#sometimes it feels like it actively makes her uncomfortable

[charliemwrites]

Three to Flee

Commission from the very sweet @ignoreprotocol

Someone leaves the door open and the pets get out.

Content Warning: Established kidnapping situation, unhealthy relationships, collaring

Author's Note: This does not mean Keeper/Kept is back. As far as I'm concerned, that story is finished, but this was a special case.

Shockingly, it’s not Feral that brings it up first.

The girls are having a little picnic at the edge of Johnny and Shy Thing’s yard, shaded by the tall trees. The men are chatting on the porch, sharing cigars and whiskey, far from earshot. Good behavior has earned them this bit of privacy, and so far, they’ve just used it to exchange keeper notes and offer bedroom advice.

“I can’t believe you don’t even have a fence,” Good Girl muses, glancing at the forest beyond. Her own yard is well fortified. It’s not just the sturdy, unclimbable fence, but also the monitors and floodlights connected to it.

Shy Thing sheepishly mentions a failed escape attempt several months earlier, a mad dash through the woods that ended with her dirty and disciplined. That prompts Good Girl to confess her own ill-fated getaway, a midnight attempt at sneaking out that resulted in a bruised ass.

Feral listens with her head cocked, nibbling at her apple slices. When their eyes turn to her, she shrugs.

“I haven’t tried to leave in a while,” she admits, “but I don’t think it would go well.”

Good Girl frowns. “How do you know if you haven’t tried?”

Feral snorts. “You’ve met Simon, haven’t you?”

All eyes turn to the boys on the porch. And there’s Simon, watching. Feral makes a rude gesture his way and they can see his shoulders shaking with a chuckle.

“Besides… it’s not so bad,” she muses. “Most of the time.”

Good Girl sits back, expression twisting. “I don’t want it to be ‘not so bad,’ I want it to be good. And I want it that way all the time.”

Shy Thing shifts. “What’s so wrong with John…?”

Good Girl huffs and begins picking at threads in the blanket. “He’s… fine. I mean, he would be if I could just leave. Don’t you miss being free?”

Feral hums.

“I… I miss going to the store when I wanted… or just… walking around town,” Shy Thing admits slowly. “I miss coffee shops and parks.”

Good Girl groans in agreement. “I miss the internet. It’s like being a fucking teenager again, having all my activity monitored.”

With a little more momentum now, Shy Things continues, “I haven’t been alone in months. Just… by myself. Doing whatever I want.”

“And not having rules,” Good Girl adds, sipping at the mojito John put in a little travel cup for her. “Fucking… sick of having a bedtime and chores and a fucking collar. Aren’t you sick of it?”

It’s directed at both of them, but Shy Thing nods, hands fidgeting.

“It gets to be a lot sometimes,” she mumbles, “I think I warmed up to Johnny out of pure exhaustion.”

Good Girl huffs again, worked into a proper fuss now. “And they’re so smug about it. Like we’re just these good, trained pets.”

Feral pipes up, “We could leave together.”

Both girls swivel to her with varying degrees of shock, hope, and disbelief.

“You said you didn’t think you could get past Simon,” Good Girl says.

Feral snorts and stretches out on her stomach in a mottled patch of sunlight creeping through the leaves.

“Yeah, I couldn’t on my own,” she explains, “but between the three of us…”

It’s uncomfortably simple when it happens. They just need to wait until the next big mission.

All three of them beg (or in Feral’s case, demand) to spend that time together while the keepers are away. It’s not unusual for the creatures to meet up when one or more of the men are gone. With all three off on a mission this time, they sniffle about being lonely and wanting company. That their houses feel too big and empty, that cooking for one is depressing.

Johnny caves instantly; John agrees on the stipulation that Good Girl is on her best behavior before he leaves. Simon, of course, is a foregone conclusion.

They go to Simon’s house. It’s the safest of the three homes and has the most space. Not to mention the girls will have some sort of access to the outside with the enclosed sunporch.

On the day of the mission, Good Girl and Shy Thing show up with fully packed bags, ready for their extended “sleepover” with Feral. The pets see their boys off, behave as normal for the cameras until Shy Thing gets the “heading out” message from Johnny. That’s the greenlight.

Feral has her own bag of things that she packs quickly and expertly. They fill a fourth bag with nonperishable provisions, just in case. Each of them has cash that they filched last minute from their keepers’ wallets – knowing they wouldn’t check them just before a classified mission.

The girls know it’ll be a day or two before anyone checks on them. Even Kyle is away with the team this time.

And then it all comes down to walking out the door.

The front door is, of course, locked. All the windows have alarms on them, and so does the garage door. But the sunporch…

“He didn’t lock the door,” Feral realizes as it swings open. And the alarm only engages when it’s locked.

All three of them take a single step out into the open air. And stop. Stare at each other a little moon-eyed.

They just left.

They stride at a quick clip around the side of the house and down the road. It’ll be an hour-long walk into town, but they have thick coats and each other for company. They chatter as they follow the pavement, just within the tree line out of caution. Pretend its giddy celebration at their escape and not a distraction from the creeping mix of dread and uncertainty beginning to simmer within each of them.

When they reach town, they blend into the crowds, weaving through the streets until they find a low-end hotel. It won’t be anything fancy, but at least it seems clean enough. Good Girl does all the talking with the receptionist (also a lady, thank god) since Feral and Shy Thing are jittery from so many people. They get a one-bed room with easy access to the fire exit.

 It’s only after they’re inside that reality sinks its claws in.

They’re free. For the first time in months, they’re outside with no one standing behind their shoulders or holding their arms. No one to appease, nothing to behave for.

And Shy Thing throws up in the toilet.

“This is scary,” she wheezes, eyes watering. “I’m scared. I want—”

Though she stops, the other two know what the end of that sentence was. Good Girl rubs her back.

“Don’t worry, they’re not going to find us,” she soothes like she doesn’t know why Shy Thing is really scared.

Neither Shy Thing nor Feral reply. The answer hangs in the air, unspoken. We want them to.

Feral, feeling restless, goes back into the main room and begins rummaging through her bag.

“What are you doing?” Good Girl asks, giving Shy Thing privacy to clean up.

“Looking for something to cut that off with.” Feral nods to Good Girl���s collar. “It’s probably chipped or something. We should have taken it off at home.”

She stops as the blood drains from her fellow creature’s face. They stare at each other across the tiny motel room, the weight of their successful plan pressing heavier and heavier with each passing second.

“I…” Good Girl rasps, “I…”

“You don’t want to.”

Her eyes well with tears. “No.”

Feral drops her bag and crumples to the ground, tugging her knees up to her chest.

“Why don’t I want to?” Good Girl whispers, curling her arms around herself. “This… this was my idea. I complain all the time. Why do I miss him already?”

Shy Thing appears in the doorway, sniffling. “I-I don’t know if I can do this. I can’t imagine life without Johnny. I… I don’t know if I want to have a life without Johnny.”

And Feral, still on the floor and trembling all over, just looks at them with huge tears running down her face.

Needless to say, when three rather miffed keepers in full combat gear throw the door open at 3am, they are not expecting armfuls of distraught creatures sobbing into their chests.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #commissioned work #commission #keeper/kept au #keeper price #keeper ghost #keeper johnny

[godofsmallthings]

i wish i could take the time to parse through my taylor swift is/isn't a gay icon thoughts on here but i fear people on this website don't know how to behave

#like she isn't a gay icon. but she is a lesbian icon? but like in different ways than gay icons have historically been gay icons #basically what i'm trying to say is that her status as a lesbian icon has literally nothing to do with her interactions with the lesbian #community. like i don't feel particularly revered or nurtured by her in the way someone like gaga has taken the time to #actually sit with and deliberately cater to gay culture for example #like it's different. #and almost entirely fandom-led #whether taylor is actually queer is also irrelevant to this #am i making any sense? #like okay i think you could argue she did a little bit of it in 2019 but we all know how that felt/came across #she's better at being a gay icon when she's explicitly not including the queer community in her work or acknowledging them in any way #because it's literally not of her own volition #and i'm honestly not convinced it's an aspect of her art or fanbase she considers #sometimes it feels like it actively makes her uncomfortable #and yet she really has become entrenched in modern day lesbian pop culture iconography in these last few years #anyway this isn't me Saying Anything. i'm just thinking about it #vi is typing...

[marzipanandminutiae]

I miss people using non-medicalized terms for other people's passions

like. well and good to talk about "hyperfixations," "special interests [in the context of an autistic person's favorite subject]," or "infodumping" if you have ADD/ADHD or autism, or are talking about someone who is, but...that's not everyone who feels strongly about something, obsesses, or loves talking about their interests. those words mean specific things, associated with specific forms of neurodivergence

don't assume everyone is comfortable with that language

"rambling" is a word; so is "ranting." "obsession" is a word. "passion" is a word. learn them and use them

#mini-rant #it makes me really uncomfortable when people use that language to talk about my fandom activities #because those are fine and useful words! they just. don't apply to me. #also the weird assumption that everyone who like...has a hobby is autistic? or feels passionately about any activity? #at least in this case it's coming from a more positive perspective and usually from autistic people themselves but #I see people claiming that X character with a hobby they love is 100% Confirmed Autistic and if you disagree you're a bigot #you are free to headcanon that! but. #neurotypical people also have hobbies sometimes! #just saw someone saying that the character Daria was 'undiagnosed autistic' and therefore criticizing her behavior was Bad #my friend. she is a fake person.

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

#almost wrote the champagne line as ''effervescent'' but legit could not write it without saying ''effervescent like a snail'' #ah tumblr... #writeblr #warm up #idk . having trouble writing rn #ps i don't like to talk about it . it is my medical information. but before you ask. yes this is about being on the spectrum #i really don't like when ppl make my writing about how im [whatever ID]. i want it to ring true for the people who it rings true for #i don't want it to be like ''awwwww look at this person!!! she's the EXCEPTION!!! :)" ..... #no.... not really..... #idk something gross happens whenever i admit to certain conditions and i turn into like inspiration p*rnography #like yes they actually let us use keyboards these days #furthermore i just... dont feel comfortable talking about this part of me. i had too bad of a childhood. adhd is one thing... #this one im like. still coming to terms with. which is like. my own journey. #idk. just please be kind. some things are more private than others. this one feels private to me. #i do not know how to help others w/this . and i do not know how to help myself. i will talk about it if im ever ready. idk if that will #actually ever happen #ty in advance i love u im kissing you we are kissing somewhere on the spectrum

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Controversial opinion among Dune book fans maybe, but I loved the changes they made to Chani's character. Making her a fedaykin who is already an experienced fighter before Paul arrives was a brilliant choice. Dune Part Two is a war movie, and this puts her at the center of the action, side by side with Paul, and gives her a much more active role than she has in the book.

We got a hint of where things were going in the beginning of Dune Part One. The first thing we ever know about movie Chani is that she's a fighter. She serves as a voice for the Fremen, telling us the story of their struggle from her point of view. I wrote here about the difference this change makes compared to other adaptations of Dune, what a perspective shift it is to have the world of Arrakis introduced not by an outsider, describing it as a dangerous but valuable colonial prize, but by one of its native inhabitants, who tells us before all else that it's beautiful, her home that she's fighting to liberate. I am so, so glad that the second movie followed up on this characterization.

I never found Chani and Paul's love story in the book particularly convincing, because why would this woman, who already has a prominent and respected place in Fremen society, even give the time of day to her deposed would-be colonizer, let alone fall in love and have children with him? Without a compelling reason for Chani to love Paul, she ends up feeling like a prize to be won, and "indigenous culture personified as a woman to be wooed (or conquered) by the colonizing man" is a trope we've seen and don't need to repeat.

But as soon as you tell me it's a barricade romance I get it. Cool cool cool, I know exactly what this relationship is now and it makes sense. Movie Chani doesn't respect or even particularly like Paul when she first meets him, and she doesn't think he's the fulfillment of any prophecy. She comes to respect him, and eventually love him, through his actions. He's brave--sometimes recklessly so. He fights well. He's willing to stick his neck out on the front lines with the other Fremen fighters. He can (after a little help) hack surviving in the harsh desert environment. He's not too proud to learn from others. He seems to genuinely want to be her equal in a common political struggle. All these qualities make sense as things she values.

Fighting side by side as equals is just about the only way I can see movie Chani falling for Paul. And it fits perfectly with the film's pattern of reversals that Paul's capacity for violence would initially be one of the things Chani likes about him, only for her to be repelled later when she sees what he becomes.

And as for Paul, well, he's had people deferring to him his entire life. Someone who doesn't take any shit from him is probably refreshing. He seems to like people (Duncan, Gurney) who challenge him and engage in a little friendly teasing--and aren't afraid to go a few rounds in the sparring ring.

It's easy to speedrun a romance when you're spending all your time together in mortal danger fighting for a shared political cause. Especially if you then start winning in a war your people have been fighting for decades. Are you kidding me? That is the perfect environment for intense battle camaraderie to turn into romantic love, and lust.

It makes sense that this version of Chani never believes Paul is any kind of messiah. Of course a character like movie Chani wouldn't believe in or trust some outside savior to liberate them. She's been working to liberate her own people for years. The more Paul invokes the messianic myth, the more he starts sounding once again like someone who plans to rule over them, and the more uncomfortable Chani becomes. In this way she becomes a foil to Jessica, the two of them representing the choices Paul is pulled between. It's a great way of externalizing the political and philosophical debates that often happen within characters' heads in the book.

And of course this version of Chani would leave Paul at the end of the film. It's not just the personal, emotional betrayal--although that stings. What common cause does she have with someone who just declared himself emperor and is sending her own people off in a war of conquest against others? Given the important role she plays in Dune Messiah, I am super curious to see how they get her back into the story, but girl was so valid for being willing to just gtfo. Given that she has the last shot of the whole movie, I'm sure she'll be back somehow, and I can't wait to see what they do with her character in any future installments.

#dune #dune part two #dune part 2 #chani kynes #paul atreides #adaptation #dune spoilers

[faultsofyouth]

it's your God given right to judge everybody but passing judgement onto strangers based on preconceived notions you have about them is probably not effective political practice

#And if talking about something doesn't put any pressure on people to act different then all it is is judgement #And if your judgement doesn't matter then why are you putting it on the internet? Desperate for attention? #Idk it's weird to be upset at people for saying that people maybe don't need to judge others for doing what You want to do #Like. I feel like that is kind of a lukewarm take idk why everything women do needs to be scrutinized for its political merit #Sometimes women are people and not just activists and I think maybe it should be okay for women to internalize feminist #And radical feminist ideas into their lives without rejecting their innate and/or personal human desires in order to be a good feminist #Maybe a woman doesn't have to use (or not use) her body to prove herself a good feminist advocate maybe she can still support and protect #The women in her community even if she is not always looking out for her own 'best' interests and instead does what she wants to do #idk basically I think if you feel uncomfortable with what another woman does with her body you should probably not say that to her #Like idk how telling her you disagree with her choices about her body is actually raising female class conciousness #I think it's just making women avoid you when they want to talk about their issues. Which is fine if that is the goal #But if you don't want to help groups of women that you disagree with then Why are you publicly discussing Their specific issues? #Like if you aren't trying to actively get involved with some people's issues then your opinion is kind of irrelevant and whether or not it #Is a feminist opinion is also irrelevant #that's just the way I see it

[doomsdayradio]

the feminine urge to straight up fucking die at this point

#''i didnt think i had to put your feelings into consideration about going to dinner'' bro who says that are you kidding me💀💀 #yknow i have anxiety💀 you know i have sensory issues💀 you know i dont fucking like them💀 it never crossed your fucking mind that maybe - #- i didnt want to go? #''everyone else is going'' im so happy for them i hope they have a great time them going is not going to magically make me mental illness - #- and trauma go away #iTs hEr bIrthDaY soMetiMes yOu dO thIngS yoU dOnt wAnt tO foR yoUr fAmilY #theres a huge difference between doing smth slightly uncomfortable but otherwise harmless for someone you love and putting yourself in - #- active mental distress for someone you love lmao #literally go fuck yourself #not to mention she fucking treats me like shit #fuck her birthday can i have an apology for how fucking badly she treats me and everyone else #words words words !! #vent #🧋

[rockettothestars222]

Mama’s Boy

Summary : During a bonding activity at the hotel, parents get brought up. Everyone seemed okay with talking a little about their parentage, but Alastor was off put by the topic. He didn’t think anyone would notice the way his smile strained, or that anyone would care when he slipped away, but you did. You cared. And you wanted to help him, even if he didn’t want to accept it.

Tags : GenderNeutral!reader, reader is shorter than Al, soft!Alastor, sorta, fluff, hurt/comfort, Alastor misses his mom, Alastor needs a hug, Alastor is losing it

Notes : Lots of people seemed to enjoy my interpretation of soft Alastor in my last oneshot, so here’s another one! I heart Alastor sm. Enjoy!

Word Count : 2.3k

——————

“Well you know! When your dad is the king of Hell, it complicates things sometimes, and with as long as my mom has been gone—” Charlie’s voice grows distant as you lose focus. It’s not that you don’t care, you’ve all just been talking about your parents for a good hour and a half. It started with a bonding exercise Charlie had decided would be fun. It started with talking about who people who meant a lot to you, and when Husk mentioned his father, everyone began to add on.

You looked around at everyone’s faces, and everyone seemed content with the conversation. Charlie was droning on about her familial issues, Angel had talked about his mother beforehand, and even Pentious mentioned some fond memories of his parents. But Alastor had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the whole experience.

Your gaze finally falls on The Radio Demon himself, an uncomfortable and awkward posture taking its hold on him. He was standing straighter than usual, his grin that was as consistent as he was creepy was now fairly strained, as his eyes darted, trying to look at anything but the company he surrounded himself with. Your brows furrowed as you stared, though you tried to make it not so obvious. His shoulders sunk for a moment as you watched him suck in a breath, readjusting to his normal position and finally breaking his silence.

“You’ll all have to excuse me for a moment, I have some business to attend to!” His preppy voice cut through Charlie’s dialogue as the focus in the room catches on him. His eyes finally find someone to land on. You! Oh, he’s looking at you. You blink as his gaze narrows, turning on his heels as the rest of the room murmurs goodbyes. Your eyes followed his path, watching him disappear further into the hotel.

“I didn’t think we had anything else on the agenda today,” Vaggie glances to her girlfriend, looking for some sort of explanation for the overlord’s odd behavior. You cast a glance Charlie’s way as well, curious, but you were met with a shrug and an absentminded smile.

“Must be personal errands or something! We can keep going with the activity,” she motions to you with her hand, encouraging you to speak about your own experiences. Your lips pressed into a thin line as your eyes drifted back to the spot where Alastor had once stood. You had an itching sensation in your brain that you had a hunch wouldn’t fade unless you figured out what was going on.

You and Alastor were close, to some extent. He spoke to you more openly than any of the others at the hotel. And you were the same with him. But one thing he would never talk about was his life before Hell. It was a mystery. Like a locked vault that’s code was long gone. But you longed to grow closer to him. You’d be lying if you said your feelings toward the demon hadn’t begun to bubble into something more, but now wasn’t the time to process that. You had more interesting things to think about.

After a long beat of silence, you stood up.

“Sorry Charlie, but I gotta use the bathroom, I’ll be back in a bit!” You assure with a toothy grin and a thumbs up. The princess could only giggle, nodding at you and ushering to go take care of your ‘business.’

You hurried off in the direction Alastor had gone, going through a list of places he’d likely be in your head. Kitchen? No, he’d gone the opposite direction. Radio tower? He only went up there to broadcast. Library? Hotel doesn’t have one of those. You frowned. He’d like one though, you were sure of it.

His room.

It was the only other logical place to check in the hotel. You picked up your pace, his room was on one of the higher floors of the hotel. Finally reaching the elevator, you hesitate. Alastor wasn’t a vulnerable person. If something was wrong, would he tell you? You pressed the button for the elevator, despite doubt eating at the inside of your stomach. Stepping onto the dinky machine, you pressed the button for the floor you needed, taking a breath in and out. You needed to know what was going on with him.

The elevator hummed to life as it hoisted you upwards, an awkward silence falling over you, despite there being no one else in the machine. It dinged as you hit your desired floor, and you sighed, happy to be off of the unreliable thing. You continued your journey to The Radio Demon’s room, you face beginning to sour as you realized how unrealistic you were being. Al would never admit to you what was wrong. You knew that. Why were you trying?

As you reached his door, you stared up at it. A deer skull was etched into the red wood, a golden knob flourishing in the flickering lights of the hotel. You couldn’t give up on him. You’d gone through a lot to try and get close with Alastor. You couldn’t throw that effort away because of doubt. How idiotic would that be?

Without much thought, you placed your hand on that beautiful golden knob, slowly turning it, trying to be as quiet as possible. The door slowly swung open, not so much as a creak coming from its hinges. You made a mental note to ask him how he got his door to be so quiet when all this was over, gently closing the door behind you. Sat on his bed, hunched over and face in his hands was The Radio Demon himself. Your eyes scanned the room as you tried your absolute best to not loudly question how he had a SWAMP in his room. Now wasn’t the time.

You walked into his room, approaching the deer-like demon in silence. You could hear muffled sniffles from under his hands, and he seemed far too lost in his own thoughts to pay your presence any mind. You, with slight hesitation, placed your hand on his shoulder. His body stiffened as his fingers parted slightly, his red eyes peering up at you through his lashes.

“Alastor, are you—”

A black tendril wrapping around your arm and pushing you back put a hold on your sentence. You stumbled backwards, barely catching yourself as you looked Alastor. He stood up, fast, tear stains brandishing his cheeks as his smile, that was somehow still there, strained into what was the closest thing to frowning he may be capable of. His neck bent wildly, his body growing larger in size as his eyes turned a shadowy black.

“GET OUT.” His voice was crackled with radio static, his teeth glued shut as his spoke through them like he was, well, a radio.

You’d never wanted to run away more than in that moment. This had gotten intense VERY quickly, and it was a bit frightening. But as your neck craned up and your eyes met his, and you’d never been met with such sadness.

“I can’t. Not until you talk to me, Alastor,” your words were firm, but your eyes were soft. Full of compassion. He shook his head, eyes squinting shut.

“You want me to talk to YOU? Why are you even trying to pretend to care?!” Alastor’s voice cracked as he slammed his fists onto the ground, the floor shuddering beneath him. You stepped closer, your eyes pleading silently that he’d hear you. Not just listen to your words, but comprehend them.

“I’m not trying to pretend anything. But I could tell you were upset earlier, and it’s obvious that you are now! I just want to be here for you! I want to understand!” Your voice rose in volume as you stood your ground, not faltering even this slightest bit. An almost animalistic growl left The Radio Demon’s throat as he moved closer to you.

“You truly want me to believe you’d ‘understand?!’ My mother was the ONLY person I had when I was alive, she was the only one that was there for me! The only one I’d ever DARE let myself be vulnerable around because she would NEVER hurt me,” Alastor’s hands clutched his head, his fingers tangling in his hair as his eye twitched. You listened with a solace look upon your face, narrowing your eyes at him with pity creasing your brow. “And NOW look at me. A demon. A MONSTER. I’ve ended countless lives, she was a saint among the living, and I am a HELLSPAWN. What would,” he collapsed to his knees, arms falling limp to his sides as he returned to his natural form, his voice falling quiet. “What would she think of me now? Her precious pride and joy. A murderer. She would be disgusted by me. Does it even matter? I’ll never see her again. She died long before I did. And now I’m here. Alone.”

Silence fell over the room as Alastor’s chest heaved, tears streaking his face once again. You waiting a moment before approaching him, kneeling down in front of the taller man. You gently, somewhat hesitantly, took his cheek in your hand, tilting his head to make him look at you. Your eyes scanned his face, eyeing that never ending smile. Your lips tugged upward as your thumb caressed his cheek, making a moment of contact with the corner of his lips.

“I bet your mom misses that smile,” his ears pinned down to the sides of his head, Alastor’s trembling hand covered your own, his smile tugging tighter as he leaned into your touch. “You’re not alone, Alastor.”

He fell into you, and your eyes widened in surprise. His head buried in the crook of your neck, you could feel his tears coating your skin and shirt. His arms wrapped around your torso, his claws were surprisingly gentle. Almost like he was being cautious. You moved from your knees to your butt with a quiet thump, pulling his body closer to yours. One of your arms wrapped tightly around the lower half of his torso, the other around his shoulders, your hand combing through his soft hair.

Alastor’s face was warm against your skin, you could hear every sniffle, feel every shudder as soft sobs wracked his body. Sometimes, being in Hell made you forget, every person you met down here was once innocent. They were once alive, vulnerable, and just someone trying to find their place in the world. Big bad overlords like the on you were cradling in your arms were once human. They all were someone’s pride and joy, someone’s baby, someone’s entire reason to keep living. Despite what they’d become, they once were soft and pure, nothing is born evil. And times like this made you remember that.

After a good few minutes of The Radio Demon crying into your shoulder, he’d finally calmed, now just sitting in that same position, holding you close, a small sniffle every once in a while. You’d been lulling soft words into his ear, your best attempt to relax him. Slowly, Alastor picked his head up, straightening himself to sit sort-of-in-front-of-you, your legs were a little tangled due to the way you’d both been sitting for the past while. He looked into your eyes, his hands were gently fiddling with the fabric of your shirt as he averted his gaze.

“This was. A relieving experience,” he admits, his smile small but seemingly genuine. His face was tear stained, there were light bags under his eyes, but all and all, he seemed a lot lighter.

“Good. That’s,, that’s good. I’m glad,” you gave a lopsided grin, moving your hands to caress his arms. “Seemed like you might’ve needed that.”

“I suppose I did,” he returned the motion, his hands falling to your hips, though loosely.

This was the most physically affectionate you’d ever seen Alastor. He, generally speaking, didn’t like much contact. The most people would get from him is a simple handshake or pinch of the cheek, maybe an arm around the shoulder, but it was almost always in a condescending way. But this was very different. It was softer, more intimate. You felt almost privileged to see this side of him.

“I meant what I said,” you break the string of comfortable silence. Alastor tilted his head, expecting some elaboration. “About wanting to be here for you. Whenever you need it, I’m always there.”

“I know you did, my dear. I would like to. Hm,” a pause. “I’m sorry. For snapping at you. It’s hard to be open when we are quite literally in Hell. I should’ve known better than to think you’d ever try to use this against me. You’d never do that, would you?” His grip on your hips tightened slightly. A warning. But also, a plead.

“Of course not, I’d never even think of it,” you gave his arms a reassuring squeeze, and his grip on you loosened. You could only smile, pulling yourself closer to him and placing your forehead against his. Alastor rolled his eyes though when they fell back to you, his whole expression softened. This was a tender moment, and wasn’t one that you’d likely ever get again.

You admired him for a short moment, allowing silly thoughts of romance and companionship dance in your head. Alastor, The Radio Demon, with a lowlife sinner like you? It would be unprecedented. And yet, you couldn’t help but let the softness of this moment cloud your judgement. You leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth Alastor tensed. As you pulled away, you could see a very obvious blush across his face.

“Sorry,” you murmur with a smile, pulling away completely, withdrawing all contact. “Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

Before he could reply, you gave a gentle pat on his head, and then walked out of his room. The overlord could only blink, watching you disappear. His heart fluttered with excited jitters as he stood, dusting himself off. He may just have to come to you with his issues more often.

#fanfic #writing #hazbin hotel #rockettothestars222 #reqs open #requests #hazbin vaggie #hazbin charlie #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #comfort #hazbin fanfic #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin angel dust #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin husk

[roboticchibitan]

I remember when same sex marriage was legized in my state (3 years before obergefel vs Hodges which legalized it nationwide). It won by a very narrow margin.

People who had taken care of me when I was young, people who were like second parents to me, (along with half the other people I knew) were saying it was the end times because I could now get married. And I couldn't help but wonder... would those people have protected me, cared for me, let me play with their children, if they had known I would grow up to be queer?

I came out in 2011. I was lucky. My parents were accepting. My mom was clearly uncomfortable at first but she made it clear she loved me no matter what.

Except.

My dad didn't care if I was queer and assured me that didn't mean there was anything wrong with me (in a speech I didn't need to hear but I think he needed to say). But he still said "that's gay" and "that's faggy" anytime my little brother showed vulnerability.

And I was a lucky one. My father used homophobic slurs around me regularly. He turned the word gay into a slur with his homophobic mouth. And I was a lucky one.

When I came out publicly, my grandmother stopped speaking to me for a while. I'm lucky that she changed her mind. I'm lucky that my grandparents let me bring my girlfriend with me when I went to visit them in October. October of 2022 and I still consider myself lucky that my grandparents let my queer partner into their house. My other grandma likewise visited with us, and was polite and friendly, but she still refused to call my gf anything other than "your friend." Still lucky. Incredibly lucky.

People don't understand just how bad things were as much as ten years ago. When I came out at school, I was lucky. No one bullied me. No one shoved me into lockers or called me slurs. They all just stopped talking to me. I became invisible. I went to a small school. I was the only person who was out. Exactly one person talked to me the rest of the year. And I was a lucky one.

When I was in middle and highschool, the go to insult was "that's gay." I heard it constantly. Every day. Sometimes people said it to me to insult me, long before I even knew I was queer.

I was lucky because the worst that happened to me was social isolation and people using slurs around me or turning my identity into a slur. No one called ME faggy. No one beat me up behind the school bleachers. I was incredibly lucky.

I have experienced the word "gay" used as a slur far more than I ever heard the word "queer" used as a slur. Young "queer is a slur and only a slur" people need to know the world you live in is not the world the rest of us live in. Why is "queer" a slur but "gay" isn't? My homophobic father thought the word "gay" conveyed just as much offense and disgust as the word "faggot." So why is queer the horrible word that can never be reclaimed but people say "that's gay" as a compliment now? The loneliest I have ever felt was in a room full of teenagers who thought my identity was the height of insults. So why is gay fine but queer isn't?

I am a fat butch queer and I do not hide that. My shoes have a pride flag on them. I have a masculine haircut and wear men's clothes. I look queer.

And I am afraid. I dress like this anyway, because I want other queer folks to know I am a safe person. I dress how I do partially because I like it but also partially so any queer person in the room, no matter now closeted, can see me and feel a little bit safer. Because I will protect other queer people with my life if need be.

Because I am openly and visibly queer and live in a world where being queer can get you killed. Because it can. Gay bashings still happen. The alt right are getting bolder in their violence, and that includes homophobic/transphobic violence. There are organizations in the US that are actively pushing to make homosexuality punishable by death in Africa. They know they could never accomplish that here. But they would if they could. People want us dead.

Young people need to understand that. And they need to understand that the people who did the most work to free us from criminalization were queer. They identified as queer. And they weren't the perfect law abiding queers toeing the line of what's acceptible. Because being queer itself was illegal. You could end up on the sex offender registry for being gay. In fact, there are queer people who are STILL registered as sex offenders just because they were queer in 2001. Pride wasn't a permitted parade with wells Fargo floats. It was angry queers illegally marching down the streets, screaming "We're here. We're queer. Get used to it."

Being openly queer is a radical act. It is still a radical act.

I did not live through Windsor vs the united states, the referendum 74 debate, my father punishing my brother for being human with homophobic slurs, and the pearl clutching fearmongering about "the gay agenda" (that was a go to phrase for 2012 homophobes) for some LGBT kid to come at me with TERF bullshit they got off tiktok about how my identity is a slur and I'm a horrible person for using it.

I was a lucky one and I'm still saying "no, absolutely not" to this bullshit.

Queer is more inclusive. Queer accounts for any possible fluidity because people change. Identities change. Queer is there for people who know they're Something Different but are not sure of the details yet. Queer is intentionally vague. When you're young you want everyone to know exactly who you are but as you get older you realize actually my identity is none of your business. In fact, sometimes when you tell someone your identity, you're handing them a bludgeon for them to hurt you with.

If you have trans classmates, you do not understand the world the rest of us grew up in. Trans people were not a public topic. They were not even acknowledged as existing by most people. I didn't know what being trans was until I was like 17. I'm nonbinary now and consider myself trans 10 years later.

And I didn't even have it that bad. But you know what? It still sucked and it was still hard and I can't imagine what it was like to grow up a decade before I did. I had it easy compared to most people.

If you can jokingly say "that's gay" when someone expresses queer love, then you can fucking handle people using the word queer as their identity.

The infighting and policing each other has to stop. You're oppressing queer people with this bullshit. It does not matter what words queer people use to describe themselves when there are people actively killing us. What are you doing? For fucks sake look at the bigger picture. Direct all that rage at our oppressors and the people who mean us harm. Queer people and he/him lesbians and bi lesbians and people who use neo pronouns and whoever else is the discourse of the day do not deserve this kind of treatment. Punch a homophobe and maybe you'll feel better.

#tw homophobia #had to go on a rant because I was thinking about how trapped and afraid I felt during the referendum 74 debate #nothing was safe #no one was safe #we are still not safe #discourse

[finalgilmoregirl]

your newest mike fic has me dead on the floor omg. can you please write something with grumpy mike and his sunshine reader?

a/n : i love this concept it’s such a classic, leans towards fem!reader but no she/her pronouns used, no use of y/n, lots of fluff and a smidge of angst

☆ moments in grumpy!mike x sunshine!readers relationship :

1 ౨ৎ putting on performances with abby. for a child her age, an active imagination is a given. however with the kinds of things she has experienced in her life, the possibilities are truly endless. it's not uncommon for mike to come home and see that the living room has essentially been transformed into a broadway set. and even though he's often coming home from a long shift, exhaustion be damned, you and abby still sometimes manage to wrangle him into the worlds you've created.

if you and abby are the knights of opposing royal courts, he is the jester. if you two are witches, he is the evil henchman. if you're competing fighters, he's the referee. if you two are ballerinas, he is the judge (and he always chooses you as the winner).

but no matter how many times you and abby tell him that he has to do the voices too, he still won't learn. he's essentially just an audience member of your theatrics, sitting on the ground in whatever costume one of you have placed on his shoulders and simply trying to fathom how to two people can have so much energy at the end of the day.

2 ౨ৎ grumpy!mike is your own personal bodyguard. although your sunny aura is extremely welcoming on its own, the constant frown on his face is enough of a signal for a person to turn and walk the other way the moment they notice him next to you.

he's often uncomfortable in public, too aware of his surroundings and overanalyzing everyone's actions. this results in his having a hand on you at all times to calm his nerves, whether that be with your hands clasped together, his hand on your waist or his arm around your shoulder. at first glance the two of you could look like complete strangers that just happen to be in close proximity to each other, but the second mike turns to look at you and his expression softens, it's obvious the two of you are in love.

3 ౨ৎ for the first few weeks of you and mike getting to know each other, he’d never really smiled. sure, he was always kind and polite but the most he would give to express joy was the raise of his eyebrows and the tiniest bit of an amused smirk. so of course when you had been in the middle of recounting a story and mike had laughed, smiling with all of his perfect teeth on display, you were pleasantly shocked.

"so that's what that looks like." you grinned at him, earning a tilt of his head in return.

"what does what look like?" he asked.

"your smile." mike was quick to blush, coughing and looking down for a moment to try and regain his original composure, but before he could feel too embarrassed you continued, "i like it, you should do it more often."

from then on you couldn't get enough of his smile, always trying to make him laugh. which as serious as he is, deep down he lived for it, just basking in your joy and the fact that he was the cause of it.

4 ౨ৎ that being said, mike has a bit of a temper and you know that, taking his waves of bad moods in stride and trying your best to cheer him up, but sometimes he gets so riled up that there’s only so much you can do to help, and mike loses patience.

it’s very rare when he snaps at you and when he does he almost immediately regrets it after seeing how it effects you.

the ever-present smile you hold that has the power to lift everyone’s spirits falls in an instant when one of his outbursts catches you off guard. your eyebrows furrow and you look down to try to keep your own composure. you know he’s not actually mean, at least never to you. you pushed him too hard, you think to yourself and it’s in this moment that mike snaps out of his rage, like a demon that was possessing him had left his body and all he feels is his heart ache.

here you are, the light of his life and he’s the reason you’re not smiling. he rubs his palm over his forehead and reaches out for you, “fuck, i’m sorry” he sighed, “i don’t know why i yelled”

you feel his hand hover over your shoulder and look up, seeing his face full of regret. you reach your hands up and hold his face, which mike immediately melts into, his hands moving to hold your waist. he grabs you tight, desperate even, thinking that if he lets you go you'll leave and he'll lose you for good.

“i know baby. you’ve just had a bad day, i shouldn’t have pushed you.” you sympathize with him, to which he shakes his head.

“yeah but that’s not an excuse, you just wanted to help and—" he pauses and sighs, disappointed with himself, "i’m grateful for that. i love that you care about my problems, no matter how stupid they are.”

you smile gently at his confession, and a weight is lifted off of his chest.

“they’re not stupid. plus, i know you’d do the same for me. you can groan all you want about it but deep down you’re the biggest softie i know.”

mike rolls his eyes playfully, and leans his forehead against yours, “only to you.”

you giggle and connect your lips to his, letting them linger for a few seconds before pulling away and whispering, “yeah, i’d hope so.”

thanks for the request ☆

#mike schmidt x reader #josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt fluff #kelly : mike thoughts 💭

[jymwahuwu]

Hi! Really love your stories they always scratch my brain (*≧∀≦*)❤️, so I got an idea and wanted to ask what you think about it

I got this question with Sunday on the minigame/event (idk what to call it lol)

"Just as you're about to pull a dusty hard-leatherback book, you hear a gentle whisper within earshot, "Averoy Rosewood's works are notorious for their obscurity," the Oak Family Head Sunday faintly smiles at you. "Perhaps you need more elaboration."

(I couldn't put the image since anon asks don't allow me to put images😮‍💨, but it's from a Board Encounter in Cosmodyssey)

and when I read it my brain immediately went WHAT IF SUNDAY FILLS THE READER WITH A VIBRATOR ON THE LIBRARY, and him just watching in amusement as he talks about books and asking her questions about them while he plays with the levels of vibrations with a control on his hands and she just struggles to make sentences, so he goes and asks "What's wrong? Are you not feeling well?" To tease her and remind that she's in a public space and can't make much noise unless she wants everyone to know about what they're doing.

Hmm... I wrote this about Sunday, but I feel like maybe it could be about Jing Yuan or Aventurine 🤔, anyways sorry if it sounds weird my brain sometimes goes into unga bonga mode when I think about these men.

Sincerely,

An unhinged anon.

Thank you for telling me. I experienced this event and read the content of Sunday helping us in the library!! Wrote a little bit, I hope you like it 💗🫶

cw: yandere, non-con, abuse of power, abuse of credit, vibrator, harassment

How about you being the librarian at The Family Library? A nerdy librarian. The Family claims that this is a library open to everyone to read and borrow, covering a variety of books and hologram collections.

Sunday, the leader of the Oak Family noticed you. He can accurately talk to you about your interests, hobbies and ideals, and encourage you…but one thing is that you are not religious enough in your belief in harmony. You are too withdrawn…and cannot integrate into The Family. Sing hymns, participate in activities, and protect The Family, others can do it, but what can you do? He cannot allow you to continue in this position under these circumstances. You panicked, grabbing his sleeves and pleading with him through tears. "W-what, I really believe Lord Xipe…I need this job badly! Please Mr. Sunday…"

He offered a plan. He used his gloves to push a delicate small box in front of you. You must put two vibrators in your underwear while on duty to test your professional abilities. If you can tolerate sinful sexual pleasure, you qualify for this position.

"But… Mr. Sunday, can I-can I take a break?"

"Of course. I'm not here to torture you. This is for your and everyone's happiness and harmony, I hope you understand." His words ignited the hope in your heart. "You have 2 hours a day to take them down. Allocate your own time. After get off work, you head to my office and I will check on your progress. You must do this every working day."

"Check?" Your heart sank into the starry sky and was crushed. "Okay. Mr. Sunday..."

These two vibrators… are pearl white and have an angel wings pattern on them. It's silent, but it delivers a surge of pleasure to your private parts, sometimes fast and sometimes slow down. It's not much better when it's slow - it's a long, quiet torture that gives you no relief. You kept your legs still and sorted your books and documents, your underwear getting wet. Every half minute, you check like a hawk to see if you have wet your clothes, fearing that it has become a joke in the eyes of others…

He occasionally wanders into the library to check on your work and ask you to recommend books in a certain category or answer questions about the collection.

"What's wrong? Are you feeling uncomfortable?" Sunday approached you with caring eyes and ruthlessly pushed the controller frequency to the highest level. You lowered your head, holding back tears, your legs trembling. "I-I'm fine. Mr. Sunday. Thank you for your concern."

This kind-hearted gentleman and leader offers to take you to another secluded corner of the library to rest. On the road, Sunday dials down the vibration frequency and doesn't crank it up until you get to the corner. The intense ecstasy immediately hits you to the extreme and stimulates your nerves. You endured your moans, trembling in Sunday's arms as you reached orgasm. His hands caressed your hair like a lovable pet. He commented that your ability to endure needs to be improved.

After you get off work, Sunday asks you to take off all your clothes in the office and fold them on the table. He uses white gloves to inspect and rub your private parts, circling them with his thumb. In the watery light, those fingers slowly inserted between your legs and twitched. He clicked his tongue in disappointment when he realized that his fingers were already wet enough to slide into the inner walls before being inserted. "Not religious enough, are you? What are you thinking about? You're letting pleasure take over your body."

"...I'm sorry!! Mr. Sunday, Please give me a chance…" you begged with a sob, then cummed hard at his disappointed sigh.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #sunday x reader #yandere honkai star rail #honkai star rail x you #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #honkai x reader

[peachesofteal]

İ love! Love! Love! Love! The omegaverse au?!?!? How do you think the guys would react to darling still trying to take care of herself because while she recognizes them as safe she still thinks she has to çare for herself...like trying to self-soothe and cook or whatnot for herself or the other parts of heat y'know y'know while the guys are there an it's just aughhh like they want to take care of her and this is the perfect oppurtinty but she's still shying away from them because that's all her hindbrain self knows?

I see this happening after everything that’s going on currently in the omegaverse au, possibly for darling’s next cycle, first cycle with her mates after she's come clean about everything.

18+ mdni/ dead disco omegaverse au / mature and explicit themes

You're restless.

Johnny can feel you, fidgeting, muscles tensing and relaxing in his hold, where you're snuggled up against his chest on the couch. He blinks, perplexed, because you should be fully enthralled in this movie at this point. It's one of your favorites. You insisted on watching it.

Casually, slowly, he leans forward to give you a sniff, the movement not as subtle as he would like, but goes unnoticed by you all the same. He gets a good draw from your gland, lungful of you, the scent that he knows and loves, the scent that feels like home, underneath it something else lingers.

Something fruited. Something ripe.

His eyes widen. His body responds, blood roaring in his ears, muscles seizing in response, nostrils flaring, trying to get more, and more. Fuck.

"Darling?" He coos, edging closer, wrapping an arm around you to tuck you into his body. "Everything alright?" You must be in pre-heat. You must. You're not nesting, or exhibiting any other symptoms, but you have to be close.

"Mmm? Yeah." you answer, sleepily, not even looking Simon's way when he rounds the couch.

"What's goin' on?"

"Nothing." you snatch a reply from Johnny's mouth, and he shakes his head. Later, the motion says.

They put you in bed sometime after that. You go easily, curling up in Johnny's arms until you're softly snoring, and he's able to slip away, tucking you in tight with a glass of water on the table. Just in case.

"She's in pre-heat." He says in whoosh as soon as he closes the door, and Simon nods, like he already knows. "Ye knew?"

"I suspected. Caught her stockpiling some of our dirty clothes in the closet yesterday. Said she was doing laundry but, it didn't make sense." Johnny pulls at the neck of his shirt, the clothes suddenly feeling too tight, too warm, too itchy, and Simon's gaze narrows.

"You can't." He tells him simply, and Johnny blanches. "This is her first real heat with us, I don't want you in a rut."

"Ah know."

"Tamp it down."

"Ah-" Simon grips him behind the neck, bringing their foreheads together before pressing a long, sweet kiss to his lips.

"I love you. But I will send you to Kyle's if I think you cannot handle this." He's stern, and Johnny gulps. He knows what's at stake. He knows what it means, that you're going to into heat again, so soon, after coming off the suppressants. He knows you're going to need an extra gentle hand, gentle touch, encouragement the whole way. If he's in a rut, he won't be able to give that to you. He'll be too busy fixated on fucking you full of his come and getting you pregnant.

"It doesn't feel like a rut, ah just feel, uncomfortable." he assures, and Simon nods, placing another quick kiss on his lips and pulling away.

"I've called Price. Told him not to expect us for another week and a half, at least." Simon pauses, turning back, looking him up and down. "Anything I can do for this discomfort?" His toes curl, delicious desire heating up his spine, and he's nodding the whole way to the couch.

You're starting to lose your grip.

You can feel it. You wake in the morning a little more miserable, body starting to cramp, and with the pain, comes confusion. Delusion. You have to actively stare at both of the guys for too long, blinking and committing them to memory before you can get out of bed, reminding yourself that you're at home, you're safe. You're with them, and they'd never hurt you. You're okay.

They start to wake up once they feel you shift, and you tell them you're going to the bathroom, where you end up staring at yourself in the mirror for far too long. Who are you? Are you in there? What were you doing in here?

You touch your gland, feeling it beneath your finger, muscle memory trying to force your wrist upwards to rub, and rub, and soothe yourself but you beat it back. You're safe. You're with them.

Instinct drives you to the kitchen. You think you might be hungry, and if not, you will be. You probably need to put some things together, prep all the stuff you bought at the grocery anyway. Like you already knew, your trip earlier this week resulted in extra vegetables and fruit, your heat necessities, and you wash them robotically in the sink as the kettle heats, moving them all to the cutting board for the next step.

Your mind wanders as you slice, and you try to keep yourself on track, thinking about your life now, versus your life then, trying to stay present, keep a grip on yourself. You cannot have a repeat of last time. Not now. Dangerous thoughts grow in your subconscious, fear and doubt filtering through to the forefront of your mind.

Are you sure they even want an omega? Are you sure they don't find heats disgusting? Are you sure this is what they want?

"Darling?"

Why do you think they always spent their ruts together? Why didn't you ever tell them about the suppressants or your past, until you absolutely had to?

"Darling."

They're going to think you're pathetic. A pathetic omega who cannot control herself. Desperate to be bred, to be fucked. Disgusting.

"Darling!" Simon's shout jolts you, and the knife clatters against the countertop, freed from your hand that is now being held in another one, much larger. "Hey, you with me?" He ducks down to look at your eyes, but you can't look up. The room smells, like you, like heat, like panic, and you whimper involuntarily, heart thundering beneath your rib cage. "Alright, you're alright." He starts a rumble, harmonics that vibrate deep from his chest, and then pulls you into his arms, where you bury your face in his chest immediately.

"I'm sss-orry."

"Shhh."

"I don't think I- I- can do this." You cry. You're sobbing, wetting his shirt, your skin, and he picks you up like a feather, carrying you to bed and laying you gracefully back in your spot, between him and Johnny.

You cover your face with your hands, and Johnny matches Simon's purr with his own, emitting a honey sweet calming scent.

"What can't you do, darling?"

"My heat. I can't- I don't want it." You hiccup, breathing shallow, and look at both of them with wide eyes. "Please, can we c-call my doctor and see if, there's something-"

"Darling, no." Johnny hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. "It's alright, we're with ye now." You shake your head in denial, and then before you can stop, your wrist comes to your gland... rubbing. It happens for a second, maybe two, before Simon plucks it free and replaces it with his own. You try to protest, but you cramp, body curling in on itself, the pain making everything worse, slick starting to leak down your thighs. You whimper, hand trying to snake down between your legs, desperate to tuck your fingers into your cunt for some form of relief, body and hindbrain screaming at you to find something, your mates, anything-

"We're here." Simon coos. "Right here. We've got you. We're going to take care of you, I promise."

#peaches asks #dead disco omegaverse au #ghoap x reader #f!reader

[moonchildstyles]

s'entendre

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

wordcount: 14.4k+

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you," she blurted. 

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

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

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

"It's m'job," he answered simply. 

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shot him a small smile and a single nod.

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

—————

"I love this song!" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was drunk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y'want another, or water?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I-I do, but Harry—my drink." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Y/N) did want to have fun. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who a—" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want food, too." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry understood her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh?"

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

"Okay, u—"

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

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

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

"Good. Talk to you later." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

Dad

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

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

          Be on your best behavior.

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

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

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

The thought had (Y/N) cringing. 

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

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

Did Harry know anything about this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?" was his only response. 

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

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

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

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

"No, not him." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What for?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay. Thank you." 

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

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

"Goodnight, Harry."

—————

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

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

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

[inbarfink]

"Look, it's like I said, you have to PUNCH and PUSH your way around to get what you want!"

I mean… she’s actually not wrong?

Remember the whole Trauma Robe debacle in the very last episode? Simon was put into an outfit that was both emotionally and physically uncomfortable for him to wear but he just kinda grumbled and did nothing about it. But as soon as Fionna noticed that her skirt is hard to move in, she immediately said it and then got accommodated.

Because she ‘PUSHED’ her feelings out there - while Simon just wallowed in his misery until he totally broke.

Making things worse for both himself specifically and Team Fionna in general.

Learning how to 'punch and push’... you know, maybe not literally, but to be more assertive and direct, is a lesson Simon needs to learn - even if... it might not be what Fionna needed to do at the time (Maybe? Threatening Farmworld Wildberry Princess is Not a Good Thing to Do but it DID get Jay's attention at least?)

‘Destiny’ is the episode that really most explicitly plays with the idea that Fionna and Simon have kinda polar opposite attitudes that are both highly flawed and they need to meet in the middle. Sometimes Fionna’s spontaneity is useful and Simon can be really overly careful. Such as in their attempts at 'blending in'

And sometimes Fionna really is far too careless

And that theme is most explicit in that episode, but it’s an element of this series since their introductory episodes. Fionna and Simon aren't just 'opposites' because one is a young woman from an ordinary world who yearns for magic and adventure and the other is a middle-aged man from a magical world who misses normalcy and mundanity. It's more about how they deal with their problems.

Fionna is pretty outspoken about her problems and her issues - sometimes outspoken to the point that it gets her in troubles

While Simon has such a hard time expressing his problems to his loved ones in a way that is clearly actively detrimental to his mental health

Both Fionna and Simon kinda have lessons to teach to each other.

#adventure time #atimers #fionna and cake #at #at spoilers #fionna & cake #fac spoilers #f&c #f&c spoilers #destiny #adventure time fionna and cake #adventure time spoilers #adventure time simon #fionna and cake spoilers #fionna and cake series #fionna and cake simon #fionna and cake show #simon petrikov #simon adventure time #fionna campbell #fionna the human #adventure time fionna #prismo the wishmaster

[drizztdohurtin]

Gale Headcanons: Pregnancy and Fatherhood

pairing: Gale x afab!reader (use of she/her, "wife", "mother")

〚 Masterlist | WIP List 〛

-MDNI-

i've brought to you....... yet another doozy

What to expect: section 01 - pregnancy: fluff & domesticity, slight NSFW under the cut section 01.5 - labor and birth: fluff section 02 - fatherhood: fluff & domesticity, slight angst

suggested pre-reads: pining, dating, domesticity, and marriage | deciding to start a family and conceiving

01. Pregnancy

Your pregnancy is revealed either from your period not coming, a trip to the cleric, or from Tara being able to sense something new in your womb - choose your favorite!

With a big smile, Gale would let out a very relieved sigh and pull you in a close embrace - "My love, I can't believe we finally did it"

He'd hold you for a while, nuzzling his face in your neck or your hair, pressing his forehead against yours, dipping down for relieved kisses and brushing his nose against yours

He'd be more excited than words could explain, but he'd want to wait a little while before you two get too hype about it because anything could happen when you're that early on in a pregnancy

He'd continue cooking proper meals for you every day, especially anything he learned is good for your first trimester (like anything rich in iron and protein)

But as the weeks go by with no issues, and once a cleric signs off on the health and viability of your pregnancy, the man jumps into gear

He would love to have an active part in designing and setting up the nursery, and would absolutely take care of it by himself if you didn't have much of an interest or preference in it

He talks to your belly SO often

will say random things to your bump throughout the day; and the info dumps he used to subject you to are now also for the baby, and he speaks as if there are multiple people in the room rather than just you

imagine him scolding the growing baby about how he told them to "stop kicking mummy all night because she needs to sleep"

I also love the thought of him greeting you and the baby whenever he sees you - "Hello, my love," he'd say to you, then look at your bump, maybe bending down a little bit, saying, "and hello my baby :)))", often giving your stomach a small rub

100% talks to the bump at night, with his head resting on it (or your chest), his hand rubbing comforting circles on your belly, sometimes following the movements his baby is making from the inside

As prepared as he was for your pregnancy from reading all of those books, I doubt he'd ever closely been around a pregnant person like this before

so he'd be really shocked seeing how much your belly stretches when the baby is big and really starts moving around

nothing could've prepared him for that - it's fascinating to him but he also doesn't try to egg it on if it's uncomfortable for you (which it very likely is, especially as your baby gets bigger and bigger)

he'd feel so lucky if he was there to witness the first time your baby kicks

You'd perk up like "gale!! baby's kicking!!" as you rush to put one of his hands on your belly - shock and excited anticipation in his eyes as he waits to feel it

and he'd be whispering as if talking too loud would scare off the baby from moving - "Do it again, little one, come on!"

He'd be so quiet, even once he felt the kicks; there'd be a quiet gasp as he looked back at you, his jaw dropped in a big smile, basically astonished

after that moment, he'd always have his hands on your bump, hoping to feel some movement

If you get food aversions or are easily nauseous... oh my GOD he's so perfect and patient and understanding and helpful about it

Wizards aren't versed in healing magic, so he wouldn't be able to help you out too much on that front but he would be there for you for every second of it

He is still a very knowledgeable and powerful wizard, so he could try other forms of magic that could help reduce discomfort

he would be able to evoke different scents into the air; for example, citrusy and peppermint/eucalyptus smells can help with things like nausea (the latter can also be for headaches)

or lavender and chamomile can help you get to sleep if you're feeling restless

I've mentioned it in other headcanon posts, but he'd also be able to change the temperature of his hands, to some effect, using the cold/heat to relieve certain types of pain on your body

He'd adapt to food aversions, or even food obsessions, that you get; implementing changes in the meals he makes for you with ease

Gale would NEVER leave you alone to deal with something uncomfortable or painful

the only reason he might not be there to help is if he's at work

and he'd feel so terrible when he gets home and sees the state of you, or asks how your day went only for you to find out about your newest aches and pains

He'd definitely coax you into a bath often if it was something that made you more comfortable - offering to join you and massage any areas of your body that hurt

Your pregnant body would do things to him, btw

Even from the beginning, despite how it would take months for you to even start showing

Just the fact that you were pregnant with his baby would do things to him

His mindset about this would be similar to how it was during your time conceiving - he wasn't turned on by the idea of "breeding you" but instead by the level of intimacy that creating life with you is

So he wouldn't look at you with lust because your rounding belly, your growing breasts, and your widening hips were evidence of him "breeding you"

he'd be turned on by all those things because of the intimacy it implied - it was evidence of your love for him, and his love for you, and it would always be perfect to him, more than words would describe

the first time he realized your bump was noticeable was after he came home from having to be away for a few days - and you were changing for bed

You'd heard a quiet, but audible, "Oh wow," when he noticed you and the way your stomach and breasts were larger and rounder than he remembered

visibly in awe, he made his way over to you, hovering his hands over your stomach with a soft, "May I?" - his hands finding a place at your belly only once you nodded

He'd get down on his knees and kiss your bump, telling you how much he loved you and how stunning you were before making his way up to your lips - his warm, gentle hands grazing up your sides and around your lower back

If you were feeling well that night, he would absolutely want to show you how much he loved you, and how gorgeous you are

Gale would 100% want to make love to you anytime he could - there was just something about your pregnancy that could get him worked up at the snap of a finger

He wouldn't initiate it a lot, especially if you weren't feeling well - he much preferred to care for you in the other, more innocent ways

But he'd absolutely have you any time you wanted him, whether it was because you were feeling at the top of your game or because you were feeling horrible - his goal is always to love and worship you

So much of your time over the past year or two would've revolved around trying to start a family and going through pregnancy

so he'd completely understand if you ever felt overlooked as an individual, or as who you were besides your pregnancy - though he tried his hardest to make sure you were never overlooked

compared to the amount of effort and time he'd spend on things that did revolve around your pregnancy, he'd spend the same amount (and maybe more) on taking time to love you and spend time with you in ways that didn't revolve around your pregnancy

he wanted to ensure you never forgot that his love and care for you extended far beyond the fact that you were carrying his child

01.5 Labor and Birth

Gale would be a literal dream when you go into labor

Despite the common fears and nerves people get when their partners go into labor, he remains very calm and collected on the outside

He'd made sure nothing got in the way of him being there for you in every way you can imagine

And you guys would've made a very thorough birth plan, whether it was his idea or yours, and he would stick to it

your birth plan would be incredibly important to him and he'd 100% have it memorized in case he needs to speak or advocate for you

Just from all of the books he's read, he's almost exceedingly prepared

He's so wonderful during the actual birth, doing everything you need him to without even asking

because by this point in your relationship, he knows exactly what you need just from glancing at you

I couldn't decide if he would be more of a "stick to the books we read" type of partner during labor or a "you can scream and cry and punch me and, you're the only one that can do it, so do whatever you need to do to get yourself through this" type

He's very much a combination of the two, but I ultimately decided that he's closer to the first type for the birth of your first child, and if you have more after that then he's more like the second type

So for the first birth, he lowkey wants to stick to the birthing books he read - like he'd insist on you doing the breathing techniques he learned about, or trying different positions to allow gravity to do its job, etc.

and whether or not you listen to him is up to you HAHDSA

He'd just be so fucking in awe of you - even if you refused to follow the dumb breathing exercises he kept mimicking 2 feet from your face

If you happen to yell at him because he's talking too much or that's just how you deal with that kind of pain, he literally wouldn't even be upset in any regard

If you gotta break his hand by squeezing it too hard, go ahead

You could literally kill him in that moment and he'd understand

He'd be full of praise and loving words, too

There would be a lot of "you're doing incredible, my love, keep going," as he rubs some part of your body soothingly

and once baby is born, oh boy

His face would almost scrunch up; his lips pressed firmly together in a soft smile, trying to hold back his tears as he watched your baby be handed over to you

If you looked over at him, you'd just see him with the most soul-crushingly sweet smile, and glassy eyes looking back into yours with the purest love

And he'd be pretty damn quiet, basically at a loss for words as he takes in the whole scene before him

A few tears would finally fall the longer he looked at the two of you, along with a quiet sob of happiness when you eventually ushered him closer

and that's when he finally gets to touch his baby for the first time, rubbing the pad of his thumb as gently as possible over their warm, tear-stained cheek

He'd just lay his head on your shoulder, his face less than a foot from that of his newborn who was laid on your chest - relishing in the first moments of fatherhood that he'll never get to experience again

02. Fatherhood

OKAY let's talk about if he has sons and/or daughters and how many

I'm a Gale-firstborn-is-a-boy truther

and I honestly can't explain it but I can't see him having more than one, which is probably unpopular and I can't even explain myself !!

if baby #2 comes along, I tend to lean more toward him having a daughter, 3-5 years after his son

those are the specifics of my thoughts, but the rest of the headcanons will be gender-neutral in case you feel differently!

Gale is obsessed with his baby - by the Gods, they are the most perfect thing in existence

He would thank you every day (literally, every day) for bringing such a gift into the world

He's not a super "touchy" father - meaning he's not constantly kissing or nuzzling his baby (unlike someone else I've written about, not to name any names), but he's still of course an affectionate dad

He'd more often prop his baby up in their seat so they could watch him do things (like while he cooks or cleans or works in his study) rather than hold them the whole time

entertaining them the whole time by explaining what he was doing (explaining it to them as if they had the language comprehension of an adolescent)

You'd walk in on him explaining to your 3-month-old how to properly zest a lemon and how he even learned how to do it in the first place

and to his credit, your child looked very interested

It's not like he doesn't know how to talk to babies or something, he just isn't big on baby talk

and he always read about how stimulating it was for babies to hear and watch people talk to them - so really, he was doing a great job

If he's relaxing on the couch reading a book or resting his eyes, however, he'd love to have his baby cuddle into his chest while he does so

He'd read out loud to them sometimes, too, of course!

Gale's the "on it!" type of dad

Literally anything you or the baby need, he's on it before you even ask - and, yes, he absolutely goes "☝ On it, my love!"

he's literally so patient, too

He'd be able to say quite calm and collected even when his child is freaking out and crying and throwing tantrums - or if they're just a really colicky baby - he handles it very well and never ever gets upset with them

The driving force behind his patience is how empathetic he is as a person - it would only go above and beyond for you and your guys' children

Even if he had to go to work all sleepy and fatigued, he wouldn't be upset - and he'd wear the bags under his eyes like a badge of honor

if it means allowing you to get your proper rest, he'll stay up comforting your crying baby all night if he has to

This might be an unpopular opinion but he's not a very panicky dad - like if his kid gets hurt, he's quite level-headed about it, he's not freaking out

he'd do a really wonderful job of comforting his child and keeping them calm while he helps heal them - and he's definitely the type to tell them stories to distract them while he fixes them up

I'm subscribed to the idea that Gale did not grow up with a dad and didn't have much of a childhood due to M*stra and how consumed by his magical craft he had been (I don't even remember if these are canon or headcanon at this point)

so he'd desperately want to give his child what he never had - a loving father and a real childhood

I do love the community HC of them being very gifted in magic, so before you and Gale find out about it I think he'd secretly hope that his child doesn't inherit his abilities - mainly for the reason of him wanting them to enjoy their childhood instead of being consumed by their gifts like he was

(plus there's always the looming threat of fckin M*stra 🖕🖕🖕🖕)

But when his child's gifts are revealed and they start summoning things at a young age, he would take every precaution possible to keep them safe and also allow them to still be a kid while they navigate their talents

He'd teach them everything they wanted to know, but only when they asked him to, and he would try to make it as fun as possible

and he'd worry less knowing that he was in charge of their studies - he knew best how to keep them safe and happy, and that's what matters most to him

but he would not shelter your child - he'd be a pretty lenient dad

He'd let them do things other parents might not let their kids do, as long as it was safe and with both your and his permission

he's also just a fuckin goofball of a dad and loves making his kid laugh - and YES he is stocked full of dad jokes

(all of his kid's friends would love both of you)

He wouldn't shy away from teaching them about or letting them learn about more mature topics as long as it was in a way that was appropriate for their age

and as they grew, they'd be allowed to know more and more about such topics

for example, his very young child might ask "How did mummy and daddy meet?"

he wouldn't just tell his three-year-old that mummy and daddy were abducted from their homes and violated by mind flayers and met after crashing onto land and having to survive on the road to Baldur's Gate for several months with a constant threat of death or ceremorphosis looming over them

He'd say something closer to 'mummy and daddy met one day near a beautiful druids grove in Elturgard, and we fell in love as we adventured our way to the city of Baldur's Gate!' - and reveal more of the details as they grew

If your kid ever pushed too much on the details of a topic that was too much for them, he'd be really good about teaching them about how some topics they may not be able to understand until they're older - and that he'd share more of those details with them when they were able to comprehend better what certain things mean

As much as he loves all of his child's life stages for unique reasons, he'd particularly love the 4-6-year-old range

It's when they start to blossom into a person and he gets to see all of the specific opinions and interests form, but they're also still little enough to hold and cuddle

and it's right before the age that they start to become more independent; therefore not wanting/needing him as much as they used to

Once they're a little older, he would really miss the days when his child clung to him or always wanted him to pick them up or play with them - though he'd still find ways to embrace each new stage of their life

There would've been many moments - when his child was around 6 - where he'd hold their sleeping form in his arms and think about how one day they wouldn't need him like that anymore - and it would bring him to tears almost every time

moments like that are what would make him seriously consider having another child

he'd always come to you afterward for comfort, sinking his tear-stained face into your neck and wrapping his arms around you without a word

and when you ask him what's wrong, all he says is, "Our baby's getting big."

(whether he brings up having another baby is up to you)

and Gale would raise your child to have great respect for you

Really the only time you'd see him get stern or even yell at them is if they did something really fucking stupid and dangerous, or if they said/did something to disrespect you

He knows damn well you can handle yourself with your kid, but he doesn't want you to have to

and if they said something that actually hurt your feelings, oh boy

This is where his remarkable patience would be tested - as he would be incredibly disappointed with them

says something like, "I can see that you're having very big feelings right now, and you don't know how to handle them, but you will not talk to your mother like that."

If your child kept mouthing off (as kids tend to do), his voice would lower in volume as his stare practically pierced through them in disbelief, "Go to your room. We'll talk about this later."

oh, and talk to them he will - after several deep breaths and a slight prayer to the gods to give him strength

Expect an apology from your kid a few hours later after watching them shuffle into your room with their head hung and their father watching from the hallway with his arms crossed

I think something like that would honestly be embarrassing for him, and you'd even get several apologies from him about it despite how well he handled it and how it wasn't even his fault

Overall, Gale would be such a lovely father

His child would never feel unloved or uncared for, and he'd never disrespect them or talk down to them - he'd do anything to keep them happy and safe

I really hope y'all loved these! As always, comments are GREATLY appreciated and I love to hear people's thoughts on my headcanons!! <3

#my writing #my hcs #wife #bg3 #fluff #gale dekarios #headcanons #baldur's gate 3 #brainrot #x reader #x tav

[redlikemercury]

𝕊𝕝𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝔸𝕚𝕕

𝕊𝕙ō𝕥𝕒 𝔸𝕚𝕫𝕒𝕨𝕒

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩

Summary: Aizawa is a single father with needs, and being his new neighbor makes him think all his prayers have been answered.

a/n: First ever post, if you have any suggestions or any advice feel free to tell me :)

cw: black!fem, fingering, oral receiving (f), dirty talk, unprotected, pet name (princess, baby), size kink, edging, dilf. creampie? 18+

work count: 5.5k

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩

"Ungh! Come on dammit." Aizawa’s legs were nearing their end as he stood there on his last set of back squats. His breathing was shaky and he clenched his jaw, grunting to stand back up again. Bending the knees and hips simultaneously, Aizawa lowered his body down, making sure his knees were tracked over his toes and his heels firmly placed. The veins in his thighs were bulging out as they were parallel with the ground as he maintained stability. He squatted deeper before activating his leg muscles to stand back up again, trembling on his fifth set.

Exhaling deeply, he manages to stand back up again. He was pushing his luck doing two hundred and ten pounds today. Small strands of black hair stuck to his forehead like glue due to the huge amble of sweat that trickled down his phone which was placed on the ground. His phone had dinged, when he looked down and saw a notification, Eri had just made a purchase off her iPad on Roblox. He sighed, obviously annoyed with the matter. Eri tended to pay for things without his permission, formed from the amount of spoiling she gets from him. Aizawa finished up his last set, before heading over to the children’s play area to confront her about it. “This child is a handful sometimes.” He mumbled to himself, using a towel to dry off his drenched face.

While coming out of the gym down the hall, you’ve bumped into his sweaty chest by accident. You backed up and cleared your throat getting ready to apologize, until you saw him. Aizawa’s body glistened with perspiration, every inch of his physique was defined by his bulging muscles, a full display of his fierce training regimen. His broad shoulders and chiseled chest created an imposing presence as an overcasting shoulder was cast upon you. The veins in his biceps seeped through. Nothing compared to his abdomen it was a washboard of muscles. His abs were flexing slightly as they sparkled with sweat, you wanted to lick it off so badly. His bedraggled black hair was pulled back into a bun. His almond eyes had heavy bags underneath along with a small scar underneath his eye. The light stubble on his chin completed his face. You were enthralled by the sight of seeing him so worn out. Your heart was racing as you were severely in need of this man on top of you, fucking you like nobody's business. You soon shook your head and snapped back into reality glancing up towards Aizawa. Your full brown lips parted as you spoke to him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.” You said quite hastily, hoping he didn’t think you were some creep checking out his body. Aizawa's eyes carried that same deadpan expression, letting out a momentary sigh and shaking his head. “There’s no need to apologize. I was the one who was in a rush.” His voice didn’t hold any malice towards you as he met your gaze. He stared you down into your beautiful dark brown eyes, that made you more flustered by the sight of him. This intense stare-down did more than just make you uncomfortable, it turned you on even more.

For a second, it appeared like a small playful smirk on his lips before he carried the same exhausted expression. “You’re my new neighbor, correct? Let me make it up to you, me and my daughter were getting ready to head home. If you don’t mind, could I treat you to dinner at my place?” He politely said to you. You were shocked to hear Aizawa make such a suggestion. You’ve moved in beside the man about a month ago. There were occasional ‘hellos’ and ‘how are yous’ in the early morning, as you guys would start the day early in the morning. Aizawa would always be carrying a sleepy Eri to the car as the two of you shared light small talk, nothing more. It didn’t stop your everlasting fantasies of being bent over by this man, til you couldn’t walk. You looked down at your appearance for a second. You were just as sweaty as him from just finishing an intense leg day. The athletic shorts were tight on your body hugging every curve, stretching and flexing around your thighs, displaying that ass you’ve been working on. The print in between your legs caught Aizawa’s attention, but he quickly looked away before you could notice. His mind had racey thoughts as well, ones he was too ashamed to say out loud or ever. You were proud of the progress you were making in the gym on getting your summer body ready. Your tight coils were pulled into an afro puff, as the shrinkage had gotten to it. You weren't worried about how you looked, but more as you would stink from such an intense workout, especially in front of your sexy neighbor. You let out a momentary sigh. “I’m sorry, but I need to shower. It would be wrong of me for you to treat me and I smelled like ten cans of bounce that ass.” You expressed, that Aizawa was amused by your response, chuckling a bit. The drained man reached into his pocket for his phone. He opened up his contracts to create a new one before passing it off to you. “In that case, let me have your number. You can just text or call me, whenever you're done showering. Dinner should be done around eight tonight, so you’ll have plenty of time to come over.” He said rather smoothly. You couldn’t help, but smirk a little. ‘My man, my man, my man.’ You thought to yourself, becoming overwhelmingly giddy. You entered your number into his phone and headed it back to him. “Fine, I’ll come over.” You said teasingly before seeing a notification come through on your phone. It was Aizawa. The man smirked at you briefly, sizing your body up and down. Before he could say anything else, Eri had made another purchase of her iPad. A wave of aggravation appeared on his face, as he soughed. “If you can excuse me, I have to speak with my daughter for a second. I’ll see you tonight.” He voiced before steering down the hall.

You didn’t oppose him leaving, in fact, it only motivated you to see more of your ‘man’ tonight. You hightailed your ass to the car and drove back home. You navigated your vehicle into the driveway of the smooth paved material and pulled into the garage. One side of your driveway features a contemporary design that seamlessly corresponds with the architectural tone of your home. You closed the garage door and entered through the door leading inside your home. The time was six o'clock by the moment you arrived home. The home’s exterior exudes a modern charm with sleek lines and neutral colors and is decorated with many personal items. The windows illuminated a warm glow from outside highlighting the coziness of your home. The smell of vanilla was always a comforting scent to come home to, as you headed upstairs to your bedroom. You set your keys onto your bed and rummaged around through your closet. You didn’t know what to wear and your sore legs were killing you already. “Ugh, what the fuck.” You murmured to yourself, searching for clothes. You finally settled on a nice outfit to wear and took a shower. Once you got out, you pulled out all the natural hair products you could find. You scrolled on Pinterest for inspiration, before settling on a style. You were going to attempt a claw clip hairstyle and began to part your hair into sections. You were taking your time, but part of you was worried you would run late. There were times you thought about slapping on one of your wigs and calling it a day, but you were also determined to trust the process. By the end of it all, it came out cute, as you stuck the claw clip on the back of your head. “Well, I’ll be damned. This came out good.” You said as you admired yourself in the mirror.

As you were admiring yourself, Aizawa was home preparing a nice home-cooked meal. The fatigued man stood in the kitchen wearing a pink apron that was originally white. Eri had ‘accidentally’ tossed her pink shirt in the washer with all his white clothes. He couldn’t be mad at her though, in fact, he found it kind of humorous in his way. The day had been long and very commanding of Aizawa, but he found solace in being able to cook a great meal for the two of you guys tonight. His anticipation was growing rapidly and his heart was pounding, as he was chopping some vegetables on a cutting board. It had been a long time coming since he’d been with another woman, especially sexually. He loved being a father, but it was stressful not having any relief in his life. He’s tried getting off on porn sites late at night, but Eri had been having a series of nightmares recently making his sexual frustrations pent up even more. He had become more irritable, especially at work. Aizawa would often snap at his students and coworkers over simple things, he became so desperate one day he tried relieving himself in the car, but it was vastly interrupted by a fight between two students that occurred nearby. So when you moved next door, it was like the perfect opportunity for him. Aizawa had been pining to stretch you out since day one, he wanted more than to fuck you silly off his dick. The thought alone made it harder for him to sleep at night. He was already basically a walking zombie, as his daughter would call him. He could tell the same desire was in your eyes when he saw you at the gym. Seeing your figure in tight athletic wear earlier made it difficult to contain himself. He was a father after all. You were like a miracle was blessed upon him, as he had the perfect plan for tonight.

Eri was engrossed on her iPad on the sofa in the living room, her packs were packed for a sleepover tonight. She giggled overjoyed as she was playing Fruit Ninja, she was banned from playing Roblux for a while. The sound of his daughter giggle, washed away most of Aizawa’s naughty fruitions as he was in contempt with how things were in the presence. “Eri, would you like to eat dinner before you leave?” He asks from the kitchen. Eri placed her iPad down and wandered into the kitchen. The delicious aroma filled her nostrils as he was cooking his signature pot roast. “Yeah, but what’s the occasion?” She questioned, her big adorable eyes staring up at Aizawa. He cleared his throat, Eri was quite an inquisitive young girl. “Oh, nothing. I’m just inviting the neighbor over for dinner.” He muttered nonchalantly. A grin came across Eri’s face. “Okay.” She replied and ran off giggling. Aizawa sighed and pulled out his phone from his gray sweats, seeing the meal he had prepared was just about done. He sees it’s close to eight and decides to shoot you a text.

You're phone lit up with a notification, it was Aizawa.

>Are we still on for tonight?

The text read as it was fifteen minutes from eight. “Oh shit.” You whispered as you picked your phone back up.

>Yeah, I’ll be right over.

You texted it back and looked for some shoes to slide on. You sprayed your favorite perfume a couple of times around your body and grabbed your keys. You walked out the front door, locking it behind you before venturing off to your neighbor's house. As you walked down the sidewalk, inches away from knocking at the front door, you had butterflies in your stomach. Your nerves were getting the best of you as you walked up the driveway of Aizawa’s home. Your hands became shaky as you were approaching the front door. “Oh shit.” You murmured to yourself. Before you could knock on the door, Eri had opened it. She looked at you with a bright bubbly smile. “My daddy likes you.” She said before running off giggling, hearing Aizawa’s footsteps. He was visibly a bit irked by Eri opening the door so carefreely. “Eri, darling, please don’t open the door for people. It can be dangerous.” He reprimanded her, as she was running around the house. The high-spirited child was too busy packing up the rest of her things to care about Aizawa’s nagging. You couldn’t help, but giggle. You didn’t find kids annoying, but they could be just as overwhelming for you. Eri’s words were a bit more of a confidence booster, as kids tend to tell things they weren’t supposed to.

Aizawa smiled at you in a friendly manner. His hair was still pulled back into a bun as he stood there in his vacuum-sealed black shirt and gray sweat. This combination was dangerous for you, all you could do was stare. You already knew what was underneath his shirt, but the idea of seeing it again made your legs quiver a bit.

“You can come into the dining room through the living room on the right-hand side, and the bathroom is down this hall on the left for you to wash your hands.” He stepped aside for you to enter, looking over your body once again. “Oh okay.” You said. The way Aizawa positioned himself didn’t make it exactly ‘easy’ to come through the door. As you walked inside your body brushed up against his, as he didn’t make much of a fuss over it. He was enjoying it. This man was driving you insane.

You slid off your shoes at the door and made your way down to the bathroom. Locking the door behind you and turned on the faucet letting the water run for a bit. You stared at yourself momentarily in the mirror, trying to calm yourself down. Such a brief interaction between the two of you made you get wet like a damn waterfall. The racing thoughts and fantasies filled your brain with such intense lust for him. You cleared your throat and began to wash your hands.

While you were in the bathroom, Aizawa handed Eri off to Hizashi for him to drop her off at her sleepover. Aizawa pulled out a nice tablecloth and placed it over the dining table. He pulled out his fine china and cutlery, placing it on the dining room table. He pulled out a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He had a set of flowers in a vase for the centerpiece, before dimming down the lights. It wasn’t much for a last-minute dinner, but he was also afraid overdoing it would scare you off. His heart was beating tremendously while he placed the food on the plate. “Dammit call down.” He reprimanded himself silently.

After washing up in the bathroom, you joined Aizawa at the table in the dining room. Your heart raced as the somewhat romantic ambiance created. There was no sight of Eri, it was like she disappeared without a trace, the house was nice and silent. “Where’s Eri?” You asked him politely, as you sat down at your seat. Aizawa looked at the food and back at you. “A friend of mine came to pick her up and take her to a sleepover. She’s in good hands.” He said in the same smooth voice. “Besides Y/N, this dinner is me apologizing to you earlier. Eri has nothing to do between me and you.” He said as a small smirk appeared on his face.

There was no denying it now. You wanted this man to fuck you as you’ve never been fucked before. You cleared your throat and sat up straighter in your chair. “I see. Well with that out the way, let’s eat.” You stated elated with the atmosphere being created.

You indulged in a great and flavorful dinner, Aizawa had prepared for the two of you. His pot roast certainly made you fall for the man more, as he cooked like none other. “This is good. Especially after a long day at the gym. I think this might put me to sleep after I’m done.” You spoke jokingly. Aizawa grinned, as you enjoyed the meal. He sighed at the mention of sleep. “Sleep, I haven't gotten much of it.” He spoke in a bit of a hushed fashion as his eyes downcasted onto the plate of food in front of him. You glimpsed up at the man and slanted your head slightly at him. The bags he had were highly conspicuous as he looked like he did have a formidable time resting. “I can understand why, I mean you work and you have a very lively little girl, I’m sure sleeping is a bit difficult on your end.” You expressed. He chortled a bit and nodded His jovial expression seemed to calm some of your worries a bit.

Aizawa's eyes peered over to your outfit. Even though it wasn’t much the way your body looked, make him think of all the ways he wanted to break you. He felt a tinge in the lower region of his body. He figured it was time the two of you were on the same page. “Sleeping isn’t the only thing hard to come by.” He expressed playfully making his stare on your body more apparent. Your thighs squeezed together after hearing his rather suggestive comment. “Is that so?” You questioned in the same impish tone. He peeked up and bobbed his head. “Yes, it is. I haven’t had the best of luck with women these days, because of my busy schedule.” He told before leaning up on the table, resting his head in the palm of his hand. A slight grin swept your face captivated by this conversation it felt like your lewd fictions may become a reality. “Oh, I see. Is there anything I can do to help? You’ve treated me to such a great meal, it would be rude of me not to.” You said with a small smirk. Aizawa a devishly grin replaced his usual nonchalant expression. “Perhaps... What do you think will help me Y/N?” He taunted you, making your panties soak. A disbelief waved over you wanting to know how far the two of you would go, but you weren’t going to back down from this playful banter. “How about a massage?” Your voice oozed sultry, it made Aizawa feel another tinge of excitement in his gray sweats. “I would appreciate that very much, a shoulder massage would be much needed for those back squats from earlier.” He muttered and watched as you stood from the table and walked behind him placing your hands on his shoulders. You slowly massaged them. Your hands moved with precision and skill, effortlessly gliding over his broad thick shoulders. Aizawa let out a soft moan feeling the tension from his intense workout from earlier being at ease. The sound of his moans was like music to your ears, as your fingers knead their way along his shoulder blade, getting rid of the knots and tightness. Aizawa closes his eyes tossing his head back, feeling your nibble fingers for their magic.

“Do you like that?” You asked in a sensual tone.

Aizawa was aroused by your question, his soft pink lips parted before he spoke. “Very much.” He whispered seductively.

His answer satisfied you, working the knots in his shoulders. Aizawa didn’t shy away from moaning, making sure you heard every single one. “Fff-fuck.” He gasped and sighed heavily. You squeezed your thighs together sliding them together, yearning for some friction for your greedy clit. Your hands slide down to his back and up his shirt, feeling his larger back muscles. Your cold fingers on Aizawa’s bare skin almost sent him over the edge. Things he only dreamt of were being played right in front of him.

“How about we take this upstairs..” He whispered.

Those words sent a shiver down your spine, as you grew wetter by the second. “Alright then.” You replied, taking his hand. He helped you out of your seat He got up out of his seat leading you, up the stairs to his bedroom. You went to sit on the edge of the bed as Aizawa closed the door behind him. His hand slipped underneath his shirt, rubbing his abs as he approached you. He stood in front of you with the same mischievous grin. Your heart was about to burst out of your chest as you were thirsting for him. You made it obvious too, looking at the print in his gray sweats and biting on the corner of your lower lip. Aizawa removed his hand from underneath his shirt and made himself on the bed. His eyes cut over to you swiftly, an assertive persona seeping from him as he motions for you to sit on his lap. You crawled over and sat in his lap facing towards him. Your legs wrapped around his waist tightly, pressing your chest up on him.

“Take off my shirt and massage my back.” He spoke, peering with a lecherous gaze.

“Aren’t we needy?” You teased, as you took off his shirt, he chuckled. You were just as bad as he was. The moment you took off his shirt, your eyes darted to his well-defined physique. His chiseled chest and sculpted shoulders had you wanting to lick all over it. His torso was a true testament to the hard work he put in at the gym, he purposely flexed his muscles showing off his impressive size and definition. You traced subtle veins in his arms and chest making him tingle a bit. Aizawa leaned up to kiss your neck, which made you moan instantly. “Fuck.” You whispered, enthralled by the sensation. His lips lifted off your rich brown skin and to your ear. “My massage, princess.” He spoke in a hushed tone. The potent mixture of desire filled every inch of your body, and hearing him calling you ‘princess’ made you hot and bothered. Your hands are placed on his back, rubbing it slowly, those soft hands make Aizawa grunt pleasurably, nestling his head into your shoulder. His dick was rock hard as you continued to massage the knots in his back. His silent curses made your pussy weak for him, and your hips started to buck against his crotch. Aizawa reached and grabbed your hips, stopping you. You were appalled by him stopping you when he smirked at you.

“You’re going to have to earn this dick.” He spoke in a rather serious tone flipping the two of you, so he was on top of you on the bed. He was more assertive and dominant over your body. He hovered his face closer over to yours, his lips brushed against yours.

“I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.” He whispered, staring you dead in the eye. You felt your pussy quaking, yearning for him more than ever. A smirk came across your lips, as your hands tugged at his torso. “So fuck me then.” You replied boldly, riling up the man in front of you even more. “I can’t wait to break you.” He declared hungrily. You wasted no time, touching all over his chest.

Your hands glided over his hardened nipples, which made him shiver a bit. Aizawa was amused by your fascination with his chest, but he wanted to touch you in the same way.. just as badly.

“Strip down for me princess.” He retorted hastily, taking one of your hands and kissing the back of it. A grin sweeper over your face and you did as asked of you. “Anything for you.” You spoke, before winking. You stripped off your clothes, revealing your sexy body to him. He was in awe and his mind raced with all the possibilities he could to you. Aizawa placed his hand on your chin and pulled you in for a sloppy kiss. His tongue entered your mouth exploring your cavern and swirled around with yours. He stuck his tongue deeper down your throat, making you gag a bit. He wasn’t letting for an inch, you could tell he hadn’t fucked in a while, it was beginning to show how hungry he truly was. He broke the kiss as the two of you were heavily panting. Your mind was only focused on him, as he rubbed his big hands all over your body. You were curious to know how long it’s been since he last touched anyone, so you ask. “How long has it been.. since you last did this?” Aizawa smirked and got up from the top of you. “Too long.” He replied quite bluntly, and spread your thighs apart wide. A squeal escaped your lips from working out earlier that day. Despite your whimpers, he stretched out your thighs wider.

“Now then princess, play with that pretty pussy of yours.” He commanded. His words made your whole body hot. You didn’t object to it, your fingers dove right to that soaking cunt of yours. You moaned obsessively, giving him a suitable show. Your thighs spread wider, the more your fingers moved vigorously in and out that greedy pussy of yours. “Ngh.. Ahhh.” You called out as walls clenched around your sticky fingers. Your juices spilled onto the bed as you did, and Aizawa enjoyed every moment. His dick grew so hard it was almost about to burst out of his gray sweats. “Fuck, just like that princess.” He encouraged, watching intensely as you played with that sloppy cunt of yours. “You like that baby?” You moaned, as your eyes were staring into his. Aizawa nodded, biting his lower lip. “Of course, I am a princess. Fuck yourself harder for me.” He spoke flirtatiously. His voice was so fucking hot to you. Something about his low and silvery tone made your finger pump in and out your sobbing cunt faster. You were about to cum off over the sheets the way you were whimpering. “Shh-shit!” You moaned, and Aizawa came closer.

He pulled you by the hips to the edge of the bed and smiled. He kneeled on the floor and positioned his head in between your legs. “Let me handle this princess.” He said calmly, and you removed your hands.

He stuck his tongue out and began to lap his tongue in your wet folds. You shivered and moaned out loudly. “D-dammit.” You whimpered, as your hand took a fistful of his hair. He was pleased about your reactions and slurped up every drop you had to offer him. He was enthralled with your wet cunt, and started to vigorously eat you out relentlessly, whirling his tongue around your poor clit.

“F-fuck.. baby..ohhh!” You moaned and gripped his hair tighter. Your legs were shaking so badly, you didn’t know how much you could take. “Almost there, princess.” He purred before he dribbled his tongue over your glistening folds, before shoving his index and ring finger up your greedy hole. He was pumping his fingers in and out of you at an alarming rate aiming right towards your g spot. Your stomach was in knots, as you started to buck your hips against him. “I’m going to cum, I’m... shit... I’m so close, baby.” You said as your words we’re starting to slur a little. Aizawa ignored your whiny moans and continued to eat his favorite meal of the night. The sounds of your squelching pussy made him lap over your clit furiously.

It didn’t take long for you to throw your head back, as you bucked your hips faster, your climax was approaching. Your hands gripped his hair tighter, and you came all over his face, gasping. Aizawa slurped up every drop of your sweet release and lifted his head. He saw the fucked out look on your face and licked his fingers, slurping off your sweet release. “Princess, don't tell me you're worn out already. We have got the whole night ahead of us.” He teased and stood up. You watched tiredly, as slipped off his sweats and boxers. His dick oozed with precum, as he tapped it against your throbbing cunt. You gulped as little as he expected to take every inch of his long, hard dick. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll manage.” You spoke, and he smirked. “Good, now then princess. Turn around and ass up.” He spoke sternly.

You were starting to get all giddy from his words again and did what was told. You tooted your ass up sky-high for him, and he positioned himself behind you.

The tip of his cock teased your glistening hole making the two of you moan. The euphoria of it all had Aizawa weak as he continued to rub his giant head against you while your lower body was in intense agony. “Put it Shota.” You begged to get fuck. Aizawa ignored your pleas and continued to rub the head of his sticky cock around your glorious hole, teasing the both of you. After a while, he gave in and grunted entering your walls, and slapped your ass. The tip of his dick kissed your cervix, staying dormant until your walls adjusted around the throbbing dick. You let out a loud moan, gripping the sheets. “Shit, princess, you feel amazing.” He groaned, his big hands gripped your ass. “F-fuck.” Aizawa moaned, your walls were clenched desperately on his dick. He smacked your left-ass cheek, he wanted to break you some more.

“Who does this pussy belong to?” He spoke in a low hushed tone in your ear.

“Y-you.” You whimpered while your legs were about to buckle.

“Say it again.” He commanded.

“I-it belongs to you!” You whimpered more.

“Mmm, that's right.” He sounded giving that beautiful ass another powerful slap.

“Oh fuck..!” You moaned.

He wasted no time and rutted into your squelching pussy, slapping your ass repeatedly. Your hands gripped the sheets tighter, taking on his girthy cock. “Ooohhh babyy..” You whimpered while getting drilled in by a madman. He was going to fuck you so hard until you saw stars. He went harder and deeper with every time your pussy connected to his balls, the dopamine of hearing the clapping noise sent him over the edge.

“Tell me how much you love it, princess.” He groaned, spanking your ass again.

“I love it!” You screeched, feeling your body grow weaker every second. The lewd slapping of your and Aizawa's skin together filled up the walls of his bedroom. He was plunging deep inside your wet wall, feeling like he was rearranging your guts. He grunted again, giving your ass another slap. “Tell me how much you love this fat dick. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’ll sleep like a baby.” He murmured and slapped your ass again. “I love it so m-much.” You moaned.

Aizawa drilled into your pussy relentlessly, as your juices coated his thick dick, slamming into your g spot. He was getting close to seeing what a sloppy mess the two of you were becoming. He couldn’t help but want to tease you. He pulled out, edging his tip near your entrance. You were completely weak and craving for him to finish. “P-please. I need it. Give it back.” You moaned. Aizawa smirked. “Louder princess.” He urged you, before giving your ass another loud slap. You yelped a bit and moaned profusely. “Fuck me!” You shouted, and it was at those words he shoved his hard dick back inside your sloppy cunt, your tits bouncing uncontrollably. He fucking you so good your eyes begin to roll back, your toes started to curl. “Ohhh, fuck yes.” You purred.

Aizawa was deep inside your tight pussy, grunting with each passing stroke. “Fuck.. I’m close..” He snarled, reaching his hands onto your shoulder. You could barely take it, your knees were beginning to go weak. “Don’t you dare.” Aizawa muttered as he saw your body shaking about to tip over. You were about to object until he thrust into you roughly. “Dammit!” You shouted as we were approaching your end. Your walls clamped down tightly on Aizawa’s dick, as you came all on. The warmth of your cum running down his shaft, makes Aizawa curse silently before stuffing you full of his cum. “S-shit.” He said silently and watched as you collapsed onto the bed. Your body was spiraling, and Aizawa lay beside you with a smirk on his face.

He yawned, feeling tired enough to get some rest. He cradled you into his arms and kissed the side of your neck. “I’m going to love this princess.” He whispered sweetly in your ear. Your body began to relax, as you laid in his arms. “Me too.” You said softly.

His soft hands rubbed against your sore clit, making you squirm. He smirked. “I said we had all night darling..come sit on my face, Princess.”

END!

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