Hi! My main blog is: @SlashingDisneyPasta and that's all villains and antagonists. This one is my work featuring protagonists! ^^ I hope you maybe find something you like but otherwise, have a good day! ^^
Imagine texting Hezekiah Confab (Zeke? Kai?) 'I've been reflecting a lot lately,.. and I think you're too old for me' as a joke and watching the absolute meltdown that follows.
Text: Oh, I thought you liked that? 😏
Text: Honey is this a dirty thing or no?
*Calls*
Text: Answer your phone.
*Calls*
*Calls*
Text: Answer your phone, darling...
Text: Please, answer your phone.
Text: I need to speak with you darling, please
Text: You can't tell me that and then dissapear!!..
*Calls*
Text: Darling please..
Text: Is this a joke? Is this funny? 😅 Ha ha ha...
Text: You're going to give me a heart attack. Answer.
*Calls*
*Calls*
*Calls*
Text: I'm coming over to your house right now. I'm bringing dinner. We'll talk about this.
*Calls one last time*
Text: I'm coming right now!!
The prank was a little mean, but you made it up to him when he came over 😅
Summary: He would burn the whole world down for you.
Pairing: Harry Hart (Kingsman) × Fem! Reader
Warnings: Smut, Dark Harry, Obsession, Protectiveness, Distrust, Possessiveness.
Author's Notes: Thank you very much for the 100 followers 🥳🥰 This fanfic was lost in my drafts and I decided to post it.
You enter the dimly lit room with a mixture of apprehension and hope swirling in your chest. Merlin's words echo in your mind, the revelation that Harry is alive hitting you like a tidal wave after a year of mourning his supposed death. But the knowledge that he doesn't remember you, that he's been locked up at Kingsman, struggling with aggression and suspicion, casts a shadow over your heart.
As you step further into the room, your eyes fall on the figure sitting in the corner, his posture rigid and his gaze cold and distant. Harry Hart, your husband, alive and well but wearing an eye patch, his once warm and loving eyes now masked by a veil of confusion and distrust.
Your heart aches at the sight of him, so close yet so far away, a stranger in the body of the man you once knew. You approach him cautiously, your footsteps echoing in the silence of the room, your hands trembling with emotion as you clutch the photos in your grasp.
"Harry," you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper as you come to stand before him. "It's me, your wife. I know this must be confusing for you, but please, look at these photos. They'll help you remember."
But Harry's reaction is not what you hoped for. Instead of recognition or warmth, his eyes narrow with suspicion, his lips curling into a sneer as he regards you with thinly veiled hostility. "Who sent you?" he demands, his voice laced with accusation. "What do you want from me?"
Tears well up in your eyes as you realize the depth of his confusion and mistrust. He doesn't remember you, doesn't trust you, sees you as nothing more than a stranger in his fractured reality. And yet, despite the pain and rejection, you refuse to give up on him.
With trembling hands, you offer him the photos, each one a snapshot of your life together, moments of happiness and love frozen in time. "Please, Harry," you plead, your voice cracking with emotion. "Just look at them. Remember who we are, who you are."
For a moment, there's a flicker of something in Harry's eyes, a glimmer of recognition buried beneath the layers of confusion and fear. But it's fleeting, gone as quickly as it came, replaced once more by the cold mask of indifference.
"I don't know you," he says, his voice hollow and distant. "I don't know any of this. Leave me alone."
Your heart shatters into a million pieces at his words, the weight of his rejection crushing you like a vice. You nod silently, understanding his need for space and his mistrust of those around him. With a heavy heart, you turn to leave, but not before placing the stack of wedding photos gently in his hand.
"I'll leave you in peace, Harry," you say softly, your voice trembling with emotion. "But please, take these. They're important."
As you start to walk away, a sudden grip on your hand stops you in your tracks. You turn back to see Harry, his gaze fixed on the engagement ring adorning your finger. It was his mother's ring, a cherished heirloom that held a special place in both of your hearts.
For a fleeting moment, there's a spark of recognition in Harry's eyes, a flicker of memory stirring within him. And then, as if a veil has been lifted, his features soften, and he looks at you with a sense of familiarity that fills you with hope.
"You," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I remember... [your name]."
Your heart skips a beat at his words, tears welling up in your eyes as you realize that he's starting to remember. Maybe not everything, but enough to know that you were someone important to him, someone he cared about deeply.
"Yes, Harry," you reply, your voice choked with emotion. "It's me. I'm here."
And in that moment, as Harry looks at you with newfound recognition, the weight of his suspicion and aggression begins to lift, replaced by a sense of connection and warmth. You know that it's just the beginning, that there's still a long road ahead filled with challenges and obstacles. But for now, in this moment, all that matters is that Harry is starting to remember, starting to come back to you. And with that glimmer of hope lighting the way, you know that together, you'll find a way to overcome whatever darkness lies ahead.
As you watched Harry's tentative recognition flicker and then ignite into a spark of remembrance, your heart soared with hope. Finally, it seemed like you were breaking through the barriers that had separated you for so long. But that hope was short-lived as Merlin entered the room, his presence casting a shadow over the fragile moment you had shared with Harry.
Merlin's expression was a mix of concern and anticipation as he approached, his eyes locked on Harry's guarded stance. But as he drew nearer, Harry's demeanor shifted, his suspicion rising like a dark cloud as he tensed, his hand tightening around yours in a protective grip.
You tried to reassure Harry that Merlin was a friend, that he was someone they could trust, but Harry's distrust ran deep. He regarded Merlin with narrowed eyes, his lip curling into a snarl of aggression as he pulled you closer, as if shielding you from a perceived threat.
Merlin's heart sank at the sight of Harry's hostility, his hopes of Harry regaining his memories fading with each passing moment. He had watched the entire interaction through the hidden camera in the room, praying for a breakthrough, but now it seemed that Harry's mistrust extended to everyone, even his closest allies.
"Harry, it's me, Merlin," he said softly, his voice filled with sadness. "I'm here to help you, to guide you through this. Please, you have to trust me."
But Harry's response was a growl of defiance, his distrust of Merlin palpable in the air as he refused to let his guard down. He saw Merlin as a threat, an intruder in his fractured reality, and he would do whatever it took to protect what was his.
In the days that followed, Harry's suspicion only deepened, his aggression simmering just beneath the surface as he clung to you like a lifeline. He didn't remember Kingsman, didn't remember his years as a spy, didn't even remember his own name. All he knew was that you were someone important to him, someone he had to protect at all costs.
You tried to reassure Harry, to help him piece together his fractured memories, but it was like trying to hold onto water slipping through your fingers. He didn't remember who he was, didn't remember the man he used to be, and it broke your heart to see him slipping further and further away from you with each passing day.
As Harry descended into darkness, consumed by suspicion and aggression, you found yourself caught in the crossfire of his turmoil. He was fiercely protective of you, distrustful of everyone else, and it was starting to take its toll on both of you.
You longed for the man you had once known, the kind and gentle soul who had stolen your heart and filled your life with love and laughter. But now, he was a stranger in the body of the man you loved, lost in a maze of confusion and fear.
And as you watched him spiral deeper into darkness, you couldn't help but wonder if there was any hope left for him, for the two of you. But deep down, you refused to give up, clinging to the sliver of hope that someday, somehow, you would find your way back to each other, no matter the cost.
As Eggsy entered the dimly lit room, his gaze filled with determination and hope, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety knotting in your stomach. You knew how much Eggsy longed for Harry's recognition, for the bond they once shared as mentor and protege to be restored.
But as Eggsy approached Harry, his enthusiasm palpable in the air, Harry's reaction was not what either of you had hoped for. Instead of warmth or recognition, Harry's cold gaze remained fixed on the photo album in your hands, his expression unreadable as he deliberately ignored Eggsy's presence.
"Eggsy maybe you should give him some space," you murmured softly, offering him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, he's just... not himself."
Eggsy sighed in disappointment, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he realized that Harry was still lost in the fog of his confusion and suspicion. "Yeah, I get it," he replied, his voice tinged with sadness. "I just... I miss him, you know? Miss the old Harry."
You nodded in understanding, feeling a pang of sympathy for Eggsy as he struggled to come to terms with the reality of Harry's condition. But despite the disappointment, he remained optimistic, his determination unwavering as he clung to the hope that someday, somehow, Harry would come back to them.
"I know, Eggsy," you replied softly. "But we'll get through this together, I promise."
As Eggsy tried to engage Harry in conversation, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity, Harry remained stoic and unresponsive, his attention focused solely on the photos in your hands. It was as if he had built a wall around himself, shutting out the world and retreating into the safety of his fractured memories.
As you sighed at your husband's indifference, sadness washed over you like a heavy wave crashing against the shore. The distance between you felt insurmountable, a vast chasm separating the man you loved from the reality of his fractured mind. But before your despair could consume you completely, Eggsy reached out to shake your hand in an encouraging and comforting grip, his presence offering a glimmer of solace in the darkness.
But Harry's reaction was swift and brutal, his hiss of warning slicing through the air like a knife as he grabbed Eggsy's hand and threw it away from you. The look of shock and fear on Eggsy's face mirrored your own horror as Harry's aggression escalated, his words dripping with possessiveness and jealousy.
"If you touch her again, I'll break your hand," Harry growled, his voice low and menacing as he fixed Eggsy with a steely gaze. "She's mine, understand? Mine."
You screamed in horror at Harry's outburst, the words tumbling from your lips in a desperate attempt to reason with him. "Harry, stop! He's just trying to help," you pleaded, your voice trembling with fear and frustration. "You can't just—"
But Harry's grip on reality was slipping further with each passing moment, his possessiveness bordering on obsession as he sent Eggsy away with a warning to stay away from "his fucking wife." Eggsy, visibly shaken by the encounter, hurriedly left the room, casting worried glances over his shoulder as he disappeared from view.
Alone with Harry, you felt a mixture of confusion and apprehension swirling in your chest as you confronted the dark and unfamiliar side of the man you loved. "Harry, what was that?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to make sense of his sudden aggression. "You've never been like this before."
But Harry's response was unwavering, his gaze intense as he held you captive with his piercing stare. "I have to protect you," he said, his voice tinged with desperation. "No one else can touch you, only me. Do you understand?"
You were taken aback by Harry's possessiveness, his words sending a chill down your spine as you realized the depth of his paranoia and distrust. "Harry, this isn't like you," you protested, your voice tinged with concern. "You can't just—"
But Harry cut you off with a gentle yet firm touch, his hand coming to rest on your cheek as he silenced your protests with a tender kiss. "Trust me, darling," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing against your lips. "I'll keep you safe, no matter what it takes."
Reluctantly, you nodded, unable to deny the fierce determination in Harry's eyes. You knew that trying to reason with him in his current state would be futile, that the only way to calm his fears was to play along with his delusions, at least for now.
And as Harry smiled, his touch gentle and reassuring, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease gnawing at the edges of your mind. Harry may never hurt you intentionally, but his descent into darkness was a reminder that the man you loved was slipping further and further away from you with each passing day.
But for now, you pushed aside your doubts and fears, focusing instead on the fragile connection you still shared with Harry, praying that someday, somehow, you would find your way back to each other, no matter the cost.
As you reluctantly walked away from Harry, your heart heavy with the weight of his words and actions, you made a move to retrieve the wedding album from his grasp. The photos held precious memories, fragments of a life you both shared, and you couldn't bear to leave them behind, especially not in Harry's current state of confusion and suspicion.
"Harry," you began softly, your voice trembling with emotion as you reached out for the album. "I need to take these with me. We'll come back, I promise, but for now, I need to go home."
But to your surprise, Harry's reaction was not what you expected. Instead of acquiescing to your request, he tightened his grip on the album, his eyes flashing with determination as he declared, "No, I'm going with you."
You froze, taken aback by Harry's sudden insistence. "Harry, you can't," you protested gently, trying to reason with him. "You need to stay here until you've recovered your memories. It's not safe for you to leave."
But Harry's response was resolute, his gaze unwavering as he held you captive with his intense stare. "I don't need those useless memories," he insisted, his voice tinged with frustration. "I have you, and I have to protect you. That's all that matters."
You sighed in frustration, knowing that convincing Harry to stay would be an uphill battle. He was stubborn and fiercely protective, and you knew that trying to reason with him would only lead to further conflict. But you couldn't let him leave Kingsman without his memories, not when it could put him in even more danger.
"Harry, please," you pleaded, reaching for the album once more. "You can't go with me. It's not safe, not until you remember who you are."
But Harry's determination only seemed to grow stronger, his grip on the album tightening as he pulled you closer, his voice dropping to a low, seductive whisper. "I want to go home," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to feel your heat, taste your essence. I want to fuck you like I used to, lost in ecstasy."
You blushed deeply at his explicit words, taken aback by the raw intensity of his desire. Harry had never been so forward before, his words sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. But you knew that indulging in his fantasies wasn't an option, not when his safety was at stake.
"Harry, we can't," you protested weakly, trying to push away the flood of desire his words had ignited. "Not here, not now."
But Harry was relentless, his gaze dark and hungry as he looked around the room, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "This place isn't safe," he growled, his fingers trailing down your arm possessively. "But home... home is where we can be together, where we can finally make love without fear."
You swallowed hard, the gravity of the situation sinking in as you realized just how far Harry had descended into darkness. But despite the danger and uncertainty, a part of you couldn't help but be drawn to his passion and intensity, to the promise of intimacy and connection that lay just beyond your reach.
"Harry, please," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion as you tried to reason with him one last time. "Stay here. You'll be safe, I promise."
For a moment, Harry's resolve wavered, his grip on you loosening slightly as he searched your eyes for reassurance. And then, as if coming to a decision, he reluctantly released the album, his gaze softening with resignation.
"Okay," he conceded, his voice barely above a whisper. "But promise me... promise me you'll come back soon. I can't bear to be without you any longer."
You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace. "I promise, Harry," you murmured, holding him close. "I'll come back for you, I swear."
And as you pulled away, a bittersweet smile gracing your lips, Harry's gaze lingered on you with a mixture of longing and desire. "Until then," he whispered, his voice filled with yearning. "Just know that you disturb my dreams, darling. I want you so much."
You blushed deeply at his words, a mix of embarrassment and affection flooding your heart as you watched him reluctantly release you. "I'll... I'll remember that," you stammered, trying to compose yourself as Harry chuckled softly, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.
"Good," he replied, his smile filled with genuine warmth. "Because I'll be waiting for you, ready to make all your fantasies come true."
With one final glance back at Harry, his form silhouetted against the dim light of the room, you turned and walked away, your heart heavy with the weight of his words and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.
As you crossed the threshold of Harry's suite the next morning, you were met with a sight that both warmed your heart and filled you with apprehension. Harry, with his rugged appearance and intense gaze, rushed towards you with a sense of urgency, sweeping you up into his arms in a gesture that felt both familiar and comforting.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern as he began to inspect you for any signs of injury, just like he always did whenever you returned to him.
You couldn't help but smile at his familiar routine, the way he checked you over with such meticulous care, as if he couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you. "I'm fine, Harry," you reassured him softly, running a hand through his unruly hair as he continued his inspection.
But Harry's worry didn't seem to diminish, his touch lingering on your skin as he searched for any hidden wounds or bruises. "I missed you," he confessed, his voice tinged with sadness as he finally let you go, his arms still wrapped around you in a tight embrace.
You tried to downplay the situation, reminding him that you had only been gone for a few hours, but Harry's grip only tightened as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.
"I know," he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. "But it felt like an eternity without you."
You couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at his words, knowing that Harry's confusion and paranoia only seemed to worsen with each passing day. But despite the darkness that threatened to consume him, his love for you remained steadfast and unwavering.
As you gently stroked his cheek, feeling the rough stubble beneath your fingertips, Harry's gaze softened with affection. "I'm going to shave today," he declared suddenly, a hint of determination in his voice. "Merlin said they'll bring me a razor blade. I want to look presentable for you."
You couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension at the thought of Harry wielding a razor blade in his current state of mind, but you nodded nonetheless, not wanting to dampen his spirits. "That sounds like a good idea, Harry," you replied, offering him a reassuring smile.
As you stood in Harry's suite, enveloped in his protective embrace, the sudden sound of the door opening behind you shattered the moment of peace. Harry's reaction was immediate, his grip tightening around you as he tensed, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger.
But to of your relief, it was only Merlin who entered the room, his expression a mix of concern and apprehension as he took in the scene before him. However, Harry's guard remained firmly in place, his suspicion evident as he held you back, his gaze fixed on Merlin with a steely intensity.
Merlin approached cautiously, his hands held up in a gesture of peace as he tried to defuse the tension in the air. "Harry, it's just me," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. "I brought something for you."
But Harry remained on high alert, his distrust of Merlin apparent as he watched him closely, his body coiled like a spring ready to pounce. It was clear that Merlin's presence only served to heighten Harry's paranoia, his suspicion of everyone around him growing more intense by the day.
Merlin seemed to have anticipated Harry's reaction, as he approached the table and placed an electric razor on the surface before retreating, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to provoke Harry further. But even this small gesture failed to put Harry at ease, his defensive stance unwavering as he continued to regard Merlin with a mixture of caution and hostility.
You sighed in frustration at Harry's refusal to trust Merlin, knowing that his paranoia was only exacerbating the situation. "Harry, Merlin is our friend," you reminded him gently, reaching out to touch his arm in an attempt to calm his nerves. "He's just trying to help."
But Harry shook his head stubbornly, his distrust of Merlin deeply ingrained as he refused to let his guard down. "I don't trust him," he muttered darkly, his gaze never leaving Merlin's retreating figure. "I don't trust anyone."
You sighed again, feeling a pang of sadness at Harry's growing isolation. It pained you to see him so lost and alone, his mind consumed by suspicion and fear. But you knew that pushing him to trust Merlin would only push him further away, so you remained silent, allowing Harry to come to his own conclusions in his own time.
As Harry cautiously approached the electric shaver on the table, his movements deliberate and cautious, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this small act of defiance against his paranoia was a sign that Harry was starting to come back to himself, that the man you loved was still buried somewhere deep inside.
With a sense of cautious optimism, you watched as Harry examined the electric razor, his expression shifting from suspicion to curiosity as he inspected it for any signs of danger. And when he found nothing amiss, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a hint of his old self shining through the darkness.
"I'm going to shave," he announced suddenly, his voice filled with determination as he picked up the electric razor, his gaze meeting yours with a sense of pride. "Just like the old days."
You returned his smile, feeling a surge of warmth in your heart at the familiar routine. Despite everything that had happened, Harry still had moments of clarity and connection, moments where the man you loved shone through the darkness of his confusion.
As Harry set to work shaving, his movements careful and precise, you couldn't help but feel a sense of hope stirring within you. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to bring Harry back from the brink, to help him reclaim the memories and the identity that had been stolen from him.
As Harry called you into the bathroom to help him, you hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to expect. But seeing the determination in his eyes, you pushed aside your doubts and entered the room, closing the door behind you.
Harry handed you the electric shaver, his expression serious yet strangely vulnerable as he took a seat on the toilet lid, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of apprehension and trust. You couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at the sight of him, once a confident and capable spy, now reduced to a shadow of his former self.
Gently, you began to shave Harry's stubble, your movements slow and careful as you navigated around the scar tissue on his face. It was a task you had performed countless times before, a simple act of intimacy and trust that had once brought you both so much joy.
As you worked, you couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia wash over you, memories of happier times flooding your mind as you recalled the countless moments you had shared with Harry before his memory loss. But those memories felt like a distant dream now, a bittersweet reminder of the life you had lost.
Suddenly, Harry spoke, his voice breaking the silence of the room as he confessed, "I remembered something today."
Your heart skipped a beat at his words, excitement bubbling up inside you at the prospect of Harry regaining a piece of his lost identity. "What was it?" you asked eagerly, hope shining in your eyes as you waited for his response.
But Harry's answer caught you off guard, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he replied, "I remembered fucking you in a car."
You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment at his blunt admission, the memory of those passionate encounters flooding back with startling clarity. It was true - you and Harry had shared many intimate moments in the backseat of his car, stolen kisses and whispered promises exchanged under the cover of darkness.
Harry watched your reaction with satisfaction, a playful smirk gracing his lips as he reveled in your embarrassment. He took the electric razor from you and set it aside on the sink.
"Harry, we can't—" you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to find the words to convey your discomfort. But Harry cut you off with a wicked grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.
"Why not?" he whispered huskily, his tone laced with desire. "We're alone, aren't we? No one will know."
You blushed even deeper at his suggestive tone, the heat rising in your cheeks as you pushed him away gently, your heart pounding with a mixture of desire and apprehension. "Harry, we can't do that here," you protested weakly, your voice tinged with embarrassment. "It's not appropriate."
But Harry seemed undeterred by your protests, his gaze lingering on you with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine. "I know," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "That's why I want to go home."
You shook your head adamantly, knowing that allowing Harry to leave Kingsman before he had fully regained his memories would be dangerous. "Harry, you can't," you insisted, your voice tinged with frustration. "It's not safe for you to go back until you remember who you are."
Harry's expression darkened at your refusal, his frustration bubbling to the surface as he struggled to contain his anger. "Why won't you let me go?" he demanded, his voice laced with frustration. "I need to be with you, to protect you. Don't you understand?"
You sighed heavily, knowing that Harry's insistence was driven by his fierce protectiveness and his desire to keep you safe. But you also knew that allowing him to leave Kingsman prematurely could put both of you in danger.
"Harry, I know you want to protect me," you began gently, reaching out to touch his arm in a gesture of reassurance. "But we have to wait until you've regained your memories. It's for your own safety."
Harry's grip tightened on your arm, his frustration boiling over as he struggled to control his emotions. "I don't need to remember anything to know that I love you," he growled, his eyes flashing with intensity. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means defying orders."
You recoiled slightly at his sudden aggression, surprised by the depth of his conviction. But you knew that allowing Harry to leave Kingsman against medical advice would only put both of you in danger, no matter how much he insisted otherwise.
"Harry, please," you pleaded, your voice trembling with emotion. "We can't risk it. Not until you're ready."
For a moment, Harry seemed to waver, his anger dissipating as he searched your eyes for reassurance. And then, as if coming to a decision, he reluctantly released his grip on your arm, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice tinged with resignation. "But don't think I'll forget this."
You nodded, knowing that Harry's frustration was born out of his fierce protectiveness and his desire to keep you safe. But as you watched him turn away, a sense of unease gnawed at the edges of your mind, a silent reminder of the darkness that threatened to consume him.
As you tried to compose yourself, Harry's voice suddenly broke the tense silence once again with an unexpected question, his tone soft yet tinged with curiosity. "Did you... touch yourself last night?" he asked quietly, his gaze searching yours for any signs of hesitation.
You blushed furiously at his blunt question, feeling a surge of embarrassment wash over you at the intimate inquiry. "Harry, that's none of your business," you scolded gently, trying to deflect his attention away from the uncomfortable topic.
But Harry seemed undeterred by your deflection, his gaze intense as he pressed you for an answer. "Did you think about me?" he persisted, his voice low and husky with desire. "Imagined it was me?"
You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of embarrassment and arousal at Harry's brazenness. Despite your attempts to maintain composure, his proximity and his suggestive questions left you feeling exposed and vulnerable.
"I... that's not important right now," you stammered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you tried to change the subject. But Harry wasn't ready to let it go, his gaze unwavering as he continued to search your face for a response.
"Why not?" he countered, his voice tinged with frustration. "We could... we could make love here, in this bathroom. There are no cameras here, I checked."
You looked at him in surprise, taken aback by his sudden revelation. Was Harry aware of the surveillance cameras in Kingsman? It was a detail you hadn't considered before, but now that he mentioned it, it made sense.
"Harry, how do you know about the cameras?" you asked, your voice tinged with curiosity. "Did Merlin tell you?"
But Harry shook his head, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "No," he replied cryptically. "I figured it out on my own. Did a little test."
You frowned in confusion, unsure of what he meant by "test." But before you could press him for more information, Harry continued, his tone serious yet tinged with mischief.
"I pretended I was going to kill myself here in this bathroom," he explained calmly, his eyes locking with yours in a silent challenge. "But no one came to stop me. Unlike the other times I did this in the bedroom."
You gasped in shock at his revelation, horrified by the thought of Harry putting himself in danger just to test the surveillance system. "Harry, that's reckless," you scolded, your voice tinged with concern. "You could have seriously hurt yourself."
But Harry brushed off your concern with a wave of his hand, his gaze unwavering as he pressed you for an answer to his earlier question. "Did you think about me?" he repeated softly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.
You hesitated for a moment, feeling a surge of arousal at the intensity of Harry's gaze. Despite your reservations, a part of you couldn't deny the allure of his suggestion, the promise of intimacy and connection in the midst of uncertainty and fear.
"I... yes," you admitted quietly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you met Harry's gaze head-on. "I thought about you."
Harry's eyes lit up with satisfaction at your confession, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Good," he murmured, his voice filled with desire. "Because I've been thinking about you too."
And as Harry pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing down on yours in a passionate kiss, you couldn't help but lose yourself in the heat of the moment, the promise of intimacy and connection overshadowing the darkness that threatened to consume you both.
As Harry's lips trailed down your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, you tried to protest weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Harry, we shouldn't..."
But Harry silenced you with a hungry kiss, his hands roaming over your skin with possessive urgency. "Shh, love," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire. "Trust me, it'll be quick."
You couldn't help but let out a nervous chuckle at his promise, the tension between you palpable in the air. "God, I hope not too quick," you joked, trying to lighten the mood despite the apprehension coiling in your stomach.
Harry chuckled softly in response, his eyes dark with desire as he unraveled his sweatpants and took them off along with his underwear, his erection already straining against the fabric. "Don't worry, darling," he whispered, his voice husky with need. "I'll make it good for you."
Your heart pounded in your chest as Harry helped you take off your jeans and panties, his touch sending shivers down your spine as he caressed your skin with gentle reverence. But just when you thought he would take you, he surprised you by kneeling down in front of you, pulling one of your legs to rest on his shoulder.
With a sense of anticipation building inside you, you watched as Harry leaned in, his lips trailing kisses along your inner thighs, teasingly close but never quite reaching where you wanted him most. It was as if he wanted to savor every moment, to draw out the pleasure until you were begging for release.
You fought to stay silent, biting back a moan as Harry's warm breath ghosted over your most intimate parts, his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Despite the urgency of your desire, you knew that making a sound could alert someone to your activities, and the last thing you wanted was to be interrupted.
Finally, unable to resist any longer, you reached out to tangle your fingers in Harry's hair, urging him closer with a desperate plea. "Harry, please," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "I need you."
Harry's response was immediate, his lips closing around your throbbing clit as he began to suck and lick with fervent intensity. The sensation was overwhelming, pleasure washing over you in waves as Harry expertly teased and tantalized you, his fingers slipping inside you to stroke your most sensitive spots.
You couldn't hold back anymore, a moan escaping your lips as Harry's ministrations pushed you closer and closer to the edge. "Harry," you gasped, your body trembling with anticipation. "I'm so close."
But Harry didn't stop, his pace relentless as he drove you towards the brink of ecstasy. And just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he plunged his fingers deeper inside you, his tongue flicking over your clit with a skill that left you breathless.
With a cry of release, you came undone, pleasure crashing over you in a tidal wave of sensation. Harry didn't let up, his touch unrelenting as he milked every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body, his own desire evident in the way he worshipped you with his mouth and hands.
As you lay there, panting and spent, Harry rose to his feet with a satisfied smirk, his eyes burning with hunger as he gazed down at you. "You taste even sweeter than I remembered," he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire.
You couldn't help but blush at his bold compliment, feeling a surge of arousal at the raw intensity of his desire. Despite the darkness that threatened to consume him, there was no denying the passion and connection that still burned between you, a flame that refused to be extinguished.
With a wicked grin, Harry pulled you into his arms, pressing his lips to yours in a hungry kiss that left you breathless. "I'm not done with you yet," he whispered against your skin, his voice filled with promise. "There's so much more I want to show you."
As Harry turned and bent you over the sink, you spread your legs even wider, eager to receive him. Your heart raced with anticipation as Harry grabbed your ass and spread your cheeks, his touch possessive and commanding.
"You're mine," he growled, his voice low and menacing as he gazed at you with intense desire. "All mine."
You whimpered in response, unable to suppress the surge of arousal that flooded your senses. "Please, Harry," you begged, your voice trembling with need. "Fill me up."
Harry didn't hesitate to obey, his one eye fixated on your expression in the mirror as he thrust into you with primal urgency. Each movement sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, your senses overwhelmed by the raw intensity of the moment.
As Harry rocked against you, his balls hitting your clit with each powerful thrust, you couldn't help but moan in ecstasy. The sensation of him filling you completely, his body pressing against yours with unbridled passion, left you breathless and wanting more.
"Open your eyes," Harry commanded suddenly, his voice firm yet filled with longing. "Keep them on the mirror."
You obeyed without hesitation, locking eyes with your reflection as Harry continued to drive into you with relentless determination. The sight of your bodies moving together in perfect harmony, the raw desire and need reflected in both your gazes, only fueled the fire burning between you.
With each thrust, Harry's grip on your hips tightened, his control unwavering as he claimed you as his own. You surrendered completely to the pleasure, lost in the sensation of being filled and owned by the man you loved.
Harry grunted with each thrust, his voice breaking through the haze of pleasure, you felt a surge of heat flood your cheeks as he tightened his grip on your hips. His intense gaze bore into yours through the mirror, his one eye filled with primal desire as he questioned you with a husky tone.
"Have I ever taken your ass?" he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and hunger.
You blushed even deeper at his blunt question, shaking your head slightly as you denied his assumption. "No, Harry," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "We've never tried that."
But Harry wasn't satisfied with your answer, his movements never faltering as he continued to drive into you with relentless determination. "Why not?" he demanded, his voice tinged with frustration. "I must have been pathetic back then if I didn't."
You tried to protest weakly, knowing that Harry's perception of his past self was skewed by his current state of confusion and paranoia. "Harry, you weren't pathetic," you insisted gently, your eyes meeting his through the reflection. "You just... you thought it was messy."
But Harry wouldn't accept your explanation, his grip on your hips tightening even further as he pressed you against him with possessive urgency. "I don't care about that anymore," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "I'll take your ass one day, I promise."
You groaned at the idea, your mind swirling with conflicting emotions as Harry's relentless thrusts drove you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. Part of you wanted to protest, to tell him that he didn't need to prove anything to you, that his past self wasn't pathetic and that you loved him just the way he was.
But all coherent thought fled from your mind as Harry reached out to squeeze your breasts through your blouse and bra, his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Despite your reservations, you couldn't deny the overwhelming arousal that pulsed through your veins, drowning out any semblance of reason.
"Harry," you gasped, your voice filled with need as you clung to him desperately, your body arching against his with unrestrained desire. "Please, don't stop."
Harry's movements only grew more urgent in response, his grip on you tightening as he plunged deeper and deeper into your welcoming heat. His one eye bore into yours with a mixture of intensity and possessiveness, his primal desire evident in every powerful thrust.
Meanwhile, Harry's thoughts raced with a newfound sense of clarity, his perception of his past self tainted by his current state of paranoia and suspicion. He was convinced that the old version of himself was pathetic, weak, and unworthy of your love. But now, now he was different - stronger, fiercer, and more determined than ever to protect you at all costs.
As he lost himself in the pleasure of being inside you, Harry's mind became consumed by a single thought - he didn't need to recover his memories to be the man you needed him to be. He already had everything he needed right here, right now, with you in his arms.
"You feel so good," Harry murmured, his voice thick with desire as he buried himself deeper inside you, relishing in the sensation of your tight, wet heat surrounding him. "You're mine, [Your Name]. All mine."
You moaned in response, unable to form coherent words as pleasure coursed through your veins, leaving you breathless and wanting more. With each powerful thrust, Harry claimed you as his own, his grip on your hips possessive and unyielding.
And as you surrendered completely to the pleasure, lost in the intensity of the moment, Harry's resolve only grew stronger. He would keep you safe, no matter the cost. Even if it meant tearing down everything and everyone that stood in his way.
"You're mine," Harry growled, his voice low and menacing as he pressed you against him with unbridled passion. "And I'll do whatever it takes to protect you. Even if the world has to burn for it."
You whimpered in response, overwhelmed by the raw intensity of his desire and the fierce protectiveness that burned within him. Despite the darkness that threatened to consume him, there was no denying the depth of his love and devotion, a flame that refused to be extinguished.
As Harry continued to move inside you with primal urgency, you clung to him desperately, knowing that he was yours and you were his. And as you both reached the peak of ecstasy together, a sense of belonging washed over you, binding you to him in a way that transcended time and space.
"You're mine," Harry whispered against your skin, his voice filled with reverence and awe. "And I'll never let anything or anyone take you away from me."
And as you melted into his embrace, surrounded by the heat and passion of his love, you knew deep in your heart that you were safe, cherished, and fiercely loved by the man who would do anything to protect you. Harry was yours, your protector, your guardian angel demon that would keep you safe no matter what.
The Concert - Yandere!Marcus White x Younger!reader
summary: Marcus seizes an opportunity to join you at a concert, but gets jealous when he realizes you have a crush on the lead singer. Marcus does what he has to to make sure you go home with the right guy tonight.
warnings: alcohol use, non/dub-con touching, kissing and fingering, age gap (15-ish years), possessiveness
requested by: @wicked1will0sparkles
Ever since your first day at Cloud 9 when you had met Cheyenne, the two of you barely went anywhere without the other.
You two were close in age, always had weekly sleepovers and you had been right by her side when she took the pregnancy test that ended up positive.
So you were completely devastated when she bailed on your sacred, long-anticipated plans for Bo of all people.
“Cheyenne, come on! We bought these tickets like three months ago and my parents won’t let me go alone!” you whine, crossing your arms over your chest in frustration as you lean against the lockers.
“I’m sorry (y/n), but Bo needs me right now! Who else is gonna hype him up before he gets on stage at Kenny Roper’s bar mitzvah?” she explains with a frown as her hand rests on her bulging stomach.
“Ugh okay, I guess I’ll just sneak out and hope my parents don’t notice,” you shrug.
After Cheyenne walked away, you shove a hand into your locker and feel around for your blue vest, tugging it out angrily.
“Woah, hey, what’s wrong?” you hear a voice ask from behind you. You look to your side, then slightly up, where Marcus White stood next to you with his arms crossed across his broad chest, a concerned expression on his face.
“Oh, I was just supposed to see my favorite band tonight, Shattered Hearts. Chey and I were going together but she had to cancel,” you explain sourly.
“Oh man, I love Shattered Hearts!” Marcus exclaims with a dopey grin.
Truthfully, he'd never listened to the band before. But he wasn't going to miss out on his chance to spend an entire night alone with you.
After you both finished your shifts for the day, you parted ways. You had planned to meet at the small downtown venue once you got changed and ready for the night.
Later on, you gleefully rummaged through your closet, trying to pick out the perfect outfit. Shattered Hearts' lead singer, Tommy Valentine, would be front and center like always so of course you planned on wearing a Tommy-inspired outfit. Ripped white tights, short shorts and a low-cut top (covered by a long coat) and your favorite jewelry pieces to complete the look.
You went for a heavier makeup look than usual, as Shattered Hearts was in the pop-glam-rock vein. It couldn't hurt, making yourself look a bit older and hopefully catching Tommy's eye if you could get close enough to the stage.
"I'm going to the concert with my co-worker tonight so don't worry, I'll be safe!" you yell to your parents as you make your way out of the house and into the evening air.
Once you arrive at the venue, you see Marcus standing outside, leaning against the wall. He immediately brightens up and you don't miss the way his eyes rake over your body from top to bottom.
"Hey, (y/n)! You look... wow!" he laughs, a blush heating up his cheeks. He can't help but look your body up and down once more, taking in the way your white tights stretch over your thighs and your top hugs your body in just the right ways.
"Thanks, Marcus! Here's your ticket," you say, handing him the ticket that was supposed to be Cheyenne's.
"I'm really excited to hear Breathless," you sigh, walking up to the end of the line as Marcus follows.
"Uh, yeah, me too. I'm like— I'm just excited to hear their newest album," he laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Oh, I didn't tell you? This is the anniversary tour for the Rock Solid album, I don't think they'll be performing much of their new stuff," you frown.
Marcus is saved by the security personnel, approaching you both and patting you down as you entered the doorway and handed your tickets to the employee.
"Damn, this place is dark," Marcus laughs, looking around as you step in together.
"C'mon, I wanna get close to the front!" you exclaim, grabbing Marcus' hand and pulling him with you towards the stage.
He barely has time to process your hand on his as he follows you across the dirty, dim room.
"This is perfect, he'll definitely see me here," you say with a smile, looking up at the rusty light above you that illuminated your area. You leaned against the wooden pole next to you which supported the shabby balcony above.
Marcus raises an eyebrow. He? Who was he? Marcus was hoping to at least kiss you tonight, but were you already obsessed with some other guy?
"I'll go get us some drinks," he says, gesturing towards the bar.
"Oh, thanks! I'll keep our spot," you smile, looking down and adjusting your outfit to show off even more skin than it already was. Did you know what you were doing to Marcus? How his skin buzzed whenever you touched, how he imagined leaning down and kissing your lips? How desperately he wanted his hands all over you?
He fumed as he headed over to the bar, ordering some cheap beers and shots of vodka. Who was this asshole you were so obsessed with?
When Marcus returns, you knock back your shots together. Some men in black tee shirts bring equipment onto the stage as the sound of applause echoes through the room.
"So, uh, this guy you want to see you... did you invite someone else tonight?" he asks, trying not to sound like a jerk.
"No, I just think this is the best spot for Tommy Valentine to see me. He's single, just broke up with Maxine McDonald. Did you know the band's guitarist met his girlfriend because she was a fan at one of his shows?" you say excitedly, watching the stage.
Of course. The jerk you were obsessed with was the band's lead singer. Marcus couldn't help but roll his eyes, thankful that you were turned away from him.
"C'mon, drink up. I'll go grab us some more," Marcus says, playfully tilting your beer up in the direction of your mouth. He would need to be a lot drunker if he was gonna watch you lust over some punk poser all night.
By the time Shattered Hearts came onstage, you and Marcus had already finished several drinks. Marcus felt fine, but you already felt woozy, tipsy, almost falling over a few times. Marcus caught you of course, and you leaned on his body as to not embarrass yourself further.
Marcus went to grab another beer for himself, and when he returned, you were clinging onto the wooden pole.
"This one's my favorite," you mumble as Marcus cracks open his fourth beer.
"Yeah? Is it?" he asks, an amused expression on his face.
You nod dumbly and Marcus wraps his warm arm around your waist, the drinks emboldening him.
He looks down at you, your beautiful face illuminated by the dim lighting. He just couldn't help himself anymore. Marcus leans down, pressing his lips to yours and deepening the kiss into a make-out session as your brain catches up and you start to realize what's happening.
His tongue pushes into your mouth, silencing your protests as he traces his warm hands over your shirt. You almost think you're having a bad dream until you hear someone nearby say, "eww!"
It's only as his hands move into your shorts that you're able to push him off of you. He recoils, staring at you with a pissed-off expression.
"Wh-what was that, Marcus?" you exclaim, putting your hands out in front of you to keep him at a distance.
"I thought we—"
"I told you, I'm interested in Tommy!"
"He's way too old for you," Marcus hisses.
"So are you!" you huff, crossing your arms.
"I'll go get us more drinks," he sighs, realizing you've both sobered up a bit.
When he returns, you're miraculously still there, eyes fixed on Tommy.
Marcus keeps his hands to himself for the rest of the concert, suffering more and more as each song thrums and passes. The band wasn't even that good and Tommy Valentine was just some forty-something, washed-up guitarist with eyeliner.
After the concert, Marcus heads to the exit but is surprised that your small hand manages to pull him back.
"We're staying. Tommy usually comes out afterwards if he sees someone he likes. And I definitely seduced him with my eyes. Will you get us a round of shots for when he comes out?" you ask, waving Marcus away as you watch the curtains for any sign of movement.
Twenty minutes pass, the venue almost cleared out and heavy with the stink of sweat. Your shots sit untouched as you slump down in your seat.
"You wanna go outside?" Marcus asks tenatively.
You shake your head like a petulant toddler.
"You... wanna finish these off?" he asks, gesturing to the shots.
You nod, sitting upright and taking all three shots consecutively. It had sunk in now that Tommy didn't see anything special in you, hadn't been wowed by your sexy outfit or your eyes or how you knew every word to every song.
Almost immediately, you slump sideways against Marcus and he rests his arm against you comfortingly.
"Let's get some fresh air," he sighs, leading you outside where you lean against the brick wall, fighting the urge to pass out.
"You look amazing tonight. It's Tommy's loss," Marcus says, hand stroking your arm.
You look up at him, tears in your eyes, mouth framed in a pout to either keep the tears from falling or the vomit from escaping.
Marcus sighs, leaning down and bridging the gap between you. You return the kiss in your own sloppy, half-conscious way. One of his hands plunges into your shorts as the other makes it's way up underneath your shirt.
You're mumbling, moaning, making some sort of noise with your mouth but his mouth covering yours muffles it.
Marcus can't wait any longer, mouth drifting down your neck and chest, sucking and leaving marks of his affections.
"N-n—stop—" you mumble, hands awkwardly trying to pull him closer or push him away, you weren't fully sure.
"Fuck," Marcus mumbles against your chest, causing a gasp to rise up your throat. His fingers trace your hole, spreading around your wetness as you let out a whimper.
"God, I wanna fuck you so badly," he groans, grabbing your waist and sucking on a new spot of skin.
"M-marcus— I-I should go huh—home—" you mumble.
He pulls away and examines his work with a big, dopey smile. You were so messed up, clothing rumpled, hair undone, love bites all over your neck and chest.
He turns you and leads you to a reflective window, and you gasp at the look of yourself. So many hickeys that your coat couldn't even cover. You looked... like a slut.
"I—I can't go home like this! My parents will kill me!" you whimper.
"You can come to my place, my mom'll love you," Marcus offers.
"Uh— no, that's—“
"I'm not letting you walk somewhere alone. Come with me and we can take the bus to work tomorrow," Marcus suggests, raising his eyebrow.
"Ugh, fine," you sigh, leaning against Marcus as he walks the two of you to his mom's house.
You try your best to ignore Marcus' childish, messy room and dirty sheets as you undress and climb in next to him, still feeling drunk and used up.
You hold back a shriek as he pulls you into his chest, body flush against him. "This is nice, huh? My perfect toy," he laughs, kissing your bare shoulder. You shudder at his touches and objectification of you.
"Marcus, stop," you sigh, and his grasp loosens, but not forever. You know he'd be pulling you close in the middle of the night and you had half a mind to sleep on the dirty floor.
The next morning, you borrow one of Mrs. White's long-sleeved shirts for work but it still doesn't cover everything. You walk into Cloud 9 beside Marcus, embarrassed and red-faced.
Marcus throws an arm around you, and when you get to the break-room, he pulls you into his lap as all of your co-workers stare.
"Pretty epic, huh? Got 'em all to myself," Marcus grins, placing a big hand on your thigh and rubbing it creepily.
"Uh, (y/n), your neck—" Cheyenne stutters, eyes wide at the confusing scene before her.
"Yeah, it was all me. We had a pretty crazy night last night. You were all over me, begging for it, huh?" Marcus brags, leaning back and bumping fists with Isaac as he passes by the two of you.
You keep your eyes fixed on the ground, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. You were quite a catch in the store, everyone knew it, and now Marcus was asserting his dominance at having made you his.
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS NOELLA!! avsuebsoanaps9ndyd this is everything and more then what I imagined <3<3<3<3
Omg, so fucked up XD You are so talented writing stuff like this! I'm so obsessed- I've already read this so many times!! Ahhhh! You really bring out the Season 1-2 in him; making him such an entitled asshole but also an idiot XD So perfect!
I haven't watched Superstore in forevor, but you're making me wanna rewatch it all now XDD I miss Marcus <3 And I miss your writing!! I need to reread all your stuff XD ^^
- You meet Scarecrow when you’re transported to Oz. We all know that, in the movie, Dorothy hit her head and everything that happened was just a dream. But for the sake of these headcanons, let’s say that Oz is real.
- It had been a day like any other: you’d woken up, eaten breakfast, and gone outside to begin your work for the day. But what had initially been a normal morning, quickly became a dangerous and frightening one as the sky turned dark.
- Having lived in the town for a while, you knew exactly what this meant and headed straight for your cellar. You remained there for close to an hour, up until you couldn’t hear anything and we’re sure that the storm had passed.
- Upon trying at the cellar door, you found yourself struggling to lift the hatch. After a few minutes of shimmying, banging and pushing as hard as you could, the door finally began to lift up; though you found yourself still struggling to manage it.
- You squeezed your way through the crack you managed to form before you finally realized why you’d been struggling. The cellar was covered in grass, grass and dirt as though you’d broken through the ground itself. That was when you looked around and found that you were far from home.
- You were in the middle of some trees; very different from your farm, with bushes and flowers all around you. A few feet away, a yellow brick road led you down towards fields of corn. Well, …you were either dead or dreaming.
- With nothing else to do, you began to walk down the road.
- Soon enough, you were led straight to the Scarecrow and much like in Dorothys case, you were shocked to find that the Scarecrow was; for all intents and purposes, alive.
- After the initial shock and your successful efforts to help him down, you explained to him what had happened to you and asked if he knew the way back to your city. Turns out, he didn’t even know where or what it was.
- With a sigh, you thanked him “anyways” and began to try and choose which direction you should walk in. As you were thinking, he cane up beside you and hesitantly suggested that he could go with you …“if you’d like”.
- Who were you to refuse? Soon enough, the two of you were arm in arm and making your way down the yellow brick road.
- And thus began your journey, traveling through the different gardens and towns of Oz, trying to find someone or something that could bring you home. Along the way, you realize that you quite like the Scarecrow, far more than you’d anticipated.
- And that got you thinking that, perhaps, being in Oz wasn’t so bad. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a tragedy if you couldn’t find a way home. Maybe you’d like to stay.
- So when you were finally confronted with the idea of going home and the ability to do so, …you were hesitant to take the chance. You took a long look around the fantastical place you’d traveled through; your eyes landing on the scarecrow in front of you and his teary eyes, and in a moment of revelation, you shyly confessed that you’d like to stay.
- In an instant, you were swept up into a tight hug and met with a chorus of cheers. And as your heart began to race in response to the Scarecrows joyful embrace, you realized that you were in a bit of trouble.
- So you begin your life in Oz, finding yourself a new home and trying to get situated in the whimsical place. It helps that you aren’t alone; Scarecrow comes to visit often and stays for hours on end.
- The thing about Scarecrow is, you can tell when he has a crush on someone, even before he realizes that he does himself. Though, because you don’t know a lot about Oz and the emotional range of a sentient Scarecrow, you try not to assume anything when it comes to his behavior.
“You know Scarecrow, you don’t have to come and visit me everyday if you don’t want to.” You told him one day, choosing your words carefully as to not make it seem like you didn’t want his company.
“Oh, but I do want to!” He assured you quickly and you gave him a smile.
“But don’t you ever want to spend time on your own, or with someone else? I just don’t understand why you want to spend a perfectly good day doing something boring with me when you could be doing something interesting with someone else.
“Well… I just like you a whole lot. That’s all,” He said at first before he furrowed his brows in thought. Though his next words were directed towards you, they seemed to be said more to himself than anyone else. “I like you bunches.”
“Well, I like you too.” You replied which seemed to ease his mind for the time being.
- He asked you out on a date late one morning, not too long after the two of you had that conversation. You should have seen how nervous he was, clutching a handful of flowers and fumbling with his clothing as he knocked on your door.
- He told you that he knew he was just a Scarecrow but that he liked you a lot and would like to give your relationship a try “if that was alright with you”.
- A scarecrow falling in love with a girl was surely a preposterous idea, but not as preposterous as a girl falling in love with a scarecrow which is exactly what had happened to you. All you could tell the straw man was that you “would love to” as you beamed up at him.
- You had a picnic for your first date though it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. You had to try several different places before you found one that was perfect, but you choose to forget the giggling munchkins and violent mocking apple trees.
- You had your first real kiss about a week later. Before then, you’d kissed his cheek a few times but that was about it.
- The two of you were in the cornfields, you’d been teaching him “how to frighten things” when he finally managed to “scare away” his first crow. Both of you were laughing happily when he looked over at you, quickly leaning forward and pecking you on the lips.
- While the action shocked you, you couldn’t help but smile, leaning forward and giving him a soft kiss in return. In that moment, your feelings were solidified and you couldn’t deny that you truly were in love with each other.
- He’s a very; innocently, affectionate person so expect him to always be close and/or touching you.
- Lots of hugs. It’s hard not to hug him when he’s so squishy.
- Soft, gentle kisses.
- Handholding. He finds it fascinating, mainly because your hands are so warm and soft while his are just a pair of gloves stuffed with straw.
- Locking elbows.
- Cheek kisses.
- Kissing his nose. How can you refuse something so inviting?
- Pecks on the lips. Sometimes he just pulls this face that all but forces you to do so.
- While he does like nicknames, he’ll usually just call you by your normal name. When he does call you by a pet name, it’s usually something like darling, sweetheart, and occasionally birdie.
- The two of you cuddle with your head on his chest and his arms wrapped around you. He’s pretty much a walking pillow so it’s incredibly easy to snuggle with him.
- He likes being helpful so don’t hesitate to ask him when you need some assistance; though he’ll usually offer it up on his own accord.
- He’s willing to go along with pretty much anything you’d like to do. He doesn’t manage nothing and he doesn’t mind anything either; he just likes to be with you.
- Clumsy boy. Don’t trust him with anything delicate and be prepared to try and catch him if, or rather when, he falls.
- Helping to keep him steady. You’ll have to hold him up at times, usually by wrapping his arm around your waist or shoulders when you’re walking together.
- Getting songs sung to and about you.
- Believe me, he’s clever, even if he thinks he isn’t. He gets all bashful whenever you tell him so.
- Helping him make up his mind. He thinks you’re incredibly smart.
- Visiting the tin man and cowardly lion. They grow to be very good friends of yours.
- Can we all just agree that he has a pet crow. Can we please just make that a fact. I need that in my life.
- Helping him pick up and stuff himself full of his fallen straw.
- Making faces at each other.
- He never is able to scare you, even if he thinks he’d like to. He’s just too sweet and lovable to scare anyone, especially the person who loves him the most. You reassure him that he can be frightening when he wants to be; though it’s a lie.
- He loves hearing about your world. I mean, Scarecrow hardly even knows about Oz, let alone a place that doesn’t exist where he comes from.
- Compliments. He can’t help but tell you how well he thought you did or how wonderful you look in your dress.
- Well, you’ll always know where to find him: the cornfields. He’s always jumping and excitedly greeting you whenever you come to visit.
- He loves resting his head in your lap.
- Dancing with each other.
- Picnics.
- Making flower crowns.
- Taking walks together.
- He’s honestly the easiest boyfriend you’ll ever have. He doesn’t eat, he doesn’t sleep, and he’s never any trouble.
- He knows his way around Oz and it’s many interesting creatures so he’s always got a solution when you have a problem. He always shrugs it off and tells you not to mention it when you thank him.
- You aren’t exactly sure how he “works” and how he’s alive but you sure are glad that he is. He; in turn, is fascinated by your warmth, heartbeat and breathing; i.e. everything that shows that you’re alive.
- He’s always the first one to try and comfort you when you seem upset.
- He doesn’t really get jealous; he’s too sweet and kind. He might get a little grumpy and/or insecure but he doesn’t get angry; especially not with you. You can always tell that he’s “jealous” because he’ll linger at your side and get more touchy.
- He has a habit of speaking in your defense, even when there’s really no need. He just doesn’t want to see you get cheated out of anything.
- He’s not a very scary individual; much to his displeasure, but he isn’t afraid of anything besides a lighted match so he’s almost always willing to stand up for and protect you.
- He can get sorta spiteful every now and again; though not very often. Whenever he gets like this, he’ll try his best to give you the silent treatment. The thing is, he always winds up failing because he just can’t help but say something to you when you say something to him.
“Well, you know what!”
- He’s always fairly quick to apologize when he’s upset you or is otherwise in the wrong. He might not have a brain but he certainly isnt stupid and he’s able to recognize when he’s messed up. He can be very forgiving as well so don’t be afraid to try and apologize when you’ve messed up.
- Lots of sweet and chipper I love you’s.
- Living over the rainbow with a scarecrow that loves you to death. How could life get any better.
Sheriff Hank Keough x NaiveFemDeputy!Reader x Jim Bickerman || Drabble
Plot: What if Hank was still the Sheriff by the time Jim came to town? What if you were his Deputy? What if you were so focused on your job that you came off... a little naive 😅 What would happen if you two visited Jim in the hospital afterwards to site him with fines for trespass, illegal poaching, and theft?
This is just a short thing but I am filled with idea for this triangle XD I think Hank's crankiness and hesitancy to fall for reader paired with Jim's sleazy shamelessness is such a fun combination XD
Warnings: Mention of Jim's grievous injuries after Final Chapter (Loss of eye, hand, and leg), hospital setting, minor nudity (Pantsless Jim), and unedited/i wrote this on my phone.
The nurse was hesitant to give you the room number when you nervously asked since you aren't family, but Sheriff Keough just sighs in frustration and shows his badge. That gets the nurse to move- and you make a little note of his confidence in your little notebook; you're learning everything you can from him!
When you get to the room, you're expecting to find a quiet Bickerman. Maybe even an unconscious one (The nurse said he was recovering from a serious crocodile attack, afterall. And you saw those monsters- surviving that had to leave terrible scars), but when Sheriff Keough pulls the curtain open you instead catch Mr Bickerman up and out of bed! He's only got one leg and onr hand, but he's focused and hopping into his jeans.
Immediately you go 'oh!', embarrassed, and throw a hand over your eyes. "We're so sorry!!" You exclaim, turning around.
Sheriff Keough sighs next to you, and you don't sense him turning around at all. You do hear Mr Bickerman say 'she's real cute' in a tone thick with an accent and smugness, and feel even more mortified, though.
Thankfully, your boss does not respond to that comment, just addressed Mr Bickerman with an exasperated and thoroughly exhausted tone. "Jim, get back into your bed. The nice lady at the front desk told us already that you're not cleared to leave the hospital yet."
"Iiii- uh, well, I feel fine actually. So, I'm discharging myself- agh," The pained sound makes you feel bad. Should you help him??
You would- but you think he's probably still indecent and you don't want to make him feel uncomfortable.
"Sit. Down." Sheriff Keough growls, and the very next thing you hear is a few sniffles and the abrupt squeak of the hospital mattress like Mr Bickerman tripped onto it more then sat down on it. Your boss sighs in what sounds like your direction, then. "And for gods sake pull your blanket on so my Deputy can take her hand off her eyes and do her job."
You feel a tad guilty as you lower your hand and turn to the Sheriff, hearing Mr Bickerman's sheets shift. Keough gives you a half pittying, almost... almost amused look, that confuses you a little bit (a flutter erupts in your belly. You figure thats just some more guilt), before he shakes his head and looks back to the perp. You dutifully follow suit.
There's a teasing sleazy smirk on Mr Bickerman's old face and his eyes are on you, making you immediately straighten up stock straight like they engrained in you in the academy. Out of discomfort. "All better sweetheart?~ "
"Uh, yes sir."
"Don't call him sir, he's not a sir." Sheriff Keough rolls his eyes, before pulling out his own notepad. As he blows air out his cheeks, you can tell he wants to get this over with quickly and get lunch. "Anyway, Mr Bickerman- "
While the Sheriff reads out the list of fines Mr Bickerman is facing for his activities and Mr Bickerman sighs, rolling his eyes at the entire list, you wander to the end of the bed and pick up the clip board there. Most of it is medical jargon that you definitely do not understand, but there are some words (notes, probably written by a student) that stand out in the margins. Your eyebrows pull together in concern seeing things like 'internal bleeding' and 'motor skills classes- 2 weeks'. After glancing at Mr Bickerman, seeing the stump where his hand used to be and remembering the matching one where his leg used to be (the glance of it you saw before you slapped a hand over your eyes and whipped around), you figure that must mean 'in two weeks'- because it is certainly going to take longer to learn how to live with half as many limbs.
"- and finally, once you are actually discharged from the hospital, you are expected to attend a mandatory hearing at the courts in order to discuss your apparent claims to that Blackwater cabin." Sheriff Keough sighs one final time, lowering his notepad. "Though hell if I know why you would want that shithole."
Mr Bickerman's face darkens immediately, surprising you- he seemed so wry a moment ago. "It's rightfully mine, Officer."
"Yeah, whatever. Would you like me to read the the requirements again?" You know that if he wasn't meant to ask that, he wouldn't, because Sheriff Keough is staring so hard at Mr Bickerman that you're sure if that look was aimed at you you would just be able to shake your head in responce. Mr Bickerman opens his mouth to respond, but your Sheriff beats him. "No? Great. Deputy, I need a coffee." He puts his notepad away and adjusts his pants. "On me."
The Sheriff leaves the room promptly, his broad shoulders nearly filling the doorway (A fact you always pretend you dont notice), and you're about to quickly follow him- but you have to be polite. You flash Mr Bickerman an awkward smile as you put down the clip board. "Thank you, Mr Bickerman. Have a nice day! Fast recovery- "
Ypu're about to yurn and leave, but the dark clouds that had crossed his face clear up surprisingly quickly as his gaze slides over to you again; that sleazy smirk spreading across his mouth once again, and you stop still again caught in his sights like a deer in headlights. "Hey, why don't you come visit me again sometime? Sure would cheer me up and uh, make the old recovery race by a lot speedier- huh, honey?"
Your jaw drops. Did he just- is this man flirting with- No. No. Nervously, you give a little fluttering laugh. Surely not. He's just a lonely old man! The nurse said no one else had even called. "Oh- well maybe. If I have time. See you, Mr Bickerman!"
"You can call me Jim, y'know."
"Oh... no no no, no I couldn't, sir!" Oh shit, Sheriff Keough told you not to call him that! You peer back to the door, to make sure you're boss isn't watching you. When he's not, your shoulders relax and you waive a very amused Mr Bickerman goodbye. "Anyway- feel better!"
You walk out but you can feel the old man's gaze stuck on you until you round the corner. When you see Sheriff Keough waiting down the hall, he's got a coffee for you already, out of a hospital machine (a precursor to the proper stuff, he says.) which you take quickly; filled with gratitude for your secretly sweet boss and how... for some reason... you're the only one who ever really sees that?
Plot: You're sick and tired of constant jobs. I mean- you'll go, of course you will. There are people who need your help. But god--
All you want to do is still stay at home and make out with your hot artistic cowboy boyfriend on a Saturday. Is that s o much to ask??
Warnings: Sexual references maybe. Tiny ones.
🔆🔆🔆
The blinds are drawn shut, the room dark except for the shock of white daytime light slipping inside through the crack in the curtains; bars of white painting the middle of the bed and a strip of Jake's back a brighter colour. Music is playing softly in the background, something mellow and non-distracting that Jake picked since its his place- his stereo- his tunes.
You're laid out on the bed all-comfy, a pillow under the arch of your back and your legs wrapped around a beer-barrel waist and Jakes on top of you; holding himself up so he doesn't crush you, but ehhhh still crushing you a little. You love it.
A gentle, relaxed moan slips out of you when he parts from your lips for a second to take a tiny breath and switch sides, before pressing his soft mouth back to yours and slipping his talented tongue back between your lips; kissing you slowly, like the passionate poet he is.
-then suddenly a loud, obnoxious ringtone sounds and you're so surprised; you jump! You knock your forehead into Jake's and nip his bottom lip! "Ah! Shit- " Well, a little more then a nip. You actually bit him!-
"I'm sorry!" You exclaim, shocked and guilty as you both sit up and you watch him wide, worried eyes as he touches where you bit him. When he finds no blood, he just shrugs; flashing you a grin. An amused grin. Amused, at your panic (Like you're so fricken cute). "I'm so so sorry- "
"Don't worry about it. Now," His gaze wonders over to his phone on the dresser, and your heart falls; remembering the ringtone. Your hopes for a quiet, slow morning are crushed. "What was that?" As Jake reaches past you for the phone and presses answer, pressing it to his ear and straightening up again, you give a sigh.
"One guess." You pout, wrapping your arms around your knees and hugging them to your chest, a bored and annoyed look on your face as you watch him.
His eyebrows lift up hearing what's said through the phone that you cant hear, and he nods; Going into business mode. Damn. You were right- Without needing to know what exactly is being said, you let your legs hang over the side of the bed, touch the ground, and get up. You begin your search for your pants, still with that frustrated look on your face. Where did they end up last night??... We watched Dracula, I kicked off my shoes, then we went to sleep and I wiggled outta my jeans... ha! Over there- "Really?... Huh. Okay, yeah, Y/N'll meet ya at the library in 10- "
Jake stops talking, and you're not sure why, til you turn around and catch him looking at you. You raise your brows, like what?
"What's that look on your face?" He hisses (Well, mutters so whoever's on the other end of the phone cant hear him- but in his voice it sounds like a low, husky hiss), his eyebrows knitting together. He's already dressed, having been up writing on his laptop beside you when you finally ended your (Much deserved) sleep-in; and you kind of resent him for it. He's all put-together, he doesn't need a break- he's happy to go on another life-or-death mission right away! At the drop of a hat! As he should be! But you?? You feel like Grumpy the dwarf after a cut-short hibernation. All you want is to stay in bed with your cowboy and make out. Or sleep. Or watch more old movies. It doesn't really matter what you do, so long as its in bed.
You feel like you've been on missions non-stop lately; risking your life in a million different ways. It feels like you're fighting to survive so much that you're forgetting why.
"Nothing," You shrug, turning away again and grabbing your pants. After all, you cant complain. You're helping people! People need you, and Eve, and Jake and the other librarians. That fact is not lost on you, and honestly most of the time you love doing what you do--
But sometimes you're just... tired. Like today.
Eh, you'll get over it you guess.
"Nah. Nah nah nah- its not nothin'." You feel Jake's hand wrap around your wrist and pull you to him where he's moved to sit at the end of the bed. To the phone, he gives a quick 'call you back cass', before chucking it backwards on the bed and drawing you in closer; not once taking his intense eyes off of you. Usually you love those eyes, and honestly you do now too, but they are so full of smarts that you do sometimes you feel overwhelmed. Like you don't even have to talk- he already knows what's going on. And sometimes, like now, you just don't want him to know everything! "Tell me."
"Its really nothin- "
"Don't say that again," he shakes his head; a flicker of annoyance. "Go on, tell me."
You give him a look. "... no, I'm awful."
"First of all, you're the opposite." He brushes over that self deprecation quickly, nipping it in the bud before you can even truly feel it. "What? What- You don't wanna go to the library??"
"I- " How do you explain without sounding silly? Huffing out a sigh, you slip your wrists out of Jake's grip and run your hands through your hair. "I'm just tired, I guess. I know! Thats not an excuse to not save the world from monsters, or gods, or whatever the hell else wants to take over today- I know that. But I'm just- so- ughhh."
Slipping out from between his knees, you slump down on the edge of the bed beside him instead; dropping your face in your hands and your elbows onto your thighs. You don't doubt Jake's focused art-critic's eyes on the whole time. Analysing you like some old Rembrandt. Seeing your shame. "My bones feel heavy." You say, quietly.
A moment passes before you feel one of his hands on your back, rubbing up and down; working out the tight stress-filled knots in there. Then you hear his voice, but he's not talking to you??
"Hi again Cass- yeah, uh, on second thoughts we're actually gonna sit this one out. You guys got this, right?" Immediately you sit up stock-straight, turning to Jake with wide eyes. What?? You mouth, horrified.
He gives you a mystified look back. Mouths 'what?' back at you.
Your jaw drops.
"No no no- we can go! We can go! We can definitely- Thats not what I was saying." What is he doing?!? They need you two! They need him, for definite! Just because you're tired, doesn't mean you can just chuck a sickie!- "We have to go, Jake, don't- " When you reach for the phone to tell Cassandra that he's joking and you'll be there, Jake catches your hand and leans away from you, finishing up the call and preventing you from stopping him.
"Yeah yeah yeah, great. Thanks, Cass! Goodluck! Call me if you need us- yeah- bye!"
Then he hangs up and chucks the phone behind the bed, between the wall under the window and the mattress, where you cant get it.
You're half considering diving after it, but Jake starts rubbing comforting circles into your knuckles and you turn your gaze back to him; shocked and confused.
"... but- " Before you can argue with this decision, Jake leans over and kisses you. Its warm and slow and almost as good as before, making your head all fuzzy and quiet. He pulls back, and you struggle to open up your eyes again. ... still- "But-"
"Come on." Jake gives a comforting grin, a devastatingly handsome cowboy grin that makes your insides turn into mush and your shoulders relax. And he's still rubbing your back, so you're feeling so so sleepy and slow. "You're tired- I get it. We've been on mission after mission for weeks. Almost 2 months. And you've been so damn good with it, savin' our asses at least 10 times. They'll be fine without us this time, you know that." He assures you, which makes sense now that you're calm enough to hear it- they will be fine without the two of you. You all take individual jobs all the time, and besides- they have Flynn this time. Your perfect, sweet boyfriend gives a shrug of those broad shoulders of his. "'nd you deserve a break."
... taking hold of his hands, you lean in and press your forehead to his. "So do you." You say earnestly, gaze flickering over the bags under his beautiful eyes.
"Yeah. So lets do that, huh? Together. C'mon," When Jake gets up abruptly, letting go of one of your hands but keeping the other to tug you up with, rubbing those comforting circles back into your skin, you look up with curious eyes at him. "Lets getcha a cup a tea, or somethin'. Whadaya want? I'll order."
"Mmm... " You close your eyes and think, a tiny grin twitching onto your lips. "Um... pancakes." Pancakes sound like absolute heaven right now. Fluffy, and drenched in syrup, with some strawberries??
"Aw yeah, that sounds freaken good, actually."
When you open your eyes again and see him smiling, you nod and wrap your arms around his neck. You're thinking about pancakes, and restful bones, but also how good Jacob smells. And his weight on top of you. And the romantic timeless way he kisses. "Uhuh." He wraps his own around your waist, pulling you in against him. "... but first,"
"Hm?" He grunts, your noses brushing against eachother and him suddenly becoming quite distracted; being so close to your lips. "Wha?"
"... 20 more minutes in bed."
Immediately he nods, guiding you back onto the mattress and crawling over on top of you, adjusting your hips back over the pillow so you're comfortable. "Forty, at least."
⚠️WARNING⚠️: VIDEO WITH FLASHING LIGHTS AND A MAIN SPINNING FEATURE BELOW. If you're susceptible to seizures, please do not watch ^^
There was this really cool history of film/storytelling exhibit at the museum the other day and I took this video of a cuphead statue that, if spun really fast and paired with appropriate flashing lights, would look like it's legit moving. Stuff like this is so so freaken cool!
@marinerainbow I couldn't get it to send through dm's- but here it is! ^^ The video is below the cut.
