing but protect her to the best of his ability, that was where she was going to draw the line. 

This night was over. 

"Right," she answered stiffly, forcing her features into something kind and unwitting, "Do you mind if I run to the ladies room really quickly?" 

Already pushing out her chair before he had a chance to say a word, (Y/N) only half listened when he told her to hurry back, he didn't mind waiting for her. 

With her bag on her wrist and phone in hand, she typed out a message in quick strokes. 

      please come get me

Firing it off to Harry took all but a second, long enough for her to reach the kitchen, 

While it felt impossibly rude to step inside, she had to put her plan into place before Elliot realized she hadn't headed towards the bathroom at all. 

A member of the kitchen staff stopped in their tracks when they saw her, a bright streak of red in the middle of the otherwise stainless steel and clean white of the kitchen. 

"Mademoiselle? Vous cherchez les toilettes?" 

"Non, j'avais en fait une demande, s'il vous plaît." she started, keeping herself on the fringes of the space as to not touch something she wasn't meant to.

The staff member cast his gaze around for a moment, the rest of the kitchen slowing to a standstill when they noticed her. Only the sizzling of a pair of pans remained, the space hot from the running ovens and foaming butter. 

"Comment puis-je t'aider?" he asked after a moment, no one objecting to the idea of her newly timed request.

"Y a-t-il un moyen pour que tu emmènes mes pâtes avec moi ? En plus d'ajouter pavé de saumon à la plancha pour que je le prenne également ? Je sais que c'est la dernière minute, mais j'ai changé de plan." 

"To-go?" he answered in accented English. 

"Oui," she cemented, time ticking the longer she had to explain herself, "Je dois aller aux toilettes, mais je peux les récupérer en sortant par l'arrière, si ça te va."

It was then that—what she assumed was—the kitchen manager spoke up, her hair tied up under a pristine white hat. "Oui. Nous pouvons préparer cela pour vous en dix minutes, mademoiselle." 

"Merci," (Y/N) chirped, backing out of the kitchen before she could become any more of a distraction. 

Next order of business came in the form of tracking down her waiter, who was tucked in an alcove around the bar, the single ticket for their table hanging from the processing computer. After the shock of spotting her in the backroom wore off, (Y/N) settled the tab—including the fish entree she just added—with a swipe of her father's credit card. A hefty tip was left for the staff, in hopes of making up for the absolute waste of time everyone involved had gone through for the night. 

Checking the time on her phone as she scurried to the staff restroom (with permission from the waiter), (Y/N) didn't doubt that Elliot was either too absorbed in himself to notice she was still missing or he was beginning to realize she was taking too long for this to be an innocent trip to the ladies room. Nonetheless, she only had a handful of minutes left before her order would be ready, and Harry had to be on his way by now. 

As if he was living inside her head, the second she closed the door behind her, a call came through her phone with Harry's contact written boldly up top. 

"Hello?" 

"Are you okay?" he fired off, ignoring her greeting, "Did something happen?" 

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she eased, leaning against the bathroom door, "I'm a little annoyed and was almost bored to death, but I'm okay. I knew this was going to be a bad night, H, but it's been terrible, honestly." 

"I'm outside, okay? I parked out back, but you'll see me," he rushed off, his voice a low rumble through the speaker. 

(Y/N) reared back. "You're already here?" 

"Yes." 

A beat passed in the quiet of the bathroom. "Did you come from the apartment?" 

"No." She could hear a sigh come from the other line. "I didn't go back—I stayed here." 

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, having no right to feel a small smile bloom on her features at his admission. "I'll be out in a second. I need to grab something really quick." 

"Okay. I'll see you in a minute." 

Hanging up first, (Y/N) doubted he would unwind until she was sitting in that car with him, away from the annoying bug that was Elliot. 

Scurrying through the restaurant in hopes of staying unnoticed by her date, she thanked the kitchen staff once more for the impromptu request she made before grabbing her orders and pushing through the back entrance.

The night was dark, only bits of warm light coming from the Eiffel Tower in the distance, tourists roaming the streets with roses in the wind. Searching for Harry's car, it only took (Y/N) a couple of steps around the building to spot the black sedan with its lights on bright. 

Her steps quickened, heels clacking over the concrete as she eagerly met him. The doors were unlocked and ready for her to climb in. 

"Look what I got for us!" she bubbled, fitting herself in the passenger seat with the boxed meals in her lap. 

With his features only lit up by the dash lights and whatever was able to seep through the tinted windows, a furrow darkened Harry's brow. His gaze lingered on her face before dropping to her lap as she buckled up. 

"Is... Is that your dinner?" 

"It's our dinner!" she chirped, "I got you something while I was there." Finally cataloguing what exactly she had run out with, her grin only widened. "I think they gave me his too, actually." 

At that, a huff of laughter left Harry's lips, the tension in the car melting as he shifted into drive. (Y/N) watched as his features softened in the low light, dimples present and eyes softening. 

"He doesn't know you left, does he?" 

"Nope," she trilled, "He'll figure it out soon though, I'm sure." 

Harry only laughed again, eyes trained on the road though she didn't miss the way he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. 

"That bad?" 

"Oh, yeah," (Y/N) heaved, shaking her head. "My father is going to be so mad, but I don't even care anymore." 

(Y/N) could feel her muscles unwinding the farther they made it from the restaurant, dropping her head back to lean on the stiff rest. She genuinely didn't care if her father woke her up with degrading messages or a promise to visit her penthouse. She wasn’t going to sit by while Elliot degraded Harry for the sake of looking like an alpha. 

The familiar route back to the apartment whizzed outside the windows until a bright idea blinked in (Y/N)'s head.

"Wait," she chattered, sitting up straight in her spot, "Turn around. I have an idea." 

—————

The Eiffel Tower shimmered in front of them, warm dinner in their laps with a sturdy bench under. 

The lights of the attraction were reflected back on Harry's wondrous eyes, his food left to cool in his lap as he was too distracted with the sight in front of him. (Y/N) was the same though her gaze was on him.

"Worth it, right?" 

Harry didn't hesitate to pull his eyes from the Tower, casting his gaze to her with a lingering trace over her features. He paused on her lips for a heartbeat before he matched her eyes once more, the familiar beginnings of a lopsided smile touching the corner of his mouth. 

"Definitely." 

—————

(Y/N) barely bat an eyelash when she saw the heavy envelope as the only piece of mail in her box. She politely thanked the doorman before taking it back up to her apartment, already dismissing its contents despite the curiosity bubbling in her fingertips. She wondered what kind of photos would be inside. 

The media apparently hadn't caught a hold of any kind of story about her date. It'd been three days and there was nothing being posted online other than a random blog post claiming to have seen her dressed in red climbing into a black car. Nothing mentioned a romantic candlelit night, or a scorned billionaire cursing her name for embarrassing him. The only reason she knew her father was aware any of what transpired that night was because of a text he'd shuttled off to Harry, cementing that (Y/N) wasn't to go anywhere without him. (Quite the punishment, she'd joked). 

Otherwise, there was nothing out there about the incident, nowhere for this person to collect photos and scratch out a narrative. She also would have remembered seeing someone with a heavy camera in the empty restaurant, but she couldn’t recall a single moment a lens had been pointed in her direction, including the meal she and Harry indulged in by the Tower. 

Safely inside her apartment, the water running as Harry took his morning shower, (Y/N) took a risk and opened the flap to quell her curiosity. Inside glossy photos awaited.

While she never particularly enjoyed seeing photos of herself in this context, usually fluctuating between fear and indifference, she'd never been so unnerved as this moment. Given, she didn't typically open the letters sent to her, so she didn't have much to compare it to, but she had a feeling this was the worst that had even been sent her way.

Shining in the morning light, were photos of her from the moment she stepped out of her apartment to the time Harry took her home. She was a gleaming scarlet streak in every photo, some shots having been zoomed in on her body, on her legs, on her lips. This person caught her entering the restaurant, Harry conveniently cut out before the view shifted. Through the window, she had been caught with her glass of wine, blankly looking ahead at Elliot as he spoke of himself. This person had even caught her devising and executing her plan, the camera having craned and peered around every corner and every fixture to get even a small sliver of her form. This person followed her to the spot Harry picked her up, to where they sat at the Eiffel Tower with their dinner. Those shots were decidedly blurrier, taken from a larger distance, but it was still clearly the pair of them gazing at each other before gazing towards the Tower. 

Harry's face had been scribbled on in one shot, the same way Marc's had been in the package previous. 

She didn't dare to look at the words written on the back, already collecting what kind of narrative this person would force this time around. They seemingly were turning on Harry now, instead of just ignoring him. 

Leaving that single photo where it laid, with both she and Harry gazing skyward towards the point of the Tower, (Y/N) didn't have it in her to leaf through the rest of the stack. 

Suddenly, having missed the sound of the water cutting and the silence that followed, she heard Harry's bedroom door open, the swoosh of the air as he entered the common space. She scrambled to pack the photos back into the envelope, trying her best to not sprint towards her bedroom. Her hands shook as she gathered everything to her chest, the photos a messy pile she hid with her back facing the hallway Harry was emerging from. 

"Morning," he greeted her, his voice that low grumble it always was in the morning. 

"Good morning," she chirped out, her steps hastening that much more as she slipped inside her bedroom, the door open just a crack. 

"Did y'still want to go to the farmer's market today?" Harry called, his voice carrying as she lingered in the living room.

"Sure!" she trilled, wrenching open her vanity drawer, "Or—um—I was thinking we could finally visit the Lourve today, or whatever. I'm fine with anything!" 

Harry didn't respond then, (Y/N) only hearing her bubbling heartbeat pounding against her chest. Why did she think it would be easy to hide the letters under a pile of palettes? 

It took a handful more seconds before she had everything safely tucked away, the drawer being pushed shut before she sat back on her heels and breathed. That was a little too close, she decided. 

No more opening the letters if she could help it—especially while Harry lived with her. 

Peeking out of her bedroom decidedly more relaxed than when she went in, she swept a hand through her hair. "Did you have anywhere you wanted to go, though?" 

Harry stood with his back to her, his shoulders tensed and head bowed as he looked towards his feet. He didn't lift his head as she spoke, keeping her behind him.

A beat passed, still no acknowledgement. 

"Harry?" she called, stepping out from her bedroom entirely. 

Harry turned slowly then, revealing he was looking at a slip of paper in his hand, his brows in a furrow and lips set thin. 

Sunlight coming through the windows glinted off of the glossy coating of the page in his hand. Her heart dropped. 

"What is this?" 

Swallowing around her tongue, she tried her best to slip into a role she hoped would fool him. "What do you mean?" she asked, voice light despite the heavy pit in her stomach. 

Chancing a look at her for the first time since she left her room, Harry's eyes were sharp, a warning expression she hadn't seen since he pulled her from the pilates studio in New York. 

He held the photo up for her to see, showcasing a shot of her escaping through the back of the restaurant with a giddy smile and stolen dinner. 

"Who took this?" 

Her facade crumbled that much, sinking and sinking like her heart in her chest. 

"Um—I—I don't..." 

"(Y/N)," he warned, his voice low and lethal. He wasn't Harry at the moment, this was the man tasked with her safety who'd just found a secret that changed everything. 

"I don't know," she rushed out, deflating as she kept her eyes low so as to not match his own, "I don't know who took it." 

"Then, why do you have it?" 

"Someone sent it to me." 

A tick hugged the hinge of Harry's jaw, his grip on the page tightening. "What do you mean?" 

(Y/N) floundered then. Her mouth gaped with words she knew she wasn't going to say, the air sucked out of her lungs. Nothing wanted to roll off of her tongue—nothing would.

"(Y/N)," Harry sternly interrupted her swimming thoughts. His sharp tone matched his eyes. 

A shallow breath prickled in her lungs. 

She'd never had to speak on this before. There was only one other time she had gained the courage to confront the fact that someone was stalking her, sending photos and letters and expressing devout affection and depraved ideals about her. There was only once she had voiced these fears before, and it had been shot down immediately by her father. She was told to let it go and be grateful; she was meant to be happy that she had a fan, someone to admire her. 

She didn't want to be called crazy again. 

Because she wasn't, right? This was something anyone would be scared over, right? 

Taking her shaky hands into a bundle at her middle, (Y/N) tried to find the words. 

"I don't know who sent it to me, but it came with a letter and other pictures."

Harry stowed over her words for a lingering moment, (Y/N)'s shuttered gaze keeping her from gauging his reaction. For the first time ever, she didn't want to know what he was thinking. 

"Someone sent you pictures of you we don't remember being taken, and a letter," he reiterated, his voice a deadpan rumble as the story came together. 

She'd never heard these events spaced in someone else's voice. 

"Yes." When he didn't immediately say anything (Y/N) felt her blood pressure spike. "Harry," she tried, his name heavy on her tongue, "I-I wanted to tell you, I promise. I was going to, but my father—he... I thought you wouldn't..." 

Harry paced the room silently. He took his time before settling heavily on the middle cushion of the couch, the discreet photo of her being clutched in his grip. 

"Tell me now, then," he commanded, gaze fixed on the photograph, "I don't care what your dad said or what you thought before, this is something I need to know about." 

Her fingers were a fiddling mess as she stood still in the middle of the room. "I don't know where to start," she whispered. 

Fracturing his line of sight from the picture, Harry cast his gaze out the windows, taking in the skyline they'd called home for the better part of two months. His free hand landed heavily in his hair, nails grazing his scalp. 

"Start wherever—anywhere. I don't care, I jus' need to know." 

(Y/N) sucked in a shaky breath. She'd never felt so lost before. 

How was she supposed to wrap up years worth of ominous letters and unwanted photographs? How was she supposed to put it all in a story that didn't require them sitting here for hours and for (Y/N) to dissolve into tears more than a handful of times? 

"Is this the first one you've gotten?" Harry pressed, taking her silence for the need of guidance. 

"No." 

A heavy sigh lifted his shoulders. He finally craned his neck back to the living room with her, though he picked only a spot in the room to focus on. He didn't dare catch her eye, yet.

"When did they start?" 

Prattling around the timeline, (Y/N) tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. "A couple of years ago, I think?" 

Though his features stayed completely stoic, she knew there was something in her answer that had his shoulders tensing and nose flaring. 

"This person has been taking photos of you and sending them for two years?" 

"Kind of," (Y/N) reasoned, deigning herself to sink into one of the arm chairs beside the couch, her back stiff despite the inviting cushions, "I think sometimes they take pictures they find online since a lot of them match up, but sometimes it's like this one. I used to think they were selling stories and pictures to publications and posting them, but some of the stuff they sent started getting really weird a year ago." She took in a breath, thinking about the one piece of information that she hadn't the courage to read since the first time. "They send letters, too. About me." 

"Do you have them? The letters." 

"Only the couple that have been sent here." 

Harry's voice was low, seething, as he spoke, "Let me see them." 

Hesitating where she sat, (Y/N) stayed stiff in her position. She didn't want to grab the letters, honestly. She didn't want anyone to see them if she didn't even have the courage to fold them open. 

A niggling thought in the back of her head had her staying put: What if she was overreacting? What if Harry read these letters and saw what her father saw? That she was nothing but a paranoid, ungrateful girl. She wasn't sure if she could survive something like that. 

"(Y/N)," Harry started, his voice bringing her back to the surface of her swimming thoughts, "I'm asking as someone who's supposed to keep you safe. Please let me see these things." 

Her voice was quiet as she agreed with an okay. Her footsteps were the only thing that could be heard as she padded over the floor, going to her bedroom with the burning drawer being her destination. Rifling through the pile of palettes and trio envelopes hiding underneath. She collected them as if they were burning, her fingers gingerly grasping them. 

She blindly handed over the envelopes, sinking back into her seat as she felt her heart in her throat. As much as she didn't want to watch, she couldn't tear her eyes off of Harry as he paged through the photos. She barely registered the slideshow of photos as he leafed through them, already having seen the blurry shots and odd angles, the lengths this person went to just to capture a sliver of her body. 

"Have you read the letters before?" Harry asked, his voice low and calculating. 

"I did once," she explained, "But, after that, I never did again." 

Harry didn't waste a moment before he pulled out the letters, the blurry photographs now nothing more than a kaleidoscope of her face across the coffee table. She made a point to shift her eyes to him then, unwilling to really see the breadth of this person's admiration for her. 

(Y/N) looked on as he reached for the most recent letter first, his gaze quickly scanning over the page before he forced himself to grab for this next. The whole time, she watched as Harry reacted to whatever was typed on the page, the way his muscles bunched and his features flattened into something severe and angular. The way he pinched the paper became more aggressive, something tight flexing into his fingers. 

She chewed on her bottom lip, her curiosity peaking. "Wh-What do they say?"

It took a moment before he tore his glazed eyes from the page, flicking to meet hers through the fan of his lashes. "Do you really want to know?" 

Weighing her options, (Y/N) wasn't sure, really. "Maybe?" 

Harry shook his head, folding up the page before dropping it atop the others. "They... pay attention to you a lot. There's a version of you they like, and really care about. It's all they talk about." 

"What do you mean?" She worried her fingers in her lap, the edges of her acrylics being worn dull. 

Swallowing, Harry tried to keep a straight face as he looked over the evidence sitting in front of him.

"They really like you, and have decided they know who you are because of that," he tipped his head, taking in a sigh with his hands clenching and unclenching. "They're... This person isn’t right, (Y/N)." 

Her heart sunk at his words. The rising sun outside lighting the city while she felt the darkest she had in a long time. 

"It's that bad?" 

He didn't offer an answer, the pages in front of him now feeling like poison permeating through the room. 

The silence that sat between them felt like a third roommate, heavy and unforgiving. 

"Harry?" (Y/N) murmured, quiet compared to the silence, "What do we do?" 

A heavy hand was passed through Harry's curls, nails catching his scalp with his fingers messing the swirls. "I don't—," he breathed, shaking his head, "Fuck—I don't know." 

(Y/N) finally saw something cracking in him—that stoic facade that veiled whatever was bubbling on the inside beginning to slip. The uncomfortable feeling of having no definite way to get out of this situation rained down on him. She saw the way he peered out the windows of the apartment as if he would catch someone right then. She wouldn't put it past him to scour the whole place, hoping to ferret out anyone who could have slipped under their noses for so long. 

"Fuck," Harry murmured under his breath, the curse heavy on his tongue. His knee began to bounce where he sat. 

Swallowing around her dry throat, she didn't know what to say, what to tell him. While there was a part of her that felt vindicated knowing that he wouldn't react like this over nothing. This threat was real and not just something she made up in her head and used as a reason to be dramatic. 

The other part of her felt guilt over keeping this secret from him. He wouldn't have been blindsided if she had just followed her gut and told him from day one everything that was going on behind closed doors. Maybe he wouldn't have taken the job then (the idea stabbed at the soft parts of (Y/N)'s heart), but he wouldn't have been struggling as he was now. 

"Harry, I—I didn't mean to, I'm sorry," she tried, unsure of what she was saying or feeling but wanting to give him something. 

He waved her off, shaking his head with his unfocused gaze on the floor. "Why didn’t your dad want me to know?" 

"He said it was a waste of your time to worry about it," she explained, feeling embarrassed despite the fact she had nothing to do with her father's decisions, "W-When I told him about it, he said I needed to be grateful, that I needed to be happy that someone admired me enough to follow me and everything. He told me I needed fans like that since I wasn't very popular anyway." 

(Y/N) couldn't look away as Harry curled in on himself the longer she spoke. The knuckles of his clenched hands were a burning white, his shoulders heavy and broad. 

"I fucking hate your dad," he mumbled after a beat, his voice a seething breath, "So much." 

She looked at him with wide eyes for a moment. Then, she couldn't help the huff of laughter that pushed between her lips. 

She'd never heard anyone say that before—at least anyone that wasn't herself. It was relieving in a delirious kind of way. 

Because she fucking hated him, too. 

Harry looked up at her, something quizzical in his gaze. 

"Sorry, sorry," she got out in-between giggles, "I've just never heard anyone say that before about him—usually I'm the only one that sees him this way. It's—I don't know why I'm laughing, but." 

There was no room to continue with the way laughter began to pour out of her, eyes tearing at the feeling in her chest. The feeling that there was more than just herself on her side. 

A lopsided smile worked its way onto his lips as he watched her. "I've seen enough to know I hate him, don't worry." He shook his head, dimples thumbed into his cheeks. "I only keep this job for you." 

Despite the delirium fueled amusement coating the room, (Y/N) almost melted at the genuine way he spoke to her—spoke about her. He meant what he was telling her, without a doubt. 

"I really didn't mean to keep this from you," she told him once she settled down, a deep breathing inflating her lungs, "Before everything, I thought you were on his side, so I didn't want to waste our time. I don't think my father even wanted you to really be my security guard at first, so." 

"That's why y'said what y'said the first time I went to your place," Harry pieced together, gaze warm on her skin. When she only nodded her head, his gaze dropped down the column of her throat. "At first, I can't lie, I believed the things he told me and what I'd read about you," he acted ashamed to admit as much, "But, that was because I didn't know you. It didn't take very long to realize that you are very different from what everyone said.

"I hope you know that. If more people took the time to know you and used more than a fraction of their brain" he continued, conviction running under his words, "no one would believe those stories. The people who do know you, know that you're worth more than any of it." 

Maybe now wasn't the time, with a coffee table full of deranged letters and creepy photos of herself, but (Y/N) couldn't help the flutter of her heart in her chest. Harry, even if he was giving her a hard truth, was never anything less than genuine. He believed every word he was saying to her, and that made her want to believe it, too.

"Thank you," she smiled at him, the curl of her lips small and shy. 

Harry allowed his gaze to linger on her for a few moments more before he must have remembered the gravity of the situation as she did. He forced his eyes to land back on the matter at hand: the letters and photos dedicated to her. 

"'M going to take care of this, okay?" he murmured, all amusement draining from his tone, "'M going to do everything I can to figure this out and make this person stop, (Y/N). 'M going to keep y'safe." 

"I know you will," she answered in a heartbeat. There was no question in her mind about his ambition. 

(Y/N) allowed her gaze to wash over him as he focused on the photographs. She doubted Harry knew, but he was becoming her safe place. She trusted him more than she trusted almost anyone—more than Francesca even. A pressure in her chest developed the longer she sat with the realization. 

"Harry?" 

"Hm?" 

Suddenly her posture was stiff once more, bottom lip chewed swollen between her teeth. "Could—Or, I guess, would you mind—Can I hug you?" 

The mossy green of Harry's eyes, flecks of sunflower yellow, blinked up at her. She saw every minute expression on his features before they softened and curved into a gentle smile. 

"C'mere," he told her, leaning back against the cushion with his arms open. 

It was on instinct the way she moved, bundling herself into his arms with her legs curled up underneath herself. She was a ball against Harry's chest, his arms a forgiving loop around her body. His palms spanned the planes of her back, one between her shoulder blade and the other lower as he warmed her skin through the sleep shirt she was still wearing. With her head tucked into his neck, she felt him relax around her with his nose grazing the top of her head. 

She felt safe in his arms—forgiven, and trusted. He believed her more than anyone she'd ever known before. 

"I've got you, okay?" 

(Y/N) squeezed herself tighter to him.

—————

Taking her hand out of the UV lamp, (Y/N) settled a gentle palm on Harry's arm. 

"It's okay, H," she murmured, "You can relax." 

He was startled at her touch, his mechanical scanning of the nail parlour ceasing for a moment. 

"Sorry?" he muttered in response.

He'd been like this every time they stepped out of the house since he was clued in on the letters and photos. At the farmer's market, he was suddenly suspicious of anyone who dared to bump into her, any vendor who haggled with her for a moment too long, anyone who so much as looked at her with interest in their gaze. He had mistaken small black bags for high quality cameras, his eye constantly peering out for a lens pointed in her direction. Her pilates class was just a level below that intensity given that she wouldn't allow him to follow her into the studio, forcing him to wait outside with bated breath for her return. 

(When she had joked that she would keep an eye out for someone with a movie camera and a shirt with a photo on her face, he hadn't exactly laughed, but she thought it was funny).

It seemed the nail parlour was no different. The familiar techs and other staff who had begun greeting her after her second regular visit were now suspects in Harry's mind. No one was to grow too close to her, only her given tech when it was time for her appointment. Everyone else had to pass the wall that was her bodyguard before they had any hopes of even breathing in her direction.

"I was just saying that I'm okay, you can relax," she reiterated, squeezing his arm with her fresh set of nails glimmering in the light. 

"I know," he deadpanned, going back to surveilling the scene, "'M jus' doing my job." 

She tried to be gentle as she spoke to him, remembering the way she felt the first time she saw those envelopes of her photos. She had grown paranoid as well, double checking every street, every blurry face, every lingering interaction. She was nowhere near as comfortable with the information as she was now, and that paranoia was where Harry was currently living. 

"If you hadn't noticed them before," she reasoned, voice forgiving as her nail tech made the final touches on the set of cherries painted on her fingertip, "I don't think that's going to change now, and that's okay." 

Harry shook his head, a stray curl grazing his forehead. "I wasn't looking before. I am now." His words were definitive, the same way he spoke to her at her apartment with the photos strewn across the coffee table. "'M not going to let this keep happening, (Y/N)." 

(Y/N) didn't know what to say. 

It was still an odd feeling to have someone worry over her—someone who cared to the degree Harry was declaring. She didn't know what to do, how to act, under these conditions. It had always been her and her alone that carried these kinds of burdens. 

Reaching under the table, Harry settled his hand on her knee, the warm skin of his palm felt through the rips in her jeans. He gave a squeeze. "Let me take care of this. I've got it." 

Her nail tech tapped her hand too soon to inspect the paint before going under the light, forcing her gaze to stray from Harry's and the way his eyes glimmered over her features. Just before she looked away, she swore she saw his pupils dilate, honing in on the shape of her lips. 

—————

It took close to two weeks for the photos of her on her date with Elliot to surface, the angles and shots already familiar to her eyes. They were exact matches to that of the ones that were now carefully stowed in Harry's room. 

(Y/N) didn't exactly care about this specific leak, having expected it two weeks prior, anyway. Her father had to have known about all of the details of the ditch anyway, and if he hadn't said something already, he wasn't going to. She had nothing to worry about when it came to this story making its way to the press. 

Except for the string of international paparazzi that now seemed to make it their mission to follow her everywhere she went. 

She couldn't blame them, really. There was nothing that made ad revenue or sold magazines more than a tumultuous love life, so the hope of catching her on a date—a high profile one at that—was too enticing for many photographers to let go of. Whatever paid the bills, she guessed. 

That was why she wasn't particularly surprised to look over her shoulder and see a string of loitering paparazzi waiting outside the restaurant she had Harry had escaped to for dinner. She even recognized one from back home. 

She didn't try to cover her tracks too often while in Paris, just for the fact she was more unknown here than in New York, but that didn't always mean she went unnoticed. The idea of working through the small string brought her back to her drunken stumbling from the club. She hoped it wouldn't be anything like that. 

(Y/N) hadn't realized how long she'd been distracted by the peering cameras until she felt Harry's hand land on her own. Whipping her head around she found he had abandoned his crostini topped with melty brie to focus his attention on her. His eye contact was unwavering. 

"'S gonna okay, alright?" he soothed her, "'S only a few. Nothing we can't handle." 

"I know," she answered, curling her hand under his, "I just... Now that I've actually looked at some of the pictures being sent to me, I don't like seeing so many cameras on me like this. I don't like that they're taking pictures of you, either." 

Harry sat patiently listening to her, only pulling his hand away from hers to prop his chin up on a white-knuckled fist. Something always ignited in him when she mentioned the gifts from her admirer. His gaze skittered outside the eatery, silently taking in the faces of those smoking and loitering on the sidewalk. 

"You think it could be any of them?" 

The thought hadn't really crossed her mind. She figured it would be a good disguise, to blend in with people who would of course be carrying around cameras and would be looking for her on nights like these, but that didn't explain why she'd never seen a paparazzo-esque person trailing her when no one else was. 

"I don't know," she answered honestly, a small shrug lifting her shoulders, "The picture quality is always pretty good, so I guess it could be someone like that, but I guess I always kind of figured it's easier to follow me unnoticed if they were using their phone camera." 

Humming his acknowledgment, Harry didn't pull his eyes from her awaiting fans. While she didn't know everything about what his expressions meant or what was going on in his head, she recognized this moment. The gears were turning the longer he stayed quiet, a plan being laced together. 

"Do y'want to see if we can go out the back?" 

Considering the option for a moment, she ultimately turned it down with a shake of her head. "We'd still have to pop through the front to get to the car, anyway." 

"I can go alone and bring the car around for you?" Harry offered, trying to meander a way around the inevitable. 

"They know your face now, you know," she looked at him sullenly across the table. That was something she felt the most guilty over, taking away his privacy and splashing his face across the internet and whatever magazines chose to print him. While he wasn't always the target of the shots, he was a person of interest now. 

A beat passed, Harry returning his eyes to her with something softening behind the moss. "You really want to go through them?" 

"I don't think we have much of a choice," she laughed, the sound lacking humor. 

Harry looked at her with his features melting and curving into something soft—understanding. "We'll make it out jus' fine, alright?" 

The smile that tugged the corners of her lips was genuine. She didn't doubt him for a heartbeat. "I know." 

—————

After settling the tab with discarded plates full of the crumbs of brie-heavy crostinis, their dinner of appetizers being left behind, (Y/N) braced herself for the trek outside. 

"Ready?" Harry asked, looking to her intently as she cinched her jacket around her waist. 

"I think so," she nodded. It was now or never, no point in hiding out and sipping wine until they became bored around midnight. 

"I'll be with you," he murmured, just as he attached himself to her side, the waitstaff eyeing them. 

(Y/N) offered a quiet smile of thanks, feeling a bit exposed knowing they were watching so intently. She couldn't blame them—they had garnered quite a bit of attention tonight, it was practically a given.

Approaching the door together, she didn't think twice before she fisted her hand in Harry's coat, ensuring he stayed close to her as she dropped her chin to face the ground. Harry took that as his cue to wrap an arm around her waist, protectively leashing her to him. 

Pushing open the door with a stiff hand, Harry led them to the handful of waiting photographers. It was when she saw the pulsing lights bleaching the corners of her vision did she begin to regret her choice of putting her head down. This position could easily be spun into one of annoyance, and rudeness. That she thought she was too good to even look at these people. 

"(Y/N), (Y/N)!" a pair of the photographers began to shout as they followed she and Harry toward their car. 

(Y/N) kept her head down, ignoring the calls to her attention. She didn't need to give them anything, all she needed to do was follow Harry's guiding steps to get her out as safely as possible. 

"Okay?" Harry murmured, bending down to press his lips to her ear, drowning out the noise of her name and shuttering of cameras. The flashes went on faster at his intimate touch though he didn't let it stop him from soothing. 

Nodding her head, she could feel a small smile touch Harry's lips against her skin. 

"Almost there," he informed in a gentle tone, "Jus' gotta go slow so they don't try to chase us or get too close." 

"Thank you," she mumbled, fist in his coat unfurling until she pressed her palm against the line of his waist. 

"I've got you," was his simple answer back. 

She didn't have a moment to find comfort in Harry's words before an accented voice was shouting once more, unsatisfied with her ignorance. 

"(Y/N), are you a cheater?! Does your boyfriend know you went on a date with that old man?!" the photographer provoked, spewing out any word he could think of that might draw a reaction from her. 

(Truly, the one reaction he may garner is one of (Y/N) bursting into laughter after the declaration of Elliot being that old man. She couldn't have said it better herself).

While she detested the running rumor of the summer that she was a cheating, wicked woman, she wasn't going to let it get under her skin. She'd proven time and time again that Harry was her security official and nothing more, and there was no way this person would accept another dismissal of the theory. It was better to keep quiet and allow them to print about her deafening silence over the accusations. 

"(Y/N), we want to know the truth! Did you have another affair?!" The photographer pushed after only silence was offered, his camera now being shoved into her space as he gravitated a little too close. 

The rest of the string—including the familiar New York paparazzo—had seemingly taken a step back, photographing the new show that was emerging with their aggressive colleague. 

Harry pressed forward, quickening their pace in hopes of breaking away from them faster. He was stopped only when the man jostled (Y/N) at his side, his camera being shoved under her face as if he could catch a shot despite her evasiveness. That had her stumbling backwards, Harry steadying her as best he could before he was stepping up. 

"Give her some space, man. Back up," he sternly commanded, his arm a tightrope around her waist. Flashbulbs were going crazy over the interaction, catching (Y/N)'s blunder and the standoff that was appearing between the two men. 

Seemingly disregarding Harry's warning, the paparazzo tried again, sidestepping the wall that was Harry's blocking form. Maybe, he didn't understand, (Y/N) reasoned. English wasn't always the easiest language to understand even if you could speak it, especially given Harry's accent. 

"S'il vous plaît, laissez-moi un peu d'espace," she piped up, hoping the translation would blot out the grey area. Sometimes these people needed to be told before they remembered basic personal space standards and manners. 

This time, when he pushed through, once again asking (Y/N) if it was true that she's slept with all of her father's friends, that it was clear there was no language barrier pushing him to be disrespectful.

They were this close to the car, just steps away from allowing (Y/N) into safety and speeding away. Of course it could never be that easy.

Harry let go of her only for him to step in front of her completely, blocking the photographer from achieving any kind of shot. 

"Step back," he ordered, his voice a deep grumble as he enunciated every syllable, "Give her some space." 

The way the paparazzo reacted seemed less about getting pictures of (Y/N) and more about standing up to Harry. He scrambled around, reaching his camera over the breadth of Harry's shoulders as if to prove he could get what he wanted despite any kind of intervention. 

Inching slowly towards their car, Harry did his best to pave the way for (Y/N) to follow and slip away. Nothing seemed to deter the other man, however. 

"Step back," Harry ordered again, placing the palm of his hand flat against the other man's chest. 

While it wasn't necessarily a push, the force Harry gave behind his palm was enough to get the other man stumbling back. French profanities left the paparazzo's mouth as he tripped over his own feet.

This was Harry's opportunity as he reached around and grabbed (Y/N). She was quickly steered towards the unlocked car, Harry pushing her inside the second the door was opened wide enough to head in. 

Everything moved quickly then, the other paparazzi seemingly focusing on Harry and the way he conducted himself against the other man. He rounded the front of the vehicle and threw himself inside, the flash of cameras and a distant angry voice following his moves. 

Harry didn't waste a second before he peeled away from the curb, setting them away from the chaos. (Y/N) barely had the capacity to buckle herself in with shaky hands. 

That was worse than she expected, honestly. Never had the Parisian photographers been so blatantly disrespectful, shoving cameras in her face and asking ridiculous questions. 

This was the most physical Harry's ever been forced to be in front of her, most people heeding his size and station in favor of actually challenging him. 

"Are you okay?" she asked, the world whizzing past them with Harry's foot pressed deeply against the gas pedal. 

His knuckles were white around the steering wheel. 

"He wasn't listening." 

(Y/N) swallowed, spying the cutting angle of his jaw and the blaze in his dark eyes. Maybe she should have taken him up on his offer of bringing the car around for her. She could have avoided this whole thing if she wasn't so stubborn. 

"I wasn't sure if he could understand you at first," she shakily recounted, "but I told him to back off in French, too. I don't know why he didn't listen. He didn't hurt you or anything, right?" 

"'M alright," he answered, shaking his head with his lips rolling between his teeth, "I jus'... I don't like how people talk to you, (Y/N)." 

He flexed his hands around the wheel, the leather squeezing under his grip. She didn't know how to soothe him, what advice she could give. "You just can't listen," she told him, sharing the only thing she'd learned on her own through the years. 

A beat passed, nothing more than the feel of the tires grazing over the asphalt sounding through the cab. Harry twisted and turned, moving like an expert through the streets.

"I don't know how you do it," he told her, voice quiet and losing that edge he'd had gained outside the restaurant, "'S like there's a new lie every day—it makes me so angry. These people don't even know you and all they do is call y'names and think the worst of y'every chance they have. Why don't y'say anything?" 

It wasn't accusatory the way he asked her, even if he was frustrated. He was just one of those people who couldn't imagine what it was like to allow abuse from others without biting back. She wished she could be like that. 

"I guess I'm used to it," (Y/N) shrugged, feeling the backs of her eyes beginning to burn, "People have been taking pictures of me and saying things since I was in high school, so I don't think it bothers me like it's supposed to. I've learned it's a lot easier to let people think what they want because no matter what kind of apology or correction I make, it's never going to be seen or believed as much as whatever was said about me in the first place. I just have to be okay with it, and let what people say go." 

By the time she finished, she felt those tears well up in her eyes, stinging and hot. Every blink she gave trying to hold them back only jostled the pool, blurring her vision. 

"I don't like that you're used to this, (Y/N)," Harry answered, his voice feeling a level of mourning she understood. 

A joyless smile molded her lips into something uneven. She shrugged. "Me neither, but what can you do, right?" 

Tonight would spur something new in the media, photos no doubt being caught of Harry's altercation with the paparazzo and (Y/N) fully expected someone to have been able to secure a photo of her with these tears in her eyes. She could already imagine the kinds of narratives that would be built around these moments, the kind of things people would believe about them both now. 

But, what could she do, right? 

Silently, Harry unhooked a hand from around the steering wheel and gently laid his palm on her knee. The split in her long skirt allowed his skin to press against her own, fingers curling around the cuff of her knee in a comforting squeeze. He didn't have to say anything to let her know that he was there, he was here for her and he trusted and believed her more than anyone she'd ever met before. 

He didn't have to say it for (Y/N) to know that he really did care for her, even outside of what his job called for. 

Wiggling her fingers under his palm, (Y/N) hugged her hand to his. Her fingers filled in the gaps between his own, painted fingernails glinting in the city lights. 

Harry held her hand the whole drive home.

—————

As expected, two days after the altercation in front of the restaurant, a fat envelope full of photos and a letter she wouldn't read, arrived at the Paris penthouse. 

The media had already spread their own photos about, including shots of her tearing up on the car ride home, leaving her curious as to what the admirer was going to show her that she hadn't already seen. 

It was an odd feeling to not immediately go and ferret away the letter, to hide any evidence of the fact that his life wasn't completely normal. 

But, Harry needed to see this. If he was so willing to give her such trust and believe her without question, she was going to have to give him something back. 

"Is that another letter?" Harry asked from where he had emerged from his bedroom, the entrance to the hallway now full of his broad shoulders and scowling face. 

"Yeah," (Y/N) sighed, chest heavy. 

Moving towards her, Harry asked her carefully, "Can I see it?" 

She wordlessly handed it over. She didn't want to see the content anyway, especially seeing as the other was beginning to turn on Harry. She didn't want to see what kind of marking they left on the photos of him. 

It was a quiet ordeal, watching Harry pluck apart the envelope and peer inside. He scanned the photographs, seemingly the most upset when he reached shots of her crying in the car beside him. It was when he reached the letter that something shifted in his demeanor. 

He was always calm and collected, calculating each step and each reaction. But, she saw cracks then as he read the contents of the folded page. His cheeks were red, bottom lip cuffed between his teeth with nose flaring. He looked moments away from shredding the page apart himself. 

She was sure he would have if he hadn't instead indelicately folded it before slamming it on the kitchen counter. 

"We're not doing this anymore," he cemented, voice sharp and unforgiving, "You are not doing this anymore—putting up with this shit anymore." 

Leaning over the pile in front of him, he dropped his head into his hands, his fingers creating angry trails in his hair. 

"Harry," she started, her voice cushioning the sharp blow of his own tone, "I know it's hard, but I don't know if there's anything we can do about this. We don't know anything about who's doing this." 

"I don't know what to do," he grumbled, his hands tightening against his scalp, "But, I'm not letting this person take advantage of you and say these awful things about you any more. 'S not okay." 

She didn't know how to tell him that there wasn't anything that could be done to help her, honestly. That there was no way she could conceivably stop this person until they messed up and gave her some kind of information to get a restraining order filed. Until then, there wasn't anything that could stop them. 

"I know it's a lot," she tried, downplaying the same thing that used to give her nightmares when it first began, "But nothing really serious has happened, yet, at least. It's just another person taking photos of me, really." 

 "I don't like it!" Harry suddenly burst, whipping his head up to match her eyes with his own fiery gaze, "You shouldn't have to go through this! I don't understand why everyone thinks it's okay to degrade you, and mock you, and invade your privacy all because your shitty dad lets them! I don't fucking like it, (Y/N)!" 

In a final standoff with the rage bubbling inside, Harry swept his hand heavily over the counter, collecting every piece of evidence and splaying it across the floor. She was sure he wanted to do more, do anything to let off the steam billowing inside him, but there wasn't anything he could do without leaving damage on their home. 

Everything stilled then, the mess on the floor and Harry's breathing heavy in his chest. (Y/N) stood in the stark calm of the kitchen, watching with wide eyes and her hands a fumbling nest. She watched as he looked down at the mess of photographs and the despicable letter that set him off. 

"I don't know how to fix it." His voice was gentle like a whisper, matching the breeze that filtered through the city outside the window. 

Carefully creeping over the floor, bare feet padding over the tiled kitchen, she met Harry around the cooked counter. He didn't look up at her, even when she collected him into her arms and nestled him into a hug. 

"You don't have to fix it, H," she told him, mumbling against his skin as he slowly unfroze around her, "I don't know if this is something that can be fixed. It's just a part of my life at this point, and I don't want you to be upset over it." 

"I want you to be safe," he told her, voice thin when he succumbed to her hold and buried his nose into her hair and wrapped his arms around her just as fiercely. 

She could feel the hard planes of his chest pressed against her own soft curves, Harry fitting himself around her. Every breath he took was matched by her, his nose skimming the top of her head in a soothing pattern as if the motion were for himself only. He was furled like a tight rose, keeping a bumblebee safe from whatever was lurking outside the petals. 

"With you, I am." 

That had Harry pulling away from her then, his eyes matching hers with dilated pulls and a slack jaw. 

"You feel safe with me?" he asked, keeping his hold on her tight so as to not let her stray too far away. 

"Of course, I do," she smiled at him, her hands pressing into his back, "You're the only person that's ever actually been there for me. Like, you actually care." 

While her tone was lighthearted, encouraging, Harry was erring on the serious side. He didn't match her smile, his features left in softened curves and slacked muscles.

Every detail, every expression, every fine point of her was catalogued with his eyes. (Y/N) wasn't even sure if he was really breathing as he did this, the world having stood still the longer he gazed at her. 

When he finally met her eyes once more, the slightly pinch marred his brow, his eyes down turning into something gentle. 

"I do care about you." He swallowed, raspberry lips wet by his tongue. "I don't know when, but I don't think anything I've been doing has been because of my job for a while now." 

Heart hammering in her chest, she felt breathless looking up at him. She still saw that same beauty she spotted in her father's office all that time ago; the mole by his mouth, the sandy stubble on his cheeks, the spotting of freckles on his nose, the cut set of his jaw, the whirlwind of green in his eyes. There was something softer lingering now, something she never could have imagined landing on the face of her security guard. 

She found similarities in this moment to the way he had gazed so wondrously at the Eiffel Tower glimmering at night. He looked at her like she was one of the greatest creations in the world, deserving of romance and praise and commemoration.

"Really?" she breathed.

The way he nodded at her started out small, his gaze dipping to her lips before something frantic kicked in. "Really," he asserted, his hand on her back traveling up her spine and over the base of her neck, "Can I—Can I kiss you?" 

(Y/N)'s answer came in the form of her nose bumping his, mouth placed just off center, hands clutching at the soft fabric of his top. Harry seemed taken aback for a moment, stunned into stillness before he came to life under her kiss. 

The hand that had been traced up her back to the base of her neck turned into a steadying hold, allowing him to support her as he towered above. She tipped her head back as he slotted his lips between her own, kissing her top lip delicately despite the ravenous way he held her. The soft sound of sighs, lips parting and meeting again, filled the room. The very tip of Harry's nose grazed the apple of her cheek as he tipped his head, deepening their kiss with a taste of his tongue over hers. If not for the fact her eyes were already closed, she could imagine the kind of blissed expression she would show off for him. 

Pressing her back towards the kitchen counter, (Y/N) followed Harry's guidance, never pulling her lips away from his own. It wasn't rough the way he grabbed her, placing her on the ledge, only eager excitement flooding his movement. (Y/N) understood completely, immediately reaching for him once more after she was steadied and safe on the counter. 

Her thighs parted to let him stand between, his hands pressing against the round of her hips as he took advantage of his spot. It was (Y/N)'s turn then to clasp her hands around the back of his neck, feeling the baby hairs and heat of his skin. She sighed into his kiss.

She hadn't kissed anyone sober in so long, let alone someone she deeply cared about and who she knew cared about her as well. This put everything she'd experienced to shame. 

Harry put everyone else to shame. 

Happiness flooded her system. 

(Y/N) smiled against his lips, her hands going rogue in his hair as she slipped her fingers between the curls. Harry matched her with a clinging hold on her hips, a grin blooming on his features. He pulled away only when their mouths couldn't actually press together through the breadth of their smiles. 

"Happy?" he asked her, grinning lips just a breath away from her own with his nose nudging delicate against hers.

"Uh-huh," she sighed, chancing her eyes open just a sliver, just enough to see what he looked like when he'd just been kissed by her. Her hands in his hair roamed until they settled a warm hug around his neck. "You make me so happy." 

Harry drew away from her before she was enveloped in his hug once more. His face was in her neck, his arms a cushioned cage around her middle. She swore she could feel his heart beating in time with her own, both racing. 

The kind of silence that only fit when you'd just been kissed in the middle of Paris descended over the flat. This silence full of mushy feelings, lip prints, and synced breathing. 

"Even if I can't fix everything, 'm going to take care of you." His words melted across the column of her neck, the brush of his lips feeling more intimate than when he had helped her undress after the Gala. "I want to make you happy, sweet girl." 

Her eyes fluttered closed as he tucked her chin against her shoulder, cheeks stretched wide from her grin. "I know you will." 

Harry hugged her tighter. 

—————

retrouvailles is an untranslatable French word that describes the feeling of re-meeting someone, the joy of seeing someone you missed even if you didn't know you missed them before

eeeeek!!!!! thank you all so much for reading this part was def fun! sorry for any mistakes and please let me know if you have anything fun to share about the story!

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

[leclerc-hs]

arranged marriage!Charles sneak peek!

😏

“Je vais me répéter une fois de plus,” I will repeat myself once more. You declared, your tone carrying a hint of assertiveness. Tracing the edge of the desk with a meticulously manicured nail, you maintained your composure, refusing to yield under his scrutinizing stare. “You need to be more careful in public.”

Your cheeks flushed red with frustration, a stark contrast against the determined set of your jaw. Despite the tension, Charles couldn’t help but be captivated by just how stunning you appeared in that moment. He couldn’t tell if he hated you or just wanted to fuck you.

He scoffed before reclining back in his chair, the top buttons of his shirt carelessly undone. His tousled hair appeared as if he had run his hands through it a dozen times—or perhaps someone else had.

He watched as your eyes traced along his disheveled hair and the partially undone buttons of his shirt, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Jealous, mon ange?” He teased; voice laced with amusement. Now it was your turn to scoff.

Mon ange. Him and that stupid nickname.

“Jamais.” Never. You replied firmly, your tone leaving no room for doubt as you turned around. With a subtle sway of your dress, it raised slightly, offering him a glimpse of the lace set beneath it. Without another word, you walked out of the room, leaving him to ponder just how badly he wanted to remove that dress from your body.

He always resented how you seemed impervious to his charms. No matter his efforts, you remained aloof, seemingly untouched by his presence. It bothered him to no end. To him, you were an epitome of perfection, a constant reminder of his own shortcomings.

thoughts? comments? concerns?

PLEASE MESSAGE ME ANY IDEAS YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEE HAPPEN IN THIS AU!!!! XOXO

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagines #f1 imagine #charles leclerc

[syddsatyrn]

Je t'aime Violet

By Sydd Satyrn Masterlist

Chapter 1 ⛧ Chapter 2 ⛧ Chapter 3

⛧Pairing: - Alastor x OC!Reader Violet

⛧Fic playlist: Click here!

⛧Warnings: Drinking, smoking, swearing, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, adult themes, 18+ not for minors

⛧Summary: Hello ladies, gentleman and nonbinary friends! I present to you, my series Je t'aime Violet. This story is staring my OC, Violet! She is a deer demon containing a lot of personality. With a gifted voice and a bit of jazz, she's got style and class on lock. After 7 years, Violet and Alastor's feelings towards each other never dissolved. Violet reconnects with the man who left with her heart, will she forgive him? Does Alastor have the ability to set his pride aside for love?

⛧Notes: @hellfiremunsonn is my beta reader, go check out her writing! Its fantastic!

⛧Taglist: @ok-boke @myeternalsin @squiword7 @hxzbinwrites

⛧Chapter 2: Sauntè The sunrise paints your hotel room in orange and yellow hues. You stir in bed and slowly open your eyes. It takes you a moment to remember that you are in a hotel room. You sit up and rub your sleepy eyes. As the haze of sleep fades, your mind starts to process the events of the previous night. The mysterious shadow lurking in your room sends a chill down your spine once again. Was it just a figment of your imagination, or was there truly someone watching you as you slept? Shaking off the unsettling feeling, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand up.

With a deep breath you decide to take a quick shower and change into something a bit nicer. You chose an A-line, knee length black dress with a simple corset. After brushing out your long black hair, you put on a pair of kitten heels and do a simple makeup look. Feeling satisfied, you think you're ready to head down to the lobby in search of some coffee. ---------------

Alastor was up all night in shock, when he felt your presence nearby he thought he was going crazy, last night he sent his shadows off to find you and you just so happen to be two doors down from his room. He couldn't believe it. After all these years, here you were, in the same hotel, under the same roof as him. A mix of emotions flooded through him - excitement, curiosity, and a hint of something darker that he couldn't quite place. He remembers the last time you both saw each other, that night still haunts him.

His hands clenched into fists as memories of the past flooded his mind. He knew he had to see you, to talk to you, but he also feared your reaction. Would you welcome him or push him away?

With a deep breath, Alastor stepped out of his room and made his way down the hallway towards your door. The dimly lit corridor seemed longer than usual, each step echoing in the silence of the night. When he finally reached your door, he hesitated for a moment before raising his hand to knock.

Before his knuckles could make contact with the wood, the door swung open, revealing you standing there in the doorway, a mixture of surprise and confusion written on your face. Alastor's heart skipped a beat at the sight of you, the same familiar features he remembered so well.

"Alastor," you breathed out, disbelief coloring your voice.

"Violet," he replied, his voice low and laced with static. For a moment, he simply stood there, gazes locked in a silent exchange that spoke volumes. The way he said her name made your ears perk up and your tail flicked. Finally, Alastor cleared his throat, breaking the tension heavy in the air. "May I come in?" he asked, his tone almost wavering. Violet hesitated for a moment, her mind racing with memories and questions. Despite the flood of emotions coursing through her, she stepped back, allowing The Radio Demon to enter the room. He moved past her gracefully, his presence commanding yet tinged with an underlying taste of vulnerability that tugged at Violet's heartstrings. As he turned to face her, she noticed a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a stark contrast to his usual confidence. "I never thought I'd see you again," she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Alastor's expression softened at her words, he briefly let his guard down as he observed your appearance.

"Nor I, you," he replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of regret and longing. You stood there, facing each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between you both. Alastor can see the pain in your eyes, the hurt and confusion that mirrored his own. As the tears rolled down your cheeks, without a word, he closed the distance between you and him, pulling you into a tight embrace. The initial shock melted away, replaced by a flood of emotions as you wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him as if afraid he might disappear again. Alastor's grip tightened slightly, a silent promise to never let go again. "I'm sorry, Violet," he murmured against your hair, the words heavy with regret. "I should have never left you."

Alastor breathes you in, a familiar smell that has haunted him for years. He holds the back of your head as you let out muffled sobs into his chest. For so long, he had tried to bury the memories of that night, but now they flooded back with a vengeance. As you slowly calmed down in his embrace, Alastor pulled back slightly to look into your eyes. The raw emotion reflected in them made his chest tighten with guilt. "I never stopped thinking about you, my dear," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never stopped thinking about you.” You return, feeling like you might just cry again. You searched his face for any sign of deception, but all you found was love in his gaze. Alastor gently brushed a stray tear from your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "I know I have no right to ask for forgiveness after what I put you through," he began, his voice laced with sincerity, "but I want you to know that I never wanted to leave you. It was the hardest decision I ever made, but it was the only way to protect you from something bigger." The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, you felt a mix of emotions floating inside you - pain, longing, but above all, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time. “Well…you know I can't stay mad at you for very long.” You finally say, breaking the silence and trying to lighten the mood. Alastor’s eyes lit up, relieved by your words. He continues to hold you close like you are the most precious thing in the world. The tension that had lingered between you dissipated, replaced by a sense of familiarity and comfort. His face is pretty red and he looks away. “I never wanted to leave you…” “Alastor, I’ve come to accept that you did it for my benefit, although I may not understand it, I don’t think you’re making it up either.” You reply, his words make your heart swell. Alastor let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, the weight of years of guilt slowly lifting off his shoulders. He gazed at you, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and admiration. "You always were too kind for your own good, my dear." he said softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His face is so close to yours, you swear you’re dreaming right now. The love of your life has returned to you and everything feels exactly like when you first met so long ago. Alastor reaches out and gently cups your face in his hands, your heart is racing, your breath catches in your throat. Without breaking eye contact, Alastor leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wished. But you didn't. Your eyes closed as his lips met yours in a gentle yet passionate kiss. Alastor held you close, his touch reverent yet filled with a hunger that matched your own. The world fell away as you lost yourself in the bittersweet taste. You practically melted in his arms, a feeling that only he was able to accomplish. When you both break the kiss in need of air. He takes a moment to collect himself and reluctantly lets go of you. He takes your hand and smirks. “Unfortunately, I have some business to attend to today, but darling…Would you care to join me for dinner tonight?” He kisses your hand and your face turns a darker shade of red. "J'aimerais ça," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you meet Alastor's gaze. 

(I would like that)

“J'ai hâte d'y être, chérie,” he replies. 

(I'm looking forward to it, Darling.)

——————————————- As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the city, you found yourself standing outside a quaint little French restaurant. Alastor stood beside you, his arm gently linked with yours as he led you inside. The ambiance was cozy and inviting, with soft jazz music playing in the background and the scent of delicious food filling the air. The two of you settled at a private table near the window, basking in the soft candlelight that flickered gently. Alastor's eyes never strayed far from yours. He reaches across the table and takes your hand in his. “You look stunning tonight, my dear.” He says, a genuine smile graced your lips as you met his gaze. “You were always such a charmer, Alastor.” You reply and Alastor raises an eyebrow. The waiter comes by and takes your order, he comes back momentarily with two glasses of rye whiskey. Something that only you and Alastor drink. You hold up your glass and he mirrors your gesture. “Sauntè.” “Sauntè, ma chérie.” You and Alastor have always had a lot in common, you both have older tastes and speak French. You’re both deer demons, and you have the same drink of choice. You met him while bartending at a Jazz club, before you had started your career. You couldn’t stop staring at his ears, he ordered rye whiskey and you fell head over heels for the polite man sitting at your counter. He returned several times and once caught you singing in the kitchen. He told you how pretty your voice was and that you should get serious about your talent.

You took his advice to heart and began performing at the club, captivating audiences with your voice. Alastor was always there, watching from the shadows with a proud smile on his face. Eventually, your talent caught the attention of a music producer who offered you a record deal. As your career soared, Alastor remained a constant in your life, supporting you every step of the way. Until that one devastating rainy day when he left. Alastor raised his glass to his lips, the amber liquid glinting in the candlelight. As the whiskey burned its way down his throat, he couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over him at that moment. It was surreal to be sitting across from you after all these years, almost like a dream he never thought would come true.

“Violet, if I may ask…” He began, your ears twitch. “How exactly did you find me?” “I heard you on television, talking about the hotel. How could I not recognize that voice.” You reply, and take another sip. Alastor's smile faltered slightly as he remembered the reason why his voice was now propagated through the airwaves. "Ah, yes, the hotel," he said wistfully. "It seems my reputation precedes me." There was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he composed himself once more. "But enough about me," he deflected smoothly. "Tell me about you, my dear Violet. How has life treated you in my absence?"

“I just finished my first tour! I’m doing a few local shows next, just paying back some favors.” You summarize the highlights of your tour through Hell and all the different places you played. “I am pleased to hear you are doing so well in your career. I’ve always adored your voice. How does it feel to be a star?” “Don’t get me wrong, the fans are nice and so is the money. But I’ve always felt like there was a hole in my heart when you left.” You admit, it was difficult because he took a piece of you with him. He reached out and gently took your hand in his, his touch comforting and familiar. “Would you ever consider giving me a second chance?” Alastor asks. Your heart skipped a beat at his question.

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you squeezed his hand reassuringly before replying, "Alastor, you never truly lost your chance with me. Despite everything, my feelings for you never changed.” His eyes widened in hopeful disbelief, and a faint blush dusted his cheeks. "I've always believed that second chances are worth giving, especially when it comes to matters of the heart," you continued softly. "But promise me one thing - never leave without saying goodbye again. I couldn't bear to go through that pain a second time."

Alastor's expression softened, "I swear on my very soul, Violet. I will never leave you in the dark again."

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x oc #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor radio demon #demon alastor #alastor hazbin #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction #syddsatyrn #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel radio demon #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel series

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Fill you up

Kim Hongjoong x fem reader

a/n: based on a very long and very feral conversation me and my friend had about this edit

"I'm gonna fucking fill you up, Sweetie."

✫彡wordcount: 1.1k

(>ᴗ•)genre: p w/o plot

ಠ_ಠwarning/contents: not proof read, a few lines talking abt fertility issues, no build up(striaght to it lets goo!!!), kinda switch dynamics,established relationship, unprotected, breeding, overstim, hair pulling, an insane amount of dirty talk, multiple cream pies, pet names (namely sweetie&joongie, daddy &mommy a few times), slightly possessive, very slight degradation

SMUT UNDER CUT MDNI

        "I'm going to fucking fill you up, Sweetie." His sweet promise is a stark contrast to the way he rams his cock into you from behind. The sound of his hips snapping against your ass almost drowns him out, but he knows it doesn't when he feels your fertile pussy clench around him.

    You shakily hold yourself up on the armrest of the couch, knees and elbows buckling as he fucks you to your second orgasm. "Please, Joongie! Give it to me!" You neighbors are surely writing a complaint as they listen to the nonstop scraping of your furniture and your loud moans. You've been at it for over half an hour, and he still hasn't came into your abused cunt.

     He had tore your clothes off the second you crossed into you home when you came home from the doctors. They gave you the green light after your newest fertility treatment and he was saving up every last drop for your little pussy. He hadn't fucked you with anything other than his fingers for months and he refused to cum or touch himself.

    "Please, cum for me! I wan' it, give it to me, give it-me!" You were near floating the second you felt his cock for the first time again, and now you were absolutely over the moon. "Fuck- I love it, Baby, I love it, love it, gimme," you mumble into the fabric of the couch as you finally let yourself face plant. "I want your babies," you wail.

     "Don't worry, my sweet girl," he moans as he leans over your back, pushing your hair out of the way and licking your earlobe. He absolutely revels in the way your gummy walls clamp down on him in response. "Daddy's gonna give you every drop. Gonna fill you up," he huffs as he slows his hips to a leisurely pace, "gonna make you a Mommy. You want my babies... Mommy?"

    "Fuck, good Je- yes!" You try and throw your hips back, stiffened by his weight on-top of you. "Please," you almost cry, "please, give me your babies. Wanna make 'em, make so many for you, gonna give you..ah! Please, Joong!" Your tired hand searches him out as he leaves you.

"Let me see you when you take it," he groans as he pulls you down to the middle of the long couch and flips you over. He holds your hips as he slams into you, forehead pressed against yours as he stares into your soul. "Look so pretty, Sweetie. So pretty while I fuck my babies into your cunt~." He presses so so deep inside of your cunt, desperately claiming you as his. "All fucking mine to fuck. This gorgeous cunt is just for me- just for my babies, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes, give me all- every drop, I can make it into the best- holy fuck! The best babies, the best for you. I know I can, just fucking give it to me. Please, Daddy!" He whimpers as your legs wrap around his pistoning hips and try and trap him closer, all while your hand grab the ends of his long hair and yank as you yell for him to cum inside you.

"My eager cumslut wife. You want it so bad you're crying? So pathetic for me," he coos sweetly as he wipes your tears. His words make you squirt on the spot, cream escapes your gushing hole and forms a lewd ring around his painfully hard cock. Your tightly wound voice begging for him even as your sloppy pussy cums around him pushes him over the edge and throws him into the deep end.

   His months of edging are apparent when he fills your womb to the very limit and makes his seed drip down your ass and stain the couch. He lazily licks as your neck as he cums and cums and cums.  "So good, M- amazing, amazing!" He whines as he shakes in your hold, leaning into your hand as you sooth his aching scalp. "Feels too good!" He tries to pull away when your locked feet push him back and make the both of you scream out.

   "Stay, stay like that, keep it- gotta keep it in."

    "Can't, I can't, I- cum again, please!" The way your cunt is so warm, so full of him, pulsing around his cock for the first time since forever... it's too much. He's already hard and pushed to the edge again.

    "So do it, Joongie. Fuck more into me, make sure it takes." And he does, saturating your insides beyond belief as he cries into your shoulder just how ecstatic he is to have you around his cock.

    When he pushes his limit just far enough, just before the brink of insanity, he reaches around and grabs your ankles tightly. He pushes them, holding them up and keeping you hips up in the air. "God," he moans as he sees your cunt absolutely gushing. "You're gorgeous..." His eyes rake up and down your sweat, spent form and he can't find a single flaw.

     "My wife," he moans sweetly as you drag your fingers over his forearms. You swing you legs to one side and prop up your ankles on his shoulder, giving him freedom of his hands while also keeping your cunt from over spilling. "All mine..." He whispers lowly as he drags his fingers from the very end of your cunt and pushing all the cum on his fingers back into you as you shiver.

    He swipes up all of the spilt cum on your body and works it back into you, dragging his fingers on your walls teasingly before he leaves you empty all over again.

     His cock is twitching at your soft whines, growing harder by the minute. You place your hand over your belly and smile, catching his attention. "What's that pretty smile for, Sweetheart?"

    "Gonna make sure it takes this time. Gonna try real hard," your tone is bittersweet, blinking away the pain in your eyes as you look up at his caring face.

    "S'not all on you, Sweetie." He divides your legs and slots himself between them. His hard cock lays on your pelvis, showing you both just how deep he fucks you. "I just gotta make sure I keep you full, then- don't I? You want that?"

   You reach you hand between you and slip his cock into you. Even just the tip filling you up has cum seeping from you again. "Dirty girl," he chuckles, leaning his head into your shoulder and nipping at your skin.

    He bites down just as he slams in and starts a merciless pace from the get-go, making you scream and grab at him stupidly. Your hands go everywhere. Scraping up his back. Leaving nail indents in his ass as you pull him closer. They settle in his messy curls. Tugging harshly as he whimpers.

"My fucking Goddess." He mewls, grabbing at your tits through the very little space between your bodies. You've locked around him like a koala, he isn't going anywhere until you decide your full enough.

He repeats, "I'm gonna fucking fill you up, Sweetie."

-

-

#kim hongjoong #hongjoong #ateez hongjoong #ateez #hongjoong x reader #ateez x reader #ateez smut #hongjoong smut #smut fic

[deutsche-bahn]

Ich hatte jetzt zwei mal das Glück, Legion: Siberian Story zu spielen (das einzige Spiel, bei dem das Orga-Team ne ganze aftercare routine hat), mit zwei sehr unterschiedlichen Charakteren. Es war großartig zu sehen, wie unterschiedlich dadurch auch die ganze Erfahrung war. Der Charakter letztes Mal war extrem distanziert und wurde so respektvoll behandelt, dass niemand es auch nur gewagt hätte in meiner Gegenwart einen Witz zu machen. Tbh, es ist einfach nur anstrengend wenn jeder sich zusammenreißt als hätte der Vertretungslehrer den Raum betreten sobald du auf sie zukommst. Irgendwann wünschst du dir nur noch, dass irgendjemand normal mit dir redet. Der diesjährige Charakter war im Vergleich dazu mit der Sozialkompetenz des durchschnittlichen Hinterwäldlers gesegnet. Und holy shit, es war großartig. Ich habe mich ehrlich gesagt sehr stark in diesen Mangel an Sensibilisierung gegenüber militärischer und sozialer Hierarchien gelehnt und sehr, sehr viel mit dieser unbeabsichtigten Respektlosigkeit gespielt. Der Charakter war ein sibirischer Jäger, der die eigentliche Gruppe als Guide begleitet. Das Orga-Team drückte uns tatsächlich ein halbes Dutzend Landkarten in die Hand, auf der die Route für die ca. 25km Wanderung verzeichnet waren. Ich war der jüngste Spieler, wahrscheinlich auch der kleinste, und dann stellt man mich mit ein paar Karten vor die versammelte Spielerschaft und sagt denen, dass sie mir jetzt bitte in die Wälder des tschechischen Nordens folgen sollen. Super Idee, let's fucking go.

Ich hatte ja bereits erwähnt mit wie viel Distanz mein vorheriger Charakter behandelt wurde. In der Rolle des Guides will stattdessen erst einmal jeder auf deiner Seite sein. Ich weiß gar nicht, wie viel Schokolade, Kekse, getrocknetes Obst und Alkohol mir unterwegs angeboten wurde. Ich weiß zwar nicht wie die sich das vorstellen: Dass ich mich weniger verirre, je mehr Feldflaschen mit Wodka sie mir hinterherwerfen? Idk mate, ich werde euch trotzdem dreimal falsch abbiegen lassen, ich werde dabei höchstens besser gelaunt sein. Aber meinetwegen. Der Höhepunkt war wahrscheinlich der Spieler, der mir eine ganze getrocknete Mango überreichte. Wo auch immer er die herbekommen haben wollte.

Es macht mir einfach unfassbar Spaß, mit diesen sozialen Gefügen herumzuspielen. Die kleinen, beiläufigen Szenen die dabei entstehen sind mindestens genauso interessant wie die wesentlich dramatischeren plot beats. Kurzes Beispiel: Ich unterhielt mich mit einem der Sergeants über das orthodoxe Christentum. Viele Spielercharaktere sind Katholiken, ich war also honestly überrascht, einen anderen orthodoxen Charakter gefunden zu haben. "Glad to stumble across one of ours here, it really does mean a lot", sage ich ihm. "I didn't think you were that religious", bemerkt er. Ich erzähle ihm ganz großkotzig, wie wichtig mir die heiligen Schriften sind. Er grinst mich an. "So you could recite the ten commandments to me?" Ah, fuck. Natürlich nicht. Ich lege trotzdem los. "You shouldn't kill, you shouldn't steal.... something about neighbors, and you shouldn't have images of god besides... god?" Er lacht. "Oh, bastard, I bet you couldn't even do it!" Er grinst mich wieder an. "Well, I don't have to prove myself to you". Motherfucker. Es sind solche kleinen Interaktionen, bei denen sich diese aufeinandertreffenden Persönlichkeiten abzeichnen. Man baut ganz natürlich über die 25km und Tage hinweg Freund- und Feindschaften auf.

Die eigentliche Story lasse ich hier mal weg. Es war aber spannend zu sehen, wie abgesehen von den paar unausweichlichen story beats der Verlauf so drastisch unterschiedlich war. Die Spieler haben Konflikte, Ziele und Probleme einfach mal komplett anders aufgefasst. Idk, Larp macht Spaß. Ende. Besonders wenn es so aufwendig produziert und geschrieben ist wie Legion.

[strictpunishedhubby]

Message an alle Frauen die über das Verhalten ihres Mannes frustriert sind!

Du lebst mit einem Mann zusammen, der Dich geringschätzig behandelt, Dich als Dein Dienstmädchen betrachtet, Hausarbeiten scheut wie der Teufel das Weihwasser und obendrein träge ist, sich arrogant verhält und auch noch frech gegenüber Dir ist? Du hast versucht ihn durch gute Worte, bitten und schimpfen zu verändern, genutzt hat es Dir nichts, er bleibt in seinem alten Trott und nutzt Dich nur schamlos aus. Wenn Du mit ihm schimpft hat das nur Trotz bei ihm zur Folge, er macht weiterhin nur das, was er will und was ihm gefällt. 

Du brauchst Dich nicht über seine Reaktion zu wundern, da nahezu alle Männer dazu neigen sich nur dann zu bessern, wenn sie maßregelnde, strafende Konsequenzen zu sp��ren bekommen. Auch wenn es berechtigt ist, eine Frau die nur nörgelt und schimpft ohne weitere negative Folgen für ihn auszuüben, nervt jeden Mann, hat er doch von ihr einschneidende Strafen nicht zu befürchten. Er wird Dich nur als Nervensäge bezeichnen, ignoriert Dich und Deine berechtigten Forderungen. Er wird wegen Deiner Kritik Du an ihm ausführst ebenfalls nur frustriert sein und sich in keiner Weise ändern. Wenn Du ihn aber wegen anderen Eigenschaften an ihm liebst, was musst Du tun um ein weiteres Zusammenleben für beide Teile nicht nur erträglich, sondern auch positiv zu gestalten?

Du solltest wissen, Männer wollen außerhalb der Beziehung den Ton angeben, stark sein und sich mächtig fühlen. Das gilt schon für kleine Jungen, auch diejenigen die von ihrer Mama streng erzogen werden. Zu Hause fühlen sie sich trotzdem geliebt, wohl und geborgen, denn sie sehen die Notwendigkeit ein, für schlechtes Verhalten bestraft zu werden. Das trifft auch zu, wenn sie oft mehrere Strafen gleichzeitig auferlegt bekommen. Solche Strafen wie Taschengeldentzug bis zu einem Monat, Stuben- und Hausarrest, Computer und Fernsehverbot, frühe Bettzeiten manchmal schon nachmittags, sie zu Eckestehen verdonnert werden, und was besonders wirkungsvoll ist, aber immer als grundsätzliche Bestrafung dient, sie bekommen so fest ihren Po versohlt, dass sie nicht nur während ihrer Züchtigung laut schreien und weinen, sondern noch längere Zeit nach ihrer Tracht Prügel hinaus. Auch wenn sie die Strafen als hart empfinden, ja manchmal als ungerecht, sind sie hinterher doch froh, wenn ihnen vergeben wird. Oft ist es so, je strenger seine Mama ihn erzieht, desto anhänglicher sind sie, und umso mehr lieben sie ihre resolute Mama, da sie so wie sie ihn erzieht es richtigerweise als Sorge verstehen und als Ausdruck der mütterlichen Liebe. Hier ist der Ansatzpunkt für Dich, wie Du im gegenseitigen Interesse Eure Beziehung fundamental verbesserst, indem Du die Erziehung seiner Mama übernimmst, sogar ihn noch entschiedener für schlechtes Verhalten bestrafst!

Wenn Du erkannt hast, nur schimpfen ohne zusätzliche Bestrafungen bewirkt für Euch beide nur Frust, sondern das macht höchstens Eure Beziehung kaputt, so ist es höchste Zeit mit seiner strengen Erziehung umgehend anzufangen. Besorge Dir schon im Vorfeld einen oder mehrere Rohrstöcke. Auch Gürtel, Kochlöffel, Haar- und Badebürsten, Teppichklopfer haben sich zur Bestrafung bewährte und sind geeignete Erziehungsutensilien um seine Folgsamkeit und Ergebenheit zu fördern. Alle diese Erziehungsinstrumente wirst Du zukünftig oft und regelmäßig und mit der notwendigen Härte einsetzen, denn Männer fallen oft ihn ihr schlechtes Verhaltungsmuster zurück. Bei seiner nächsten Verfehlung kündige ihm eine harte Prügelstrafe an! Befehle ihm in scharfem Ton, der kein Widerspruch duldet, sofort seine Hose und Unterhose herunterzuziehen, befiehl ihm sich über einen Stuhl beugen oder über einen Tisch oder das Bett zu legen. Fange zuerst mit leichteren aber schon schmerzvollen Schlägen auf seinen nackten Po an, steigere die Intensivität bis er laut schreit und heult, um Gnade bittet und dabei verspricht lieb, artig, gehorsam und fleißig zu werden. Verprügle ihn trotzdem unnachgiebig weiter, damit er merkt, zukünftig wirst Du konsequent seine Unartigkeiten mit heftigen Züchtigungen ahnden. Lasse Deinen reuevollen Lebensgefährten danach für mindestens eine Stunde mit seinem nacktem roten, mit Striemen übersäten Po mit seinem Gesicht zur Wand in der Ecke stehen. Du hast jetzt genügend Zeit Deinen Frust über ihn von Deiner Seele zu reden und ihm dabei anzukündigen, ab sofort wirst Du ihn sobald er sich unakzeptabel verhält mit noch drakonischeren Prügelstrafen reagieren. Beschreibe ihm dabei welche zusätzlich Strafen Du ihm nach Deinem Ermessen auferlegen wirst, sämtliche Strafen die hier schon für kleine, unartige Jungen aufgeführt wurden. Vielleicht fallen Dir noch weitere Strafen ein, die Dir zu seiner Erziehung sinnvoll erscheinen.

Auch wenn sich der Erfolg nur schleichend einstellt, so doch stetig. Durch härtere Bestrafungen kannst Du sein artiges Verhalten forcieren. Für Dich wird es jedes Mal eine Befreiung Deiner frustrierenden Gefühle sein, wenn er sich bei Dir entschuldigt und Dich kleinlaut um Vergebung bittet. 

Manche Frauen legen auch einen Tag in der Woche fest, an dem ihr Partner eine bestimmte Anzahl Rohrstockhiebe erhält, egal wie artig er war, sozusagen als ständige Erinnerung daran, nicht er sondern sie hat das Sagen, er hat ihr immer zu gehorchen!  

Wenn Du diese Ratschläge beherzigst, wirst Du Dich über den Erfolg wundern, denn Männer wollen von ihren Frauen nicht nur geliebt werden, sondern sie wollen von ihnen gelenkt, ja beherrscht werden, so wie sie es von ihrer Mama gewohnt sind, sie bleiben im Inneren ständig nur kleine, ungezogene Jungen.

Jeder Tag den Du hinauszögerst mit seiner strikten Erziehung zu beginnen gefährdet Eure Beziehung, ist ein unbefriedigender Tag für Dich, aber auch für ihn, da er sonst nur eine nörgelnde Frau hat! Deshalb versohle noch heute seinen nackten Arsch. Dein Mann wird Dich respektieren, Dir gehorchen und noch stärker seine Liebe zu Dir zeigen. Du wirst bereuen, ihn nicht schon viel früher mit Strenge erzogen zu haben.

.

Message to all women who are frustrated with their husband's behavior!

  Do you live with a man who treats you contemptuously, sees you as your maid, avoids household chores like the devil hates holy water and, on top of that, is lazy, behaves arrogantly and is also cheeky towards you? You tried to change him with good words, begging and scolding, but it didn't help you, he stays in his old routine and just shamelessly takes advantage of you. If you scold him, it will only result in defiance from him; he will only continue to do what he wants and what he likes.

You don't need to be surprised at his reaction, as almost all men tend to only improve when they experience disciplinary, punitive consequences. Even if it is justified, a woman who just nags and scolds without having any further negative consequences for him annoys every man, he doesn't have to fear drastic punishments from her. He will just call you a pain in the ass, ignore you and your legitimate demands. He will also just be frustrated because of your criticism of him and will not change in any way. But if you love him because of other qualities in him, what do you have to do to make further life together not only bearable but also positive for both parties? 

You should know that men want to be in charge outside of the relationship, be strong and feel powerful.This already applies to little boys, even those who are raised strictly by their moms.They still feel loved, good and safe at home because they see the need to be punished for bad behavior. This is also true if they are often given several punishments at the same time.Such punishments as deprivation of pocket money for up to a month, confinement in the room and house, ban on computers and television, early bedtimes sometimes in the afternoon, they are made to stand in the corner, and what is particularly effective, but always serves as a basic punishment, they get their bottoms spanked so hard that they not only scream and cry loudly during their punishment, but also for longer time after their beating. Even if they find the punishments harsh and sometimes unfair, they are happy afterwards when they are forgiven. It is often the case that the stricter his mother raises him, the more clingy they are and the more they love their resolute mother, because the way she raises him they correctly understand it as concern for them and as an expression of motherly love. Here is the starting point for you, how you can fundamentally improve your relationship in the mutual interest, by taking over his mom's upbringing, even punishing him more severely for bad behavior!

If you have realized that scolding without additional punishment only causes frustration for both of you and, at the most, destroys your relationship, then it is high time to start strict training immediately. Get one or more canes in advance. Belts, wooden spoons, hair and bath brushes, and carpet beaters have also proven to be useful for punishment and are suitable training utensils to promote his obedience and submission. You will use all of these educational tools often and regularly and with the necessary rigor, because men often fall back on their bad behavior patterns.At his next wrongdoing, announce him a severe beating! In a sharp tone that brooks no contradiction, order him to immediately pull down his trousers and underpants, order him to bend over a chair or lie over a table or the bed  First start with lighter but already painful blows on his bare bottom, increasing the intensity until he screams and howls loudly, begging for mercy and promising to be sweet, well-behaved, obedient and more diligent. Nevertheless, continue to beat him relentlessly so that he realizes that in the future you will consistently punish his naughtiness with violent chatisements. Afterwards, have your repentant significant other stand in the corner with his naked, red, welted bottom facing the wall for at least an hour. You now have enough time to express your frustration with him and tell him that from now on you will respond to him with even more draconian beatings whenever he behaves in an unacceptable manner.  Describe to him what additional punishments you will impose on him at your discretion, all the punishments that have already been listed here for little, naughty boys. Maybe you can think of other punishments that you think would make sense for his upbringing.

Even if success only comes gradually, it is steady. You can encourage his good behavior by using harsher punishments. For you, it will be a relief from your frustrating feelings every time he apologizes to you and meekly asks you for forgiveness.

Some women also set a day a week on which their partner receives a certain number of strokes of the cane, no matter how good he was, as a constant reminder, that it is not he who is in charge, but she, he has always to obey her!

If you take this advice to heart, you will be amazed at the success, because men not only want to be loved by their women, but they want to be directed, even dominated by them, just as they are used to by their mother, they stay inside all the time just little, naughty boys.

Every day that you delay starting his strict upbringing endangers your relationship, is an unsatisfactory day for you, but also for him, because otherwise he will just be a nagging woman! So spank his naked ass today! Your man will respect you, obey you and show his love for you even more. You will regret not having raised him with severity sooner.

  I

[gemini-sensei]

Angst hour 😔

No major warnings, just sadness

Reader and Eli were friends before he made his change into Hawk.

They did everything together; they played video games, studied, watched the same movies. The two of them and Demetri were the best of friends. Though deep down she always wanted something more than that with Eli. She was just too nervous to make a move or talk about it. She never told him how she felt.

Similarly, Eli had feelings for her as well. He hid his feelings, believing he was unworthy of Reader's affection; that she deserved someone better than him, someone who didn't have a fucked up lip.

Then he changed, became Hawk. He started taking karate lessons and walking with a new air of confidence. It was stark and strange at first, but Reader stuck by him through it. They were best friends after all. But he didn't want to play video games anymore. He ditched their study sessions for karate practice. And they suddenly liked different movies. All of the stuff she liked was "nerd shit" now and he didn't want anything to do with it despite it being their favorites since they were kids...

Then the party at the canyon happened.

Everyone was having a good time. Everyone but Reader.

She was out of her element, surrounded by people and alcohol and all sorts of things. This wasn't her typical Saturday night. For all the loud music and yelling, she'd rather be at home, wrapped up in a warm blanket and binge watching her favorite movies. Instead, she was getting sand in her shoes and hugging herself to give a little comfort.

Then Eli came around.

"Hey, Reader," he said, smiling at her happily. He had a red solo cup in his hand which she knew was filled with beer he'd bought with his fake ID. He seemed to notice her shy demeanor and came close. "Hey, you okay?"

She shook her head. "No... I think I'm gonna go home."

"Why? The party's just getting started," he said.

She shrugged as if she didn't know why when she did. She just didn't want to have to say it. He should know. "I just don't feel like I should be here."

He thought for a moment, then set his cup down on the sand. "Come here."

They walked away from the party, the loudness, the light. They stood away from the crowd and under the blanket of nightsky. It was cooler there, darker. She hugged herself tighter as the wind blew and made her shiver. He watched her, licking his lips as she looked down at the sand.

He took in everything that was perfect about her, from her shapely body to her dazzling eyes. She could captivate him norther where they were, even if they were standing before the most important people in the world or atop the highest mountain with the most breathtaking view. She was everything.

He reached for her hand and gently took it. "Feel better?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

It was quiet between them for a moment, then he took a deep breath.

"Look, Reader, I want to ask you something," he told her and she finally looked up at him. He livked his lips. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

She stared at him for a long time. Looked into his pretty blue eyes as that question bounced around in her head for a moment longer than it should have. It should have been an easy answer. Instead, she found her heart in turmoil.

She pressed her lips into an uncertain line and shook her head. "No. I'm sorry."

His heart and face dropped. "What? Why not?"

"You're not... you not the same anymore, Eli," she told him, hurt by the truth as she spoke it. It almost hurt to speak. Suddenly, she was stuttering in front of him when that had never been the case before. "I-I don't.... I mean, I... I'm sorry."

She pulled her hand away from him and turned to leave. Nowever, what je said next hurt her more.

"What was I supposed to do? Stay a loser forever like you?"

She turned around, tears already in her eyes. She saw the regret on his face the instant her heard his own words, but itnwas too late. The damage was done.

"Wait! Reader, I didn't mean it!"

He tried to grab her, keep her from leaving, but she jerked her arm out of his hand. "I-I know what you meant!"

Then she ran away. She ran to Demetri crying, begging him to take her home. She didn't want to be there anymore but wouldn't say why. He chalked it up to the crowd, the atmosphere, the unfamiliarity of the party. He took her home without question, where she huddled up on the couch and they watched movies until she fell asleep with tear tracks dried on her found cheeks.

#angst #shy!reader #eli moskowitz x chubby reader #eli moskowitz x reader #eli moskowitz headcanons #eli moskowitz imagine #eli moskowitz #hawk moskowitz x chubby reader #hawk moskowitz #hawk moskowitz x reader #hawk moskowitz headcanons #eli hawk moskowitz #cobra kai #cobra kai headcanons #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai x chubby reader #cobra kai x plus size reader #chubby reader #plus size reader #gemini sensei

[kilfeur]

Ce que je trouve sympa c'est que même si Stark n'avait aucune envie de se faire passer pour un défunt fils. Il galère moins à apprendre l'étiquette que Fern. Surtout que malgré tout, ils ont passé un bon moment à danser ensemble. Ils étaient tellement mignons !

What I find nice is that even though Stark had no desire to pass himself off as a dead son. He had less trouble learning etiquette than Fern. Especially since, despite everything, they had a great time dancing together. They were so cute!

#sousou no frieren #sousou no frieren spoilers #fern #stark #fern x stark #this is look like it come from a fairy tale the way they are dancing together

[gynarchie77]

Engagieren Sie sich für den Wandel, Umarmen Sie den Ring der Gynarchischen Ehe

In einer Welt, die nicht weit von unserer entfernt ist, hat das gesellschaftliche Verständnis von Beziehungen eine drastische Evolution durchlaufen. Traditionelle Paradigmen der Beziehungsdynamik haben einer inklusiveren und vielfältigeren Auffassung von Liebe, Engagement und Verantwortung Platz gemacht. In dieser weiterentwickelten Welt haben gynarchische Beziehungen an Bedeutung und Akzeptanz gewonnen.

Unter einer strahlenden Sonne standen Anna und David im Herzen des Stadtplatzes, dem Ort des neuen Amphitheaters für Hochzeiten. Umgeben von Freunden, Familie und Schaulustigen, waren sie bereit, ihr Engagement öffentlich zu erklären. Die Zeremonienmeisterin begann: "In dieser neuen Welt, in der Liebe keine Grenzen kennt und in der wir verstehen, dass Machtverhältnisse ein natürlicher Teil menschlicher Beziehungen sind, sind wir heute hier, um die gynarchische Ehe von Anna und David zu bezeugen."

David, mit spürbarer Aufrichtigkeit, sagte: "Anna, ich verpflichte mich, dich zu respektieren und deiner Führung zu folgen, dich in jeder Entscheidung zu unterstützen und die einzigartige Dynamik, die wir gewählt haben, zu schätzen. Ich verpflichte mich, dir hingebungsvoll zu dienen und stets deine Wünsche und Bedürfnisse in den Mittelpunkt unserer Verbindung zu stellen." Anna, mit einer Stimme, die gleichzeitig stark und sanft war, antwortete: "David, ich verpflichte mich, dich mit Weisheit zu führen, dich zu schützen und die stabilisierende Kraft in unserer Beziehung zu sein. Ich werde das Vertrauen, das du in mich setzt, schätzen und immer darauf achten, dass unsere Beziehung für uns beide ausgeglichen und nährend bleibt."

Die Zeremonie, obwohl unkonventionell nach historischen Maßstäben, war in dieser Gesellschaft nicht einzigartig. Gynarchische Beziehungen waren zur Normalität geworden. Männer, die offen ihre unterwürfigen Tendenzen ausdrückten, und Frauen, die dominante Rollen übernahmen, waren einfach eine weitere akzeptierte Form von Liebe und Engagement.

Diese Transformation geschah nicht über Nacht. Sie begann mit Basisbewegungen und Gemeinschaften, in denen sich Menschen frei fühlten, ihre Wünsche und Beziehungsdynamiken auszudrücken. Nach und nach zeigten die Medien Interesse, stellten gynarchische Beziehungen in Filmen, Serien und der Literatur dar und förderten so deren Akzeptanz.

Bildungseinrichtungen trugen ihren Teil dazu bei, indem sie Kurse über diverse Beziehungsdynamiken einführten, um sicherzustellen, dass jüngere Generationen mit einer aufgeschlossenen Perspektive aufwuchsen. Prominente und einflussreiche Persönlichkeiten, die ihre gynarchischen Beziehungen offenbarten, förderten ebenfalls die Erzählung und machten diese Beziehungen sowohl zeitgemäß als auch erstrebenswert.

Natürlich gab es Herausforderungen. Viele fürchteten diesen Wandel und glaubten, er untergrabe traditionelle Werte. Doch je mehr Menschen verstanden, dass diese Dynamiken einfach Ausdrucksformen von Liebe, gegenseitigem Respekt und Zustimmung waren, desto mehr verschwanden die Bedenken. Mit der Zeit verschob sich das Wesen einer Beziehung von der Frage, wer die Macht innehatte, zu gegenseitigem Verständnis, Vertrauen und Kompatibilität.

Als sie das Amphitheater Hand in Hand verließen, wurden Anna und David von der Menge bejubelt. Ihre Vereinigung war nicht nur ein Zeugnis ihrer Liebe, sondern auch ein Symbol des gesellschaftlichen Fortschritts. Männer, die den Wunsch hatten, unterwürfig zu sein, waren nicht mehr gezwungen, im Verborgenen zu bleiben. Sie konnten offen zu ihren Ehepartnern und zur Gesellschaft stehen, ohne Angst vor Urteilen.

In dieser neu erdachten Gesellschaft erkannten die Menschen, dass die wahre Stärke einer Beziehung nicht in Dominanz oder Unterwerfung lag, sondern in der Fähigkeit, einander zu verstehen, zu respektieren und zu schätzen. Die Welt hatte gelernt, die Vielfalt menschlicher Beziehungen zu wertschätzen, und dadurch war sie zu einem Ort geworden, an dem die Liebe wirklich keine Grenzen kannte.

#gynarchie #matriarchie #keyholder #HighHeelsLiebhaber #Fußfetisch #Fußfetischist #Schlüsselhalter #weiblichgeführteWelt #weiblicheÜberlegenheit #weiblichgeführteBeziehung

[superiorkenshi]

Si on avait dit à moi de genre 2016 que en 2022 il chialerait encore à propos de Bruce et Tony et bah j'aurais pas cru

#kenshi's life #alors les science bros shipeur comment on ce sent? #marvel m'avait preparer a tout mait pas a ça #CHOUINER #science bros #marvel #tony stark #bruce banner #je suis dévasté #big up sam entrain de me supporter <3

[perduedansmatete]

dimanche ennui donc liste (certainement pas exhaustive) de moi à moi des artistes que j'ai déjà vu en concert, de ceux que je vois bientôt, de ceux que j'aimerais voir et de ceux que je RÊVE de pouvoir écouter en live un jour:

concerts faits dans un ordre totalement approximatif:

julien doré (petite, j'étais amoureuse de lui et je me souviens d'avoir eu mal au cœur quand il chantait winnipeg)

jeanne cherhal (petite aussi, j'étais absorbée car elle avait chanté quelques chansons suspendue à un cercle en l'air)

olivia ruiz (toute mon enfance)

la grande sophie

the dedicated nothing (ils ont fait un album on en a plus jamais entendu parler et je les avais vu dans une boutique longboard comme c'était des surfeurs mdr)

the dø (dans un festival paumé en vendée, j'étais la plus heureuse)

george ezra

the black lilys

radio elvis 2x

feu! chatterton 3x (j'ai l'impression de faire l'amour quand j'entends arthur teboul chanter en live, un des trois concerts était en plein air vers l'océan c'était beau et poétique)

grand blanc

jumaï

chevalrex

pr2b

clarika (toute mon enfance, dans la voiture avec ma mère)

the limiñanas (inattendu, jamais écouté avant de les voir mais si cher à mon cœur maintenant)

girls in hawaii (souvenirs d'adolescence)

genghar (concert avec mon père dernièrement, j'écoutais beaucoup adolescente aussi)

sallie ford 2x

norma 2x (elle fait fondre mon cœur j'aimerais qu'elle perce)

mattiel

the twilight sad

las aves

prudence (la chanteuse de the dø, on avait gagné un concours avec ma sœur!!)

cate hortl

clara luciani 3x

pomme 2x

franz ferdinand 2x

arctic monkeys 2x (dont une fois catastrophique à rock en seine, des amitiés se sont brisées, des crises d'angoisses, un son merdique)

the strokes (son merdique et problèmes techniques car rock en seine mais j'étais au max)

ledher blue

the cure (que dire de plus??? 3h de the cure en live c'est le paradis)

depeche mode (que des bangers, je m'en remets pas encore)

pi ja ma (choupette, je l'aime depuis la nouvelle star)

delilah bon (à la fin de son concert on a eu droit à tous les chants de manifs de gauchos sans aucune raison pendant 20 minutes et c'était génial)

kalika

fontaines dc (je veux les revoir)

ethel cain (c'était thérapeutique)

angel olsen

lucy dacus (très vite)

tamino 4x (je l'adore de tout mon cœur mais je fais une pause je l'ai trop vu)

ko ko mo 7x ou plus?? (découverts dans un festival paumé en vendée, depuis on les voit tous les ans)

jesse jo stark (trop sexy)

hachiku

jen cloher (lesbiennes australiennes je vous aime)

dynamite shakers

odezenne (j'ai pu chanter je veux te baiser en live c'était fantastique)

georgio (marque le début de la fin d'une amitié mais j'étais tellement heureuse ce soir là)

slowdive

frank carter and the rattlesnakes (ma sœur qui se fait une entorse dans un pogo)

the mysterines

yeule (premier concert toute seule, il m'a fait du bien)

sorry (chanteuse toute timide toute choupi mais génial et j'ai pu crier les paroles de there's so many people that want to be loved)

alexandra savior (écoutez là c'est un ordre)

sarah maison

sextile (concert génial soirée traumatisante)

wunderhorse (de vrais anglais qui s'en branlent de tout c'était cool)

no elevator

emma peters (j'écoute pas mais sympa)

skip the use (j'y allais en mode souvenirs, j'avais jamais écouté ses récents albums et le gars est trop chaud en live)

agar agar

nada surf (le chanteur est trop gentil <3)

hoorsees

adrien gallo (à défaut d'avoir pu voir les bb brunes... et j'étais aussi amoureuse de lui petite)

therapie taxi

nova twins (un de mes meilleurs concerts elles avaient une énergie trop folle)

la femme (mes meilleurs pogos)

tori amos (concert avec ma mère, icone)

l'impératrice 3x (2 fois sans que je veuille vraiment juste ils étaient dans des festivals et j'en peux plus leur scéno c'est toujours la même et c'est mou)

terrenoire

snail mail (mou)

parcels (j'écoute pas mais en concert c'est fou)

tame impala (l'impression d'avoir pris du lsd pendant 1h30)

gaz coombes (le chanteur de supergrass!!)

inhaler

idles (de loin mdr)

foals (mouais)

wet leg (absolument génial premier rang à crier toutes les paroles, tellement qu'il a plu et qu'on a fini le concert dans la boue)

yeah yeah yeahs

izia

the murder capital (amoureuse)

suzie stapleton

maddy street (une copine de ma sœur, c’est trop bien)

origine club renommé bonne nuit (à revoir c’est des vendéens et j’adore les vendéens pas fachos)

alice et moi

prochains concerts:

stoned jesus

dionysos (cadeau de noël pour mes parents, ils nous ont bercé avec)

air

ethel cain (encore)

mannequin pussy

cherry glazerr

lana del rey!!!!!!!!!

ko ko mo (pour la millième fois mdr)

eartheather (j'ai eu une place alors qu'il n'y en avait plus??? yaayyy)

artistes que j'aimerais voir:

yoa

the marias (ils avaient annulé la seule date qu'ils faisaient en france alors qu'on avait nos places avec ma meilleure amie, on leur en veut encore)

anna calvi

bar italia

the last dinner party

coco & clair clair

dora jar

king krule (on m'a empêché de prendre une place la dernière fois car apparemment il chante mal en live)

beach house

lebanon hanover

japanese breakfast

mitski

sally dige

deerhunter

tove lo (je l'ai raté à rock en seine...)

tv girl

sir chloe

hooverphonic

tomberlin

portugal. the man

last train

baxter dury

sophie meier

thao & the get down stay down

fka twigs

elita

yelle (je serai une femme accomplie le jour où je l'aurai vu)

artistes que je rêve de voir dans mes rêves les plus fous:

lush

soko (elle soignerait tous mes maux)

pulp

garbage

fiona apple (c'est beau de rêver)

the smashing pumpkins

courtney barnett (c'est une nécessité je connais tout par cœur)

siouxsie sioux

björk (ratée en septembre dernier...)

eels (mes parents y sont allés sans moi et sans me le dire????)

alt-j (j'écoute depuis trop longtemps pour ne jamais les avoir vu)

cults

pixies

iggy pop (icone, il faut, et je suis amoureuse de lui)

new order

interpol

massive attack (si je craque pour rock en seine...)

emiliana torrini

deftones

she wants revenge

hope sandoval

sigur rós

arcade fire (je crois que le chanteur est un agresseur sexuel. bon.)

the last shadow puppets

the white stripes mais bon... ou jack white

madonna...... mais je suis pauvre

si une âme charitable a tout lu et veut me fournir de quoi me payer des places de concerts je suis preneuse lol merci

[vanwritesfan-fiction]

“This really feels like a lot of work to go out to lunch.” Evangeline huffed as she watched you pull your hair into a ponytail, slipping on a baseball cap, your eyes shaded from view. You adjusted your outfit in the mirror, a simple white t-shirt and jeans you had found at a vintage store in Amsterdam a couple of years ago. “We're in Cannes, I don't think this outfit is going to have the effect you're going for. Vous allez avoir l'air pauvre" (you're going to look poor). You rolled your eyes at your sister. She bared the title of princess just as you did, but had decided at a young age that she wasn't going to let it define her, a luxury she had because she was fifth in line for the throne and was almost guaranteed her freedom.

"I'm not trying to blend in, I'm just tired of the tweed suits mother makes us wear when we're at home. Haven't you ever wanted to just wear jeans and trainers?" You looked at Evie, her outfit a stark contrast to yours, a shift dress complete with stockings even though it was well over 29 degrees celsius outside. She only wore those outfits to anger your mother, who wasn't blind to Evie's rebellion, knowing it drove her crazy that she followed the royal dress code, but no other traditions.

"It's bad enough that we have to stay in this hotel, and now I'm going to have to watch you go through a quarter life crisis. Ce n'est pas l'été que j'avais prévu" (This is not the summer I had planned). She huffed, slumping in the large leather chair she was sitting in.

"Stop with the dramatics. We'll be back at the villa tomorrow."

"Tell me why we had to stay here again?" You swallowed, turning your attention back to the mirror as you adjusted your hat once again. "Seulement vous vous plaigneriez de séjourner dans un hôtel cinq étoiles" (only you would complain about staying in a five star hotel). You told Evangeline you were staying at the Mondrian Cannes hotel so you could be close to the beach but truthfully you were avoiding your fiance, Mathias, who was staying at the your family's villa for the summer. He was set to leave tomorrow, giving you the perfect opportunity to arrive just as he was departing, and you could blame it on conflicting schedules. "Let's go, we're going to miss our reservation."

The hotel lobby was buzzing with people arriving for the Cannes film festival, celebrities and common folk alike checking in. You slipped your hand into your purse, frantically searching for your phone before you realized you must have left it in the hotel room. "Je dois retourner à la chambre" (I have to go back to the room), you called out to your sister who didn't hear you as she walked out of the grand double doors to the outside.

You turned on your heels quickly, immediately slamming into a solid chest. You had to look up to meet the eyes of the man you had just collided with, as he was at least a head taller than you. "Excusez-moi, madame". You couldn't help but chuckle at his terrible french, overpowered by a midwestern accent you had heard a couple of times during your travels to the US. "Sorry, I'm not really good at french, I only took a couple of classes in high school, and never really paid attention." You were mesmerized by his brilliant smile, the perfect compliment to his handsome face, his hair buzzcut, and his beard just extending beyond his jaw line.

"Its mademoiselle. If they're married you can use madame, but anyone else you're going to insult if you use it wrong." You returned his smile with a grin of your own.

"I'll try to remember that. I'm Travis." He extended out a hand, retracting it immediately when he realized you weren't going to return it. "Sorry, I forgot where I was for a second."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You narrowed your eyes at him, watching him squirm. You were very used to American customs and were just toying with him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just-"

"I'm joking with you. My name is Y/N."

"Very nice to meet you." You could feel his gaze run up and down your body, taking in your shape. It was a shame you were wearing this outfit, he thought to himself, because he could tell there was something more enticing underneath the plain clothing.

"Have a good day." You had spent too much time out in the open, you were surprised paparazzi hadn't swarmed the lobby at this point, waiting to catch you doing something scandalous. Standing next to a handsome American wasn't going to help the infidelity rumors you had been fighting with Mathias.

"Wait, can I get your number?" Travis stopped you with a hand on your arm. His touch felt weirdly comfortable, something you didn't expect from a stranger.

"Travis, you are in France, we don't give out our numbers here." You pulled the brim of your hat further down your face as you entered the elevator, Travis' eyes on you the entire time. He had just met his next fling, and you had just met the man who would change your life forever.

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#travis kelce fluff #travis kelce fic #travis kelce imagine #travis kelce x reader #travis kelce #nfl fan fic #nfl fic #nfl fluff #nfl imagine

[germanysnexttopgedicht]

In der Fabrik

Mit Rad und Riemen, Schaft und Schraube droht Polypengleich das schwarze Ungeheuer Und wirft die Schlacken aus wie flüssig Feuer Und taucht den Mittag in ein falbes Rot.   Ein Wutgeheul! Der Riesenkörper bebt ... Ein hundertarmig Ineinandergreifen, Ein tückisch Vorwärtsschießen, Rückwärtsschleifen, Von einer einz'gen großen Kraft belebt!   Und um den Herrn der Knechte dunkle Schar In Ruß und Rauch ... die Riesenhämmer klingen, Die Funken tanzen, und die Räder singen Das große Lied der Arbeit und Gefahr.   Im Schlund der Esse loht es purpurbraun ... Und wo die Räder hart und stählern blitzen, Seh' ich ein Weib mit heißen Augen sitzen Und fest und saugend mir ins Antlitz schaun.   Der nackte Arm wie ein verdorrtes Scheit, Finster die Stirn und rauchgeschwärzt die Wange ... Sie neigt sich mir, - sie spricht mit wildem Klange: »Ich bin die graue Not, ich bin das Leid.   Herrin des Weltalls ich - wie keine war! Sahst du schon je so eifrig die Vasallen Durch Glut und Rauch für ihre Herrin wallen, Unsichtbar, stets den Opferkranz im Haar?   Ja, ich bin stark, und mein das größte Reich! Mein Hauch bewegt die tosenden Maschinen, Mein Blick allein heißt tausend Arme dienen Und macht die kecksten Männerstirnen bleich.«   Sie springt empor, sie bebt - ihr Auge lacht ... Die Achsen kreischen, und die Hebel krümmen Sich von der Last, die roten Essen glimmen, Durch Rad und Riemen tobt die wilde Jagd.   Die Menschen keuchen: »Arbeit nur und Brot!« Und durch das Wutgeheul, Schleifen und Krachen Hör' ich ein leises, sieggewohntes Lachen: »Herrin des Weltalls ich - die graue Not!«

--Hedwig Dransfeld

#hedwig dransfeld

[muddyorbsblr]

a heart like yours part 5: a practice in futility

Masterlist

Summary: Loki attempts to wake you from your curse

Pairing: Loki x Reader; Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: angst; gets your tissues ready [let me know if i missed anything!]

When Loki walked into your room, the unquiet so evident in your features, a fresh wave of tears overcame him. He walked over to your bedside and sank to his knees as he took hold of your hand. "Y/N," he breathed. 

"If things would go my way this would not be how you learned of my affections toward you. Perhaps you might have gone your entire life never knowing of them at all. Perhaps the only place I would have ever told you were my dreams, as I have many times in the years past. But these are not ideal circumstances, and my way feels insignificant compared to your current state." 

He pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles as he went on. "You were my light. A supernova in my shrouded and lonely centuries of simply existing. You catapulted into my world with terrifying precision and somehow wrapped yourself around my heart and there you remained. You so quickly became my life's mission, keeping you alive, keeping you from harm. Because knowing that you were safe was what kept me breathing. You, my darling mortal, are what makes me want to keep living."

He took a breath to compose himself. This was it. He would say the words that he'd kept to himself for so long. If he listened to the voices in his head he could even almost hear Stark telling him to 'go big or go home'. 

"So you see, Y/N? You cannot leave. You mustn't die. For if you do, my world would cease to be filled with your light and I would once more be thrust into darkness. This world, this existence would make no sense if you were not in it, and I refuse to live in a universe bereft of you a day sooner than I absolutely must. It's strange how I am able to find so many words when truly it all sums up to this: I love you. Please don't leave me." 

He felt as if the weight on his heart didn't just refuse to lift, but rather it got heavier. He'd thought that getting the words out would finally ease his ache, but having the words fall on deaf ears pained him worse than he initially thought. Still, he kept going. "I will say it in every language if I must but it all remains the same. Jeg elsker deg. Te amo. Je t’aime. Mahal kita. I love you. And if I must live this life without you, it is not a life, it is merely an existence."

With one more kiss to the back of your hand, he stood up, pressing his lips to the top of your head. "I have to try, my love. You can hate me all you wish if you were to wake but at least you would be alive. I'm sorry it couldn't be who you wanted. That it couldn't be the man you're with because he simply was incapable of loving you the way you deserved. That it couldn't be the man you loved because he's a fool who thinks you unworthy. But I cannot let you leave this world without knowing you are loved. So much. By no one more than I."

He pressed a final kiss to your lips, offering up a silent prayer that you wake up. "Wake up, darling, I beg of you." 

But you remained still. 

The tears fell from his eyes and landed on your cheeks as he touched his forehead to yours, allowing the anguish to wash over him. He remained like this for a few moments before rising and taking a steadying breath. "Goodbye, Y/N. My light. My love. My heart."

He walked out of your room, feeling the world around him collapse as he tried to fathom what this world would be like now that you were truly gone. It would still turn, and lives would continue as it was before you were born, and long after you'd gone. But his world? 

His world was ash. His world was insignificant now. 

Had he not been so consumed by his grief as he walked away, perhaps he would've heard the machines monitoring you begin to change their ominous rhythm. Perhaps be could have even heard your first gasp of breath.

It felt endless, this void you'd found yourself in. You felt as if you were surrounded with the voices of those who loved you but there was no possible way for you to make your way to them. Everything was just darkness, and you couldn't tell if the steps you were making were leading you anywhere or if you'd gone in a circle, or if you'd gone anywhere at all. 

Like a hamster wheel for lost souls. 

"Goddammit, now would be a really good time for one of you guys to admit you've been secretly in love with me," you said into the void, knowing no one could hear you, let alone your team. 

Would this be how it ended? Dark and empty and so deafeningly silent? Was this how you were to spend your final moments? Letting the curse run its course before you were escorted to whatever comes after? 

Was there even an after to this? Or was this it? 

Well, no use walking around in here might as well sit my ass down, you thought to yourself, thinking as you did about the people who were no doubt trying their damnedest to wake you. 

You knew in your heart that Steve would try, but ultimately fail. It was always painfully obvious to you that given a chance to be with her again, given the choice between you and Peggy Carter, he would choose her. Every time. It was the unspoken truth of your relationship. 

And much as you loved him, you also knew that had the roles been reversed, had it been him who was cursed, you wouldn't be able to wake him, either. Because you didn't love him with your whole heart, so fair's fair. 

You thought about your friends, about Natasha and Wanda, and how they would be the most likely to comb through your belongings for a clue – any clue, really – on who could have it in him to actually bring you back from near death. How they would probably even resort to telling Loki to try waking you, but ultimately that would prove unsuccessful too. 

Of course he couldn't wake you. He couldn't love you. He was perfect; you weren't.

That train of thought made your heart ache even more. Funny, you thought that with a curse that would put your heart to sleep, it meant that you wouldn't be feeling that dull ache in your heart anymore when you thought about him but here it was. Loki. You would never see him again, never get to hear his voice, or feel warmth wash over you as you realize that he was a few feet behind you when you were on a mission, and he'd just saved your life again from someone 3 seconds away from blindsiding you. 

You figured while you were in here, in the silent and dark secrecy of whatever this plane of existence was, it was safe to admit it. You loved the god. You were so desperately, painfully, pitifully in love with him that you were convinced that had he been the one blindsided and cursed, you could wake him. Sure, he'd loathe you afterward for even daring to kiss him, but he would be alive. You were that confident in your affection for him.

And much as it felt wrong to admit to this, you'd miss him the most. Not your friends and your chaotic girls nights out, not the sarcastic back and forth banter you had with Tony or Strange, not the endearing politeness of Peter with his constant "Miss Y/N" or "Mister Captain" whenever he addressed anyone on the team. Not even Baby Morgan with all her princess stories and always wanting to be close to you when she would watch her Disney movies begging you to sing the songs along with the movie.

No. Above all of that, you would miss Loki. Were you a fool? Possibly.

And then just as you were about to allow yourself to wallow in the knowledge that the last thing you would see would be the vast and never-ending darkness of this void, you saw a light. As if a door had opened, telling you, "Here's your exit. Walk through when you're ready." 

You didn't walk. You fucking sprinted.

A/N: I'm not gonna torture y'all with the answer. She woke up. Chapter 6 starts with her waking up. And also: I'm nearly done writing it

Taglist:

Everything: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @redbluekjw @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @springdandelixn @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @arch-venus25 @freefrommars @littlemortals @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @lilibet261 @iobsessoverfictionalmen @holymultiplefandomsbatman

a heart like yours: @huntress-artemiss @hotleaf-juice @clockblobber @sititran @taro-gabi @wolfsmom1 @rmoonstoner @ladymischief11 @anonymousewrites @unlucky-number-13

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