#(i found out i have enough to buy the border i want on one of my old gift cards but its saying they cant add it or w/e)

[deus-ex-mona]

oh mona ft. lxl shikishi how i miss you so…

[halloweend]

besties can you not use mastercard gift cards on ko-fi?

[hkthatgffan]

The image used in the background of the Gravity Falls logo HAS BEEN FOUND!!

It's located in France!!

I made a thread on Twitter explaining the full story and how I even asked Ian Worrel and Alex Hirsch about it, but lemme run down quickly how it was found and where it is!

After 3 years of searching with some friends on and off, we had no real luck. I've been working on a video about it for a while but decided to try one more time. My friend @trickengf suggested looking at international logos as they may have more of the image available and sure enough...we found logos like the Japanese and Russian GF logo had more visible detail of the image.

From that, Tricken made a remake of the image and used it to find it. He ended up finding the source at about 3AM for me, lol!

My friend Fried Oreos then confirmed the image was old enough to fit the criteria of pre GF pilot, by determining the image was on the Textures website it was sourced from since 2008!

Then, my friend Alex M managed to buy the HD image and we were able to analyze its metadata for more info!

Turns out, the image, called "LandscapeMountains0009," was taken by a Nikon D70 camera on April 18, 2007!

THE GRAVITY FALLS LOGO IMAGE IS ALMOST 18 YEARS OLD!!

From there, we began looking for the location. The meta data had no location, but other images taken around the same time showed signs of maybe the location being in Europe.

After over a day of searching, Tricken, Alex M and Oreos FOUND IT!!

The location of the image is a mountain range near the town of Sers, France...near the border with Spain.

Exact coordinates of the closest viewable angle of the image is 42°54'23.2"N 0°06'05.6"E

This is a major discovery and one I cannot believe we did. While this search was started by me in 2021 with some friends, it was TrickenGF, Alex M and Fried Oreos who deserve all the credit for this discovery! They were the geniuses who tracked all of this down and were able to connect the dots to get to this point.

You guys are amazing and I am beyond grateful for all of this.

Finding this image means that fans can now recreate the Gravity Falls logo as they want with anything they want. For example, Tricken made this for me using the image :D

Or, you can do this, lol

We now have it!

For 12 years as we looked at the Gravity Falls logo...we were in reality looking at a mountain in France...NOT Oregon!

So, I guess this is a major W for France but sorry, Pacific Northwest, Gravity Falls is actually French, lol!

I still can't believe we found this. I'm so happy :P

[yournightmary]

Vi HCs

content warning:: i guess there’s some angst? but it’s arcane so it’s nothing new

AN:: just a mix of different headcannons to get me through season 2.

pitfighter!Vi

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I’m sorry but she smells so bad. I’m not talking about a little stink- she smells fucking rancid. It’s a mix of sweat, alcohol, blood, hair dye and sometimes even puke. I don’t think she even showers properly, she just runs a wet towel over her body and calls it a day.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She dyes her hair with the cheapest hair dye in front of her cracked mirror- that’s why it’s so shitty. Doesn’t buy enough and ends up not covering her ends every single time.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Barely has any clothes. Owns 3 pairs of jeans and 4 shirts, all of them ragged and stained. Doesn’t even wear the shirts most of the time, she just wraps her chest with bandages.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ At first she didn’t want to do the eyeliner thing but a few fellow fighters told her it’s something to be recognized and remember for. For the first few times she actually payed attention to how she’s applying it, but after that she said fuck it and just slapped it on. Also she doesn’t use proper eyeliner, maybe something like water-activated face paint.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Really craves touch. She’ll glue herself to random girls (bonus points if they have dark blue hair) at bars and blame it on being drunk. Nothing sexual, just plain affections.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Her every day looks the same. Wake up in the middle of the day, sulk on the shitty mattress that she calls her bed, work out, put on her make up, head to the pit, drink till the morning. There’s literally no difference in them.

young!Vi

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I don’t know where i’ve read it I think it was like an interview or something but she’s literally just a girl. She didn’t want to be the strong fighter that everyone knows not to mess with, but that’s who she has to be to survive in the Undercity.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Definitely gave music a try. Like be so fr, she has a saxophone on her bed. Maybe she found it on a job and thought it was too cool to sell. Always wanted to play guitar but it was out of her price range.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She knew she liked girls from very early on and so did everyone around her. She didn’t hide it from anyone, there was literally no reason to. In season 1 you can even see she has a poster of a half-naked woman next to her bed, like come on now.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I’ve seen people saying that she doesn’t know how to make food but hear me out. I think she’s actually a pretty good cook due to her being the ‘caretaker’ when Vander couldn’t do it. Definitely cooked for Powder when she woke her up in the middle of the night because she was so hungry it was bordering on being painful.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She cuts her own hair. One time she fucked up so bad she had to shave her whole side and it just kind of stayed with her.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Never does anything for herself. Whenever she finds something- like clothes or food- she gives it to someone else. Always makes sure the others have enough before she takes something for herself.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She feels so guilty after stealing stuff from other people. She’s not stupid and she knows how hard life in the underground is, and that it justifies her actions but still- she’ll roll from side to side instead of sleeping, thinking about how much of a shitty person she is.

dating!Vi

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Literally the best girlfriend out there and I will die on this hill.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’s so touch-starved it’s unbelievable. When she was a teen she didn’t really experience anything relationship-like and then she got locked up for a few years. She’ll always have her arm around you, her hand on your hip or waist.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Oh my god her hugs are so good ahhhh. It’s just like being wrapped up in a warm blanket. Really likes to give hugs from behind too.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Loves cuddling, especially if it involves her lying on top of you. She doesn’t need any pillows if she has you and your lap, stomach or chest.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She is such an acts of service girl. And it goes both ways! If you make her dinner or plan a whole date by yourself she’ll feel so loved.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She stares so much it’s borderline creepy. She’ll just look at you in silence for a few minutes before turning her head away with a smile, thinking about how lucky she is to have you.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ You’ll be cuddling with her before sleep, scratching her back or scalp for the whole time. Once you think she’s asleep you stop and she immediately looks up at you with furrowed brows, asking why you stopped.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ While she is proud of her physique and stuff she does feel self conscious about her hands. Mostly because of all the scars and bruises, maybe a little because of how manly they look.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She was a victim of being treated like a guy because she’s more masculine presenting than feminine. Pay for her food at a restaurant, do her makeup, tell her she looks pretty not handsome.

[dropsnectar]

Fawning Rose: Vine Monster x GN!Reader

The Adventures of an Elven Herbalist Part One

NSFW or NSFT

This is my first time writing anything in 6 years so keep that in mind. Also my first smut fic. Or monster fic. I literally learned about the sexual parts of plants for this fic. Don't know how I got here but this was fun! btw if you don't like oviposition, I marked the parts with three !!! before and after that scene, so you can skip it if you want.

WORD COUNT: 3167, or 7 pages on Docs

It had been a long journey from your home country, having to cross an entire sea to get to the sleepy elven town of Hairevick. An Herbalist, you could craft pills to treat a human flu, create a poultice for a dwarves sore, work-tired limbs; even brew potions to help a beastmen ease out of a mating season-- but it was still lonely. Their were no elves about, except for the rogue eccentric nomad. 

Feeling as you had fully mastered your craft in that area, and curious about your kind, you set forth in hopes of bettering yourself. However, when introducing yourself to your neighbors, you found everyone to be polite, but detached. As far as elves went, you were quite young, and the people of Hairevick were elder and not so trusting of outsiders. But worse of all, everyone here seemed to have an excellent knowledge of the local flora and fauna, and their uses in maintaining health. There was no need for an herbalist, especially one so unfamiliar with their lands. 

You spent the entire week mourning your state over glasses and pints of botanical alcohol-- The local tavern drinks were amazing!-- until you finally met a sympathetic face. 

He had long silver hair and the wisp of a ginger beard around his sharp jaw; a peculiar trait. He greeted you friendly enough, asking how you were settling in. It turned out that he owned a store in town, selling odds and ends. He even had a little apothecary in the corner, where those who couldn’t be bothered to make a forest run would buy herbs and tinctures. 

Starved for companionship, you bombarded him with questions about clients, and local herbalism. He was jovial, and after quite a few dregs of honey yarrow grog, offered you a book on the local flora. After some midnight bonding over stories of patients, he gave you a proposition. 

He was having some issues procuring some materials from a special plant, a Fawning Rose. It had incredible healing properties, but a bad habit of uprooting itself and fleeing from anyone who wasn’t a youth. If you could lure it out and bring back anything, be it petals, roots, greens, he would pay you handsomely. Maybe even give you some lessons on how to work with local plant life.

It was for this reason that you found yourself two days into a trip to the heart of the Haire Wilds bordering town. It was not going well. 

***

The cool air caressed your skin as you entered the grove. You had caught a peculiar sweet smell, somehow floral and buttery at the same time, and had followed it with hope filling your heart. The scent had gotten so thick you could taste it, strong as a tea on your tongue. Blue wildflowers covered the ground, interrupted by the common tree route or vine. 

Your eyes followed the vines or small roots, colored a sage with a speckled gradient to midnight blue. They traveled up into the middle of the grove. Sunlight, so rare this far into the Wilds, fell down in large delicious specks from the trees. They refracted off a large flower, almost two yards in width. Its petals were raspberry pink, turning blood red in the middle. Vines from its base led upwards and rested on the low boughs of the nearest trees, framing the flower and its various young buds like some sort of ethereal art study. 

You grew excited, feet tripping over roots as you ran forward, losing a shoe. You lost balance again and landed face first into the crook of a particularly large vine and hit your head. Hard. 

Hot pain crashed through you, making you curse as you steadied yourself. You tried to get up but the heat struck your temple like lightning as you moved upwards. Alright. Best to stay down then. 

As you waited, you were able to see past the stars in your eyes and notice a slight powdery substance on the vines. It, too, was pink. 

Maybe it was the thrill of finally finding the damn thing, or the head injury, but you felt different. You could hear your heart pumping hard in your chest, pleasantly tight. Your breath was ragged, the air pushing a hard, chilling heat through you. 

Like a particularly good run, your mind registered. A high. 

Your limbs started to tingle at the tips.

The rose’s perfume felt more like a mist now. You were only a few feet away from the base flower, and the scent had turned heady. Your hunger from a missed meal seemed to be surfacing, goaded on by the delectable smell the plant was giving off. While the pain eased and the stars disappeared from your eyes, you noticed that the lightheaded fuzzy feeling stayed.

Uh oh. Not a concussion.

You had to work hard to bring the fear into your mind. There was very little anyone could do to help you out here. The best you could do was not move around too much, and hoped the Fawning Rose would cooperate.

Suddenly, you notice some movement from the roots under your palms. 

No no no not now! Please, I haven’t harvested you yet! You thought as you tried to scramble up. 

The roots moved upwards with you, shoving you onto your side. Sliding around your feet, one took your other shoe with it as it slithered about under you. Another seemed to upend itself and squeeze cooly between your toes. You jumped a bit, but your gaze and mind were slow.

Something thick gilded itself on your shoulder making you look up. Vines, three, four, five of them descended and started rubbing themselves against you like cats. The movement was kicking up clouds of the pink pollen, making you sneeze as you wiggled against the plants outer limbs.

A part of you was horrified, thinking that perhaps you had scared the thing off. After all, you had been warned that this type of rose was particularly skittish. But the plant did not seem to be gathering itself to run away, rather it was pulling you closer to itself, the dragging tearing at the underside of your clothes.

Try as you might, you couldn't seem to think. Foggy, fuzzy, your mind was like cotton. The tingling in your fingertips has spread through your body, and an embarrassed part of your brain noticed your lower body was starting to awaken too. A warmth was beginning to pool in your gut, slow and lazy. Tingly. Fuzzy, like your head.

The vines continue to rub against your body, tearing the rest of your clothes away until only skin remains. They were relentless, cool against your hot skin. Their outer layers were textured but still smooth; a foreign sensation but extremely exciting. It felt almost like something was licking you, the powder giving a wet feel as it spread itself all over. Liquid heat glazed the innermost parts of you, much to your embarrassment. 

Aphrodisiac. You finally registered. You started to curse out that damned store keeper. 

You’d been played. 

You were now at the base of the flower, with even more roots and vines cradling and moving over your body. You were… pushed? Pulled? A foot into the air, close enough so that some of the smaller buds were leaning over you, as if they were getting a good look at you. You felt a knowing, a presence from this plant now. It really was looking at you.

Some desperate part of your mind, far far back in your mind, tries to set off danger bells. That you needed to get up and run.

Ooze started to secrete from the smaller buds, and the already overpowering scent of floral butteriness seemed to multiply. It dripped out onto your belly, warm and tingling, then your chest, your inner thigh, even a bit on your cheek.

The syrup dribbled down into the planes of your mouth as you wriggled under the vines. A particularly mischievous one pushes through the plush cheeks of your ass and moves up, poking at your entrance, causing you to gasp. 

The liquid touches your tongue. It tastes just as it smells, deliriously delicious. Sweet. Hot. It was divine compared to the little rations you’ve been eating the last few days. Like youd been starving and had sudden.ly been given free reign of a pastry shoppe. But no pastry could top this silky butteriness

What little heat that had kindled inside you was now a roaring flame, putting your past arousal to shame. You groan, and pull your head up, sticking your tongue out for more. A part of you is screaming to stop and run, but it is a stupid part that is buried instantly under your sudden overwhelming need. You are desperately horny, and you deserve to feel good after all the trouble you've been through lately.  

Still sticking out your tongue, you start to moan even louder as the vine messages your entrance with its thick girth. At the same time, one of the buds above your face seems to notice your desperation, and leans down to your lips.You lick at its plush petals and sweet sweet nectar seeps into your mouth. It tastes much like a floral pastry and you suck greedily as it pushes itself deeper in. 

The petals are so soft, yet still firm in your mouth as a river of nectar floods your throat. You giggled around it as it started to take its full effect. You felt light as air, so good. 

The vines had moved over to allow a bud to circle itself around your most sensitive part. You gasped out as it started to suck you, making stars flood your already glistening eyes. Your wet lashes fluttered as it began to suck wave after wave of pleasure out of your body.You had never felt so good, you noted somewhere in your sex drunk mind.  The whole time, the bud leaked nectar, completely soaking all parts of your groin.

The nectar left your skin feeling sensitive,  and completely soaked. This seemed to please the vines, which continued to massage the oil about you, then finally push in. You cried out at the sensation. Drool started to pool out of your mouth, mixing with the nectar.

 The vines rubbed lazy curving lines around your walls, making your hips jerk and shake. They seemed to know what they were doing as they started out slow for a time, then sped up their pace, thrashing about inside you. You clench around them, overwhelmed by the unyielding sensation. The pooling heat in you was building high, and you could tell the walls were about to break.

A rogue, mischievous bud had decided to examine your hole, tracing around your entrance in lazy circles. The petals were so soft, softer than skin. The texture made you feel desperate. As if to read your mind, the bud stopped. It must have been blooming because you felt little feelers, probably stamans, tracing about your genitals, wet with its lovely, delicious pollen.

 You swore and whined and pleaded for more as the vines fucked you through it, voice garbled by nectar. Another, thicker vine veined in indigo added itself to its companions and you finally came. The rush was like being tossed in the ocean, a shock that completely enveloped your entire body in cold, pulsing ecstasy. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your juices spilled down on the forest floor below. 

The echoes of the waves of pleasure were still rocking through you when the vines surrounded your body started to move you upwards again. The vines were slow and delicate as they handled you, as if you were precious cargo. You were brought upwards, almost as if they were about to set you on your feet. Your neck was out, as you were still suckling the addicting flower liquid. 

You noticed through your long damp hair that you were positioned just over the center of the Fawning Roses main flower. A drop of nectar slipped out from inside you and dribbled down and onto the flower's green pistil. The stigma was thick, with four fat lumps at the top. The stamen surrounding it swayed, almost as if there was a breeze. Their magenta anthers rained down more pollen, causing a beautiful gradient against the deep red at the middle of the large petals. It was a truly breathtaking sight. 

A single vine wiggled towards your face and pushed back your hair. You found the gesture almost sweet, leaning into its touch. You remained like that for a time, before the vines started to lower you on to the stigma. 

No no no, you tried to whisper, some understanding dawning; but the bud was being aggressive with its feeding, pushing further in your mouth. It had a job, and its job was to make you so desperately horny and stupid, you’d let this flower breed you. 

The stigma was a hard fit at first. Its lumpy texture felt so good rubbing against you, you couldn’t help but hump back into it. The vines around you squeezing your skin, tilting your hips this way in that, trying to make the fit. The surrounding stamen started to rub their anthers against you, two started focusing on your nipples. You continued to hump the stigma, smearing the nectars from your groin all over it. Then, finally, finally, You were able to squeeze it in. 

The vines had taken over the humping for you now, pushing you down harder and harder onto the pistil. The lumps dragged against your walls in such a beautiful way, that you screamed out babbling whines. Your skin was covered in nectar and bright pink pollen. Every part of you was being squeezed, rubbed, oozed upon with tingling liquid, that you weren’t even sure you had a body anymore, just pleasure. After you came for the fourth time, you started to feel a pulsing within the pistil.  It was like the thing seemed to grow within you.

! ! !

Ridges started to squeeze against your entrance, rubbing against your walls. They moved up, up, up, into the deepest parts of you. There was a sudden burst of warmth, then something small and squishy. You marveled at the texture, as the flower continued to lower you down on the pistil, now at a slower pace, in smaller movements. You ached so badly, but the new sensation of the objects and warmth inside you made you wanna keen louder. They felt sort of like eggs.

Seedpods. You registered lazily. You were being turned into a seedbed. 

This realization only seemed to turn you on even more. They felt so good, rolling about inside your walls. The warmth they brought rivaled the cool temperature of the pistil, a delightful duality. 

You moaned with every bulge, push, then pop of warmth and heaviness. It was getting to the point now where the vines were pulling you up off the pistil to make more room for the seeds. 

! ! !

You were cumming so much now you lost count. It was getting to the point that you were just continuously orgasming, as the seeds and the pistil dragged against your most sensitive parts. 

You may have been like that for hours, days even, the nectar kept you so dizzy you couldn’t tell time. But at some point you were so full that the pistil seemed satisfied. The wriggling stamen around you stilled, and the vines carefully lifted you off the pistil, giving one last drag within your walls.

The bloom inside your mouth slowly dragged itself out, making you whine in protest. The vines carefully laid you down at the foot of their roots, arranging your body in a comfortable position. The vines slowly retreated from your body. They lazily moved about, sometimes knocking into each other in a way that was almost comical. Their movements seemed lazy, almost like it too was spent. 

As the last vine left your skin, it caressed your cheek. Within you some affection of your own seemed to bloom. The haze that was in your mind was starting to dull, and replaced itself with the need to rest. Your heavy eyes closed and you gave into sleep.

***

You awoke without opening your eyes. You could feel that the curving mound of roots you’d been sleeping on had been replaced with fluffy grass and soil. The smell of freshly tilled earth flooded your nose, and you jolted upright, eyes wide.

The grove was quiet, and empty of the Fawning Rose. All that was left behind was you, the upturned soil it had left behind, and light dusting of pink pollen on the trees. Even the sweet pastry-like smell had left the grove.

You looked down at your naked, sore body and groaned. You could see a trail of bruises from where the vines had gripped you, along with dried out nectar and tons of pink pollen. Your stomach puffed out a bit more than normal, meaning all of this had NOT been a dream. Much to your surprise, nothing hurt though. Your body felt great, healthily spent like you had just run a marathon. Considering how hard you had been working there should have been some pain, but there wasn’t. Just the pleasant pressure of the seedpods against your insides.You recall the conversation with the shop owner at the tavern. Looks like this is the flower's healing abilities at work.

You continued to search around the grove. Your clothes were still in shreds on the forest floor, but your bag was safely tucked under one of the trees the flower had rested its vines in. With some effort, you managed to get yourself off the ground to pick it up, waddling the whole way. 

The pollen was still working its magic on you, but you guessed you had been exposed to it long enough to build a slight tolerance. Or maybe the growing rage within you was doing the trick. You pulled out one of the many glass bottles, and a silver knife. You went to work, scraping the dried nectar and pollen off your body, into the jars.

I’m gonna charge that asshole so much money, his kids will be poor. You seethed as you spent hours getting your money's worth off of every plane of your body. You’d have to birth those seed pods later too. Your insides grew warm at the thought. 

You tried not to think about how you were going to have to walk home naked, where you’d been and what you’d been doing laid bare upon your skin. It’d be free advertising tho, you tried to reason. 

You'd make a killing. Aphrodisiacs were rare, and extremely expensive, especially to a crowd of immortals. I think I'll sell these seed pods on my own though. You smiled. 

You’d make sure to be properly prepared the next time you went into the wilds.

Might do a part two, maybe with slimes next time? Also sorry about any switching of tenses, I have a hard time with that! Hope you guys enjoyed!

[romanarose]

oooo I got a worst Logan blurb for you if that’s okay. But Logan with a new girlfriend that treats him like he’s her absolute world. Like maybe they’ve been dating for a few months, enough for it to be serious, and they’re both involved in each other’s lives pretty significantly. But she just really cares for him, genuinely, and not to overwhelm him, but he’s the background on her phone, and she’ll put him first compared to other important things in her life. Just super sweet and fluff. Feel free to change anything, thank you

Absolutly!!! I love this Idea!!!!

Whole World

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Logan loved coming home. Even better, he loved having a home to come to in the first place, and he loved his girlfriend that was so freshly living with him that her boxes were still unpacked, and several heavy ones were still in his truck bed.

Logan calls your name, and within a second he hears the pitter patter of your feet running, scampering down the stares and around the corner.

"LOGAN!!!" You're face brightens immidiatly and so does his day. You looked so cute, little blue jeans peaking out from under a big shirt, and mismatched goofy socks on your feet. You run to him, and Logan doesn't hesitate to pick your up and spin you around.

"Heya baby, how was your day?" He asks when he settles down, staying carrying you. Your legs lock around his waste as he takes you to the kitchen.

He sets you down on the counter. "Good! Got a lot unpacked, Sorry, I meant to have dinner ready." You pout, but he just chuckles, reaching around you to turn on the oven.

"You were busy, don't be sorry. Besides, I can cook too."

"You're making frozen pizza, aren't you?"

"Always." He grabs a pop tart packet.

You whine a little. "You need real food! You work hard."

"So do you, baby." Logan plops the pop tart in your mouth. "Now, talk to me while I 'Cook.' Been wait'n all day to hear your voice."

So you did. As the pizza cooked you watched as he nailed some pictures to the walls, nodding his head and occasionally making little comments, even as you caught him up on the newest episode of the bachelorette.

"I can't believe Tyler did that." He played along with your chatter. He was really so perfect. Your loving man did so much for you, he was your everything. He worked hard, did all the silly romance stuff like buy you flowers and you liked to think you returned the favor. Logan came before everything else, not that he asked for it. He asked for so little, and sometimes it hurt your heart that he didn't ask for more. Did he not understand he deserved the whole world?

After dinner, you guys go outside for a peaceful evening of some yard work. You wanted a garden, so Logan had been working o tearing up some of the lawn and creating a border. Meanwhile, you weeded the backyard, the two of you just listening to music together. When Logan takes off his shirt, you stare at him, hard. Tense, rippling muscles dripping with sweat, moving and flexing all for you. He deserved a treat.

"I'm gonna head inside, Lo."

"Okay baby, I'll be inside in a few, gonna get this section done."

You knew he'd say that. Gave you the perfect opportunity.

15 minutes later when Logan trudged upstairs, he called your name. "Where'ya at?"

"In here!" You call from the bathroom. When Logan entered, he found you in there, grinning up at him. The bathroom was dark except for the scented candles, gentle music playing.

Logan smiles down at you. "Whatcha planning here, bub?"

You rock on your heals. "I was thinking... you worked so hard today... maybe I give you a nice relaxing bath... I can wash you, if you let me..."

His perfect girl, so eager to please, Logan takes you into his arms, kissing the top of you're head. "Only if you join me?"

So you did. You got in the tub with him, dropping some lavender oils in but not to much to overwhelm his nose, and washed him with your loofa. You even take your exfoliater and scrub him down, even massages his feet. Logan had installed a detachable shower head, so you straddled his hips and even washed his hair. While letting the conditioner you insisted on work on his dark locks, you simply rest on his chest in a hug. He was so touch starved, you knew, years of isolation until he met Wade, but you were going to make up for that. Your were going to make up for every day he felt alone. Logan's hands cupped the water, drawing it up your back where it trickles down again, keeping you warm.

"You're perfect, you know that?" Logan mumbled into your ear.

"Hmmmm.... mid." You joke, but Logan wasn't taking it. He pulled you back, cupping your face and looking directly in your eyes.

"Not funny." Logan admonishes. "I want you to say it. Say, I'm perfect."

You knew better than to argue with him. So, you just smile. "I'm perfect. Your turn."

Logan chuckles. "Good girl. I'm perfect. You happy?"

You rest on his chest again. "Very."

[allthesethingswillendsoon]

Long, long time

CHAPTER ONE: Welcome to Oakridge

SUMMARY: Following the abrupt departure of Amy Bueckers, Bob moves himself and Paige to the quiet, unassuming town of Oakridge, Virginia in the hopes of having a fresh start. There, they meet the Fudd family, their neighbors from across the street. Paige and Azzi are quick to hit it off and so begins their story.

NOTE: This is so nerve-wracking as this is the first like fanfiction thing I've ever written let alone published. I don't think this chapter is very good but that doesn't really matter because it's the first one and I just wanted to get it done with. For reference they are both born in 2001 just to make it easier with grades and stuff, also this story doesn't involve them playing basketball (so no UConn or anything like that) as I felt I didn't know enough for it to actually make any sense. The series doesn't have a name, and I don't know how long that will be the case for. Also I really don't understand how to use tumblr so it might take a while for me to make the posts aesthetic and whatever so yeah. I plan for this series to span like years and years of their lives with ups and downs.

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Warnings: Parent leaving. 2k words Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

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28th OF AUGUST 2008

OAKRIDGE, VIRGINIA

The crisp morning air of Oakridge came as a pleasant surprise to Bob and Paige Bueckers. It was six AM, and after hours and hours the father-daughter duo had finally found their way to Virginia. Their worldly possessions were being held in the U-Haul rental truck they had driven there with. Amongst those possessions were a variety of important things, Paige’s kindergarten graduation cap, the remnants of her first haircut, and her mother’s last note to them before leaving.

To say Bob was happy for a fresh start would be a complete understatement, Minnesota had just been too much for him. Around every corner was a reminder of what they had lost, and what they could never ever get back. The stress had nearly cracked him, and on one particularly low-spirited evening, once Paige was tucked soundly in her bed, Bob had started the process of selling their house and buying a new one. The day after Paige’s kindergarten graduation, the final boxes were packed and the duo set off across the country to their new home, to their new start.

There it was, the start of the rest of their lives right there in front of them. 

He had been able to find their house for a lovely, reasonable price. It was the perfect size, three bedrooms, two bathrooms and a spacious backyard; perfect for the dog Bob had promised Paige. The outside of the house was painted a soft blue, complemented by the white picket fence and flower beds bordering the perimeter of their block.

“Dad! Can we go inside?! I wanna look around! Please!” Paige begged, tugging her dad towards the front door. 

“Yeah, sure thing honey, give me a second.” He responded, glad to have been snapped out of his reminiscing.

Paige ran up the front porch steps, her dad in tow behind her. As Bob stood at the door fumbling around with the keys he had a moment to realise the severity of the situation. They were in a brand new state, in a tiny town, away from everything either of them had ever known without any kind of support system whatsoever. 

He couldn’t say he wasn’t ashamed, and angry, and depressed, the love of his life and mother of his child had just packed up and left, for no apparent reason and without even saying a proper goodbye to their daughter. That’s what really got him, Paige loved her parents more than anything, and explaining to Paige that mommy’s just not here anymore led to more tears than he’d like to admit. The fact that she would one day think it was her fault that Amy left, that it was because Amy didn’t love her enough killed Bob, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do when that day came.

Perfect. Just perfect. 

What was he going to do? What if something went wrong? What if Paige needed a babysitter? 

They had left their family behind in Edina, Minnesota, and not a second had passed since leaving them that they were not missed. But it was necessary, in every conversation he had with his family and Amy’s family, there was always a massive, gaping, all-consuming hole in the conversation. Without fail, every time, Bob fell in.

But that was what made Virginia so perfect though, it was away from everything and everyone they used to know. And as far as Paige had shown, she didn’t mind the change much, her happy-go-lucky nature was sure to make her friends no matter the area.

With a click the door swung open. 

As they walk inside, the smile that falls over Paige’s face makes all the pain and struggle worth it.

“I love it Dad! I love it!” She squeals, her face scrunched in happiness as she skipped around the bottom floor of the house, trailing her grubby little hands over every surface she could reach.

“I’m so glad honey.” He grins, her excitement contagious.

“I love it! I love it! I love it! I looooove it!” 

“You wanna go upstairs and see your room?” Bob questions.

“Yes, yes, yes!” With that she’s off, her little legs struggling as she takes the stairs two steps at a time. Bob follows suit, walking into Paige’s room to find her lying on the floor starfished.

“Do you remember what I said P?” He starts.

Almost faster than the speed of light she’s standing in front of him, big blue eyes piercing into his soul.

“Do you mean it really? Any colour?” 

He chuckles lightly. “Yeah honey, any colour you want.”

“Purple! Purple! Purple! I want purple!”

“Yeah honey. I think I can get you some purple paint.”

She throws herself into his arms at those words.

“Yay Dad, I love it here!”

The way she says those words, and the way her face is lit up with her smile makes Bob think that it might all be okay.

29th OF AUGUST, 2008

OAKRIDGE, VIRGINIA

After a long week in the Fudd household it was finally Saturday, and that meant family fun day!

This week it was Azzi’s choice of activity. Much to her brother’s dismay she had chosen to plant flowers in the front garden. On Thursday, when her dad had gotten off work they had hopped in the car and driven to the plant nursery, where Azzi had selected delicate pink flowers to decorate the front yard, ‘Carnations’ the plant lady had said. 

Azzi had left the nursery, struggling slightly under the weight of the flower pot, yet still not allowing Tim Fudd to help her, despite incessant offers to.

She had picked her special spot in the front yard and was ready to depot the flowers. But when she woke up on Saturday and shovelled her breakfast in her mouth in the hopes of getting to family fun day faster she had come to the realisation that she was without a shovel, and effectively without a way to plant the flowers.

After a few (a lot) of tears, Katie and Tim packed their kids into the minivan and were off to Home Depot in search of a small pink shovel for Azzi.

As they scoured the aisles, their search was proving to be hopeless and the family’s hope was quickly dwindling.

After a second and third lap of the store, Azzi’s bottom lip began shaking, her eyes welling with tears, and before long she was planted on the floor, tears pooling out of her big brown eyes.

“I want the shovel! I neeeeeeeed the shovel!” She wailed.

“I know honey, but they just don’t have it. I’m sorry, we’ll try again next week.” Katie soothed, trying to deescalate the situation.

“But mom, I need it! How can I plant my flowers without it?” Azzi shrieked, now hitting her hands and legs against the hard concrete floor.

Before Katie could respond a little body with a big voice appeared in front of Azzi.

“What do you need? I bet I could find it for you, I’m really good at finding things!”

Azzi sniffled, wiping her nose before lifting her head to look at the girl before her.

She had bright blue eyes, a pale complexion and light blonde hair. She was taller than Azzi and a little gangly. Most notably, she had a slightly nervous smile and an inviting hand outstretched to her.

“I need a shovel. So I can plant my flowers.” She mumbled, still staring up at the other girl with her watery eyes.

“I like flowers, I’ll help you!” The girl responded, her face now empty of nerves and lit up with excitement.

Azzi grabbed onto her hand and before she could say anything to her parents she was being dragged through the store by the other girl.

“No, not here.” 

“Not here either.”

“Hmmm where could they be?”

The random girl’s remarks could be heard from across the store as they made their way through aisle after aisle, hand in hand.

“Where are they? Why can’t we find them?” Azzi huffed, coming to an abrupt stop, yanking her hand from the other girl’s.

“I’m not sure. I’m sorry. I’m really trying to find them.” The girl rambled, nerves creeping back onto her face as she watched Azzi’s eyes well with tears once again.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault.” Azzi said, sadness momentarily forgotten as she looked at her new friend.

“What’s your name?” She continued.

“Paige. What’s yours?” Paige replied.

“Azzi”

“Nice to meet you Azzi, I’m Paige” With that Paige stuck out her hand, “Want to be friends?”

A split second of silence falls over them.

“Yeah Paige, let’s be friends!” Azzi takes her hand, both girls shaking with enthusiasm.

“Y’know I think my dad might have a shovel. We should go ask if we can borrow it!” Paige suggested, voice high-pitched with excitement.

“Is it pink?” Azzi questioned, her brows furrowed in anticipation.

“Ummmm. I don’t think so.” Paige replied.

“Hmmm. That's alright.” Azzi decided.

“Yay! Let’s go ask.”

—-

Paige and Azzi’s laughter reverberated off the walls of the Home Depot as they skipped back to their parents.

They had been standing together, making small talk and introductions. As they did so they realised that they lived on the same street a few houses apart. 

“Dad! Dad! We need to get our shovel so Azzi can plant her flowers!” Paige huffed as the pair came to stand in front of their parents.

“Slow down honey, start over.” Bob responded, unable to comprehend his daughter’s mumbling.

“Can-we-get-our-shovel-so-Azzi-can-plant-her-flowers. Please?” Paige says, leaving a comically large gap between each word.

“Yeah, sure, we can lend the shovel to our new neighbours.” Bob shrugs.

“NEIGHBOURS?!” The girls squeal in sync.

“Yeah, Az they moved into Mrs Mckinlay’s house, y’know the blue one?” Tim explained.

“That’s so close, yay Paige!” Azzi exclaimed.

“Dad, since we live so close, could I pleeeeease help Azzi with her flowers?” Paige begged, putting on her puppy dog eyes and pouting.

“Well I don’t see any issue with it if you guys don’t mind.” Bob says.

“That’s fine with us, the more the merrier.” Katie responds, smiling at the blossoming friendship between the two girls.

“Then it’s settled, time to go and plant some flowers!”

“But it's a family fun day!” Azzi’s brother’s chime in.

“Shut up sillies! I want to be with my best friend Paige!” Azzi flicked the two boys.

“AZZI! That is no way to behave.” Her dad scolded.

“Okay I’m sorry, can we go now?” She apologised.

“Yeah we can go.” 

“Me and Paige just need to check out, gotta buy our paint.” Bob explained, holding up the bucket of purple paint.

“I’m painting my room purple! Wanna come see it when it’s done Azzi?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”

—--

The Bueckers and the Fudds met up in the street, and after ten minutes of Bob scavenging through their shed boxes, he was able to procure the elusive shovel.

“Here we go.” He said as the pair walked into the Fudd’s front lawn, passing the shovel to Azzi.

“Yay! Thanks Mr. Paige’s dad! C’mon Paige let’s go plant the flowers!”

They worked hard, light sheens of sweat covering their little foreheads from the late summer heat. Planting carnations was taxing work they discovered.

Once they placed the final flower down in the ditch, Azzi turned to Paige.

“Paige, I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Will you officially be my best friend please? Cause I know I said you were before but I wanted to ask if you wanted to be.” Azzi mumbled, slightly nervous for the girl’s response.

“Yeah Azzi, I’m your best friend, and you’re mine, now and forever and ever and ever!”

“Pinky promise?”

“Double pinky promise.”

Their parents watch from the front porch as their daughters interlink pinkies and giggle together over everything and nothing.

It was clear Paige and Azzi were going to be in each other’s lives for a long, long time.

-----------------------------------------------

Okay I hope that was alright and set up the story well enough. Thanks for reading :)

[moonchildstyles]

épanouissement

élan final part: there was no place like home, even if the people there tried to wreck it

wordcount: 22k+

—————

"You think this is going to make it stop?" 

Harry slammed the boot of the car closed, their bags packed away with the sun low on the horizon. He didn't seem particularly optimistic when he gave (Y/N) a curt nod, but she couldn't blame him.

"'S the best I can think of right now," he murmured, "They at least won't know where you are or where to send anything. We jus' need to get through until we can make it back to New York, then we'll have more options." 

She could tell Harry was still frustrated with the fact they couldn't fly back home at the moment, her father being the very obvious roadblock. That had been his first iteration of this plan; that they leave Paris behind and get back to the high-rises where she had the rest of her letters stowed away. Harry wanted to file something, go public with this kind of information and make it known that she wasn't safe—do anything to get this person off of her back if there was nothing that could be legally done with only the letters as evidence. But, to get back would require either her father's jet, or her very public return—two things that would rattle his cage and cause something she wasn't willing to deal with on top of everything else. 

That was how they made it here: bags packed, and car heading out of Paris for the time being. 

This had been Plan C (right behind A, that consisted of Harry hunting down this person and ending this mess in a rage, and B, heading home and gaining proper protection from authorities or otherwise). Searching through vacation listings in rural villages bordering Paris, Harry had found something far enough away he could buy her privacy while waiting for the chance to make it back to New York. It had been decided he would rent the cottage under his much less recognizable name and they would hide amongst the fields before an opportunity for something more concrete presented itself. 

(Y/N) had never lived in a small town before, the mansion upstate with her parents having been the least populated area she'd resided in, but that had nothing on the tiny village Harry had pinpointed. His reasoning came from the fact that it would be incredibly hard to blend in while out there, no crowds around to slip into and no real reason anyone should be carrying around a professional camera. At the very least, it would provide a challenge for someone who was so used to herding (Y/N) into crowds and peeping through windows to get a glimpse.

It didn't take much convincing for her to go along with the getaway plan, Harry having urgently pitched it to her with his own duffle bag already half packed by the time he shared the details. She had enough time to pack her essentials (and maybe some non-essentials that came in the form of the bouquet of roses Harry brought her, now dried and preserved carefully in her bag), sleep on the idea, then they were off. Though she knew the purpose and was actually kind of excited to actually get away for the first time in her life, it was an odd feeling to see the structures and people of Paris pass outside of the window, growing smaller in the rearview the further Harry drove them out. 

Her only hope was that no one was following them, thwarting their plan before it had even sprung into motion. This person was no stranger to camping around her home and spotting her as soon as she appeared. (Y/N) just had to trust Harry; he wouldn't have suggested this upheaval if he didn't believe the outcome would be the one he wanted, ending with her safe and happy as he had told her time and time again that was all he wanted.

Looking at him from the corner of her eye, the shine of Paris passing by the window in whizzing blurs behind him, she saw him with that new filter that had lingered since the night they kissed. Everything was just a little bit softer, a little hazier. Even with the sharp set in his jaw and the thinned line of his lips, she knew if she plucked just a hair closer she would see the ridges of his mouth that had been pressed against hers, the tip of his nose that brushes against her cheek, the sun-dappled stubble that had grazed her chin and was soft under her hands when he deepened the seal of their lips. She no longer only knew what he looked like, she knew what he felt like. 

Though, they hadn't kissed since, instead leaving a blurred line between them. Harry no longer seemed to hold many reservations about that professional line that had developed, those grazes of his hand over hers or the way he hovered around her in the kitchen were no longer reserved for only the times that he was leading her through packed situations or acting as the security he was hired on as. He no longer shied away from her the same way he had before, the buffer of space having dissipated. He had even stolen a bite of her dinner right off her fork the night before, sharing a glass of wine where he pressed his lips into the same space she had supped from just before. 

There was a level of intimacy they now shared, even if they hadn't touched the limits of the barrier since. 

Even now, (Y/N) knew that if she peeled his hand away from the steering wheel, pressed her palm against his and laced their fingers together, Harry wouldn't hesitate to reciprocate that hold.

But, she wasn't sure how to do it. 

She'd never been shy around a man before, not since she was a teenager. No attraction was ever serious enough for her to feel as if she were silly for acting the way she did or looking the way she did. She didn't lack confidence when it came to those she wanted, but Harry was different. He made her flustered and shy, sheepish and fluttering under the skin and she didn't know how to feel about that. 

He made her feel like she needed to journal about him, add the night in the kitchen to her diary so she would never forget about the way his voice wrapped around the words sweet girl and how he promised he cared for her. 

Even spying him now, the lines of his profile being haloed with the buttery light of the fringes of the city, (Y/N) felt her heart skip in her chest. 

It was worth it to be flustered by him.

—————

After over an hour of golden fields and rose tinted air, the paved road making way for a gravel trail, the cottage of Harry's choice came into view. 

Along the way, (Y/N) had been enamored with the scenery outside, spotting farms with grazing animals, swaying stalks of lavender, and the neighbourhoods growing smaller and smaller, actual neighbours getting few and far between. If Paris smelled like butter and wine, this rural area smelled of lavender and fresh linen. (Y/N) wanted to bask in the sunlight pouring over the land. 

While Paris was one of her great loves, a place she was happy she could show Harry, this was exciting to her. The idea of experiencing this place for the first time with him at her side was enough to have her tummy fluttering into delicately ribboned knots. A new first together, she thought. 

Just like the photos online showed, the cottage was small, showcasing just enough space for what the listing entailed. The frame was built with tan cobblestones, sandy shades emulating the wheat fields they passed on the way, warm and sunny. A small chimney was stationed on the side of the house, white trim outlining the windows and coloring the door. From where they were pulling in, she could see just the corner of the back porch. Bushes of deep greens and wine red roses were blooming against the buttery backdrop, standing low next to the croppings of lavender. Up the small chimney, ivy vines traced the brickwork, tiny white blooms fluttering in the wind. It was like a storybook, (Y/N) thought. 

"This is beautiful, Harry," she whispered in awe, eyes the size of her heart as she took in the whole place. 

"I saw the roses and figured this would be the place for us," he told her, his voice low though she could still hear the tinge of pride. 

There was that fluster in her chest, the sheepish feeling that had her skin warming. For us, he said. 

Pulling her gaze from the home, (Y/N) watched from the passenger seat as Harry pulled them into the tiny gravel drive. Her lips curled into a soft smile. 

"I love it." 

As soon as Harry had them parked in the drive safely, (Y/N)'s jittery excitement couldn't be contained. She was excited to check out their designated safe house, skipping out of the car and heading towards the storybook porch, saddled by bushels of lavender and roses. Harry hung back, grabbing their bags from the boot. 

"(Y/N)," he called, his voice carrying over the lavender-scented breeze, "Before y'go in, there's only one bedroom." 

Stopping in her tracks, (Y/N) turned on her heel. For a split second she thought about what it would be like to share a bed with him, to feel his arms wrapped around her waist and head nestled in her shoulder the way he always did when he held her. She saw that in the morning often, but she wondered if it would be different to wake up next to him, to see the mess of curls on his head and the bleary blinks of his eyes. She didn't hate the idea at all. 

Staying put, she canted her head as she looked at him, hoping she was playing it cool. "Oh?"

He nodded his head, pushing the trunk closed with a fist full of two duffle bags (both hers). "I was planning on sleeping on the couch, but I want to tell y'before y'saw." 

Harry caught up with her as she stood in her spot, shifting her weight with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. "Are you sure?" 

Meeting her eyes, the flecks of gold in his irises shimmering like stars in this light, he remained resolute. "'M sure. I jus' want you to be comfortable." 

There's a part of her that wanted to argue that she would be more than comfortable with sharing the single bed with him, sleeping with the window open and sharing body heat under the linen. Though, that part of her didn't have a chance before Harry was forging ahead and unlocking the front door.

He went inside first, leaving (Y/N) to follow after with a view of his broad shoulders. He dropped the bags quietly in the tiny tiled space in front of the door, already peering around the cottage. 

"Wait here for me," he murmured, getting that set in his gaze she remembered from the first time he had toured her apartment. 

Kicking off her shoes, she stayed put while he cased the space, checking for any and everything. From where she was, no cameras could be found, or any open windows or cracked doors. Nonetheless, those closed windows were now locked, the closed doors were blown open, and every corner was double checked for any kind of camera that could be hiding in plain sight. 

"Is everything okay?" she asked after Harry disappeared into the main bedroom. 

Wandering out a moment later, he gave her an absent nod, his gaze stuck to the ceiling as if one of the dust motes in the air would suddenly start recording their conversation. "I think 's alright, jus' let me know if y'notice anything weird, please." 

"Got it! Thank you," she beamed, feeling a bit too excited to start traipsing around the place. She hadn't felt like this since Francesca offered her a spot on her family's annual Switzerland trip and she saw the levels of the cabin they owned. 

Taking in the small common area that would double as Harry's bedroom, she was endeared by the small television propped on the vintage wooden stand pressed against the wall. She could imagine sitting with Harry before bed, trying to watch an episode of Julia Childs and figuring out what exactly it was that she said before dropping the duck into the pan. It was cozy and small, complete with an overstuffed couch, a crocheted doily across the back and an uneven coffee table. There was a small space designated as the dining area just behind the couch, looking into the kitchen that was tucked away from the serenity of the living room. A huge pantry was the back wall of the kitchen, space left for any and everything (Y/N) could imagine. 

There was another small hallway past the kitchen that led to the bathroom as well as what would be (Y/N)'s bedroom. A large window had been molded into the wall of the bedroom, giving a view into the back garden, complete with the small porch on the backside of the house. On the bed was a fresh pile of linen to be stretched across the mattress, fluffy pillows at the head. Inside the bathroom hung an ornate mirror, complete with a golden frame and a clawfoot bathtub. An even smaller short has been tucked into the corner, the tile matching the sunny, buttery tones throughout the cottage. 

Everywhere she went smelled like powdery fresh linen, rosewater and lulling lavender. She'd never been so far away from a bustling city to experience something like this. The space was cozy and secluded, warm and inviting. She felt like she was sitting in a fairytale—this home fit for Beauty And The Beast. Bread should be baking somewhere, a pristine rose encased in glass. 

She had thought Paris was the best place to be exiled, but even the city couldn't compare to this. Though she didn't have much to compare it to (thankfully) she figured this had to be the best of the best when it came to safe houses. 

The best part? Checking her phone, she found she had limited service when not connected to Wi-Fi. Though it was small, that detail made it that much harder for someone to get into contact with her. 

"Like it?" she heard Harry ask from where he sauntered through the doorway, his expression easy and warm as he gazed at her. 

"I love it," she answered through a beaming smile, grazing her hand over the fresh linens waiting on her bed, "Thank you." Watching the spring back of the sheets against her hand, the fluff of the pillows waiting to cushion her head, she tried again, "Are you sure about the couch? Really sure?" 

The bed was big enough for the both of them, she wanted to tell him. She wouldn't mind. 

It was the half of a heartbeat's worth of lag before he answered her that had (Y/N) looking up to intently watch him. But, he was a master of a stoic face, giving nothing away as per usual. "'M sure, really," he cemented, "It'll make it easier for me to be right there in case anything happens, anyway. This looks like the kind of best y'could get lost in if you're not careful." 

(Y/N) made a point not to think too hard about his words before she was relenting with a soft okay. Glancing out the window that made up a third of the wall, she fixed her eyes to the blossoming roses. 

"Should we go check out the garden? Maybe there's vegetables we can use to make something." 

The roses couldn't hold a candle to the way Harry's lips bloomed into a smile, complete with dimples and bright eyes the color of healthy, thornless stems. He held a hand towards her, "Yeah, c'mon." 

This place was perfect, she decided, slipping her hand in his and allowing Harry to parade her through their temporary home. Just the flowers and Harry. 

—————

Sitting on the overstuffed couch that doubled as Harry's bed, (Y/N) had her legs curled up underneath her and the T.V. in front of her showing an animated movie in French. Harry was at her side, legs spread with his arm laid across the back of the furniture, eyes squinted as he tried to decipher what exactly was playing on screen. 

"What did they jus' say?" he asked, his question muttered as he craned his neck forward as if that would make him understand any better. 

(Y/N) let out a soft breath of laughter, her eyes on the movie with a small rat skittering through the sewers, cookbook in tow. "We just finished watching this in English, you know what they said." 

"I don't know what"—he added a jumble of letters accented in French, essentially speaking gibberish to prove his point—"means," he pointed out, shaking his head. 

A peal of boisterous laughter left her lips over his half-hearted attempt, rolling into his chest with her eyes squeezing closed. 

"You're not even trying anymore," she laughed, settling into Harry's side as he curled around her. 

She fit against him like a puzzle piece, her head on his shoulder and his arm falling from around the couch to cocoon around her. Despite no more than a single kiss being shared between them, this intimacy, the comfortable touching and casual affection, had been the level they had reached, the outcome of that night in the kitchen. 

"Do you really want to know what they're saying?" she asked, a touch breathless once her laughing settled down. 

"I do, yeah," he murmured, his nose grazing the top of her head as he dropped his chin. He spoke to her like he was sharing a secret, something only for her to hear, and not a quiet request for translation. 

(Y/N) translated for him, sharing the English version of whatever string of gibberish he had let out. Her voice was low, matching the volume of his own. 

"How do you say it the right way—in French?" he asked after a beat, his tone lulled into something softer. 

A small smile curled her lips. She loved it when he asked her to do something like this, to share the language with him. Bubbling it off, she shared the flourish of the sentence that he had already heard on screen just moments before. 

A beat passed, Harry's arm around her tucking her into the cove his body was making around hers. "What did they say now?" 

And the game began. 

Despite the way he was asking about the movie, looking for translations and the French flourish to be slowed down for him in her voice, it wasn't about the script or the plot anymore. This was one of his favorite games to play with her, and (Y/N) indulged him every time. She liked reciting the lines for him, having him repeat them back at times if he wasn't too eager to fire off another excuse for her to speak French to him. More than once, he pulled away from her just enough to watch her speak, see the way her mouth formed around the words and the accent trolling off of her tongue. 

"Have you learned how to say anything since I started helping you?" (Y/N) teased, her smile easy as she gazed up at him with her head resting on his shoulder. 

His gaze lingered over her features, the tip of his tongue peaking out to wet his lips. "I know a few things," he said, decidedly more serious than her own tone. 

"Like what?" she pressed through her soft-lipped smile. 

Harry started off easy, reciting off words that he'd garnered from his time in the kitchen with her. "Tomate, carotte, ail, soupe, poireau," he listed off, counting on his fingers with each one, even as (Y/N)'s laughter rose. 

Of course he would remember all of the food related words she'd taught him—he always paid a lot more attention when she was making him dinner. 

Twisting on the cushions, (Y/N) turned to face him, her side now pressed against the back of the couch with Harry's arm around her with his hand settling on her hip. He watched on as she bubbled with laughter, her features bright and laugh filling the small cottage. 

"That's all you know?" she giggled. 

"I know a little more," Harry promised, looking a little smug before his gaze started tracing over the planes of her face. As her laughter died down, she wished she knew what he was thinking as he looked at her. She wondered what he saw in moments like these. "I know rose," he started, his words drawling and lingering a little more this time, "Pétale. Magnifique." 

He went on to describe another color when he locked eyes with her, his gaze shifting over her skin and hair, more descriptors following after. Everything was said with a lingering flourish, as if they were more than just colors and little words he'd picked up, but more like a poem he was reciting. She watched as his raspberry lips wrapped around every word, even if he fumbled the pronunciation just a hair. More and more gentle, tender expressions left his lips, his eyes warming and deep as he looked at her the whole time. 

"Douce," he finished with, his eyes lingering on the shape of her mouth. The room suddenly felt charged the longer he gazed at her, (Y/N) warming under his eyes. 

"I never taught you those," she murmured, smiling with a cant to her head, trying her best to keep her head straight. 

"I know," he answered on a soft exhale, his attention obviously taken elsewhere. 

"Where'd you learn it then?" 

"Myself." 

"Yeah?" she asked, the corners of her lips lifting that much more, "When did you do that?" 

She could only ever recall him reciting things she had taught him, never anything like this. Though it wasn't that complicated, some of the words he'd shown off with, it was more than he'd come to the country with and she was proud of him for learning any at all when he easily could have relied on her for translation the whole time.

Harry shrugged casually, though the silence suggested anything but. The audio of the movie had become nothing more than white noise, a vague French song in the background of this scene. 

"I—Um—I wanted..." he started, words fumbling and distracted. The full of his bottom lip became trapped between his teeth, a slight pause before he regained himself with a clearing grumble of his throat. Harry looked at her through his lashes, "I want to know how to describe you if I ever needed help to find you." 

"So you learned sweet and gorgeous?" 

(Y/N) wanted to tease him, give him an easy smile and laugh with him, but her voice stuck in her throat. There wasn't anything to tease him about, anything that could cut through the breathless tension. He was admitting to thinking she was pretty, and that was enough to stutter her lungs. 

"Isn't that you?" he deadpanned, with genuine intensity sitting in his eyes. 

The heart shape of his lips fell into a soft gape as he gazed at her. The hold he had on her hip tightened that much more. If not for the fact that she was hyper-aware of everything him, she doubted she wouldn't have noticed the minute way his breathing hitched, his throat slightly bobbing. 

Maybe she needed to give it a second thought, allow a moment of pause, but (Y/N) didn't hesitate before she was reaching across and pressing her lips to Harry's. Only a beat of lag came from him; his neck stiffened under her hands she had looped around to connect at his nape, the fingers on her hip flexing. It didn't take long for him to lose himself in the kiss, melting against her and tipping his head to reciprocate. 

Slotting his lips against hers, he cradled her top lip between his two and kissed her with everything that had been waiting since the last time they had a moment like this. He was able to curl himself around her, cupping her hip and using the bar of his arm to tuck her against his chest. (Y/N) kept her hands locked around his neck, fingers twiddling with the baby hairs fringing his hairline. 

Deepening the kiss, she tipped her head, the tip of his nose brushing the apple of her cheek. His chest pressing against hers as he pulled in a deep breath, the warm fanning across her skin when they broke away for a heartbeat. Harry followed her, sealing his lips against hers once more, shifting that much closer to her on the couch. His hand on her hip skated up her side, creasing and bunching her shirt up her side as he came to rest his palm on the ladder of her ribs. His grip strengthened there, matching the intensity of his kiss as he slid the tip of his tongue across the seam of her lips, hugging her to his chest with her arms bundled between. She clung to his shirt, fisting the fabric as if he could slip away if she wasn't careful. 

"Harry," she whispered, pulling away. She just wanted him to open his eyes; she wanted to see him again, remember that this was the man she was kissing, the same one she met in her father's office. 

Drawing away just enough to match her gaze, she watched intently as he opened his eyes with a flutter of his lashes. His pupils were dilated, his eyes increasingly dark compared to the mossy jade that typically made up his iris. His lips were kiss-swollen and cheeks rosy with a heated flush. 

She had done this to him, the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the way he couldn't seem to look away from her for even a split second. 

The thought had her throwing herself back into the kiss, her hands around the back of his neck shifting until she was cradling his jawline in her palms. The stubble covering the skin prickled against her palms, the soft skin of his cheeks moving with every heavy kiss he planted upon her lips. Harry's free hand that had been carefully resting on his thigh abandoned post, coming up to cup the side of her throat, his thumb circling the hinge of her jaw. He held her steady as he pushed against her, giving and giving and giving while her soft mouth cushioned the full of his kissing.

"C'mere," he murmured against her lips, his voice a heated breath fanning across. 

With that, he used his arm he had wrapped around her, holding her hip, to pull her to his lap. He helped position her atop him, her thighs splitting to fit his hips between, her feet folding underneath to hook under his thighs. His own legs were still spread, with sifting heavy and hard bulging in his lap. Both of his hands came to cup her bottom, keeping her steady on his lap with his fingertips digging into the plush skin there. 

(Y/N)'s fingertips curled in the baby hairs bordering his hairline, her brows coming to a furrow as she rested heavily on his hard cock. His hands on her ass held her flush against him, until he seemed to grow restless and started using his leverage to roll her hips against his in slow grinds. 

There wasn't anything urgent in the way he moved her, gripping her and lifting her until she slid down the bulge in a lingering stroke. It was indulgent. It matched the lingering kisses, the heavy breaths in the air, the way (Y/N) couldn't seem to have him close enough and Harry couldn't taste her enough. 

While their first kiss had been entirely romantic and revealing, backlit by the Eiffel Tower and scented with confessions of adoration, this was different. She had been missing him before she had even kissed him. Now, combined with every moment she had wished she had him after that night in her kitchen, it was all coming together and fueling this moment.

She couldn't help the small, breathy moan she let out against his mouth, Harry's fingers flexing against the plushness of her bottom. He pulled away then, though his lips never left her skin. He turned to messy, streaking kisses splayed over her cheek, down her jaw, and over the column of her throat. 

"Feel good?" he asked, his voice a smear against her skin.

(Y/N) threw her head back, feeling his cock twitch between her legs. God, she had never been more grateful for the thin fabric of her sleep-shorts and the fact it seemed Harry didn't like to wear any boxers under his sweats. 

"Uh-huh," she breathed, her neck stretching under his lips with more space for him to make his mark.

Harry did just that, his teeth scraping against her skin with a sharp nip, her body tensing against his. (Y/N) was melting, melting, melt—

Until something outside seemingly crashed on the ground, a clattering noise ringing across the patio out back. 

(Y/N) startled in her skin, clinging to Harry in a different way with her chest rapidly rising and falling against his. Her eyes were wide, the vignette that clouded her vision and sunk her deeper into this moment with him dissipated in an instant. Harry held her for a moment, seemingly startled himself, until he sprung into action.

"Wait here," he murmured, twisting her off his lap and settling her into the couch cushion. 

He didn't look back when her hands dropped from him, her body curling in on itself as he disappeared. She knew he had gone through the kitchen, reaching for something in a cabinet before the backdoor was thrown open and Harry stomped outside. 

She wished she could get a glance of him somehow, shakily rising to her knees. She looked over the back of the couch, hoping to spot him through the small trio of windows that lined the back wall of the dining area. 

They both had the same suspect in mind, she was sure of that. And, by the direction the last photos she had looked at began taking, her admirer—stalker, she reminded herself—was starting to turn on Harry. She didn't want him getting hurt. 

There was no telling how long he'd been outside with the way time seemed to stand still then. (Y/N) knelt there, waiting, watching, worrying her lip between her teeth and finding anything to worry her hands with. 

It could have been hours by the time the back door opened once more, Harry stomping through and reappearing. This time, she saw him with a gun in his hand, something she'd never seen him with but figured he would have had given the nature of his job. He took a moment to leave it on the dining table, the barrel facing away from her before he turned to face (Y/N).

His eyes were wild, hair a mess. 

"What was it?" (Y/N) asked, even her whisper feeling too loud for this moment. 

Harry shook his head, seemingly decompressing when she shuttered his eyes and took in a deep breath. The sharp set to his shoulders didn't deplete, but the lines beside his eyes finally relaxed. He ambled towards her on slow feet, his demeanor defeated despite being her saving grace in that moment. 

"Some animals got into a fight in the garden," he told her. He stopped to stand in front of her, placing his hands on either side of her where she still knelt with her own fingers digging into the backing cushion of the couch. He looked down at her with hooded eyes, coming down from the skyrocketing adrenaline that had pumped through both of them. "'M sorry." 

"For what?" she pressed, dumbfounding that he would be apologizing then. It wasn't as if he made the noise that spooked the life out of her. 

He rolled his neck, his eyes dropping down to the curve of her throat. "I didn't mean to interrupt," he explained, his choice of words careful as they fell from his mouth, "I jus'..."

"No, don't be sorry," she insisted, a furrow to her brow as she laid her hand atop his. Though she felt a bit shy thinking about what exactly had been interrupted, she didn't want him to hold any guilt for something that was far from his fault. "I don't blame you, or anything. We're hiding for a reason, even if it's been really easy to forget these last couple of weeks. You still technically have a job to do instead of just watching movies with me and doing the dishes while I nap." 

She was trying her hand at being light-hearted, hoping to alleviate the fatigue that had entered his system. She wanted him to smile again.

Unfortunately, all he did was shake his head again. The man she had been snuggling and kissing on the couch was out of commission for the time being it seemed. 

"I need to be paying more attention," he told her, his tone resolute as if he had failed her. He stepped away then. "'M going to see if I can find any temporary security cameras I can put up outside." 

With that, the conversation was seemingly over while he rifled through his duffle bag for his laptop. 

Reality was sinking in against once more, the rose petals falling around her. 

This wasn't a vacation, she had to remember, a lusty getaway with a dreamy man. There was a reason—a good and important reason—that they had to flee the way they did. 

—————

"Are you going to bed?" (Y/N) asked, meeting Harry's eyes from where he stood in the doorway of her bathroom. He had lent against the jamb, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her through the mirror. 

"Yeah," he said after a beat, seemingly coming alive from where he was watching her twist her damp hair into a braid. "Jus' wanted to come say goodnight." 

Harry had been decidedly quiet after the clatter from outside, a distance having been put up between them despite the intimacy they shared just moments before it had been shattered. (Y/N) hadn't expected him to visit her after the sun went down, assuming she would have to wait until the morning to see him again and hope he was less in his head after a night's rest. 

The fact he came to see her at all, waited until she was out of the shower and readying herself for bed, brought a wide grin to her face. 

Turning on her heel, she met his eyes head-on, no longer having to go through the mirror. "Goodnight," she murmured through her smile, "I'll see you in the morning for breakfast?" 

Harry's eyes lingered over her. Her skin was especially soft and warm after her shower, scented with Miss Dior and the rose petals that seemed to follow every room in the cottage. The high points of her face were coated in a dewy shine from her moisturizer, her hair soft from her conditioner. A set of silky pajamas slid over her freshly exfoliated skin, softening Harry's phantom hold she pretended she hadn't been thinking about all afternoon.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, "I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight, (Y/N)." 

Expecting him to head out to the living room to sleep then, (Y/N) was surprised when he did the opposite. Harry reached out and settled a heavy hand on her waist, pulling her to him with a gentle tug. Dipping down, he pressed his lips to hers in a tender kiss. Everything was innocent, nothing heated or deepened. He kept his hand on her waist and lips sealed her hers for a breath before he fell away. The tip of his nose skimmed hers before he pulled back completely. 

He looked at her with flushed cheeks and wide eyes, as if he couldn't believe he'd done the same thing.

(Y/N) only looked up at him with a wide smile touching her lips, reaching her hand out to clasp his for a moment. That disbelief in his eyes melted then, knowing that she wanted that kiss as much as he did.

"I'll see you in the morning." 

Harry squeezed her hand in his before giving her a quiet nod, dimples in his cheeks. 

Her eyes were on him until he left her room, though he was on her mind for the rest of the night.

—————

"Yeah, I'm fine. We just decided to leave the city for a bit. I realized I'd never been anywhere but Paris, and Harry was able to find this cute little cottage available for a few weeks so we took it." 

(Y/N) prattled with the crocheted doily on the dining table, tugging at the edges and slipping her fingers through the knit, with her phone pressed to her ear. Francesca had called as soon as she read the text (Y/N) had sent, apologizing for the delay in getting back to her here weeks with her spotty service so far from the city. Fran had plenty of questions, too many for a text she decided. 

"How far from the city is it that you barely have service?" Francesca pressed, the mortification easily detectable in her voice. (Y/N) couldn't blame her, the lack of consistent bars on her phone was rough the first few days, but the WiFi was good enough to stream movies and that was all she could ask for. 

"Pretty far," (Y/N) mused, tiptoeing around the details for no other reason than she liked the level of anonymity she was gaining from this spur of the moment flee. Telling Fran seems like it would ruin the illusion. 

Looking up, (Y/N) saw Harry quietly smiling to himself as he stirred the roasted tomato soup he had going on the stove. She had watched him prep for a half an hour, carefully slicing and sautéing ingredients he plucked from the garden along with the few he picked from the Farmer's Market he went to earlier in the week. That was how he was landed with dinner duty for the night, Harry having claimed he picked out the perfect things for a grilled cheese and soup—and he wanted to show her. 

She smiled too, watching him stir, stir, stir just like she taught him was important. (While it may not have been as vital as she made it out to be when she had him as her sous chef, it was cute thinking he had clung onto that and used it for his own meals). 

"Everyone's been worried about you," Fran shared, her words coming out on a sigh, "There's even been blogs trying to claim you died or something, all because there hasn't been anything posted about you since that date with that guy. And, because you haven't posted anything since before the Gala." 

(Y/N)'s smile stretched at the new information. If there was nothing new for over three weeks to be shared about her, not even off-hand pap pictures or a blurry fan photo, there was no way anyone could know where she was. Her stalker wasn't the patient kind, if they'd found her already, there would be no way they'd keep it a secret to her or the press. 

"Well, I'm not," (Y/N) joked, "There's no reason to worry or anything, though, seriously. I'm really happy." 

From where Harry stood at the stove, that smile on his face widened, a deep dimple on his cheek.

"I'm sure you are with your bodyguard," Francesca laughed, her bright voice rising over the phone, "But, are you coming home soon? I miss you—New York is boring without you." 

"I don't know," (Y/N) answered, dropping her eyes to her twiddling hands, "I haven't really talked to my father or anything about coming back, so... But you'll be the first to know when I know." 

Honestly, (Y/N) didn't think she was ready to return to the city. While she knew this was temporary—the cottage, Harry's doting, everything so tranquil about this space—until they could make it back to the city and do something productive to end this stalker's obsession with her, she still couldn't help the way she was falling in love with it. Everything was easier here; lavender followed her like rose petals and even the sunshine seemed to have this clean smell. Even with the noise that rattled the cottage, that had been the one isolated incident that had put them on their twos, everything else solidly safe. 

All (Y/N) did all day was ease into herself and into Harry—into the person she was when she was with him. Even he had begun loosening up; his job was still incredibly serious to him (he really did end up going out and grabbing these small security cameras he could access through his phone, the gadgets set up outside of the cottage to catch anyone approaching), but the slow-pace of the countryside was getting to him, she could tell. 

Kisses were even shared freely between them now, less of a production of built up tension and more of a gift they could give—a reminder the other was there and was thinking of them. 

She didn't want that to change if they were to stray from this cottage. 

"Well, you need to come back soon," Fran started, the sounds of a pout in her voice, "Besides, I heard Dami—Oh, shit, I'm late for a nail appointment. I have to go!" 

(Y/N) couldn't help the laugh that bubbled to her lips at Francesca's sudden plans. She couldn't remember many times she was ever on time for any kind of appointment. 

"Okay, text me later, then," (Y/N) said.

"For sure, for sure" Francesca bubbled, "I'll talk to you soon, love you!" 

"Love you, too. Bye, Fran." 

Francesca barely said her own goodbyes before she hung up, leaving (Y/N) shaking her head as she pulled her phone from her face. Looking up, she saw Harry looking to her with a soft smile on his face, his features molded into soft curves. 

"Everything alright?" he asked, his eyes following her as she stood from the dining table and joined him in the kitchen. 

Peeking inside the pot, seeing all the herbs and spicing floating through the soup, (Y/N) took in a deep breath. "Needy," she joked, reveling in the small laugh Harry let out for her, though his stirring never ceased, "She just misses me, she said. People are starting to think I'm dead apparently, since I haven't posted anything and there haven't been any more pictures coming out of me." 

"Yeah?" he pressed, brows raised as he looked at her. Now he stopped stirring the wooden spoon, his direct attention on her. 

"Yeah," she smiled, excited to share the news, "I think we're doing good. I don't think anyone knows where we are; we're doing good." 

Pride found a home on Harry's features then. "We're doing good, yeah," he affirmed, smile growing on his lips. 

Everything felt good in that moment.

For the first time in a while—years, even—there wasn't the threat of eyes on her that (Y/N) had learned to live with. She didn't have the urge to look over her shoulder and catch someone in the act with a camera in her face. Here, she was able to indulge in the small moments with Harry: watching him cook a simple dinner, watching movies she hadn't seen in years, going over a week without wearing a single spot of makeup on her skin. 

Just as (Y/N) snatched a bit of cheese Harry had left over on his cutting board, a firm hand wrapped around her waist tugging her to a firm chest. Harry's familiar lips were pressed to hers in a breath, soft and giving. (Y/N) couldn't help the smile that formed against his mouth. 

Pulling away (Y/N) gave him that same smile he felt, letting him see it for real. She would never not see a model when she looked at him, feeling that much more lucky to be with him here, knowing he cared about her. 

"Ready for dinner?" he muttered, his voice dancing through his quiet, dimpled smile. 

A teasing edge entered her lips. "What are we having?" 

Her smile only widened when Harry answered her with gummy French words, nothing at all like she had taught him to say just a few hours prior. 

"Almost," she laughed, biting back her smile with her bottom lip between her teeth. 

"Yeah? You'll have to teach me again," Harry cemented just before he pressed another kiss to her lips.

—————

Harry looked at the grocery list in his hand with intensity, his brows in a furrow. 

"This is everything we need?" he asked looking at (Y/N) through his lashes. 

"Mhm," she hummed, running through what she had written down one more time in her head, "But, if you find anything that looks really good, just grab it and we'll make something with it. Please." 

"Okay," he sighed, sounding unsure despite the fact the trip to the farmer's market was his idea.

He got this way, mood shifting, every time he had to head out without her since coming to the cottage. It wasn't his favorite thing to leave her behind, numerous worst case scenarios floating around his head when he had to, but it was an even worse option to take her along. Having her seen out and about would defeat the whole purpose of running to the countryside. It wasn't something either of them were willing to sacrifice. 

Nonetheless, it didn't make it easier for him. 

"You'll be fast, H," she reminded him, reaching out to lay her palm on his forearm, "I'll be okay." 

"I know," he answered automatically, though (Y/N) could see the gears turning, his head spinning just under the surface of his stoic calm. 

Stretching to her tiptoes, she pressed a small kiss to his cheek, right where his dimple would dent if he were smiling. "Come home soon, okay?" 

This time, when his eyes met hers, she could still see the intensity though it was dulled by something soft and dazed. "Okay," he murmured, his answer simple. 

"Then go," (Y/N) prompted him with a small smile, standing back to usher him towards the door before he could change his mind, "The faster you leave, the faster you can come back to me." 

Harry didn't leave until he pressed a grazing kiss to the tip of her nose, then he was out the door with another promise to come home within the next hour. She sent him off from the front door, waving to him as he backed out of the drive and entered the main stretch of road towards the village center. 

She hoped he found some roses to bring home with him.

—————

Tucked into bed, bright moonlight shone through (Y/N)'s bedroom. Looking through the windows, she had never seen so many stars in the sky. How could so many of them exist and her never actually seeing more than a handful at a time? 

(Y/N)'s breath caught when she heard her door knob rattle, the sound aggressive compared to the tranquility of the night. Harry wouldn't do something like that, would he? 

She didn't have to question anymore who it could be when the door slammed open a moment later. A faceless man barged in, heading directly towards her bed with rough hands reaching out towards her. 

Though she wanted to scream, to feel her throat burn with the breadth of her voice, nothing came out. Her light linen bedding was too heavy for her to move, clinging to her body and tying her down. She could do nothing as the man approached, her being his only target. 

Where's Harry? That was all she could think about. Where was he? Was he okay? He never would have let anything like this happen to her if he could stop it. Horror wretched through her body at the thought of him giving himself to be gravely injured in an attempt to save her. Her eyes burned with tears. 

Where is he, where is he, where is he—

The man's rough hand closed around her throat.

Shooting awake, (Y/N) was drenched in sweat. Her breathing was heavy, her eyes burning from tears she had shed in her sleep. No moonlight snuck through her windows like in her dream, the only light coming from the small night light plugged into the wall. 

She sat with her head in her hands as she came down, willing the nightmare out of her mind. She was so tired, wanting nothing more than to return to sleep and wake up at a real hour, but she knew she couldn't do that yet. If she returned to dream land now, she would have to spend another terrifying time with the faceless man until she woke up like this again. 

Her mind was chugging along, running too fast for her slow sense-of-self to keep up. The only clear thought was the same one she had during her dream: 

Where's Harry?

That feeling she had as a little girl when she would wake up from a nightmare and just wanted someone—a nanny, her mother, anyone who might care—to coddle and coax her down returned in that moment. She wanted Harry. 

He could protect her, she knew that. He'd said he cared about her. He always told her to grab him if she needed him, no matter what it was that was setting her. He'd be there for her, he promised. 

It was on those juvenile instincts that (Y/N) climbed out of bed and padded towards the living room. She sniffled as she opened her creaky door, peering out to find Harry asleep with the television on, scrunched onto the couch. A loose blanket was draped over his form, a pillow tucked under his head as he slept on his side, his hair a mess of loose curls. 

There was a part of her that didn't want to wake him, that already felt a bit guilty over the idea of pulling him from his sleep when he didn't really have any responsibility to care for her when she was like this. That was why she hesitated for just a moment before crossing the room. She needed him, she thought, remembering the faceless man in her dream that had struck a fear in her that felt something close to primal. Harry always told her to get him if she needed him; he cared about her. He wanted her to be happy, not like she was now with teary eyes and a sniffly nose. 

"Harry?" she asked, standing awkwardly off to the side of the couch, still a tad nervous over waking him at such a rough hour. When he didn't stir, she tried again, raising her voice just a hair. 

At that, Harry startled awake, his eyes fluttering open in urgent blinks. When his gaze focused around the room, he took her in with her watery eyes and unsure stance before him.

"(Y/N)? What's wrong?" he grumbled, forcing himself awake through bleary eyes. 

At his question, (Y/N) felt a bit silly. He most likely imagined something serious, like a new letter, someone having found the cottage, anything of real danger, when in reality she just had a bad dream and didn't want to be alone. 

"Are you okay?" he pressed, urgent now that she wasn't answering him. He moved to get off the couch before she stopped him, panicking some. 

"Yes, yes, I'm okay, sorry," she rushed out, flustered, "I just... I had a bad dream and..." 

She didn't finish her thought, rolling her lips between her teeth instead. 

Though she wasn't sure he was entirely awake still, Harry didn't hesitate before he was settling back into the couch and scooting back as far as he could before opening up the blanket. "C'mere." 

(Y/N) stood still, eyes following the cave he'd made with the blanket draped over his arm to welcome her in. 

"'S okay, (Y/N)," Harry murmured, patting his free hand on the space beside him, "C'mere." 

Her heart jumped in her throat as she gave into his direction. While this had been what she had asked for—hoped for—she didn't really think about the reality of getting just that. 

With the way Harry had crammed himself against the back of the couch, there was just enough space for her to slip in beside him, her arms bundled between them. There was no part of them that wasn't touching, the warmth of shared body heating intensifying when Harry laid his arm around her waist, blanket fluttering down. He helped her settle into him, his ankle hooking around hers, hand flat on her back to keep her steady on the sliver of cushion, and his other arm laid out with his bicep as her pillow. He curled her into him, becoming that furled rose once more, the protector of his worried bumblebee. 

He placed a hand on the back of her head, tucking her under his chin with her forehead resting on his throat. (Y/N) breathed into the hold, melting against him and welcoming the cage of his arms. 

Now, nothing could get her. 

"What happened, sweet girl? Your dream really this bad?" he murmured, voice giving away the fact that he was clearly much closer to sleep than he was giving off. 

(Y/N) snuggled closer to him, enjoying the way she could feel his voice in his chest as much as she heard it with her ears. She nodded against him. "It scared me," she sniffled, "I don't want to go back to sleep in case it starts again."

His hand on her back moved in a soothing circuit, fingers spread out wide. "What happened?" 

The details of the dream were still too sharp for comfort, none of that fuzziness that usually followed after waking. "It was the stalker," she told him, aware of the way Harry's arms locked around her that much tighter, "I don't know how I knew it was them, but it was. He found the cottage while we were sleeping and he did something to you I think. Then he came into my room and I woke up when he started choking me." 

Harry nosed at the top of her head, a frown apparent on his lips. "(Y/N)," he crooned, "That's terrible. Were y'thinking about them a lot today?" 

"I don't think so," she answered, voice small. "I don't know why I had a dream like that." 

"'S alright," he soothed, voice fanning through her hair, "'M happy y'came and got me—I don't want you to deal with this stuff by yourself." 

(Y/N) allowed her eyes to flutter closed as she laid in his arms. It was nice knowing he wasn't upset with her after she scared him awake. 

"Y'don't want to fall asleep again?" he asked after a moment, scratching his nails gently over her back, her t-shirt softening his touch that much more. 

"Not yet," she shook her head. It was all still too fresh. If she fell asleep again, would she see that faceless man again? Would he chase her through the cottage this time? Force her to see whatever he'd done to get Harry out of the way. "Definitely, not yet," she repeated, her voice thick over the reminder of her fear. 

"Okay, okay," he crooned, "We won't go back to sleep, yet then. We'll stay up and talk a little, instead. Do you think that'll help?" 

"Yes, please." 

Petting his fingers through her hair, Harry sighed. "Good, good," he murmured, the sleep still thick in his voice. Nonetheless, that didn't keep him from saying, "I don't think you've ever told me how you met Francesca." 

The abrupt change in topic was perfect for what (Y/N) needed, pushing her mind in the complete opposite direction of what had transpired in her dreams. 

"I met her at private school, when I was, like, thirteen," she shared, fondly looking back on the days of her youth with her best friend. "We met on orientation day, moving into the same dorm." 

"Dorm?" 

"Yeah," (Y/N) confirmed, "It was also a kind of boarding school my father picked for me after he and my mom filed for divorce. But, anyway, we were in adjoined rooms, sharing a kitchen. I was definitely shyer than her, but after we found out we had almost the exact same classes, we started hanging out in the kitchen and doing our homework together all the time. She's been my best friend ever since.

"We did pretty much everything together when we were younger. I spent a lot of summers with her, and her mom invited me to go on trips during the holidays with them." She thought back to the amount of time she spent at Francesca's when her parents were dealing with their divorce, fighting over the prenuptial agreement and who got what assets. Those summer-long sleepovers were some of her favorite memories. "Did you know that she had a bodyguard when we were sixteen?" 

"She did?" Harry mused, his fingers still working through her hair. 

"Mhm," she hummed, "His name was Barry. During the school year, photographers started showing up at our school trying to get pictures when we were outside for gym class, or lunch, or whatever they could catch of us. I remember Fran telling her mom how much it scared her because they would yell at us or say whatever they could to get us to react. The school was able to get them off the property after a while, but when we were out for the summer, her mom hired Barry to look out for us so that didn't happen again." 

"You were sixteen when this started?" Harry pressed, his voice decidedly tender, carefully breaching the subject. 

"Yeah. But it only got really bad after I turned eighteen," she shared, thinking back to the way paparazzi changed when she became of age. Rules no longer seemed to apply when it came to how close they came to her or how rowdy they got in order to get a reaction. That didn't matter though, she reminded herself. It was too long ago to care about, anymore. "Barry was really nice, though. He didn't talk a lot when I was around, but Fran really liked him." 

She was sure Harry wasn't impressed with the backstory of her tabloid fame, resenting the age of which her entire life changed. She couldn't blame him. Nonetheless, he stayed composed with only a deep breath inflating his chest, his hold on her staying strong. 

"That's good, 'm happy he was good to you," he told her, his hand rubbing her back, "I didn't know that y'knew Francesca for so long. She's a good friend to you, isn't she?" 

"The best," (Y/N) answered, smiling against Harry's throat, "I love Emma, Toriana, and Kita, and all, but Fran's been there through everything. Her and Sully are the only reasons I haven't actually lost my mind the way everyone thinks I have." 

"Sully's good to you, too, isn't he?" Harry started, steering her to more happy thoughts, "You're close with his family aren't you?" 

"A little, yeah. I've met his wife a few times, and I give his daughter a lot of clothes and everything." 

"You gave her a prom dress, right?"

"I did, yeah." (Y/N) smiled. She still needed to get pictures from Sully of her in the Dior gown she passed on. "She's so sweet. She goes to a private school upstate, and Sully told me one time that she felt like she didn't fit in because all of the other girls had all these fancy clothes, so I started buying a bunch of stuff I hope she liked and then told him I was giving them away so she could have them if she wanted. From what I hear, she absolutely loves them." 

"You did that with her prom dress?" 

As much as (Y/N) tried to fight it, Harry's lulling questions were so soothing to her. The rumble of his chest and the soft way he handled her, petting her hair and rubbing her back, she was getting more and more sleepy as they went, her lips looser and stories more and more personal. 

It was easy to share with him like this. 

"No, her prom dress was one of my favorite Diors I had when I was sixteen. I only wore it for one night for a school event, then never again. I loved it, so I figured she would love it too." 

"That's very kind of you, (Y/N)," he told her after a beat, the praise being spoken against her hair with the tip of his nose skimming her scalp. "I'm sure she really appreciates it." 

"I hope so—it was vintage," (Y/N) laughed, feeling Harry smile against her hair. Her hands that were bundled between their chests twisted until she was fisting his shirt in her hands, the planes of his chest smooth under the fabric. "Who else do you want to know about?" 

"I'll listen to anything y'want to tell me," he crooned, unashamed over being caught in his pointed game of misdirection and distracted. "As long as you're not too tired, 'm here to listen." 

If she was being honest, (Y/N) knew she could go back to sleep and slip into a new dream no problem at this point. She barely remembered her nightmare, the only details she could recall being ones that she had shared out loud with Harry. Everything else was a fuzzy blur.

But, she didn't want to sleep yet. 

She was telling him things she hadn't really told anyone, for no other reason than there was no one there to listen. She couldn't really share to Sully and Fran the retelling of her favorite memories with them, or how much she loved them without crying. Harry was the first person to genuinely ask her these things and care about what she had to say. It was a comforting thought; that she wasn't alone. 

She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted him to know exactly who she was. 

Starting with the reason they even know each other in the first place, she decided. 

"That whole thing with Damien Moore didn't happen the way the magazines said," she started, unsure of where exactly she was starting this story, but knowing she wanted to share it. "He's the son of one of my father's investors, and even though he's a few years younger than me, our dads always wanted us to be together for some reason. I only really met him a couple of years ago, and he seemed way more okay with the idea of being set up than I was, but I couldn't reject him or anything because he'd tell my father.

"I started seeing him more earlier this year, but nothing ever happened, of course. But, with the pictures and all, his dad had made us reservations at this restaurant but I told Damien I wouldn't be able to stay long because I was meeting Fran later to go out in the Upper West Side." (Y/N) wanted to roll her eyes at the memory of Damien's reaction, not regretting a single thing about the way she handled him. "He got really upset then, saying I would embarrass him if I left and he started saying terrible things about Fran—like, how I shouldn't be friends with a slut like her, and she was tainting my reputation, and I shouldn't be friends with someone like her since I was better than that. Just stupid stuff. Obviously, I got mad and that was why I threw my drink on him." 

(Y/N) paused. "I'd do it again, too." 

A breathy laugh fanned across the top of (Y/N)'s head, Harry's smile apparent through the strands of hair he nosed at. 

"I don't blame you," he murmured, "I'd do the same thing." He held her closely then, mulling over the silence that filled the room, the only light coming from the flashing television with whatever French program he had tuned into. "You're a good person, (Y/N)," he crooned, pressing a hard kiss to the top of her head, ensuring she felt it even as she teetered closer to sleep, "'M happy I got a chance to know you." 

Snuggling closer to him, (Y/N) couldn't help her own quiet smile from plucking at her lips. She pressed a small kiss to the column of his throat, reveling in the warmth. 

"Thank you for wanting to know me." 

—————

Adjusting the clip in her hair, (Y/N) paused where she stood in the back garden of the cottage. The sun had been shining brightly since it broke over the horizon, only small puffs of clouds drifting through the blue sky. It had been her idea to prance through the space, taking advantage of the sunshine and celebrate the fact that they'd been able to evade prying eyes for so long. 

And, she wanted Harry to pick some vegetables to be used for dinner tonight. 

With him on his hands and knees, grabbing vegetables and tending to the garden as best he could, (Y/N) was free to play around and enjoy the space around the cottage. While she knew it was in her best interest, not being able to really leave the place at all in hopes of avoiding anyone catching sight of her or posting about her online had made her stir crazy. Any time she could spend outside with Harry was time she savored. 

Brushing baby hairs out of her face, she smiled as she took in the sprawling wild roses that sprung up around the backside of the cottage, growing past the bordering lavender. It reminded her of the small hedge maze at the country club back home, though the blooms were much freer and untamed. The toes of her white sneakers were now dirtied as she traipsed around the blooms, her skin warmed and sparkling with a sheen of sweat. 

A butterfly with gorgeous purple and orange designs spanning across her wings floated through the garden, (Y/N)'s attention stolen by the creature. She'd never seen anything like it back home. She didn't even know butterflies could be purple outside of nail art photos she found on Pinterest. 

Flapping its wings, it came close to landing around (Y/N), not even scaring when she reached a hand out as if she could coax it into settling on her finger. It was a bit silly, the way she had the urge to chase it, but she couldn't really find it in her to care about looking juvenile. 

When the butterfly finally did land on a thick green leaf, (Y/N) paused, slowing her steps before lunging out with her hands cupped into a makeshift net. She wasn't sure what she would do with it if she managed to catch it, but she at least wanted to touch it, pretend to be a princess for a moment with a little companion. 

It came as no surprise when the butterfly flapped away before she came too close, though (Y/N) was suddenly determined to make a new friend. She didn't stop with her lunge, instead giving into that urge to chase and following after the insect. She had her eyes in the sky, watching as the sun shimmered over the purple glazed wings, showing off the intricate patterns nature had given the butterfly. 

Reaching her hands up, (Y/N) thought she had bounded around the edge of the wild roses, but learned the hard way that she definitely hadn't. 

With only a small linen skirt covering the top half of her thighs, her bare legs were left to the punishment of the thorny rose bushes. The sting of the barbs only came after she had sunk a few steps deep into the bushes, the pain registering after a lag. She yelped at the feeling, her shoelaces even growing stuck amongst the spiny greenery. 

She froze in place, unsure of how to make it out of this mess without further injuring her legs.

In an instant, after most likely hearing the cry she gave out, Harry was rounding the side of the cottage, brows furrowed and jaw tensed. 

"(Y/N)," he sighed, deflating a bit when he realized what exactly she had gotten herself stuck in, "What happened, sweet girl?" 

He stepped towards her, his own arms sparkling with sweat and hands dirty from digging through the garden. Though he had a small hair clip fastened to the edge of his shirt, he left his curls to run wild, a few loose ones falling over his forehead. His skin looked especially tan under the sun, freckles dotting his skin with his tattoos deep and dark across his muscles. 

"I was chasing her," she explained, feeling a bit silly now that she had to say it out loud as he pointed at the shimmering butterfly flying high in the sky.

"Yeah?" Harry laughed, his pink lips stretching into a smile, "And that got y'stuck in the roses?"

"I thought I could catch her," (Y/N) offered, looking down towards her legs, "But, now I think I'm bleeding." 

Just then, it seemed to register to Harry that the flowers she got herself wrapped up in her roses, complete with thorns. 

"Shit," he murmured, reaching a dirt smudged hand out to her, "I didn't even realize, (Y/N), 'm sorry. C'mere." 

Taking his hand, she braced herself for the feeling of more paper-cut like slices being made over her legs. She hissed as she tried to step out of the bush, Harry's grip on her hand steadying. 

"'M sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry," he recited as her face twisted at the feel of the thorns scratching at her legs, catching on her skirt and tennis shoes. 

"It's okay," she assured him, stepping both feet onto the solid grass with a rough kick of her foot to dislodge it from the thorns. 

Harry steadied her with his hands on her biceps, standing far enough away that he could assess the damage on her legs. Looking down, (Y/N) saw the tiny scratches littering her legs. Some were nothing more than a raised red line, the skin unbroken, while others were deep with blood running in small rivers down her skin. There were even small droplets that had marred the hem of her previously creamy white skirt. 

"Oh, (Y/N)," Harry crooned, his eyes rounding out as he looked at the mess she'd made, "Let's get y'cleaned up."

Leading her back inside the cottage, they passed the pile of vegetables Harry had to have abandoned in his effort to get to her as soon as possible. While she wanted to feel guilt over distracting him over something so trivial and completely her fault, when she saw the stretch of his shoulders in front of her, arms bare from his sleeveless top, she let those thoughts dissipate. His attention wasn't something she was going to regret catching.

"Is there any kind of band aids here?" Harry mused, taking her through the kitchen with his steps slowing.

"Maybe in my bathroom? I'm not sure—I never really looked." And, she wasn't currently looking either. She'd never seen the small palm tree inked on the back of his arm before. It was cute.

Diligent as ever, Harry led her through to her bedroom. He deposited her on the edge of her bed, mumbling for her to wait right there for him before he was heading towards the bathroom in search of anything to clean her up. With her hands in her lap, one of them with the phantom of Harry's touch warm against her palm, she heard him rifle through the cabinets. 

Soon enough, after hearing the sink run and all the cabinets dropping closed at least twice, he emerged with a small navy blue bag, the flap top opened with Harry's scrutinizing eyes going through the contents. "There isn't much," he mused, "but I can get you cleaned up and the worst ones wrapped up." 

"Thank you," (Y/N) smiled sheepishly, feeling every bit the child that gave into the urge to chase bugs around the garden, "Sorry." 

"Don't be," Harry countered immediately, "I would have chased her too if I hadn't been busy." Kneeling at her feet, he laid the kit at his side, with his now dirt-free fingers pushing through the supplies. He plucked out a roll of individual alcohol wipes, ripping open the first in the pack with a concentrated set in his features. "I didn't even know butterflies could be purple." 

"Me neither," (Y/N) chirped, goosebumps rising over her skin at the feel of the cold wipe gliding across. A slight burn lingered after he swiped over her cuts, the pad growing marred with drops of blood. "I thought I had gotten away from the roses before I started after her." 

"Jus' gotta be more careful, that's all," he told her, his voice a small mutter as he concentrated. He worked over her calves, getting the small droplets that had worked down her skin and cleaning the barely there grazes. His hands were gentle as he worked over her skin, holding her steady with glances of his skin over hers. Moving up her legs, he slowly parted them as he made his way up towards her thighs where snags now appeared in the fabric of her skirt with crimson spots marring the creamy white. 

Harry stopped at the inside of her knees. He looked up at her with hooded eyes, fluttering lashes framing the forest of his irises. (Y/N) was brought back to the day of the 132 Gala, Harry helping her into her shoes, but not before explicitly asking for permission. He handled her much like that day with lingering holds and soft hands, completely unhurried as he steadied her and appraised her like a diamond. 

She watched as he ran his tongue over his lips. "Is it alright if I go higher?" he murmured, gaze intense on hers. His hands were stopped on her knees, not going an inch higher. 

(Y/N) nodded. "It's okay." 

It wasn't until he helped her spread her legs, her skirt tightening across the plush skin, that she realized she might have given the wrong answer. Under her skirt was nothing more than a soft pair of panties, the fabric a shiny blush with a white rosette stitched to the waistband. With the way Harry was going to have to push and prod around the hem of her skirt, wiping at the highest cuts, there was no way he wouldn't notice. 

She must not have hidden her nerves well with the way Harry's hand placed just above her knee squeezed the plush of her thigh. He blinked up at her, brows raised. "Y'alright?" he asked, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, "Am I hurting you?" 

"No, no," she shook her head, her mind running for an excuse, "I just didn't realize I had some so high up." 

Harry frowned at her words, focusing his attention on the graze sliced across the top of her thigh. "I know, I'm sorry, sweet girl. I'll get y'cleaned up quick." 

True to his word, Harry resumed his work. Pushing up her skirt that much more, he cleaned the highest of her cuts while his other hand kept her spread legs steady. The pad of his thumb circled the inside of her knee, a distracting touch. That would be perfect, (Y/N) thought, if his touch wasn't the exact thing she needed a distraction from. 

"Last one," he murmured, pulling out a clean alcohol wipe as he tackled the biggest of the cuts on her thigh, a swipe of blood marring the soft skin on the inside. This sting was more noticeable than the rest, (Y/N) rolling her lips between her teeth to keep from pouting like a child at the stinging feeling. Once all cleaned, Harry leant forward, pressing a delicate kiss to the skin just below the graze. "There," he declared, "Jus' need to bandage the worst of them, then you're all done." 

(Y/N) wanted to be paying attention, truly. She was grateful to Harry tending to her superficial wounds and being so kind, but her brain was too busy running miles away into fantasy land. 

He'd kissed her thigh like it was nothing. He kissed her thigh like he didn't know it would get her squirming in her spot, goosebumps to pop over her skin, and her head to get a little foggy. She hadn't forgotten the second time he had kissed her, the way they clung to one another on the couch, her body in his lap and his cock hard under her core. He couldn't just touch her so sweetly, reaching up under her skirt and holding her thighs open without (Y/N) inching closer and closer to losing her mind. 

She couldn't remember the last time a man she actually liked had touched her like this, someone who had intentions of staying for longer than a night and who knew her for more than what the tabloids said. Maybe that was why she had to fist her hands in her lap to keep from reaching for him, tensing her thighs to keep from squirming, and averting her gaze from his to keep from pouncing on him. 

It only took a moment of rifling through the ill-equipped first aid bag before she felt his hands back on her skin. Tiny bandages had been pulled from the package, a single found pinched between Harry's fingers. 

"Gotta stay still for me, (Y/N)," he murmured, concentrating on a cut just above her knee. 

"Sorry," she rushed, trying her best to keep from clenching her thighs and squirming in her spot. With the warmth she felt between her legs, this was proving to be a harder task than she anticipated. 

When she still couldn't seem to stay still, Harry slipped his free hand underneath her thigh, his palm pressed to the back with his fingertips denting the plush skin. "I don't want to mess up, (Y/N)," he reminded her, voice a tad firm, "Stay still, then I promise I'll be fast." 

"I can't!" she blurted out, already regretting the outburst as soon as the air left her lungs. 

Harry stopped what he was doing, looking at her with raised brows and wide eyes. His grip on her loosened though his hand stayed right where it was, warmed underneath her thigh. 

"Why not?" he gently prodded, concern dripping from his tone. 

There was no articulate way to describe what was going through her mind. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to share with him what exactly had brought her to this state, but she wasn't sure if she was really going to have a choice against the unwavering eye contact he was giving her. It was the same way he looked at her when he told her he cared about her, just wanted her happy. How could she deny the truth to eyes like that?

"You," she decided on, zipping her lips as soon as the syllable was out. 

Pausing, Harry processed her answer. "Me? Y'can't stay still because of me, but you're also not hurting?" 

(Y/N) gave him a short nod. 

A pinch appeared between his brows. "I don't think I understand." 

How he couldn't understand his effect on her was beyond (Y/N)'s comprehension. He was sitting between her legs on his knees, with her skirt pushed precariously up her thighs and his hands gently caressing swaths of her skin, and he didn't understand? Would she have to pull her skirt up entirely and show off what exactly his touch did to her? 

Suddenly, his expression fell the longer (Y/N) stayed quiet. His hand under her thigh wiggled away, cutting contact with her skin. 

"(Y/N)," he started, his voice soft and apologetic, "I thought y'promised me you'd always tell me if something was making you uncomfortable." 

"No, no, no—that's not it!" she bubbled off, reaching out to take his hand and placing it back on her thigh. "You're not making me uncomfortable at all. I like how you're touching me." Her skin burned as she processed her own panicked words. "I think I like it too much considering you're only cleaning me up after I hurt myself." 

Realization seemed to dawn on him then. His gaze dropped to his hand on her thigh, practicing that touch she praised with a flex of his fingers against her skin. She gave way under his grip, soft dents appearing under his fingertips. With all of her scrapes freshened up, he was left with a view of clean skin before him, a canvas for him to paint his hands across. 

"Want me to keep touching you?" he asked, voice decidedly lower than she last heard.

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She couldn't remember the last time someone made her nervous the way Harry did. How did she say yes without saying yes? 

"O-Only if you want to." That was fine enough, she thought. 

Harry kept his eyes on his hand as it slowly slid up the expanse of her thigh. "I want to," he cemented, "I think I have an idea of how to make y'feel better. Y'jus' tell me if you change your mind." 

(Y/N)'s mouth ran dry at his words, drawing her hands from her lap to lay at her sides as he placed both his hands high up her thighs. With the way he spread her legs before, he was able to easily fit between them. His fingertips disappeared underneath the hem of her skirt, his eyes on her as if awaiting any kind of objection to his touch. When none came, he continued up until she felt him nudge the waistline of her panties. 

Her breath caught in her throat, hands fisting the bedding on either side of her. 

"This okay?" he murmured. 

"Uh-huh." 

Hooking his fingertips underneath the band of her underwear, he dragged down the small article over the length of her legs. There was a moment of lag as he tugged, the seat of her panties sticking to her folds. (Y/N) wanted to be mortified when she saw just how sodden the center was, full of her reaction to the most gentle of touches. But, that thought went out of her head when she saw the way Harry gazed at the moisture, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. 

He helped her shuck the underwear from her legs before he bunched her skirt at her waist, leaving nothing in the way of his view. The warmth of his palms pressed against the inside of her thighs, keeping her legs spread wide open for him. The broad of his shoulders were the perfect wedge he helped her drape her calves over, blinking his eyes up to match her own as if he awaited her objection. 

When none came, he pressed a delicate kiss to the inside of her knee. (Y/N)'s hands clenched in the bedding at her sides. The tip of his nose skimmed over her skin in a fleeting pass, following after his lips as he grazed up the inside of her thigh. She could feel her insides twisting at the feel of his breath fanned over her skin, enough to take her own breath away. He had her already and he'd barely touched her in more than a few light grazes and fleeting touches. 

Harry dragged his lips up the inside of her thigh, smearing kiss after kiss until he reached the very highest point before her pussy. (Y/N) could feel herself clench just at the fact he was so close. He lingered there, his eyes hooded with his spit-slicked lips parting just enough for his teeth to glance over the soft skin.

"Wh-Why'd you stop?" (Y/N) pressed, her thoughts coming out of her mouth before she had even made the decision to speak. 

She could feel him smiling against the sensitive spot, his teeth giving a sharp nip before he pulled away. He looked at her with hooded eyes, fanned lashes and dilated pupils. "Want me to keep going, sweet girl?" 

His voice was a rumble against her. Maybe she was imagining it, but she swore she could feel the depth of his voice fanning over her core, wetness dripping down. 

With her bottom lip worried between her teeth, she nodded her head. Baby hairs fluttered around her face, the messy updo she did with her clip not holding as well as she needed, though she didn't really find it in herself to care. As long as it didn't take away from her view in front of her, she didn't care about anything else. 

The smile he gave her was a lopsided curl she was so familiar with. "I'm gonna make you happy, love," he murmured, hooking his hands underneath her thighs until they fit just under the curve of her ass, "Don't worry." 

Dipping his head down, (Y/N) could feel the ghost of his touch settle over her core, his breath fanning over her silken skin. She couldn't take her eyes away, especially not when he placed a tentative kiss just above her slit. She shuddered at the touch, the graze not nearly enough but still eliciting a zip through her spine. 

Glancing up at her through his lashes, Harry was spurred on by whatever he saw on her face—whether that be the dazed eyes, the gaped lips, or the warm skin, she wasn't sure. He planted a harder kiss to the same spot, his chin pressed against her folds. He gauged her reaction, squeezing his hands underneath her thighs as he dipped lower over her core. 

The first graze of his lips over her clit was enough to have a small hitch hinder (Y/N)'s breath. He didn't do anything more than a quick peck over the bud, but it was enough to have her toes curling in her tennis shoes. 

Parting his lips, he took her clit between them, kissing and licking at the peak. She almost crumbled then, feeling her throat run dry while her core grew even wetter. She practically strangled the bedding in her hands, the linen stretching around the length of her nails. 

His hands around her thighs clenched, keeping them open as his fingertips dented the plush skin. He snaked his tongue out and laved a stripe up through her folds. (Y/N) fell into stunned silence, nothing leaving her mouth as her lungs were stunted, giving Harry his turn to moan against her folds. He spread her wetness around with his tongue, wet sounds filling the sunshine filled cottage. 

Harry no longer had his eyes flitting to her face, his lids fluttering to a close as he sunk himself into the moment with her. Instead, he focused solely on pushing his tongue through her folds, skimming her entrance, and ensuring his face was tucked tight against her center. She could feel the mush of his nose against her clit, his chin growing slick with every wag of his head against her. He kissed and licked and sucked on her pussy, taking everything there was to be offered. 

(Y/N)'s breathing came out in heavy pants, lingering and hot, as she could focus on nothing more than his touch and the way he explored her body. Every press of his nose against her clit or sucking kiss he gave to her folds was enough to have her head spinning, her balance shifting as if she were only a second away from falling back onto the mattress. But she couldn't do that, she had to pointedly remind herself, because she wanted to see him. She wanted to see Harry as he worked on her, hair in swirling curls with sunlight pouring through to highlight him in gold. She wanted to see the way his brows furrowed and cheeks hollowed when he sucked on her clit or gave a particularly heavy kiss to her hole. She wanted to see him enjoy her. 

His hair was a mess on the top of his head from tending to the garden, anyway, but the way he threw himself between her thighs was enough agitation to have those curls dropping over his forehead. He didn't pay them any mind, instead drawing away just enough to give her a handful of long licks through her folds. (Y/N)'s thighs clenched at the pressure of his heavy tongue over her cunt, heavy wet sounds being compounded by the absent moans Harry let out as he tasted her. 

Unraveling her hand from the sheets, (Y/N) racked her nails through his hair, keeping the strands out of his face and out of her view of him. She didn't want to miss a single detail; she didn't want to miss the flush that came to his nose with the tip sodden, the rosy glow that blushed his cheeks, the way he couldn't seem to get enough of her even when she could feel his panting breaths for more air. 

At the feel of her hand going through his curls, Harry fluttered his eyes open for the first time since sinking between her thighs. He saw her through dazed eyes. Whatever he gauged from her expression, he must have liked it if his lips curled into a smile, his tongue liking up her slit. 

Her feet dangling over his back pressed into his shoulder blades, keeping him close as he started kissing over her clit in harsh presses once more. He was much too proud of himself, she could see, but she couldn't blame him. He had barely started and she was already short of breath, whimpering, and scratching at his hair. Even the bouquet of roses on the bedside table seemed to want a closer look, petals falling from the buds down to the floor at his feet. 

"H-Harry," she cried, her grip in his hair tightening when his tongue dared to press against her entrance. 

"'M here, sweet girl, 'm here," he mumbled, his voice thick and heady. 

He barely had enough time to get his words out before he was prodding at her hole once more. He watched her reaction as he did so, hesitating for only a second when he saw her lashes flutter through her blink. As soon as he had her eyes on him once more, he pushed through, slipping his tongue inside. 

Pressing deep, she could feel the length of his tongue against her walls, slick and heavy as he tasted her like wine. His nose was smushed against her clit, nudging and circling with every shift and tilt of his head. 

Her brain was jumbled, (Y/N) throwing her head back on instinct. "Oh mon Dieu," she slurred, slipping into French as a reflex. 

Harry stuttered in his movements only to let out a loud moan against her, the sound vibrating through her core. He resumed his efforts tenfold when he recovered. 

This was enough, (Y/N) thought. The pressure against her clit, the tight hold on her thighs, the way his tongue wriggled inside her pressing and licking one her most sensitive spots. He was taking all of her, touching, worshipping, coveting every bit of her that he could get his hands on. 

Her heels dug into his back, thighs unable to close around his head through she did still try. She kept him close, her hole pulsing around his tongue in an effort to keep him near. 

"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum," (Y/N) whimpered, feeling desperate as she teetered the edge. 

Harry blinked up at her, eyes dark and vignetted with thick lashes. He didn't ease up at her declaration, continuing to give her more and more. 

The final straw came in the form of him shaking his head, his tongue deep inside her with his nose nudging against her clit. (Y/N)'s eyes rolled to the back of her head, her hand in his hair tugging at the roots, and her feet digging into the plains of his back. 

Her eyes watered at the intense rush sinking through her form, unable to remember a time she could ever recall feeling this much with anyone. She fought to keep her eyes on him as she came, her stomach tight and unyielding and more wetness seeped around his tongue. Harry took it all in stride, luxuriating in the feel like a devout follower taking whatever their deity would give. 

(Y/N) came down in a mess of sparkling skin and rouge hairs, her bottom lashes clumping with the moisture from unshed tears. Her system was shot, fingers cramping as she uncurled them from his hair. 

Harry took his time to separate from her, dragging his tongue through her sodden folds with his own wet face glimmering in the light. (Y/N) jumped at the overstimulation that came from his absent lick, Harry huffing out a small laugh at her reaction. He backed away just enough, looking at the mess he made on her with her cum and his saliva having been spread over her lips and towards the inside of her thighs. His own breathing was heavy as he took her all in, eyes distant and dark. 

"Harry?" (Y/N) murmured, her voice small and shaky as she found her footing in the real world. 

Brought back to reality, he blinked up at her, that bleary film clearing from his gaze. He took her in wit his expression going smug. "Yeah? Y'alright?" 

She bit back a smile as she brought her hand back through his hair, only to push him away. "You're the worst," she laughed, not meaning a single word of what she said. "Come here." 

Using the hem of his shirt, Harry wiped his face as he stood to the full of his height. (Y/N)'s shaky legs stayed wide open for him, even as he adjusted her skirt to fall over her thighs. The open space allowed him to plant himself atop her as he pushed her to lay flat on her back with his hands on either side of her head, palms flat and pressing into the mattress. He hovered above her, his gaze clearing despite the fact she could feel his own arousal pressing against her hip. He was observing her again, taking in each of her features and the minute expression and twitches muscle gave. 

"Really, this time," he started, voice a quiet secret between the two of them, "Are y'alright? I made you happy?" 

Looping her arms around his neck, (Y/N) didn't try to hide the smile that crossed her features and squinted her eyes. "You did," she beamed, "Really happy." 

"Good," he settled, using one of his hands to cup her cheek before leaning down and pressing an affectionate kiss to her lips. 

He lingered there, resting his forehead against hers as he slipped his fingertips into the soft strands at her hairline. He basked in the afterglow with her, remaining until (Y/N) no longer heard the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. 

"'M gonna clean you up, okay?" he said, planting one more kiss on the bridge of her nose before he started backing away from her. 

"Wait," (Y/N) bubbled before he could make it too far away. 

Stopping where he stood, he looked to her with raised brows. (Y/N) felt his eyes on her as she reached for one of the short-stemmed roses that had been sitting on the bedside table, the bloom ripe and full. The greenery was clear of all thorns, making it perfect for the job she had in mind. 

With Harry just close enough, she was able to reach and place the rose behind his ear, nestling it amongst the curls. The petals caressed his temple, velveteen soft and deep red against his tanned skin. 

Harry gave her a soft-lipped smile. 

"That's what y'needed to stop me for?" he asked, bringing his hand up to brush his fingers over the petals. 

"I've always wanted to do that," she smiled, gazing affectionately up at him. 

Harry only shook his head with a fond smile on his lips, dimples and all. He kept the rose in his hair for the rest of the day.

—————

(Y/N) swore she could feel her blood running ice cold as she looked at the photo laying on the coffee table. 

She was still dressed in her pajamas, breakfast nothing more than prepped ingredients on the kitchen counter. The time hadn't even blinked passed nine-thirty. 

Harry was already sweeping through the space, his phone pressed to his ear as he argued with whoever was on the other line. (Y/N) thought it was her father, but she couldn't remember. Harry had said something about arranging a way to fly back to New York as soon as possible, but she hadn't heard a single syllable of the details. 

She couldn't think about anything other than the photo in front of her. 

Having been taken through a window, in perfect detail, was a photo of Harry laying atop (Y/N) with his lips sealed against hers. She was laid under him in her linen skirt, hair a mess, with her eyes closed in gentle bliss. Harry's sleeveless shirt showed all of his muscles, including the sheen of sweat that had collected over his skin. 

The photo had to have been taken days ago, right after Harry had been on his knees between her legs. The worst of her fear came from the fact that she couldn't rule out the possibility that whoever had taken this also had photos of what happened just before this kiss. 

Slashed across the top in stark red ink was a declaration labeling (Y/N) a BITCH. 

The whole thing was unhinged and terrifying. 

Neither of them noticed anyone outside, and there was no telling just how long they'd been found out. 

She wanted to cry the longer she looked at it. 

This person took a special moment from her, shrouded it in something evil and degrading. 

Harry paced about the cottage, her duffle bag in hand as he repacked everything in sight. His features were severe as he spoke in rushed commands, his voice having no give compared to the way he spoke to her. 

"I do not care," he muttered, "She's not staying here. We're coming back to the city now, and you're going to help us." 

With that, he hung up the call. He didn't slow down as he bundled each of her belongings into her bags, his own already stashed away. 

"Harry?" (Y/N) whispered, her voice just a note away from breaking.��

"Yes?" he asserted, zipping up her bag without looking at her. 

(Y/N) didn't know what to say, she just wanted him. She was scared, her lip quivering as tears pricked her eyes. She didn't want to look at the photo anymore, didn't want to analyze what someone could be thinking to the degree that made them think that this was okay. 

He finally slowed when she didn't answer him. He took in a deep breath before looking at her, eyes softening the second he took in her appearance. 

"(Y/N)," he sighed, crossing the room in large strides until he was lowering to one knee. "'S going to be alright, okay? I promise you." Harry took her hands in his, his grip tight and absolute. 

Her fingers were stiff as she reciprocated his hold, trying her best to keep from shaking. "Why would someone do this?" she cried to him, eyes burning with tears, "Th-That picture—We—" 

"I know, I know," he soothed her, his thumbs running circles over the backs of her hands. She could tell he was putting exponential amounts of effort into keeping his cool. "We're going home today, okay? Then we're going to do something about this. I don't know how, but we're going to make this stop, okay? No one's going to keep doing this to you." 

Tears fled down her cheeks then. She shook her head, her expression crumpling. "Th-They did it to you, too," (Y/N) sobbed, "They're taking stuff from you now, too." 

Harry didn't hesitate to bundle her against his chest, taking her form where she was sitting on the couch and into his arms. She cried into his neck, mourning the privacy she had curated with him and the fact that she couldn't protect him nearly as well as he could for her. It was scary enough to have someone taking terribly personal pictures of her, but it was now her fault that she had dragged Harry in, with no way out. 

If that person had photos of them in the middle of the act, Harry's life could be ruined. Her stalker was obviously angry enough at the both of them now to do something worse than just following her around and invading privacy. 

"Don't worry about me," he crooned to her, nosing at the top of her head, "'M going to be okay, 'm only worried about you." 

"B-But—" 

"Don't," he stopped her, his voice firm with his ever-soft hold, "'M going to be okay, (Y/N). You are the only person that can be hurt in this, and 'm not going to let that happen. But, we have to go, okay?" 

He pulled away just enough to look at her, cry-swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Her view of him was blurry and refracted. She clung to him even harder. 

"I don't want to be here anymore," she breathed, trying to clear her gaze against the mounting tears. 

Harry dipped his head down and pressed a harsh kiss to her cheek, nose skimming her skin. "I've got you, sweet girl," he promised, "'M going to take you home and we'll make you safe." 

(Y/N) clung to him, ignoring everything else in the room. She knew there was a photo degrading her, her father angry on the other side of the world, and a cottage that she really hoped she could still look on fondly after this.

"I've got you, (Y/N)." 

And, she believed him.

—————

The flight back to New York had been a tearful one, but since touching down on the tarmac, Harry hadn't left (Y/N)'s side for anything. He had taken up residence in her apartment, sleeping at her side when either of them managed to find the peace to do as much. He cooked with her, supported her, and calmed her in the night now that there was a real threat lingering around them. 

Harry had been shocked to see the amount of letters she had been hoarding, majority without the seal having been even picked at. There was only a thin amount of composure that kept him together when he leafed through the pages, glossy photos that even (Y/N) hadn't peeked at hinging his jaw tighter with each picture. The letters were the worst. Harry had to lock himself in the guest room as he read them, unwilling to share his reaction to the disgusting things this person dared to type out about her, only coming out when he had calmed and was able to think rationally. 

"We have to do something—there has to be something we can do with these. There's so many," he had told her after, his shoulders tightly set with his arms heavy across his chest. 

(Y/N) had sat across from him, hands pathetically limp in her lap. 

"I don't know if there's much we can do," she had murmured, her brows knitted into a worried stitch, "I looked into it once. Since I don't know who's sending them and they've never tried to hurt me, there's not a lot that anyone will do."

She remembered the way his hands had formed into fists under his arms, as she spoke, heavy and white-knuckled. His knee bounced as his unfocused eyes blinked off in the distance. 

"We can file something at least, right?" 

(Y/N) gave a small nod, remembering the limited options she had researched way back in the beginning. "A police report. It won't do much, but it stays on record in case something more... serious happens." 

His jaw seemingly hinged tighter at her quiet words. 

"Then that's what we're going to do," he decided. The gears in his head kept turning, an absent nod bobbing Harry's head. "Reports like that are public," he mused, a plan coming together as he spoke aloud, "Someone will pick up on it, some magazine or whoever will post about it—they love stuff like this. That might be enough to scare this person off, knowing you're doing something about it now." 

Rolling her lips between her teeth, (Y/N) found herself stuck on the word public. "Will the pictures be out there, too?" 

Flashing his gaze up to her, he matched her eyes intensely. He knew what photos she had in mind. 

"No. I'll make sure they're not." 

She didn't doubt that Harry would keep his word. When he was cemented in an idea, he was too stubborn to let up. 

"You think this will scare them?" 

"I can't be sure," he admitted, "But, I think it's something. Obviously, ignoring them isn't working, so maybe letting them know that you're not going to let it happen anymore will make them reconsider." 

While she felt more comfortable ignoring this person—this problem—, she knew he was right. Despite not feeding into whatever delusion they had, it wasn't enough to make them move on. There had to be some kind of pushback. 

Slowly nodding her head, (Y/N) let go of her lingering hesitations. "Okay," she breathed, "How do we do this?" 

Harry rolled his neck. "I think we need every bit of evidence we have, and we take it to someone who can help. From there, they'll tell us what we can do, 'm sure." 

"Okay," she repeated, "I have more letters at my father's house." 

"Yeah? Where?" 

(Y/N) shrugged. "Somewhere in my bedroom. We should probably get those too, right?" 

"Probably," Harry agreed, though she was sure he was just as hesitant as she about running into her father. 

Even though he was well aware of the fact she was back in the city considering the jet had been chartered to get her home, her father hadn't reached out to her at all. She didn't remember exactly what had been going on between he and Harry when they were on the phone together back at the cottage, only vaguely remembering the way Harry had shouted at him and hung up. He knew she was back here, knew that something severe enough happened that she had to flee Paris, but not even a text had been sent. 

He didn't even care enough to be angry at her. 

"But, we'll go together, okay?" Harry had murmured to her, taking her out of her head. (Y/N) remembered the way he leant across the dining table to reach out for her, cupping her cheek and running his thumb along the height of her cheekbone. "I'll be there. We won't even talk to him, if you don't want to." 

"I don't want to," (Y/N) answered immediately. 

Harry breathed out a laugh at her automatic response. 

"That's what we'll do." 

It was days later that they ended up at the front door of her father's mansion. Sully was going to be waiting in the drive, car running, promising that as soon as (Y/N) was ready to leave, there would be no lag on his end. Harry was at her side, his hand clasped in hers while she shakily input the door code to twist the locks. 

Her father was given no heads up to her visit, hoping he would be out for the afternoon anyway. She worried if he knew that she was coming to snoop for more letters that he would do something with them, or somehow convince her that going through with Harry's plan was the wrong thing to do. She didn't want to risk either outcome, instead barging through the mansion with her heels clacking over the marble floor up to her room. 

Harry was her silent pillar of support, following after her the whole way. He stood back and watched as she took them to her teenage bedroom, unearthing the hidden compartment under her bed that her friends used to use to hide alcohol. Instead of tiny bottles of liquor, under the floorboard were now letters addressed to her with no return label. These were the few she had ever read before she retired the act, their seals broken with photos (Y/N) remembered as if she had seen them only yesterday. 

There were only a handful that were here before they started showing at her apartment, whoever had been stalking her finally realizing that she didn't live with her father like they had assumed. 

"Okay," (Y/N) started, fishing out the last of the envelopes, "I think that's all of the—" 

"What are you doing?!" 

That was her father's voice that boomed through the room, causing (Y/N) to jump where she was kneeling on the floor. 

Turning to face him, her heart in her throat, she saw Harry had sprung into action, stepping between the two of them as her shield. 

"We were jus' about to leave," Harry said, voice resolute and unwavering, "Right, (Y/N)?" 

That was her cue to collect her things and scurry away before her father could get any more involved. 

"Right," she peeped, grabbing her purse and the letters before standing to her feet. 

She didn't dare look at her father as she came to stand at Harry's side, allowing him to take the lead and get her out of here before her father's next words had her panicking in her tracks. 

"Are those the letters?" 

She had hoped he hadn't seen them. 

"Ignore him," Harry whispered to her, tossing an arm over her shoulder as they brushed past him and out of her bedroom. 

"(Y/N)! Do not ignore me, are those the letters I told you to forget about?! Why are you taking them?!" Her father chased after them, his anger rising the longer he garnered no reaction. "What are you doing with them?! You can't take them from my house!" 

Despite it being his very own advice he was going against, Harry couldn't seem to stand by any longer when it came to the way her father treated her. Reaching the landing of the staircase, Harry turned to face her father head-on as he followed, going toe-to-toe with him. Her father stumbled back. 

"We're actually going to do something about it," Harry grumbled back, his words biting and sharp, "They're hers, and we're taking them. We'll make sure to mention that you insisted that she never share them either—maybe add you in for some kind of coverup if it comes to it."

Though she could see her father trying to stay hardened, keep from showing Harry that anything he said was getting to him, but she saw the signs. Color leached from his face, his lips thinning just enough. His fingers twitched. 

"You don't need to report this, (Y/N)," he called, switching tactics and speaking around Harry. "I don't know what he's been telling you, but you don't need to worry about this. You're going to regret overreacting like this." 

She could see Harry gearing up for a grating response, but she beat him to it. 

"No, I'm not," she cemented, her voice nowhere near as concrete as Harry's no matter how hard she tried, "Th-This isn't some fan, or admirer, or whatever you called it before. This person is stalking me, and taking private pictures of me, and saying terrible things. I want this to stop, I don't care if you don't like it.' 

Her father gritted his teeth where he stood behind the barricade that was Harry. A beat passed before he eyed both she and her bodyguard—a man on his payroll. "Come to my office." 

He turned swiftly, leaving them behind as he scaled the stairs. Harry turned to her with a neutral expression, thinly veiling the chattering anger the interaction had left in him. "We don't have to," he reminded her, "We can leave now." 

While the smartest part of her knew Harry was presenting her with the best choice, to take the letters and leave while he was stupid enough to turn his back on them, there was another part of her that was intrigued by his reaction. Her father was a calculating man when it came to everything but her. With his daughter, he was always reactionary before rational. The invitation to his office was something that her curiosity urged her not to ignore. 

There was no way he had any real part in this, right? Harry threatening to add him into the conspiracy was nothing more than a rage-fueled bluff, so why did he seem so rattled by the idea? 

"I-I think we need to see what he has to say," (Y/N) murmured.

"You're sure?" Harry pressed, face staying neutral. 

She swallowed. "No, but I feel like I have to know what he wants to say." 

Harry rolled his lips between his teeth before giving her a curt nod. "Okay," he told her, reaching his hand out for hers, "I trust you—if you think we need to hear this, then we'll go. But, if things change, 'm taking you out right away." 

(Y/N) didn't hesitate to agree to the conditions, taking his hand. There was a huge chance she was wrong about this, that this was nothing more than the little girl inside of her pining for her daddy's affection and hoped that doing what he asked would earn her just that. She needed Harry to be there to take the lead if things went south. 

The trail to his office seemed longer than ever. The door was left wide pen with her father already seated at his desk, hands clasped and eyes calculating and cold. She took a seat across from him while Harry stayed on his feet at her side. 

"What do I have to give you to leave those letters behind and do nothing with the others I know you have?" her father opened, his voice detached. 

"What?" she deadpanned in response, her grip tightening on the letters. 

"What do you want?" he pressed once more, enunciating every word as if that was the problem with this situation, "If you leave the letters here, and don't make any kind of report or talk to any press, I will give you whatever you want. Name your price." 

Silence filled the room like a heavy blanket, (Y/N) just barely able to keep her mouth from falling open in shock. 

"Are you kidding me? Are you actually joking right now, or are you seriously asking me this?" That complete detachment she had felt for years had thinned, allowing every bit of bubbling rage she had kept siphoned away to rise to the surface. 

"(Y/N)," he snapped, "Now is not the time for an attitude. I want to know what it will take to get you to stop obsessing ove—" 

"I'm obsessed? Me? You have to be fucking joking." She almost wanted to laugh. This was a terrible comedy, too dark for her liking. "I have someone following me around, taking pictures of me all the time—even when my boyfriend is going down on me. You can't think for a single second about anything other than yourself and how you look to your idiot country club friends and investors. But, I'm the one that's obsessed? Because I'm tired of being taken advantage of? Because I feel like I deserve privacy and the opportunity to think for myself?" 

It was satisfying watching the way he flinched at her words, most notably so when she spat out the fact that there were photos of her in a compromising position with Harry. At her side, Harry's hands were clenched into fists.

"You don't understand," he pushed once recovering, "Let it go, (Y/N)." 

"No!" she shouted, feeling her skin heat, "I'm not letting this go!" She was tired of him condescending her and thinking for her despite the fact she was a grown woman who never even depended on him as a child. 

Her father visibly began to boil over, his jaw clenching and nose flaring as he looked at her. "(Y/N)," he hissed, "You need to think. There are people who will be very upset if you keep pursuing this, a—" 

"That's really what this is all about?! You're protecting your image? Over me?! You're a fucking coward, I—" 

Her father slammed his fist into the top of his desk, the sound reverberating through the room before he shouted: "That's not what this is about, (Y/N)! I could lose a lot if you report Damien, an—" 

"Damien?" (Y/N) blanched. From the corner of her eye, she could see Harry's patience thinning. This conversation had flown south enough that he could pull her at any second. But, she couldn't leave now, not when her father brought up Damien Moore out of thin air. "What do you mean if I report Damien?" 

The outburst seemed to catch up with him then, his breathing going heavy with his eyes wide. "I misspoke," he tried to recover, suddenly backtracking, "I didn't mean to say his name—" 

"Yes, you did," While her father was an idiot, he was very calculating when it came to his thought process. He never did things by accident. "Why did you bring up Damien?" 

Everyone knew the answer to her question. She just wanted to hear him say it. 

"(Y/N)," he started, his eyes closing with his jaw rotating. 

"You knew it was him this whole time?" she pressed, her voice decidedly smaller than the shouting from before. "You've been covering for him. That's why you never wanted me to say anything." 

Her father didn't say a word, not even a blink in her direction. 

The longer (Y/N) looked at him the less and less he looked like the man that she used to follow around in hopes of catching his attention. He didn't look like the man she idolized when she was a child. She didn't recognize him anymore. 

"You left me scared for years all so you could keep his dad's money," she continued, the gravity of the situation sinking into her bones. Her eyes burned as she looked at him. "I hate you." 

That seemed to snap her father back into reality, his eyes sharp when he matched hers. "Watch your mouth," he spat, standing from behind his desk, "You do not get to disrespect me in my home, you litt—" 

Harry stepped in immediately. He effectively cut her father's view of her, his hand harshly landing on the older man's shoulder before pushing him to sit back down once more. 

"Sit," Harry commanded as if speaking to a dog. 

Her father flustered at the interference, taken aback that anyone would have the audacity to do anything to keep him from degrading her. 

"I don't know who you think you are, but sleeping with my daughter doesn't me—" 

"You don't get to talk to him," (Y/N) shot off, cutting off her father. 

More than anything, he couldn't seem to wrap his head around the fact that either of them were daring to talk back to him, to stop him in his tracks. 

"I could ruin you, you know," (Y/N) started, gaining the full of her father's attention, "I have more on you than anyone else—I could go to the press and you would be over." 

"No one would believe you." 

"Maybe not, but people love a story. The crazier the better, right? It would be everywhere." (Y/N) steeled her grip on the letters. "I could end you and Damien so fast. You would have nothing." 

She watched the way her father seemed to realize the fact that he truly held no power in any of this. (Y/N) had all the cards and he was going to bend to her will, whether he liked it or not. 

"What do you want, then? My offer still stands: leave the letters and keep your mouth shut, and whatever you want is yours." 

"I don't want anything from you. I just want this to stop, I want him to stop taking pictures of me—or hiring people to, or whatever it is that he does." 

"I can do that," was her father's swift response, "I'll make it all stop. You have to leave the letters and promise that you won't say a single word to anyone." 

"We're not promising anything," Harry piped up, taking the words out of his (Y/N)'s mouth. She wasn't in the mood to compromise for anything. 

Her father's anger peeked out once more then. "Why should I do anything for you, then?" 

"Because I said so." 

That had his steely gaze shifting to land on her, hard and unforgiving.

That was exactly the same thing that he used to tell (Y/N) when she would question him. She was the one giving orders now and there was no room left to argue. He would listen because she said so, and there was no other option she was going to accept. 

The standoff between them continued with unwavering eye contact until her father glanced at the letters in her hand. He crumbled then. She held everything this time. 

"Fine," he spat. "I trust that you're going to do the right thing, (Y/N). Just as I am." 

"Right," she settled, unwilling to give any more energy to this man. 

She stood from her seat, gently placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. His eyes were still blazing when they met hers.

"Let's go," she told him. 

That was all it took for Harry to disconnect himself from the interaction, taking his hand in hers and following her lead out of the office. 

No words were shared or glances cast backwards as they made their way out of the mansion (Y/N) used to live in. Outside, Sully waited just as he promised he would. 

Harry opened the backdoor for her, helping her slide in first before he followed closely behind. 

"Back to your apartment, Ms. (Y/N)?" Sully asked, already pulling out of the driveway. 

"Yes, please," Harry answered for her, helping her buckle into her seat before silence rained down in the cab.

Until (Y/N) started sobbing. 

One moment she was running on adrenaline and disbelief and anger, the next she was crumbling in her seat with tears pouring down her cheeks and her hands shaking. The letters fell into a mess on the floor, but she couldn't care at that moment. 

All she knew was that her father knew for years who was terrorizing her, and covered for him. Her father cared more about money and his reputation than he cared about her, his only child. 

She felt as if she was in mourning—for who, she wasn't sure, but something died back at that house that she was never going to get back. 

Harry silently wrapped his arm around her, tucking her against his chest as she sobbed in heartbreaking puffs. He nosed at her hair, offering nothing more than his presence. 

She cried until she fell asleep in the back seat. 

—————

"Y'should be proud of yourself, you know." 

Harry's murmured words blended in with the noise of the city happening stories below them. Laid under the duvet at her side, he shared her pillow with her as he ran his fingers over the curve of her side in a soothing motion. (Y/N)'s eyes were still swollen from the afternoon she spent off and on crying, takeout containers thrown away in the trash with hers barely touched. 

(Y/N) hiccuped, feeling her lip begin to quiver. "I know I didn't do anything wrong, but I still feel guilty." 

His observant gaze softened. "That's because you're a good person," he crooned, sincerity dripping from his words, "Even though you expected the worst from him, it's never easy learning something so terrible form someone you're supposed to trust." 

"M-Maybe I shouldn't have yelled at him, or—" 

"No, don't do that," Harry cut her off, his grip on her side pulsing, "Today happened the exact way it was supposed to. You needed to say those things to him to make him understand. You were never going to be in the wrong for anything that happened today, (Y/N). He did this to himself." 

"I just want to forget any of it happened," she whispered, wiggling closer before Harry pulled her into his chest. 

He held her, her head under his chin as a fresh wave of tears bubbled in her eyes. She was going to be okay, she knew that, but she never imagined cutting her father off and telling him the things that had been on her mind for years would affect her like this. 

"I know," Harry cooed, petting his hand down her hair with his chest rumbling a lullaby, "But 's going to be okay. I jus' want you to know 'm proud of you, and think the absolute world of how strong y'are. No one gives you enough credit." 

With every bit of armor shedded from her heart, Harry's words sunk deep. 

Once again, he was there for her when she needed him the most. He never shied from taking care of her, putting back her jagged pieces, and standing by to let her have her own choice. While she knew it was the bare minimum, Harry never made her feel crazy or stupid, or anything but completely herself. The second he learned the kind of person she was, he never looked back. 

She squeezed herself harder against him. Maybe today was the day for finally saying things that were on her mind. 

"I love you." 

Her words were smeared against his neck, but she was sure he still heard her with the way his soothing hand through her hair paused. 

"What did you say?" 

Swallowing, (Y/N) strengthened her resolve. She meant what she said, even if it was scary to admit. 

"I love you," she repeated, voice clearer. 

Harry pulled her away from his chest then, fitting a hand on the side ochre jaw to tip her head up to face him. His ever observant gaze traced over each of her features, softening until there was nothing left of his irises but melted jade pools. Even in the dark she could still see the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose. 

"(Y/N)," he sighed, his thumb running along the soft skin of her cheek. "You mean that?" 

She gave him a small nod, a light smile setting on her lips. "I'm all about telling the truth today, remember?" 

He didn't budge at her attempt to joke, staying ever serious. His lips parted, a soft puff of air fanning across her features. 

"I love you, too." 

Before she had a chance to respond, Harry was pushing his lips against hers in a searing kiss. It was messy and unorganized, but there was nothing urgent behind it. It was nothing more than an expression of devotion, filled with everything that simmered beyond what they could find the words for. 

"I love you, too," Harry repeated, pulling away just enough to smear the words across her mouth, "So much, sweet girl. Best thing that ever happened to me." 

(Y/N) couldn't contain the smile that took her features at his words. 

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, mon amour." 

He couldn't wait before he brought her in for another kiss.

—————

"I'm so happy you're home," Francesca said, squeezing (Y/N) tighter, "I'll see you soon, okay?" 

"Really soon," (Y/N) cemented, feeling just the same to be reunited with her best friend. While she wasn't able to catch her up on everything that she had learned since making it back to New York, (Y/N) didn't plan on keeping it a secret for very long—especially not since she and Harry already decided they were going to file a police report anyway. Her father's word be damned.

"Text me when you get home," Fran smiled, pulling away.

"I will," (Y/N) promised, inching towards the waiting SUV, "Love you." 

"Love you, too!" 

With that, the door to Sully's car was pushed open from the inside by a hand with a tattooed cross. (Y/N) gave a single wave back to Fran who made her way towards her own car. Her mother was taking her to another gallery opening, pitching that this was going to be the one to finally cause Francesca to realize her dreams. No wonder her friend was dragging her feet. 

Climbing into her own car, (Y/N) was greeted with the relieving sight of Harry waiting for her, his arm stretched across the top of the seat for her to fit right underneath. 

"Hi," she greeted, feeling lighter to be with him again. It was odd not having him follow her everywhere all the time, anymore. Though he was still her bodyguard in spirit, especially with the unfinished business that was Damien Moore and the potential retaliation that could come, they were learning to relax some of that paranoia. Francesca was a safe boundary to test that with. 

"Hi, love," he crooned, pulling her in next to him. 

As soon as (Y/N) was buckled in at his side, Sully started off in the opposite direction of the apartment. There was a farmer's market Harry had found outside of the city that he wanted to bring her to (not quite as rustic as the ones in Paris, but they should be alright, he promised). Sully eyed them from the rearview mirror. 

"Francesca's doing okay?" Harry asked, his hand on her shoulder squeezing the cuff. 

"Yeah," (Y/N) smiled, "She's happy we're home now. Her mom's taking her to a gallery opening tonight." 

"Not excited about that then," Harry laughed, remembering those details (Y/N) had shared about her friends all that time ago. 

"Definitely not," (Y/N) shook her head, "I almost told her I'd go with her, but I figured my plans were a little more important." 

"I'd hope so," he murmured, dropping his head to press a quick kiss to her cheek. 

(Y/N)'s easy laughter blinked through the car, Harry's smile extending. 

"Mr. Harry?" Sully called from the driver's seat, taking advantage of the lull in conversation. 

"Yes, sir?" 

Sully's blue eyes glimmered in the reflection of the mirror, the corners creasing that much more with a smile (Y/N) couldn't see. "I take it that you'll be staying with us longer than initially expected?" 

A memory sparked to the front of (Y/N)'s mind, months prior before she knew Harry and Harry knew her. Sully had asked how long Harry would be with them, shadowing (Y/N) and monitoring her movements. Harry had put an expiration date on the arrangement, citing the end would come when she could convince her father she was a grownup. 

This time, Harry gave an easy smile, full of dimples and white teeth. 

"Yes, sir. I'll be staying for a while." 

—————

épanouissement is an untranslatable French word that describes the flourishing and blooming of a person growing into a new and more beautiful stage of life

and thats the end of bodyguard h! I had a lot of fun w this one exploring a different kind of female character than im used to and getting to do the writing process a little differnt! thank u so much for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if theres any ideas for anything thar you want to see next please sent them in!

[urhoneycombwitch]

plan b

husky!neighbor!Eddie x neighbor!Reader

foreword: thank you to this anon, this was just the right amount of sitcom Spider-man pointing meme-ery that I needed. wrote this with husky!neighbor!Eddie since I thiiiink I’ve established that version of him is modern so hopefully this aligns with my made-up canon. lol.

wc: 1.9k

cw: weight mention (in the context of finding meds, no numbers used), embarrassment on R’s end of kink discussion, frenemies vibes between R and Eddie (they get under each other’s skin but in a hot way <3), Eddie is soft-domming in public, no actual smut but still +18 mdni

DISCLAIMER: Plan B can really fuck your shit up and shouldn’t necessarily be used when introducing new kinks. Please do your research and consult w/ a medical professional before using. Putting the fiction in fic with this one.

_____

Christ, there are too many options.

Your vision is swimming in the Family Planning aisle, fluorescent overheads of the CVS taking up residence in your left temple.

You press your fingertips against the spot, massaging gently as you pull different brands of boxes from the shelf to inspect the instructions.

This one says take within twenty-four hours, that might be- oh, shit, there’s a weight cap. Dammit. And this one’s… twice the price? For fucking why?

Frustrated, you shove the expensive thing back in place. The words on the blue label next in line catches your eye- Pre-Seed Fertility Lubricant- and you snap your hand away, as if scorched. Nope. Opposite of what you need. Christ. Pre-Seed?!

It’s almost giggle-worthy. You take out your phone, glancing up and down the aisle; the store is empty this late at night, just an older woman behind the front registers who had greeted you earlier with bored corporate formality, eyes fixed on her magazine.

Picture of Pre-Seed, taken. Check that one off the list. The only person who you’d want to share a laugh over text about this with is the one person who does not need to know why you’re in the goddamn Family Planning aisle at ten PM. On a Thursday.

At least, not yet. You lock your phone, pocketing it before zeroing in on the purple and green-themed Plan B that boasts One Tablet, One Step.

Although it’s pricier than some of the other morning-after pills, it’s the only one that you feel fully confident about buying. You give the box a little toss, feeling the next-to-nothing weight of it in your palm. Fifty bucks for a tiny pill, one that you may not even end up using- but you’ll be goddamned if you’re caught unprepared.

“Can I help you find anything?”

Your blood flashes cold, then hot, as you realize who the voice belongs to- attention focused elsewhere, you didn’t hear Eddie sidling up the aisle until now.

He’s leaning into his arm on the nearest shelf, grinning wolfishly at his own joke, chocolate eyes lit up at having found you here. He looks obscene- biceps and chest bulging at the stretched fabric of his t-shirt, hair unspooling dark curls from a low bun, black ink tattoos rippling over his bare forearms and peeking out from beneath his collar.

Honestly, you don’t know why he wasn’t stopped at the door by the woman on night shift. He’s bordering public indecency with those fitted Levi’s alone.

Fortunately the shock of hearing Eddie’s low voice is not enough to send the Plan B in your hand flying- too late to reshelve it without him seeing, you cling to it tighter, plastic creaking under your grip as you pray to every god ever that he doesn’t notice.

“Oh! Hey. Hi. Haha, very funny.” Well, that was smooth, but at least you said something comprehensible. “What’re you doing here?”

Eddie doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss, using his free arm to reach for a pack of condoms near your head- “Late night shopping. Stocking up for the weekend. Can’t seem to keep these around, seeing as I’m being fucked out of house and home.”

”Well… apartment,” you correct, heart leaping at the smile lines that jump around Eddie’s eyes. This is good, maybe you can just keep him talking and find a second to shove the Plan B into a random spot or perhaps launch it into the sun-

Nope, too late. Mid-crinkle, Eddie’s eyes drop to the package in your hand, and you watch his face drop as he processes multiple trains of thought at once.

“Oh, shit. Is that… did we…?”

There’s a pinch between his dark brows, likely running through the last few weeks of your hookups (which have all been protected) and trying to do the mental math; you shake your head, trying to stammer through the flush of embarrassment that’s overtaking your system.

“No, it’s not- not from us. Not from you. I mean…” you trail off, shifting uncomfortably from one sneaker to the other as words hit a jam in your throat.

Eddie’s in a full frown now, pushing off the shelf, standing to his full height, confusion and hurt seeping into his expression, voice quiet and pitched deep- “Is it from someone else?”

“Oh my god.” This was a nightmare, right? You’d like to wake up now. “No, no, not from anyone else. It’s-”

A sharp exhale, a shake of your head, and the words loosen all at once- “I was gonna get it for us, for me, for this weekend, if you wanted to give me a reason to use it.”

Eddie goes as still as you’ve ever seen him before, fingers stopped in their usual constant tapping, blinking at the box in your hands.

His face smooths.

Then he smiles.

Your stomach flips.

Eddie slides the condoms back into the wrong spot, not bothering to look as he leans in close enough for you to smell the spice of his cologne as he says in a sex-dipped timbre: “Well if you wanted me to fill you up with my cum, why didn’t you just say so?”

A horrified, awkward squawk escapes before you can bite it back; your head whips down the aisle to make sure no one else was within earshot of his dirty mouth as you blindly shove the Plan B away, deep into a shelf. “Oh my god. Jesus christ.”

”Eddie is just fine,” he responds mildly, the cool demeanor to your rapidly heating one as his grin simmers wicked between dimpled cheeks.

“Forget it,” you start, shaking your head and making to brush past, embarrassment flooding in hot, “Just forget-”

Eddie catches you by the elbow, effectively locking you in place with a single move, but he’s not looking at you; with his free hand, he snaps up the slightly crumpled box and scans the words.

“Y’think one will be enough?”

The flood subsides, gives you pause enough to stutter out, “W-what?”

Eddie’s fingers flex on your arm. He turns the box over in his big hand, rings glinting. “We’d better get two. Just in case.”

Your skin feels the impression of his palm even after he lets go, like a Polaroid in rapid reverse as he grabs a second box, warmth fading fast from your skin. “I don’t think- I mean, that’s not how they work, I should probably find a more permanent sol-”

“Just for the weekend.” His eyes are back on you now, self-satisfied smirk giving way to something darker, more intense. “Yeah?”

A shiver casts goosebumps down the length of your body. He’s goddamn toying with you, in the middle of a fucking CVS. Despite your flare of irritation, you nod, voice nearly a croak as you echo, “Yeah.”

The grin lights up his face again. “Good girl.”

Eddie doesn’t give you time to react to this (verbally, anyways- your cunt is most certainly responding to the praise despite your best efforts to remain unaffected), using one large hand to hold both boxes and another to press at the small of your back, leading you down the aisle.

Truthfully, you’re grateful for the help (regardless of his dominance-based tendencies that don’t usually get you this easy); based on the ringing in your ears, you’re doubtful of your own ability to navigate the maze of aisles.

Eddie walks you both to the front register, and you watch as if outside of your own body while the cashier scans the barcodes and Eddie swipes his card.

He pockets the receipt, slides a finger through the handles of the plastic bag, and holds it out between your bodies. Right in front of the goddamn cashier.

”For you.”

This brings you back to yourself, a bit, mortification giving way to annoyance (a much more useful emotion in this scenario), and you snatch it to your chest. It’s your turn to grab Eddie’s elbow, half-dragging him towards the exit.

“Come again soon,” the cashier calls, still in monotone.

So close. You’re less than a yard away from the sliding glass doors that would have swallowed Eddie’s reply- but as it stands, he gets in one last cheerful wave, an award-winning, dimple-charmed smile to match his bright response.

“She will!”

Damn him. You give a final tug and you’re both out in the parking lot, glass doors closing automatically with a whoosh behind you, cool night air kissing at your cheeks.

”Seriously?” You’re mature enough to recognize that your anger is misplaced, adrenaline-fueled, but that doesn’t stop you from whirling on Eddie, giving his shoulder a sharp shove that (unfortunately, tantalizingly) doesn’t move him an inch. “I can never return to this fucking store. Thanks for that.”

Eddie really doesn’t help his case, grin turned shit-eating as he rustles through his various pockets for his pack of cigarettes- “Careful, sweetheart- you know how hot and bothered I get when you’re mad.”

”Unbelievable.” You turn on a swift heel, slipping the bag loops up your arm to dig for your keys. “You just got me blacklisted from our local drugstore and you don’t even care.”

There’s the snick of a lighter behind you, while your car a few spaces down chirrups and blinks in response to the furious press of your fob’s unlock button.

Eddie chuckles, sardonic and unsympathetic. “Too bad this is the only CVS in the whole world. I think you’ll live, princess.”

Ignoring this, you stomp towards your car, petulant, bag rustling; the door is half-open when Eddie calls, “So, are you coming over tonight, or what?”

“Obviously!”

The door slams with more force than you intend, sound ricocheting across the lot.

From the respite of your tinted windows, you watch as a streetlamp-haloed Eddie takes a drag from a cigarette, smoke drifting thick around a hazy visage of the hottest man alive. (Maybe you’re a touch biased. But your opinion is based on personal accounts, so fuck the naysayers.)

He tips his head back to look at the stars, pale column of throat illuminated- with a flush of realization, you scoff. He’s putting on a show for you.

Two can play, you think, driving your seatbelt into place with a click. But first I’m gonna have to make a stop at home. Namely for new undies.

[ladykailitha]

A Love For Christmas Part 5

Hey guys on to week three of the this lovely fic. It's nearly done, only one more chapter to write and the last two will be up next week just before Christmas!

Next up: ice skating! Robin and Eddie show off and Eddie and Steve get a little closer.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

~

The next thing I offered for them to do was maintain the pond that everyone used for ice skating.

It was an easy enough task, just scrape away the skate mark with a small sled pulled by one of the reindeer herd and the device on the back, then cover the pond with a thin layer of water to make sure the ice was kept at a consistent thickness.

All they had to do was after everyone had gone home, follow those simple instructions.

I hoped figured that they would be as exacting with the pond as they were with the snowpeople but again they proved out to surprise me yet again.

The first night I assigned the task to them, they hadn’t come in for dinner, and so I went in search of them.

I found them by the fire pits we kept around the pond to warm up between skates, sound asleep.

The reindeer had wandered off with the scraper still attached creating great big gouges in the snow, the water had flooded the pond and was creeping out over the banks, like some monstrous thing.

Quickly I turned off the water and released the reindeer. The poor thing bounded off in search of his own meal as soon as he was freed.

There was nothing to be done about the pond until the next day. There wasn’t much sun this time a year, and too soon there would be none, but the sun we would get the next day, would be enough to melt the pond back to its proper borders.

Gently I roused the elf.

They woke with a start and looked out at the pond in dismay. They looked up at me and sighed, “Why can’t I do anything right?”

I sighed too. I didn’t have an answer for the little elf. Their eyes welled up with tears and I held them close.

There must be something they were good at.

~

Steve pulled up to the rec center and gently placed his head on his steering wheel. His father had called that morning to yell at him for not coming into work.

He had tried several times to tell him that he had been dealing with vendors and things for Christmas party and that he had been given the time off to complete all of his tasks.

But still his father ranted and raved that Steve wasn’t applying himself like he should and that he needed to step up and be a man. Especially if he wanted to take over the business.

Steve couldn’t have imagined a worse fate than that. He struggled to keep up with his co-workers in meeting the same marks they did in their sleep.

And now he was going into another circle of hell. Ice skating. Something he hadn’t done since he was a kid.

He got up out of the car and walked toward the rec center. Robin had come through with the buying him a new coat, even though he told her she didn’t have to. It was nicer than his old tan overcoat. It was blue and woolen and lined with something soft and fluffy. He put it on and was instantly warm. He paired it with navy blue leather gloves and matching newsboy cap.

Steve wore his sneakers because he wanted to be able to slip his shoes off and on easily to put on his skates.

When he got to the rental line, he looked around and saw that everyone else had beaten him there. Sitting in his car with a sense of existential dread probably contributed to that. He got to the front of the line and gave him his shoe size.

“Figure or hockey?” the bored teenager asked dryly.

“Hockey.”

The kid turned around and grabbed the right size off the shelf and handed it to him, calling over his shoulder, “NEXT!”

Steve gulped and walked over to the seats and slipped off his shoes. Eddie spotted him and skidded to a stop in front of the wall.

“There you are, Stevie!” he greeted brightly. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to make it!”

Steve blushed as he strapped on his skates. He laced them as tight as he could and went to stand up. But he barely moved one half step forward and he was falling back onto the bench with a thud.

“Whoa!” Eddie said and trotted up to Steve doing the strange little chicken walk one does when they have skates on something other than ice.

He knelt in front of Steve felt the boot of his skate. “They’re the right size, but they’re aren’t keeping your ankles straight.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m wearing the right skates.”

Eddie tilted his head to the side and looked at him curiously. “Right skates?”

“Hockey skates.”

But when that didn’t seem to clear up Eddie confusion he said with a eye roll, “You know, the boy skates.”

“I didn’t know skates were gendered,” Eddie said in confusion. “Girls play hockey and there are shit ton of famous male figure skaters. Got several divisions of ‘em at the Olympics and everything. Who told you hockey skates were for boys and figure skates were for girls?”

Steve looked down at the ground mumbled something.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Eddie apologized.

Steve looked up, his bottom lip quivering. “My dad.”

Eddie’s heart sank to his stomach as Steve went to explain that one and only time he’d been to a skating rink was when he was ten and he had innocently asked the attendant which type of skate would be easier for him and was handed a pair of figure skates.

He had excitedly ran out on to the ice, wobbling and happy. Until his dad spotted the skates on his feet.

It was the one and only time his dad had full on hit him. Called him all sorts of names that Steve didn’t want to repeat in polite company before dragging him off the ice and demanding their money back. Like how dare they give his boy girly skates!

Eddie cupped Steve’s cheek in his hand. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, sweetheart. But let’s get you the proper skates and we’ll get you out onto the ice, okay?”

Steve nodded.

Eddie pulled the hockey skates off of Steve’s feet and took them back to the rental attendant. Within minutes Steve was wearing the tan figure skates on his feet and Eddie was gently, gingerly leading him out onto the ice.

“It’s scary,” Steve whined, his eyes squeezed shut, when they were only two steps from the wall.

“Reach out with your hand,” Eddie said, “and you’ll be able to touch the wall.”

Steve swatted the air blindly until it landed on something solid. He hesitantly opened one eye and saw that he had accidentally landed on Eddie’s shoulder. The man who was smiling at him fondly.

“Oops!”

Eddie laughed. “You’re fine. I’ll be your guide wall if you need me to be.”

Steve looked up at him in awe. “You’re really great, you know that, Eddie?”

Eddie’s already pink cheeks burned bright red. “I think you’re pretty great, too, Stevie.”

Robin and Max came streaking toward them and Steve raised his hands for impact.

An impact that never came. Steve cautiously opened his eyes to see Eddie dusting himself off of ice shavings. Ice shavings from Robin and Max’s perfect stop.

“Don’t torment the newbie,” Eddie was admonishing them. “Steve’s never been ice skating before.”

Max’s wide green eyes turned to him in shock. “But you live in Indiana,” she said, “how is it you’ve never gone skating!”

Steve just shrugged. “My parents aren’t summer people, we weren’t usually in Indiana during the winter.”

Which was only a half a lie. His mother wasn’t a snow bunny and when it was her turn to plan the Christmas vacation it was always somewhere warm and tropical.

“Rich people,” Max said, rolling her eyes.

“That must have been so nice,” Robin said with a smile. “I would love to go somewhere warm for the winter. Just once.”

She sidled up to Steve’s other side and took his arm. “All right, the way you want to do this, is first bend your knees a little and keep your upper body inline with your knees at about hip width apart.”

Steve followed her instruction and almost immediate could feel the difference in stability.

Robin and Eddie continued their instruction and soon Steve was fairly steady on the ice. Eddie came up to them and gently took Steve’s elbow from her.

“Go show off,” Eddie said with a grin. “I know you wanna.”

Steve looked up at her and tilted his head at her. “Do you know how to do tricks and stuff?”

“I’ve been skating since I was old enough to walk,” she muttered. “I’m okay.”

She started to skate off, but Eddie called her back. “Wait, I have an even better idea.” He looked around and spotted Max.

“Hey Mad Max!” he called out. “Come keep an eye on Steve for a moment.”

She was about to tell them to fuck off when she realized what was about to happen. “Oh hell yeah.”

She raced over to Steve and carefully lead him over to the side wall. “Stay there. You’re gonna want a front row seat for this.”

Then Max put her fingers to her lips and let out a piercing whistle. “Oi, dipshits! Get your asses off the ice! Eddie and Robin are going to show off!”

Suddenly Steve was mobbed by everyone else as they all lined the wall.

Dustin grinned from ear to ear. “You’re going to really love this, Steve. Eddie and Robin are soooo cool.”

Steve just nodded as Robin and Eddie got into position on the center of the ice.

“You sure you can keep up, Eddie?” Robin teased, elbowing Eddie in the ribs.

“Bitch I’ve got moves,” he replied with a grin.

They started off together, arms out and in perfect sync.

That was when Steve noticed for the first time that Eddie was wearing figure skates too. He knew that figure skates were good for beginners but watching Eddie and Robin glide on the ice, he knew that’s not why Eddie wore them.

“Double Axel,” Robin muttered, “in three, two, one!”

They both jumped into the air and spun twice, landing without so much as wobble.

“Lutz, double Lutz, Axel,” Eddie murmured back.

Jump, double jump, and turn.

“All right,” Robin said, grinning from ear to ear, “I think we’ve sufficiently warmed up. Let’s do this, pretty boy!”

They went through a whole routine and everyone was clapping and cheering them on.

“It’s a pity they’re both gay,” Dustin said with a sigh. “Otherwise they would be perfect for each other.”

“That’s homophobic,” Max hissed. “Like, seriously shut up!”

“I am not!” He put his hands on his hips and huffed. “I’m just saying it would be cool if they were a pair off the ice as well as on it!”

Steve bumped shoulders with Dustin. “Plus it’s not nice to out people like that. Everyone should get a chance to tell people when they’re ready.”

Dustin scoffed. “Dude, I’ve seen you flirt with Eddie. You’re gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide.”

Steve pushed his shoulder. “Bisexual, thank you. Shit, kid. You don’t get to decide people’s sexuality for them.”

“Shhhh!” Mike hissed. “Just watch them.” He rolled his eyes.

Then they were done and everyone skated over to them.

“You guys were amazing,” Steve said a little breathlessly.

Eddie grinned at him.

They went to go take off their skates as the zamboni started to make its way on to the ice. Max at the helm with Robin riding along. They all piled through the same the opening, Eddie and Steve pulling up the rear.

Steve looked over his should at them. “I didn’t think they let teenagers run the zamboni.”

“Max knows her way round a rink and a zamboni better than most people,” Eddie said with a smile. “Her mom has worked at the rink every winter since she was twelve when they moved here from California.”

Steve looked back at Eddie. “That’s a long way to move.”

Eddie just shrugged. “Susan is from here and got tired of the constant sun.”

Then suddenly Eddie was grabbing him and hauling him up on to the rinkboard.

“Jesus H. Christ!” Eddie cried. “That’s cutting it awfully close, Maxine!”

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Max hissed hitting the kill switch. “Sorry, Steve! The damn wheel got stuck. Are you okay?”

Steve looked up at Eddie who still had a hold of him. “Yeah, yeah I am. Thanks to Eddie’s quick thinking.”

“I’ve got ya, darlin’,” Eddie replied softly.

~

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: COMPLETED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @steddieislife @tartarusknight

[goldenshrikecomic]

FAQ

Please read these before sending asks! It's also good to check the tags listed on the pinned post to see if it's already answered. Where can I read GS? On Comicfury or DeviantArt. Two pages ahead on both Patreon and Ko-fi.

Who works on this comic? Only me, ratt/doeprince. You can call me either, I usually refer to myself as doeprince when it's more official, otherwise ratt or some secret third thing. I'm an amateur artist and I draw these comics for fun without much ambition to gain greatness. I want to make enough money to be able to keep working on more comics, and buy trinkets.

How can I support what you do? Why thank you for asking! All my income comes from making comics, so the support on either Patreon or Ko-fi is literally making my comic endeavours possible.

Do you have other projects? I work on some secondary comics. Jet and Harley and Honey are currently updating, Corpse is finished. You can find my other art on doe-prince.

How long will Golden Shrike be? I don't know how many pages. I hope it's less than 1000.

What programs do you use? SAI for lineart, CSP for coloring and bubbles, PS for text and backgrounds. Hoooow do you draw the antlers from different perspectives? I've made 3D models for each recurring antlered character.

Is GS going to have physical merch? Will it be printed? Consider this a no, but I won't say never.

Does GS have a map, official wiki or dub or something like that? No. There's a fan wiki out there full of inaccurate information so take everything in there with tons of grains of salt. There's no map. The dub on YT is separate from me, I've had no hand in it.

Can I make a fan character? Can they interact with yours? You can absolutely make a fan character! I just ask you not to make them interact with mine, at least not in any kind of heavy way. It's a slippery slope and I've seen people treat my characters very rudely to make them suit their needs.

Can I make fanart/writing? Yes! All sfw and well-meaning works are welcome. Just tag me so I can see them! Why are the borders black and sometimes white? White borders means it's a flashback.

Deer don't do that!!!!! Or birds!! Or plants! The moon shouldn't be that shape right now. Everything in GS is fictional for this very reason. I shall not be shackled by the chains of realism when there's entire new worlds in my fingertips. I aim to make things believeable in its context, not realistic. Are other animals sentient, can they talk? Sure they are and can, but not outside their own species. A frog can't hold a conversation with a deer, but a deer and antelope could possibly make it work. There's exceptions though.

How old are main characters? They're fawns right? No they are not, they'd all be in their early 20s if they were humans.

What does sire mean? It keeps popping up in different contexts. You can liken this term to 'father', as in your dad but also something like a priest. The priest isn't your dad but "father forgive me for I've sinned". So sire is a) respected stag, b) very formal way to address your father. Dame is the female counterpart. Why are the does so small compared to stags.... are you a freak... do you just hate women..... Listen when I started GS I had been dwelling in a place where monster deer characters had insane size differences and it became some kind of norm to me and of course it found its way into my comic. Now I just have to keep drawing those tiny women to keep up the consistency. I've created bigger ladies nowadays because I too think it's a little silly now.

Please please will this character ever get a mate? Will this pairing be canon? Will you please make this pairing canon? I won't spoil any pairings, I think it'd be the most boring thing to do to my own work! I'll only confirm the ones already established in the comic.

Is this a speck of ember? Is it snow? What is that floating thing, is it relevant to the plot? IT'S JUST MY DUST BRUSH LEAVE ME ALONE.

[errruvande]

Haldir (as his beautiful face was everywhere) and wool.

(this is for the drabble!)

Emma, thank you for your participation 💖

This ended up being heavy on the ficlet side, then a drabble, but oh, what should I do 😅

It was a long few weeks of Haldir's absence. Being married to him for almost a millennium, you grew almost comfortable with your husband's frequent absence. After all, you knew who you were marrying, you knew exactly how little of him you'd get in your life, from his duty was to scout the borders of your beautiful home and, if needed, to lead the army of the elves of Lothlorien into battle, thought you've been brushing the last thought from your mind, for the horror would lie too heavy on your heart if it comes to that end.

In lack of Haldir by your side you found yourself a hobby to keep you busy, distracting your eager mind from the gloomy thoughts of your husband's wellbeing.

Once the market in Caras Galadhon was full of new items from both Lothlorien and the lands further south, such as golden fields of Rohan and distressed Gondor, you decided to buy some wool to weave yourself a warm cloak. Then, it was a challenge to reckon with. One day, when Haldir returned from his scouting, he rashed to your shared talan only to find you tangled in the yarn, the weaving wheel laying on it's side on the floor next to your whimpering figure.

Now, you were well known as a marvelous weaver, and have been making cloaks and gowns for all the elleths in Lorien.

You were sitting at the table in your talan, weaving yet another grey cloak, when you heard the door creaking, light steps becoming closer and closer to you.

“Meleth nîn!” You would recognize his scent, the way he breathes and walks with your eyes closed. You jumped from your seat to welcome Haldir, as he finally came home from another patrol.

“Y/N…” Haldir cupped your cheeks, bowing his head just slightly to touch your forehead with his, and slowly succumbed into a long desired kiss.

After every patrol you kissed him for the first time in your life, the kiss is so intimate and soft, it feels like a gentle breeze caressing your lips. You missed this. With every inch of your being.

Your hands were resting on his chest, softly brushing the thin material of his tunic, as he lowered one of his hands to take in your palm. “I've missed you terribly, meleth”

You felt so desperate, letting his lips part from yours when you only wanted them to linger and take all the air away from your lungs, that feeling alone made you whimper silently.

But that was the time, when Haldir took your hand in his and lifted it to look at your palm closely, your fingers shaking a little from the long days of weaving, little blisters shining on the their tips.

“You should take some time off, love.” he didn't hesitate to press your palm to his lips and kiss it softly, moving along each of your fingers, pecking them in tiny little kisses. “You should not work at a loss of your health.”

“I would gladly not work at all, my love,” you watched him grazing your hand with kisses, his clear blue eyes locked on yours. “but then I would be thinking about you without a rest, and that will cause more loss of my health than a slightly shaking fingers”

Haldir chuckled softly, bringing the second palm of yours to his face and kissing the tips of your fingers gently. He started walking on you, leading you away from the wool and the weaving wheel, so you could stop thinking about your work at least for a few minutes.

“Is that new?” He noticed a blanket spread on top of the big bed, blue with a deep green ornament on it. You nodded.

“Made it a few days ago” you glanced over the bed, tugging your palms out from Haldir's grip and placing them around his waist, that fitted so perfectly between your hands, and pressed yourself to his body.

“Shall we test if it is soft enough?” You saw his face lighted with a smile, a light chuckle leaving his mouth, as he made another step, pressing your calves to the bed.

“Meleth, I have work to be done…” Haldir could definitely hear a note of disappointment in your airy voice, as you sat on the bed, looking him in the eyes, hands still curled around his muscular waist.

“Your husband just returned from a month-long patrol.” He reached your face with his palm and grazed your cheek with his soft fingers carefully, sending a light shiver down your neck. “I think they will understand.”

You stretched one of your arms beside you, leaning to your back and watching Haldir bending over you to gift you a soft kiss on the neck. The woolen blanket feels soft and delicate under your touch, just as the kisses your husband showering your naked areas of skin with, forcing a little whine to exit your mouth.

“Perhaps they will”

Send me a word and a character: LOTR/TH, TLK or VIKINGS - and I will try and write a drabble or ficlet ✨

[randomthingsthatilike1]

honestly I think the wrong parent was sent to pick up Aly in the ending of Trickster's Choice

the entire book we see through Kyprioths visions to Aly that Alanna, above all, cares for Aly, that she really does see Aly for who she is and worries terribly for her lost, hidden daughter, angry and upset and scared. She's constantly scrying for her with the mirror Thom gave her--her daughter is missing and her husband lied to her about it.

After months and months of worrying and praying, Alanna finally knows where her daughter is. She loves George, she does, but he lied to her about her only daughter's well being. And after the 8 years of her training constantly lying to everyone Alanna is sick of it, sick of doing it and avoids it at almost all cost--but for this? For the love she has for her daughter?

She’s been worried sick, scrying every free hour, distracted and blaming herself for her daughter’s disappearance. She's not needed in Frasrland, not really, not with this stalemate at the border. The killing devices are all gone and nothing is happening there. They don't need her--but Aly does.

She’s been married to George for 20 years and she’s known him for 30--she’s picked up a few tricks on how to go around unseen, how to slip away seamlessly but first there are a few things she has to do.

Her husband with his nondescript features can roam freely.  She cannot. She’s far too distinctive nowadays, but to quote her daughter that is what razors and dyes are for. Her long hair is her pride and joy. After years of cutting it boyishly short, as well as being a good enough fighter she can have long hair--it’s her one vanity.

She loves her hair. She’d topple kingdoms for her daughter.

A short and stocky man with copper red hair isn't the ideal spy, but shes here to find her daughter--its the story she goes with. She’s looking for her daughter, a Tortallan, who was kidnapped and sold into slavery in the Copper Isles.She speaks enough Carthaki to get by and well it’s not like she can’t defend herself, even with just a knife and hand to hand.

The only dead giveaway about her are her purple eyes, but she's a mage, with a powerful Gift specializing in manipulating the human body--if there's a magical way to create an illusion or temporarily change your eye color she would know it. If not, I'm sure George has found a way and she's already used it before.

This barely scratches the surface of what she’d do for Aly. She's a mage, with a powerful Gift specializing in manipulating the human body--if there's a magical way to create an illusion or temporarily change your eye color she would know it. If not, I'm sure George has found a way. She glamors her eyes to look the same as her daughter and her husband. She lightly dyes her hair, making it a more blondish red like Aly's.

She finds a young squire stationed at the border and surreptitiously steals some of his clothes and other supplies around camp, her personal weaponry far too flashy and distinctive.

Aly isn’t the only one who was trained by the King of Thieves.

You can’t tell me she’s never done anything like this with George, not wanting to be stared at by people who recognize the famous Lioness, either getting him out of some scrapes or just relaxing and having fun.

Kyprioth is sweating bullets. There's only so much he can hide, although he has far more power in the Copper Isles than Tortall so he can't stop her but he’ll do his best to hide her from the Goddess but uhhhhhhhh there’s only So Much he can do. 

Alanna is Determined--she will find her daughter and is she maybe less subtle than George was? Sure. But all the same, she’s brought to the Balitang’s home in Rajmuat and makes her way to Lombyn.

It’s the same scene, of Alanna approaching Winnamine , introducing herself as Alan Cooper and asking to buy Aly-- Winnamine realizing “Alan” isn’t really here to buy Aly.

It takes Aly just a little longer to recognize Alanna--and she comes to a halt and is filled with shock because this is the Lioness, her mother who is persona non grata to the Copper Isles due to killing one of their princesses decades ago (and wow that might actually get Ochabu to tolerate her mother) and would probably be either killed or ransomed as a hostage p much on sight, the King’s Champion, one of the most distinctive and famous women in the continent--is here.

She’s here, her hair short and lighter and her purple eyes--they’re very similar to Aly’s now. Alanna letting out a sob at the sight of her daughter--her hair also shorter, eyebrow scar, broken nose, but alive and safe and still with that spark in her eye.

Just. The PARALLELS of both having the explicit approval of their god to deceive and lie and how they both deceived so many people to achieve their goals. Aly seeing her mother engage in spycraft and trickery to try to find her is probably a better apology than Alanna could ever find the words for

Later after Alanna had her Own standoff with Kyprioth she tells Aly she didn’t want this life for her, not because she was a noble or a Trebond but because she’s Alanna’s daughter and she knows how hard it is to keep a secret and deceive the people she cared about, and how much it hurt when it all came out. That’s something George never had to deal with--George has never really had to deceive his loved ones. They’ve always known he’s Crooked and an inkling of what he’s been up to--but Alanna has. She did it for 8 long years and she was good at it too, but the amount of pain it brought her after meant she never wanted that for her daughter.

Alanna earned her shield through treachery, the constant fear of being found out dogging her footsteps and once she got it she made sure no other girl would have to.

For Aly just to be reminded how similar she really is to her mother and begrudgingly putting that together--for Kyprioth to tell Aly that yes George gave her the skills he needed that made Aly his ideal Spymaster and what she’s done so far in keeping the Balitangs safe is why he wants her to stay, but it was Alanna’s actions that really sold him on recruiting Aly in the first place.

(I have other feelings about Kyprioth and Alanna here because d a m n “they say he loves a good trick”--as a girl for 8 years Alanna fooled the Tortallan monarchy and nobility. That’s what his Promised Queen will have to do. And he is George’s patron--it would make sense that both of them loved aspects of Alanna.)

(also while she’s there it’d be hilarious for Sarai to spar against Alanna and have her ass handed to her--it’d be a great nod back to when Aly was observing Sarai and thinking about her own training bc it sure would make Ulasim wonder wait can Aly use a sword????)

(also if anyone wants to write this go for it)

[daitranscripts]

Skyhold Conversation: Krem

Tell Me About Yourself

Skyhold Masterpost

Available after Iron Bull's "Meet the Chargers" scene

PC: I wanted to talk about you, if that’s all right.

Krem: You know I’m from Tevinter. Wasn’t a slave, but even citizens have it rough if they’re not mages. I was a soldier, but women join the ranks under a different program. When they found out I was passing, it got ugly. I ran, met Bull near the border, and ended up here. Not a life I’d wish on everyone, but it’ll do.

1 - Dialogue options:

General: What is Tevinter life like? [2]

General: How did you end up leaving? [3]

General: Why do you pass? [4]

General: Goodbye. [5]

2 - General: What is Tevinter life like? PC: What’s Tevinter like for a citizen? Someone who isn’t a slave or a mage? Krem: I’m of the soporati, citizens who aren’t mages. Mages are in charge and everyone knows it, but a wealthy merchant can have an easy life. At the low end, people just try to stay out of slavery. My father was a tailor. I joined the army after the Imperial slaves drove him under.

Dialogue options:

Special: How did they do that? [6]

[Back to 1]

6 - Special: How did they do that? PC: How did slaves drive your family out of business? Krem: My father made shirts, aprons, that kind of thing. Nothing fancy. One of the magisters had a pet project, to prevent the poor from dying of cold in the winter. Nice, right? He had Imperial slaves making simple peasant clothes and selling them for almost nothing. That magister’s nice idea put out slave-made clothes at prices my father couldn’t match.

Dialogue options:

General: He had good intentions. [7]

General: Slave labor. Lovely. [8]

General: Who would buy those? [9]

7 - General: He had good intentions. PC: It sounds like the magister was doing it our of kindness. Krem: That’s the worst part of Tevinter: people don’t even realize they’re taking away your living. That magister wasn’t a terrible person. He probably saved slaves from dying. ㅤㅤ ㅤ 8 - General: Slave labor. Lovely. PC: It’s difficult to compete with someone who doesn’t get paid. Krem: That’s Tevinter. ㅤㅤ ㅤ 9 - General: Who would buy those? PC: Who would buy goods made by slaves, knowing they’d be hurting a citizen’s business? Krem: People with enough money for a new shirt or a loaf of bread, but not both. ㅤㅤ ㅤ 10 - Scene continues. ㅤㅤ ㅤ Krem: My father sold himself into slavery. He’s one of the servus publicus, the Imperium-owned slaves, now. [back to 1]

3 - General: How did you end up leaving? PC: You said you left Tevinter when they discovered your secret? Krem: Women are allowed to serve, but only in certain ranks and disciplines. I was up for promotion, but the healer I’d bribed to sign off on my physical had to tend a sick magister. When the replacement healer saw what was, or wasn’t, in my pants, he made threats. It was slavery or death, so I knocked him out and ran.

11 - Dialogue options:

Special: How did you get away? [12]

Special: Passing is illegal? [13]

[Back to 1]

12 - Special: How did you get away? PC: I’m surprised you escaped from the Tevinter Imperium so easily. Krem: It’s not like I lived in Minrathous. I was in Trevis, not far from the Nevarran border. It helped that I was being chased as a deserter, not a runaway slave. Slave-hunters only get paid for what they catch. They’re efficient bastards. [back to 11] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 13 - Special: Passing is illegal? PC: It’s against the law to pass as a man? Krem: It’s a crime to lie on an Imperial application for service. Would’ve been a heavy fine or slavery. For ten silvers, the healer said he’d tell the tribune I was sick in the head. Some pity for the mad little girl. That was when I hit him. I’d served for a few years. I was good at hitting. [back to 11]

4 - General: Why do you pass? PC: Why did you decide to live as a man? Krem: I didn’t decide anything. I’ve been like this my whole life. My parents wanted me to marry up. They tried to find me a nice merchant’s son. Every day, I’d put on a dress, look into my father’s shaving mirror, and just… hate myself.

14 - Dialogue options:

Special: Would you change with magic? [15]

Special: What did your family think? [16]

[Back to 1]

15 - Special: Would you change with magic? PC: If you had the chance to use magic, would you change all the way? Krem: What? No. I don’t want any magic like that within ten yards of my body. When I was younger… I don’t know. Everyone has silly dreams. In Tevinter, dreams like that get you killed. Bull helped me make a good life. Nice armor and a well-placed sock, and I’m happy. [back to 14] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 16 - Special: What did your family think? PC: How did your family react when you started? Krem: My mother wanted to throw me out. She said if I didn’t marry well, I was dooming the family to slavery. She was happy to take the money I sent as a soldier, though. Not that it mattered in the end. My father… when I was little, he’d angle his mirror down so I could pretend to shave, just like him. He never said anything, but I think he knew. [back to 14]

5 - General: Goodbye. PC: We’ll talk later.

[mytardisiscoolerthanyours]

Dummies and Daisies: Dick Grayson/OFC Short Fic

Summary: Dick Grayson can't stop himself from visiting his favorite flower shop (or maybe flower girl) on his way home from work.

Chapter 1: Sunflowers and Sneezes

“Back again?” She called as she saw the familiar head of scruffy black hair come through her front door. “That's two bouquets in one week, I’m starting to think you have an addiction.” Her laugh rang through the shop as she walked to the front, greeting Dick at the counter.

“I can’t help that you have the best flowers in Gotham, Sunny.” He mused as he leaned his forearms against the counter. He started calling her that a while back during one of their many chats after she insisted that sunflowers were the best flower. “I just can’t stay away,” he said with his signature smirk.

She rolled her eyes in return. When he first started coming in, he had such an effect on her. Constantly make her blush with all of his flirting. At first, she thought that maybe he came in just to see her, but as the weeks went on and he didn’t make any moves, she realized that it was just his personality. She tried not to think about him flirting with everyone else he met, too.

“What’ll it be today then, Grayson?” She pulled out her notepad and pen, looking around the shop to take a mental inventory of which flowers she had in right now. “We just got in some really nice lilies, or maybe a wildflower bouquet?” She was already lost in thought, arranging flowers together for him in her head. She knew he preferred the more natural-looking arrangements, not the flashy ones that some of her more affluent clients liked.

He could see that she was already working, planning something spectacular for him in that brain of hers. He really loved watching her work. She was so passionate about her craft, and it showed. She had the best arrangements on Gotham, it's just a shame that not many people have been in the business of buying flowers lately.

Her shop was right on the border of crime alley. It wasn’t unsafe, but her clientele didn't have much change to spare, let alone money for flowers. She made enough to get by, but with her skill, she should have been the top shop in Gotham, or at least Dick thought so. That's why he always found himself stopping by after work. He never cared much for flowers before, but her passion and dedication kept him coming back again and again. He’d gotten so bad that he ended up there at least twice a week, always under the guise of wanting another arrangement. Definitely not because he wanted to flirt with the pretty owner.

“Dealers choice,” he smiled and watched as she nodded and got to work. She already had the perfect bouquet in mind, a mix of her local wildflowers with a bold centerpiece made of dark-colored daisies. Just natural enough for his liking, but still a little more elevated than just a standard bouquet.

It only took a few minutes to get it together, she was nothing if not efficient. It was like a dance as she moved around the shop, grabbing a few flowers from one basket before moving on to the next. Dick was entranced, mesmerized by her gentle movements around the room.

“All set,” she smiled as she handed the large arrangement over the counter. Her voice broke Dick out of his haze and he grabbed the flowers with a bashful smile. He was so thrown off that he forgot to keep the flowers away from his face, accidentally bringing the pollen too close to his nose.

Without warning Dick froze, took a deep breath, and let out the loudest sneeze she had ever heard. And then another, and another. She looked at him with wide eyes, he had never had a problem with an arrangement before. She went through the flowers in his hand, confirming that there was nothing out of the ordinary in there. He's gotten all of those flowers before but they had never affected him like this.

“Oh my god,” she fussed, coming over to his side of the counter. “Are you ok?” Her hands hovered above his shoulders as he sneezed, unsure what to do to help him.

Dick groaned between sneezes, he had forgotten to take his allergy medicine this morning. He always grabbed it on days he knew he would be stopping by. He’d always had a pretty bad allergy to flowers, but as long as he had medicine, and he kept the flowers away from his face, he was usually fine. But, today, he came here on a whim. He had just wanted to see her and didn't think much about anything else after he had that thought.

“I’m. Ok. Sorry.” He sneezed between each word of the reply. She grabbed the flowers from him and set them on the table, replacing them with a box of tissues in his hand.

“Are you allergic to flowers?” She was so confused. He had been coming here for weeks, surely he wasn’t buying something he was this allergic to all that time. What kind of idiot hangs out in a flower shop if they can’t handle pollen?

He looked up at her sheepishly, managing to get his sneezes more under control now that he had some tissues.

“About that…” he looked away. He tried to school his features, hoping the blush of embarrassment was disguised by his many sneezes. Reluctantly, he turned back to her. He knew he was in trouble, there was no way to explain his way out of this. “I’m totally allergic to flowers, like absolute snot central whenever I’m near them.”

“You're joking,” she laughed. You're here all the time and I've never once heard you sneeze.” She looked at him again, noticing the redness in his eyes and around his nose. “Why would you buy so many flowers if you were this allergic?”

He gave her a knowing look as if it should be obvious to her. He stopped in twice a week for an arrangement and every time ended up staying to chat for over an hour after. She liked it when he stopped by, and even looked forward to it whenever she heard the bell above the door ring. Their routine was the highlight of most of her weeks, and his business was a big part of why she could keep her shop open during this recession. But, it finally hit her.

“Oh…” she blushed. He never came for the flowers. “You do all that just to come talk to me?... or- or am I reading this all wrong? Because if I am then totally just ignore me and pretend I did not just say that to you.” The blush took over her face and she turned away to hide it. She tended to talk when she was nervous, and boy was she talking. Why could she never just shut up-

“Sunny,” he interrupted her train of thought. He took a step closer to her, now having his sneezing under control. “Of course, I come here to see you,” he smiled softly. He reached up and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Not that I don’t love your flowers, but you’re the reason I can’t stay away.”

She looked up into his eyes, dazed but unbelievably happy. She had always hoped, tried not to, but hoped anyway. She wanted Dick to be there for her, not the flowers. She often daydreamed in the back when she was putting flowers together that he would come in one day and ask her out. This wasn’t exactly what she pictured, but she didn’t mind.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Her eyes met his and saw nothing but warmth and happiness… and maybe a few tears from the sneezing, but she would ignore that.

He didn’t have a good answer for her, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just asked her out that first day. He wanted to, but something held him back. She was so sweet and kind, the embodiment of goodness in his eyes, and maybe he didn’t think he deserved that. What with his night job, maybe he would take away that sweetness and warmth that he loved so much about her. He didn’t want to be responsible for that.

“Maybe you’re too good for me,” he mused with an easy smile, taking another step closer to her. He knew he shouldn’t, but they had gotten this far, so why not a step further?

She laughed. If anything he was too good for her. He single-handedly supported her small business for over a month when he was literally allergic to her product. Plus, he always made her laugh and smile, which was a bonus.

“Or…” she countered, matching his step forward until there were only a few inches between them, “maybe we're just right for each other.” At that, he smiled, resigned in his all-consuming attraction for this flower girl that had plagued his mind for over a month. He leaned down, ready to close the distance between them.

But just before their lips touched, he sneezed again.

Hope you enjoyed! (Check out the full fic below) <3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60135556/chapters/153448324

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hello,if of course you wanted and if it was your will, could you write something about Thranduil. About how once, while returning to his Kingdom, he came across a slave trade where he saw an elven woman who was scared and emaciated. Thranduil is moved by this and buys her out, then takes her to the palace, though she is distrustful, appreciates him helping her, and over time I fall in love with him. You don't have to agree with this, but it may have been after Thranduil became King, but also before his son was born. Of course, if you want to write about it, and that would be your will...

Hello! I wrote this event taking place just after the sinking of Beleriand, with Oropher ruling Greenwood the Great and sections of Middle Earth being a bit of a dumpster fire after the War of Wrath. I hope you don’t mind the change. This is part one. Part two should be out in a fortnight, or just after that, and from Thranduil’s POV.

“A Better Future” Part 1

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader (Elf/Noldor |Third Person POV)

Themes: Angst | Dark

Warnings: Death | Indentured servitude | Indenture Auction | Mentions of slavery | Mentions of sexual slavery | Mistreatment | Examination for purity

Wordcount : 2.3K words

Summary: An elf of the Noldor finds herself on the auction block, facing a dreary future.

A/n: For Lady Githa I drew inspiration from Six of Crows’ Tante Heleen. Most of part one is around reader's backstory, and there is only some dialog towards the end.

Minors DNI

Y/Ns POV

Y/n was still drowsy when she opened her eyes. She had seen herself with her father, listening to him play the harp and sing while her mother sewed away by the fire. There were hot pies and fresh fruit and cheese to nibble on, and her father would leave the harp to indulge in her thirst for tales of the Blessed Realm. Home was safe and warm, and everyone was alive.

Such a beautiful dream. And a dream it would forever be. Y/n threw back the rags that served as coverlets and sat up straight on the pallet that served as a featherbed. Her back ached after a night of fitful sleep. She glanced around the near-empty chamber, which was barely large enough for her. There were no possessions here, and she was not allowed any. Oh, she had been promised new garments, a hot meal, and a bath for this day, but she knew such gifts came with a heavy price. She had moved among the Edain long enough to learn this harsh truth. Y/n looked at the stone ceiling and sighed mournfully. Her fate will be decided today.

My fate was decided a long time ago, in another life, she thought bitterly. Her father had followed the sons of Fëanor and played a part in the second Kinslaying. All that returned of him was news of his disgrace and death, his role in the slaughter, and how he doomed his bloodline along with himself. As for her mother? She no longer wished to live. She followed the path of Miriel before her, lying down in a meadow and letting her fëa peacefully depart from her body. That was how y/n found her—a vessel from which the jewel had spilled. Alone and without friends, she performed the final rights for her mother before departing for safer pastures. Someone was bound to take pity on her and give her shelter; she was certain of it.

That was not to be. Door after door closed to her as soon as she made her name and ties known. Elves did not wish to sully themselves by associating with one bearing the blood of a kinslayer. The Edain did not want to offend wealthy elven patrons. Y/n had been forced to wander further and further east, year after year, alone and frightened, keeping to the outer borders of kingdoms and selling off her family’s possessions one by one in exchange for coin so she could have clothes and food. She watched in horror while smoke rose from distant battlefields, praying the fighting would never reach her. She trembled when she heard strange and terrifying roars. She listened to the songs about how the Valar finally sent their host to deal with a most wretched enemy, how the lands she once ran across as a child had been claimed by the sea. The grief of such a loss—of her home and her family—was so great that it caused her pain powerful enough to nearly cripple her. She bore it all silently. She had no choice, and she did not have a single creature to confide in. Finally, a mortal took pity on her, or so she thought. He offered her a roof over her head and a better future; all she needed to do was agree to his terms.  

Y/n snorted in derision. A better future. If only she had listened to the voice within her, demanding that she refuse. This man would play her false, it said, and place her in a condition with no hope for escape. But y/n was desperate. What coin she had left on her person was all but gone. She was tired of wandering, with no home and no hope and no future to look forward to. She agreed. And felt nothing but regret over the choice she made.

Someone knocked insistently on the door. "I am ready," she called softly. Servants of the house walked in with a healer. Y/n was asked to lay face up and stay still. A flush crept up her throat, but she did as she was told. The healer pulled her rough-spun robe up to her waist and spread her legs, to examine her. Y/n felt a pinch and winced. Her cheeks were ablaze with humiliation. She was told this was necessary. Y/n did not want to think why.

The maids mouthed meaningless comforts while they led her to the baths. Y/n did not believe they meant a word of what they said. They were only loyal to the master of the house and did not spare a thought for her before this. She sat still in a copper tub and was bathed in hot water scented with fragrant oils. One maid carefully washed her hair before picking up a comb to brush the tangles. The other cleaned her feet and nails before scrubbing her back. She chatted incessantly while she went about her tasks. Y/n listened. Anything to distract her from what was about to happen.

"Everyone is talking about you," Eda gossiped, red-cheeked and excited. "Fights have broken out amongst the younger lordlings and..."

"That is quite enough from you, Eda," the other maid, Cwene, cut in harshly. She wanted to end whatever Eda longed to say. Eda bit her lip and nodded anxiously. They both went back to work, silent as the dead.

Y/n shivered and gulped in fright. She knew what was going to happen. She was to be indentured. The man who promised her a brighter future would sell her skills and her, to the one who was willing to pay the most. Those fortunate few who served those with fair hearts had the price of their purchase decrease over time and enjoyed a better life after that. Many more were given a price that only increased as the years passed. They had to toil day after day and year after year, slaves in all but name. Then there were those unfortunate few who faced the bleakest of all futures. Y/n did not allow herself to dwell on those others.

She thought, Perhaps I will be one of the fortunate few, and allowed herself to be helped out of the bath. Perhaps, I will be lucky.

Y/n let the maids lead her to another room and stood still while they toweled her dry and dressed her in silken wisps that made her blush. Then came her gown. It was so soft and smooth that it slipped over her palms like water. She could not remember the last time she wore anything so fine. It made her feel like a lamb being led to slaughter. Eda took her to a nearby stool and asked her to sit. She brushed y/n’s hair until it shone and arranged it in braids and coils. Dabs of sweet-smelling perfume were placed on each wrist and behind each ear. Finally came a pair of sandals crafted out of soft leather. Y/n sighed as if in a dream. The sandals embraced her feet gently, like lovers. Cwene held up a looking glass for her to see her reflection. Y/n was startled. She could not recognize herself.

"She looks like a proper princess now," was all Cwene allowed. Someone else arrived and knocked on the door to the baths. It was the master of the house.

"Take this one to the yard," he rasped to Eda. "The others are growing impatient."

The yard was all freshly cut grass and new flowers, and it was already full of Edain. They gaped at the elf on the raised dais, their looks making her skin crawl. A tall, beautiful woman with hair like spun gold and rubies glinting on her ears, fingers, and throat, climbed up the steps and came to y/n. She looked at her critically. Y/n buried a sob when she saw the rubies. They reminded her of her mother’s hair.

"Beautiful," she whispered, the sweetness of her voice doing little to hide the bitterness lurking beneath. She tilted y/n’s chin with the tip of an elegant walking stick. She wanted to see how her eyes caught the light. Satisfied with what she saw, the woman looked over y/n’s hair and ears, and even her teeth. "Her eyes are like jewels. But tell me, I pray you. Why does she look so gaunt and melancholy? Has she not been fed well?"

It was not said out of kindness. There was none in the lady’s hardened gray eyes. Y/n lowered her gaze and closed her own, as was expected. She did not say that she was given meager scraps because the master of the house did not wish to waste more coin than he already had on her. It could only go badly for her if she did.

"She has," Y/n’s master replied hastily. He crept up to her and dug his fingers into her arm, warning her to keep quiet. Y/n bit her tongue to stop herself from making a sound. "And since the lords that frequent The Blue Rose expect women fit for a king," he added, "This one will do nicely after a good meal, yes?"

"Indeed," the woman conceded, and looked y/n over again. She grabbed y/n's cheek hard, her nails digging into the skin. "Cry if you must," she whispered harshly when y/n, trapped and unable to move, whimpered. "Tear out your hair. I would too if I was in your place. But know this, elf. When the dust clears, you will be mine."

The woman turned to face y/n's master. "Your herald tells me she is untouched."

"Aye, lady Githa," came the reply. "The healer assured me of this."

"This truly is a most blessed day." Githa finally let go and laughed merrily. Y/n fell ill at the sound and found herself overcome with the shivers, but she welcomed the release from Githa's presence. She knew of The Blue Rose. Githa ruled it with an iron fist and was known to be a cruel mistress. The Blue, as it was more commonly known, welcomed the coin of high-born edain, some with tastes that could make one's stomach turn. At least, that was what the maids said. The women sent there never earned their freedom. Some, she had heard through careless chatter, did not even make it out alive. Y/n wanted to flee, to run somewhere no one knew of, and to hide. Since she could not, since she was already trapped, she prayed, hoping against all hope that she would not have to spend the rest of her days toiling on her back.

A herald came forth and called out her name and ties. His words were met with boisterous cheers. "She was born in the four hundred and fiftieth year of the first age," he continued, "and is skilled in both the high harp and the lute. The lady is also fluent in both Quenya and Sindarin. Her mother and father hailed from the Blessed Realm. She is meek and obedient, perfect for any household. And she is untouched. We have been assured of this. One such as her will not grace this dais again."  

Loud applause rang out around the yard. Y/n’s master grabbed her arm so hard that it hurt. She was dragged to the center of the block and made to stand straight. The herald would call out a price. Someone would offer more. Y/n listened with growing dread as her purchase price rose higher and higher. The cries soon reached a fevered frenzy that shocked her. She heard the unmistakably musical sound of Githa, the woman who looked her over like she was nothing more than a prize horse to be broken in, whatever means necessary. Githa had coin. From the way she carried on, it was plain she had plenty. If someone shouted a price, she would go higher. One by one, those others would give their excuses and stop. Y/n heard names being called out. Only six remained. Githa was one of the six. Fear coiled within her belly like a snake.

How could you do this to me, father? She wanted to cry. How could you and mother doom me to such a fate?

Y/n heard more voices. Word had already reached the marketplace and spread like a forest fire. Many poured into the yard and joined the throng. They wanted to watch. Someone shouted out ribald jests. Lady Githa replied with equal humor. The others laughed. Y/n kept her eyes closed even as her blood ran cold. She pretended not to hear. Doom coiled itself around her like a chain so heavy she could almost feel it tightening over her chest, squeezing the very air out of her. 

The herald called out names once again. Only two remained, he reminded the rest, but he invited everyone to indulge in the food and wine being served. Y/n could taste the bile at the back of her throat. Githa shouted another offer. 

"Six thousand gold pieces!" The herald declared and received a roar of approval. "And we still carry on!"

The crowd encouraged Lady Githa and her rival, urging them to continue. Grief gathered around y/n’s heart like bees. There was no escaping her fate now. No one was coming to save her. Tears welled up in her eyes and broke free. Someone laughed.  

"Twenty thousand gold pieces!" A deep voice boomed from behind the crowd. The yard went so quiet that y/n swore she would have heard a pin drop. "And an end to this wretched spectacle!"

Y/n heard the creak of floorboards. The herald went to talk with his masters. They were beside her, whispering to each other. Again, she pretended not to hear. 

"We cannot deny them," one said.

"That one will slaughter all of us if we refuse," another said. "Or do worse."

"Aye," muttered a third. "But we must give Lady Githa the opportunity to make her excuses and bow out. She may not come near us again otherwise. Continue with the sale."

"Tw-twenty thousand!" The herald returned and announced the figure. They were going to continue. "We have twenty thousand! Do either of you wish to go higher?" 

Moments passed. Y/n listened, thinking Lady Githa would call out a higher price and carry on. 

"He can have her!" Githa cried after speaking with her rival. She sounded less than pleased. "We are finished!"

"Very well!" The Herald agreed. "Twenty thousand gold! Going once, going twice, sold! To… to the crown prince of Gr-greenwood the Great!"

The herald sounded terrified. The crown prince of Greenwood the Great, he had declared. Y/n had heard of this kingdom and how its king and his people survived the sack of Doriath. In all her wanderings, she kept away from this realm, no matter how tired or weak or hungry she was. She knew she would find no welcome there. 

Y/n fearfully opened her eyes, certain the prince only brought her to punish her for the sins committed by her kin.  

Tags: @deadlymistletoe