#Replenish your skin today

[rafeandonlyrafe]

too nice

words: 1k

rafe is turned on by you... being nice?

warnings: 18+ only, smut, female receiving oral, p in v sex (no climax included lol i ended it early bc it felt right)

taglist: @drewstarkeysbae @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @slut4drudy @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450

it's not that rafe isn't used to people being nice to him, but it's a different kind of nice. it's being pleasant out of fear of him and what he will do. you, on the other hand, don't see him that way for whatever reason. you are nice to him simply because you are a nice person, and wouldn't think to be anything but sweet to the cameron boy.

“hey rafe, how's your day today?” you ask, leaning your chin onto your first as you prop your head up on the side of the boat, the sun hitting your skin and warming it. 

“good, thanks for asking darling.” rafe says, really not in the mood to be out on the water, but when topper said you would be joining them on the boat, he couldn't pass up the chance on getting close to you

“no problem.” you smile, bending your knees and bringing your heels to rest on the plastic couch material, looking off into the distance as the boat flies over the water, humming along softly to the music.

“do you want something? a water or a coke?” you ask rafe, feeling your mouth is a little too dry and needing something to replenish it.

“water is fine.” rafe nods. “thank you, y/n.”

you smile at him before standing up to find the cooler, getting out a water for rafe and a can of lemonade for yourself. you return to the spot on the couch, noticing that kelce has moved to rafes other side.

“here ya go.” you tell rafe, taking your seat again after handing him the water. 

“you're too nice.” rafe says, shifting in his seat. 

“im not too nice.” you roll your eyes. “im just being friendly.”

“mhm.” rafe hums, taking a sip of his water. when the boat stops and everyone jumps off, he has to run to the bathroom, surprised he lasted so long with you sitting next to him, so fucking sweet, and barely covered by your small bikini.

he fucks his fist, the image of you in his head, imagining you between his legs, your mouth on his cock, or bending you over the sink as he takes you from behind, holding your plump ass in his hands. 

he cums thinking of your moans, thinking of fucking your tight pussy, how nice you'd be about it, how much you'd thank him and bat your eyelashes.

he cleans up before heading out of the interior to see you standing on the deck, dripping wet, and he instantly rehardens in his swim shorts.

--

“rafe!” you gasp against his lips, your hands fisted in his sweatshirt.

“can't believe you're this nice to everyone.” he kisses you harder, not allowing you to think as his lips slide against yours. “such a fucking sweetheart.”

“please!” you gasp out, grinding your hips against rafes as he presses into you.

“begging me to fuck you.” rafe laughs, pressing his cock into you through the layers of clothing. “and being so nice about it. such good manners, baby.”

“need you.” you tug at rafes clothing, desperate to get him naked. rafe steps away to free himself of the sweatshirt and tshirt, tugging his sweatpants down as well to leave him in just underwear. it had been a long day out on the boat, and rafe was glad he brought a change of clothes for after he was done swimming and the sun fell in the sky.

“i wonder…” rafe says, tugging at your coverup, navigating the confusing straps until it's off your body. “if you taste as sweet as you act.” rafe tugs the zipper on your bikini top down until the sides split apart, your breasts spilling out.

rafe props you up onto the sink, wishing he was fucking you in someplace nicer than the bathroom on toppers family boat, but it was clean and big enough to make do. 

rafe latches onto your nipple, his other hand covering your breast as he toys with it. you throw your head back, pressing it against the mirror as rafe attacks your chest, sucking, licking and pulling at your nipples.

“ive always wanted to taste your pussy.” rafe lifts you off the vanity with one hand, tugging your swimsuit bottoms down with the other, not even needing your help in getting you naked. 

rafe sinks to his knees, the bottom of his feet pressing against the opposite wall but ignoring the cramped space as he spreads your thighs, revealing your wet cunt to him, already leaking from his kisses elsewhere.

rafe buries his face between your thighs, his tongue lapping over your folds without spreading them, keeping his touches teasing and not where you truly want him.

“please, rafe, come on.” you tug at his hair, pulling him closer and causing his tongue to push through your folds and separate them. rafe slurps at your juices, making obscene noises that you hope no one else can hear as he pulls away and looks up at you with a half smile. “i knew it.” he nods. “you taste just as sweet as you act.”

rafe licks at your cunt like it’s the best thing he’s tasted, not tearing himself away until his tongue brings you to your first orgasm of the night, and he still makes sure to lick up all your sweetness before standing.

“want me to fuck you, darling?” rafe asks, rubbing his hand over his cock, still covered by his underwear.

“yes, please, rafey, want you so bad.” you pant, tugging at the waistband of his underwear until rafe concedes and pushes them down his legs.

“let me taste you-” you begin, going to get off the sink, but rafe stops you from kneeling on the ground.

“as much as i’d like that baby, i need to be inside of you. you’ll have plenty of time to suck me off later.” you pout but nod, fine with hurrying it up if it means getting to feel rafes impressive length in your cunt. “so theres gonna be more times?” you ask, wrapping your arms around rafes shoulders.

“princess, you thought once i got a taste if your pussy that i would be satisfied with just fucking you once? of course there will be more times.” rafe leans in and kisses you gently. “you’re too cute.” he states, and then pushes his hips forward, plunging his cock deep inside of you.

[k0yaz]

I loved your parent Arle headcanons ahh <33

May I request something similar but instead it’s oneshot Arle finding out fem reader is pregnant? I was thinking reader is a harbinger too and they both find out together while on a mission in another nation but it’s up to you !

with you.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: sfw, moderately but also slightly suggestive, female reader, pregnant reader, arle referred to as husband, wlw, GIRLS KISSING OH MY GOD?? it’s their biological child bro don’t even ask how don’t ask and just hc whatever u want there’s like baby magic, arle’s real name mentioned blah blah yk this, harbinger reader, mention of sex, fluff, lazy writing toward the end, not proofread.

A/N: I want to write so badly but my homework says no anyway guys my brain loves cooking so much omg also my tea tastes EXTRA good today—update the second half was done the next day I have no tea :(…actually I’m just too lazy to get the giant jug out of the fridge and I’m finishing this so I can go get bubble tea instead lol🕯️

Heaps of fluffed blankets bunched up at the edge of the bed, messily piled below yours and Arlecchino’s feet. Her hand was draped over your loosely covered shoulder, the black gradient trailing up her arms contrasting with your skin dimly brightened by the illuminating candle filling the room. Small shivers surged through every vein of your body as you slumbered, stomach churning as you felt your muscles tense roughly even in your sleep. Arlecchino carefully blinked one eye open, her cross marked eyes eyeing your scrunched up expression of discomfort.

Soft fabric of your undershirt brushed along your shoulder decorated with goosebumps blistered across your skin, the shoulder strap of your undershirt sliding a bit lower past your shoulder as her hand brushed up and down to ridge along the blooming bumps decorating your skin. The constant jabs continued to rack your body over and over, a swelling ache seeming to stiffen every joint in your body and making you stir in your curled fetal position. Hunching your shoulders, you rolled over onto your side once more, the tip of your nose lightly grazing Arlecchino’s neck.

Honestly, couldn’t even think up a single reason why your body continuously harbored a pang of soreness spread through every small compartment of your body. It had initially crept in as a few light cramps, starting off bearable and only irritating you every now and then. Musing all the possibilities, you shrugged off the periodic stings stabbing at your abdomen as muscle cramps or mild injuries from your mission. After all, mild injuries weren’t anything of concern to a harbinger of your status.

Ever since you had been dispatched on a mission along with the Knave, or rather your dear husband Arlecchino, everything had gone smoothly up until the present. The two of you had carried out the Tsaritsa’s orders accordingly, and found a lavish inn to stay the night at in order to replenish your strength. Golden light shadowed across the hall endlessly, the bright glows of the looming chandelier swinging back and forth carefully above your head gave quite the nice impression of the inn the two of you had come across. After all, you deserved a nice, opulent stay for a night after getting through a tedious mission around the outskirts of Snezhnaya.

Even now as you looked back on it, the receptionist’s expression didn’t make much sense as she slid a polished room key across the wooden table in your direction, the quiet grate of steel on wood bristling across the wood in sync with her morphed smirk. You simply exchanged confused glances with Arlecchino, who was equally puzzled with the receptionist’s words of: “I wonder if the Fatui shake entire rooms…have fun in there!”

Of course you could shake entire rooms, you had one of the highest rankings that any member of the Fatui could bear.

You and Arlecchino stepped foot into the warmly lit room, a comfortable bed with draped silk covers spilling off the sides situated square in the middle along with a spruce bedside table and porcelain decorations standing proud on the other desk tables across the room. Sure enough, the lighting clearly wasn’t the only thing in the room that was warm. Your body was suddenly flooded with an unshakable heat, raising the temperature of your neckline as pores of sweat accumulated at the base of your neck. The faint scent of jasmine grazing your nostrils was too strong to ignore, enveloping you in a sense of fervor and mild passion. And surely enough, Arlecchino was affected too.

The next thing you knew, the two of you basked in the dimmed lights and gentle air tickling your skin within the cold darkness, movements intensifying as you took in each other’s unclothed form. Arlecchino clawed at your side with each breath you drew in, nails raking along your plush hips as the two of you were lost in the thick heat clouding the atmosphere around the two of you.

By the next morning, you both continued with your day, heading back to the Fatui’s headquarters as if this was a normal occurrence between you two. Upon creaking open the heavy doors to the Tsaritsa’s well furnished chambers, you and Arlecchino had knelt before the Cryo Archon, the black fluff of the coat’s neckline feathering against your cheek with each sway of wind slipping in through the small crack of the opened window.

A near frustrated groan came dangerously close to pushing past your lips as the Tsaritsa commanded a mission for the two of you once more, ordering you both to take care of matters somewhere around Fontaine once again. Of course, you two couldn’t deny a mission from the Cryo Archon. It was significantly less tedious compared to the one you had just returned from, so why not?

However, as you and Arlecchino wavered through the sea parting the way to Fontaine, you couldn’t shake off a gnawing sense of nausea clawing at your belly as the ship rocked along the currents. A few droplets of ocean water trickled onto the ship, the clear liquid stilled on the edge of the boat as it seemed to glare at you despite being a mere inanimate state of matter. Your mind couldn’t help but race with unnerving possibilities shrieking like a parasitic voice thickly buzzing around your skull. You had clearly never felt so agitated before, nor paranoid over seemingly nothing.

“(Name). Seriously, are you alright?”

Ah. Peruere’s firm, yet collected tone always washed a sweet comfort over you. Especially when she seemingly showed concern over your well being.

You simply nodded, palm running along your side in circular motions as a way to soothe the throbbing pain which thankfully subsided a few solid moments later. By the time you were already in Fontaine, the pain was almost always present. You began vomiting quite frequently, often removing yourself from diplomatic relations to go throw up somewhere else. If not that, then you sure as hell were drowsy 24/7, feeling like you were about to break and collapse onto the earth at any moment.

In this very moment as you huddled into Arlecchino’s neck, you drew in a sharp breath quickly as your hand rested atop hers, which was currently thumbing at the strap of your undershirt. Her sweet scent momentarily distracted you from the ache in your stomach growing to pester you every moment of the day? Sure, they stopped, but it felt as if something was landing blows on your gut from the inside, kicking vigorously at your swollen stomach. Thankfully, Arlecchino finally arose beside you, her body tilted forward as she sat upright groggily. The soft hue of the dimmed lights warmed the tone of your face, your drained expression on full view for her to see.

She simply quirked an eyebrow in concern. She was aware you could handle yourself, yet your fatigued form couldn’t help but fill her with a sense of worry upon seeing you stir in supposed pain. The past week had plagued her mind with constant anticipation and uncertainty about you, wondering if she should contact the doctor situated not too far from your accommodations in Fontaine’s main city.

“About 3 weeks, Miss (Name).” The doctor replied, pressing his forefinger down onto the middle of his glasses to lower them as his eyes glided along the scribbled paperwork in his hand. You blinked in surprise, hand resting on your own thigh as an awkward silence fogged the room for what felt like centuries. Carefully, you rose to your feet as to not exert yourself too much, before delivering a thankful wave to the doctor who examined you. Swallowing down the nervous rise piling in your chest, you creaked the door open to exit the office, mind racing with what Arlecchino’s reaction would be.

Would she be happy? Upset? What if she isn’t ready to have any children with you in particular? Would she feel tied down?

The pestering questions continued to eat away at you as you slowly paced to your quarters, growingly anxious about how she would react to such major information being dropped onto her. You simply shook your head as you reached the foot of your shared room, shaky hand resting upon the doorknob. It didn’t matter how she reacted. You were 3 weeks pregnant and that was for sure, it was just a matter of what the two of you would agree to do.

As you turned the doorknob with a soft click, creaking open the door, your body suddenly felt heavy and sluggish. Each trudge forward felt like you were opposing gravity when you set your foot down in a single step. Arlecchino was situated on the bed, sitting on the edge as she remained lost in thought while tracing her own cursed hands. She didn’t take long to notice you, and her head snapped up to meet your gaze once she caught sight of your form standing at the corner of the wall.

“Ah. Love. How did the visit go?” She inquired, her voice gentle and soothing. You felt frozen in your spot, staring at her like an unmoving stone statue as your fists opened and closed slowly. By this point, your hands piled up a small amount of sweat between them as you clasped your fingers close, breaths coming out slowly in your perception.

“Arle, I’m pregnant.”

The atmosphere of the room was stunned just as silent as it was when the doctor revealed the same information to you, your anticipation growing as Arlecchino stood up and started walking toward you. You began fidgeting with your own hands, thumbs slipping against each other as her tall stature slowly drew closer and closer to you. Within seconds, she was right in front of you, hands raising to rest onto your shoulders gently.

“What do you want to do with the child, my love?”

You found yourself almost immediately relaxing, tense muscles resting upon hearing her sweet tone brushing against your ears. It was as if the world around you slowly cleared your vision, alluring you into Arlecchino’s arms as she wrapped you into a soft hug. Her blackened hands pressed along your back in circular motions, massaging you comfortingly as her lips ghosted over the shell of your ear.

“I…was thinking of keeping it.”

Arlecchino simply smiled, a rare occurrence that crossed upon her expression…unless she was with you. Her arms hemmed around your waist carefully, drawing you in against her chest as she rested her chin onto the top of your head. She simply let out a quiet hum in response, closing her eyes to rest against you. You followed suit, closing your own eyes slowly as you relaxed in Arlecchino’s grip.

“Very well. We’ll finally be able to be at peace together.”

A/N: I am sorry BUR IM SO SKEEPY RN IM NOT GONNA BOTHER ANYMORE WITH THE END IM SORRY

[moonstruckme]

hey! could i request a james potter x reader fic pls?? i have been thinking about him specifically non stop and now i just wanna be domestic and cute with him-

Me too lovely :')

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 661 words

You’ve told James that you’re painting your toenails on the kitchen counter because it has good light, but he knows it’s really because you want to be near him. He’ll have to clean the counter again after you go, but he’s not complaining. He wants you near him too. 

And anyway, the kitchen does have good light. It streams in through the window to tangle in your hair and glance off your skin, illuminating the concentrated set to your mouth as you bend over your foot on the counter. 

James kisses you lightly, and one corner of your lips quirks up like you’re trying to stop it but can’t quite manage. You taste sweet and a bit tart. 

“Don’t mess me up,” you warn. “This is my last coat, it’s do or die.” 

“Stop eating my blackberries,” he counters, “and we’ll see. No promises.” 

You finish with your nails, setting the brush back in the polish and nabbing another blackberry from his bowl. James gasps, betrayed though not surprised. He pinches your side.

You laugh, leaning away from him fruitlessly. “Stop, I’m going to knock polish onto the rug!”

“You could at least vary your snacking,” James says. “My fruit salad is going to have hundreds of pieces of melon and two blackberries if you keep on like this.” 

“I just like blackberries best.” 

“So does Remus,” he chides with no real severity. “And when he gets here later today and they’re all gone, who do you think will be blamed?”

You bat your eyelashes at him, smiling angelically. “He doesn’t need to know there were going to be blackberries in here to begin with, does he?” you ask. The hope in your voice sparkles like sunshine off the ocean. 

James caves instantly at that tone, but he pretends to take at least a second to mull it over before capitulating. “Fair enough. Have at them, lovie. Leave no trace.” 

You descend like a hawk upon your prey, clawing through the bowl of fruit and popping blackberry after blackberry into your mouth. 

“I’m thinking of going to the store in a bit,” you say. 

James grins down at his cutting board, slicing the skin off a wedge of cantaloupe. “To replenish Remus’ blackberry supply?” he asks. He knows you’re too tenderhearted to truly rob his friend of something he enjoys; you’d be racked with guilt for the rest of the night. 

“To get lemons for lemonade.” You touch your big toe delicately, testing the dryness of your polish. “And if I stumble upon blackberries that look good while I’m there…” You shrug, turning away from him like you think you can hide your smile. As if he can’t hear it in your voice. “Then maybe I’ll grab some. To keep the peace.” 

James reaches over and grips your foot, channeling as much love as he can fit into a good squeeze. You gasp and nearly shriek when his thumb digs into a ticklish spot on your arch, grabbing onto his shoulder to keep from tipping off the counter. He sets a hand on your side to help, and he can feel your ribs shaking as you laugh. 

“Sorry, sorry,” James laughs. “I forgot about that spot.” He didn’t. “Wait for me to finish and we’ll go together, yeah?” 

Your nose scrunches with your smile. “Why, you wanna keep an eye on the blackberries?” 

“I was thinking we’d just get extra,” he proposes. 

You hum contentedly, and he takes the invitation to get further into your space, his hip bumping against your leg. “That’s very chivalrous of you,” you reply, your teasing softened by fondness. 

“Well, I do try. Pretty girls need to be kept happy, yeah?” 

You laugh again, grabbing James’ face in both hands. He knows when you let go, there’ll be sticky purple fingerprints on both of his cheeks. He doesn’t mind. 

“Flirt,” you accuse. 

James pushes forward until his nose is pressed up against yours. “Only for you.” 

[biblio-smia]

humbly requesting dad!mike,,, like literally anything. this man is so tired but he’s such a dad type of tired if you get what i mean

OH MAN,,,, YEAH! i hope this was what you were looking for!!

the sun beats down on mike through the thick glass of his windshield, forcing him to pull the sun visor down. he inches forward in the car line - he really should just put the car into park. he's half-distracted as someone behind him honks and it takes a few seconds for mike to realize it's at him, mumbling an apology that will never be heard as he pulls up.

mike needs a recharge. he's surprised himself over the years, watching as he has become the type of person that gets energized from being around others instead of from being alone like he had been for years.

although, this seems to only apply to family - mike still can't stand being around strangers for too long but can feel his battery be replenished the minute he's home.

mike watches as a teacher helps a smaller kid into the car in front of his, watching the parent turn back and make sure the child was buckled up before driving away. mike finds himself smiling and it's his turn now. he can feel his demeanor softening, the anticipation to see a piece that would make him feel a little more whole again rising in his throat. mike smiles at the teacher who leans close to his car, examining the numbers on the tag that dangles from the rear view mirror, quietly memorizing them while she goes back inside to find the child with the matching number.

but she comes back empty-handed. mike tries not to frown but his heart is beginning to race as he rolls down the window, only faintly aware that he is holding up the line.

there's a brief conversation between mike and the helpful teacher who tells mike his child has already been picked up, eyes glancing to the car behind him. mike gets the message, though he'd like to ask for her to just double-check, pulling into a parking spot out of the way of others. his teeth catch the inside of his cheek as he thinks, thousands of thoughts milling around his head.

his nokia begins to ring and mike answers it haphazardly. he blinks quickly once he hears your voice on the other end.

"hi," you start, sweet as ever. "are you almost home?" there's a natural curiously in your voice, the end of your sentence dipping up in question. mike glances at the time - yes, he'd usually be home by now.

"uh," mike starts, a warm feeling settling over his cheeks, suddenly seriously considering that maybe today wasn't mike's turn to pick up his kid. "yeah, i'm almost there."

there's a bit of silence as you hesitate, waiting for an explanation from mike that doesn't come.

but then you pipe up again and mike can hear the smile in your voice. "10 minutes?"

"less," mike promises, saying goodbye with a kiss he wishes he could be placing on your lips rather than against the speaker of his tiny phone.

mike seeks you out quickly, stopping you from pulling out plates for dinner with his strong hold around your body. he presses his lips lazily against your jaw, tickling your skin, voice low as he greets you a little tiredly.

you don't have the chance to ask where he's been before a small body coming racing over, wrapping around mike's legs and asking him for you.

"what took you so long?" a muffled voice whines and mike has to crouch down and wrap his warm arms around his child to begin soothing that tiny frown. "you're usually here early on tuesdays."

"tuesday," mike muses quietly, picking up his kid as he rises. "today's tuesday..."

you can't stifle your laugh, pressing kisses to both heads and placing two different hands on two different backs

"i think daddy got confused about what day it is," you grin and mike tries to frown.

"you need a calendar," the small voice chimes again, this time muffled from against mike's shoulder.

a laugh bursts out of mike and he moves to move the little body from his arms to a seat at the dining table. "yeah, i think i do," he admits with a smile, walking back over to the kitchen to help with the task he'd interrupted.

mike listens intently about a fight that had happened on the playground, another in the cafeteria, and about spilled paint in art class, stories told through bites of food and details clarified by questions thrown in by you and mike.

it's mike's turn to clean up while it's up to you to wrangle the little one into the shower.

mike loses himself in his thoughts again, mindlessly wiping bits of food off the counter, not realizing you were calling his name until he feels his back-and-forth motion of his hand come to a halt.

"hey," you call, voice as affectionate as ever. "where's your head?"

mike looks into your eyes and blinks for a few moments, before sighing and burying his face in the crook of your neck, seeking the comfort of your familiar scent. "i don't know," he groans and you quietly try not to laugh.

your apologetic hands come up to soothe him, touch against his back soothing his muscles. he picks up his head and looks at you, at your eyes and the curve of your nose and how it comes in to become your mouth. he stares at your lips quietly before pressing his own against them, feeling his body fully relax at the connection.

"ewwww!" a familiar voice shrieks but mike, at this point, is immune. he lingers in his spot for a few seconds, not quite wanting to let go but unable to continue without oxygen.

there's soft laughter from you and mike, reminders that it's time for bed making the smallest person in the room even smaller. then an idea strikes.

"can i sleep with you guys tonight?" the quiet voice pleads hopefully, hands clasped and eyes wide.

you and mike exchange a glance and small smiles. mike scoops the child up, nodding. a deal is struck and small cheers are made.

your kid jumps onto bed enthusiastically and you're worried the energy won't wear off by the time you all need to sleep. you and mike are careful climbing into bed, cautious of the small limbs that lay sprawled out. mike smiles as he feels his arm get pulled by a smaller one, feeling your hand and grinning when he looks over to see you've gotten the same treatment.

there's pleading for a bedtime story and you and mike take turns, adding in new bits and twists - though you have to take over as mike's words begin to turn into incoherent mumbles.

"keep going," mike manages to get out, half-asleep, shifted in his position so his arm is protectively thrown around the two other bodies with him, the tiniest one humming in agreement. your words are soothingly sweet, lulling not only your child to sleep but mike, too.

you comply, continuing to tell the now nonsensical story to a partially unconscious audience, purposefully leaving long bits of silence between each of your sentences. mike's fingers will tap against your waist occasionally, signaling to you that his brain has not fully drifted off just yet.

it only takes a few more lines. you pause your words again, lie still to wait if there's a tap, listen closely to the sounds of quiet breathing. your eyes are adjusted to the darkness and see two pairs of eyes closed, two sets of chests rising and falling.

you're careful not to move too much, pulling the blanket up higher.

"goodnight," you whisper softly, hoping maybe your message will make its way to them in their dreams.

the warmth of two bodies next to yours and the gentle rhythm of breathing take you out quickly, dragging you into the same state as those around you.

throughout the night, the three of you entangle yourselves even more, arms wrapped around torsos and small hands clutching onto the soft fabric of pajamas.

there's really nothing quite like it.

requests for mike schmidt are open!

[jeridandridge]

For Lovers At Night part 4

You and Melissa go on a real date. Someone catches on to her activities. words: 3454 Previous chapter

A night of pure bliss sends Melissa into the most delightful sleep she’s had in years. Lying tangled between the sheets with you running your fingers through her hair sent her into a spiral when she woke, wondering if everything was actually real. You two had stopped at some point for a break, you leaving the room on wobbly legs to get water and fruit for you both to replenish before coming back to steal kisses and more stories of each others past.

“Hi,” she grumbles out hiding her face in your neck.

“Hi, gorgeous.” You grin not stopping your movements. Waking up to Melissa’s weight against you, the smell of lavender and vanilla gave you a sense of happiness, loneliness you’d felt before melting away. Having been so career driven for so long and not really having family often took a toll on you. But now with Melissa everything was beautiful again. “Sleep good here?”

The redhead stays glued to you, her fingers moving up and down your side in lazy patterns including over the small bruises that cover your hips. “Better than I have in a long time, hon.”

Her raspy morning voice sends a spark through your body, of course she’d be incredibly attractive after just waking up. “You know, it’s really rude how stunning you are right now.”

“You already got lucky, Tesoro. No need to sweet talk me.” She hums.

Shifting gently to look at her you move your fingers to play with the necklace against her skin. “I really do like you, Mel. I wasn’t just trying to get into your pants.” You tell her softly, hoping your actions from the previous night and now could really show her.

Melissa knew that there was something between you two already. Something of real substance and feelings, not just a quick hook up. Looking in your eyes she moves her hand up to your cheek, something she’s now used to doing in such a short time of knowing you.

“Be patient with me while I get used to- us.” She whispers hoping you understand. In that moment she hates how she sounds. Scared and unsure, hoping you don’t get sick of her.

“I don’t know what your ex did to make you feel this way,” you start, “but I’m not him. How’s the quote go, ‘If your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours.’

A smile spreads across Melissa’s lips, eyes bright and full of a spark. “Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, Carmilla.”

“A queer horror love story long before Dracula.” You beam gently squeezing her hand that cups your cheek. “I remembered that quote the first night I met you. You were sitting there reading and you were so content in that little corner. I tried to find a reason to come talk to you again.”

Melissa leans forward, peppering your cheeks and lips in soft kisses with a smile still on her flushed cheeks. You let out a laugh wrapping both arms around her gorgeous frame.

Letting out a content sigh the redhead takes her place back on your shoulder, her thumb still caressing your cheek as she cuddles in not wanting to move just yet.

“Do you need to be anywhere today?” You ask quietly.

Melissa thinks, knowing she doesn’t have much to do but grade some papers and do laundry all while avoiding Joe.

“Nope. I’m all yours.” She hums meaning it in more ways than one.

“Good,” you grin. “I think a real date is necessary.”

Melissa chuckles dancing her fingers across your skin. “Last night didn’t count?”

“Last night was- amazing.” You beam as flashes of red hair and the sound of breathy moans flood your memory. “But you deserve a real date. I’m a hopeless romantic at heart.”

Lifting her head up Melissa pulls the sheet around her body sliding off the bed leaving you bare.

“Where you going?” You laugh watching her wrap herself in the soft fabric. Propping yourself on your elbows you watch her silhouette behind the divider wall.

“Your cute little kitchen to make breakfast.” She calls out finding her discarded panties and your hoodie that were thrown to the floor the previous night.

“After last night I should be the one cooking breakfast.” You laugh through a stretch, eyes going to the ceiling. Laying there hearing Melissa move around your apartment puts a triumphant smile on your lips. Getting up to find your discarded clothes you dress and come out spotting Melissa with her hair up and your baggy hoodie on her.

“You’re so cute like this,” you beam coming up behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist.

“What, with sex hair and a sweatshirt?” She laughs.

“Yep.” you grin kissing the side of her neck. This felt so natural to you, having so easily blended together in the small space.

“Careful, hon. I refuse to burn food. Mark that down.” She hums leaning into your touch.

“My apologies and noted.” You laugh slowly pulling your arms away going for the coffee pot. “You’re Italian and you cook, let me guess you make a mean ziti.”

“Damn right I do. Only problem is I can only cook for large groups of people.”

“Good thing I’m a bottomless pit. Cook away, Schemmenti.”

The morning carries on and Melissa cooks up the best breakfast you’re sure you’ve had since you lived at home. At your small kitchen table you sit talking and laughing with the redhead over more anecdotes from your life as you two get to know each other more.

“I did! I made like three hundred bucks that night too. Well, before the cops came.”

Melissa has her head thrown back, laughing in the small chair across from you. “A girl after my own heart, that was a hot spot in high school.”

“I can’t imagine how many parties were broken up in that hell hole over the years.” You laugh into your coffee cup. “I could picture a high school Melissa there.”

“Oh yeah?” She beams, “Do ya think we would’ve been friends in high school or college?”

“Definitely. If you spent time in the library or art room, you’d see me in the corner.”

Melissa grins at the mental image as she plates the food, patting your butt to go to the table. Breakfast passes by with jokes and soft touches, your fingers intertwined with the redheads when you make a suggestion for your first date.

“Pick a number, one or two.” You suggest.

The redhead looks at you with a quirked brow as she plays with your fingers. “Two.”

“Good choice, how do you feel about going for a walk around the park before the place opens?”

Melissa sits back with a grin intrigued by your suaveness. “It’s already almost noon, where you taking me, hon?”

“You’ll have to wait and fight out.” You chuckle gathering the dishes to clean up.

As you stand at the sink Melissa hears her phone chime in her purse nearby. Getting up to retrieve the device her face turns sour when she reads the name on the screen.

Joe: Did you stay the night at Barbs?

Rolling her eyes Melissa texts out a quick yes adding that she’ll be with Kristen Marie all day. She knew her little sister would cover for her.

“Anything fun going on?” You smile taking a seat on the couch.

“Nah,” Melissa shrugs setting her phone back down. “It was one of the other teachers asking about career day coming up this week.”

Melissa has always been good at lying, it’s a skill she picked up at an early age only now she finds herself feeling guilty for lying about little things like this to you.

“Hey that sounds fun, I bet a day like that gives you teachers a bit of a break.” You smile having no idea of Melissa’s inner turmoil.

“That’s also what movies and legos are for.” She chuckles. “Should we get dressed if you’re gonna take me to some mystery second location?”

“Maybe a shower first.” You smirk getting up, taking your clothes off as you make your way to the bathroom. Melissa follows you briskly, resulting in a shower that’s for sure to make your water bill high.

In the mid afternoon you find yourself walking hand in hand with Melissa to the mystery destination. As you two walk you can’t help but smile, the sun hits auburn hair just right and it makes your stomach jump.

“What? Do I look okay?” She asks adjusting her leather jacket she found herself loving once again.

“Nothing,” you chuckle, “you’re really beautiful is all.”

Melissa gently squeezes your hand smiling with her chin up just slightly. Leaning over as you two walk you kiss the corner of her lips. “Ha! Got ya.”

“Poor me,” she teases staying close to you. As you go through the park you see flowers blooming along the bishes, breaking away from Melissa for a moment you hop over to the brush to pick a purple petaled flower tucking it behind her ear.

Melissa lets out a chuckle gently touching the flower. She was in big trouble with this woman and it was more apparent at this very moment. Looking at the new person in her life she can’t help but be vulnerable for a moment with a giddy smile.

“You make me feel special.”

Slipping your arm around her waist you lean in kissing the tip of her nose. “I want to for as long as you’ll let me.”

Out in the cool spring air in the lively Love Park no less, Melissa wraps her arm around your neck pulling you into a gentle kiss. Smiling into against her lips you cant help but come to the realization that you were completely entranced by this woman.

“C’mon, let’s get to this real date.” You beam. Through the park along the street of businesses and tourist traps, you lead Melissa to a building opening the door for her.

“No way.” The redhead lets out as she realizes where you two are. “Axe throwing?!” She lights up like a little kid, practically jumping.

“Yep.” You laugh guiding her to a stool at the bar in the front of the building. “Acohol and sharp object are an interesting combination.”

“Funny, my cousin Niko says the same thing.” Melissa jokes sliding her jacket off into the seat. “It’s five o’clock somewhere right?” She asks flagging down the bartender.

After a warm up drink and signing a waiver, you stand in your caged in area in the back recording the redhead wind up holding the axe over her head.

“Is it wrong I think you look really hot with that?” You tease getting a laugh out of her.

“Don’t throw me off, Amore!”

Holding your phone up you grin watching her arms flex as she throws the axe, it landing right next to the bullseye. “So close!”

“Someone was distracting me.” She hums stepping toward you.

“Do I still get a kiss for good luck?” You tease resting your hands on her hips.

Melissa leans up obliging, giving you a featherlight kiss. “Go on, right now it looks like I’m picking our next date.”

“We’ll see about that, Schemmenti.” You grin stepping up to get the axe she threw.

“If I get a bullseye, I get to take you to the Phillies home opener.”

Melissa’s jaw almost hits the floor at the idea. “You- you wanna go to a Phillies game with me?”

“Yeah I do.” You grin turning around, winding up to throw. Melissa admires your toned arms, undoubtedly from moving books and shelving in the bar. She remembers when she met Joe. He was just out of the army and very much still in shape. Now, as a second shift firefighter his age and wear on his body showed along with the grey that was beginning to show in his dark hair.

Snapping out of it when you flight the axe, Melissa laughs seeing it go right to the red mark in the center of the circle.

“Remind me to never introduce you to my brother.” She jokes.

“Oh yeah? Does he have a thing for throwing sharp objects?” You laugh coming over wrapping your arms around her, the rest of the noise in the place now more lively, becoming background noise.

“Kinda, yeah.” She laughs resting her arms around your neck. This silly activity was certainly something she loved.

Later on in the night after a goodbye kiss, Melissa gets home around eight o’clock ready to get prepared for another week of work while Joe works on whatever in the garage.

“Hey, how was it with Kristen Marie?” He asks not looking up from the toolbox.

“The usual, gossip and backhanded compliments.” Melissa shrugs, not bothering to stop before she goes in the house, her mind still on you.

The next week goes on as it usually does. Texting occurs and phone calls when possible, and Melissa finds herself falling in love with the younger woman that’s occupied her thoughts nonstop since meeting. At the end of the week she teaches and is ready for a much needed break during career day. She was actually grateful that Joe said yes to coming in to speak to her class in the afternoon.

When the time arrives for Joe to come in, Melissa gets up going to the door. “Okay my little eagles, our next guest is a firefighter!” This gets a waves of gasps and “woah!” from the kids, eagerly ready to meet him. “Everyone say hello to Mr. Peterson.”

Joe comes in looking his best with a friendly smile for the kids. Waving, he comes in standing next to Melissa. “Hi guys!”

“Wait, are you married?” One of the kids asks putting two and two together.

“We are, kiddo.” Joe nods. “Isn’t Mrs. Peterson the best teacher,” he smiles knowing his wife loves her kids.

A chorus of “yeah!” fills the room before Melissa chuckles calming the kids down to let Joe talk to them about being a firefighter in the city.

A few blocks over, you sit in your office with a smile on your lips as you scroll on Facebook on your phone. You’d sent Melissa flowers at work, and were eagerly waiting for a text or call to hear about career day. You’ve known the woman for less than three months and it was way too soon; but you knew you were falling for her already. Sitting there feeling curious thinking about the woman that’s stolen your heart, you do a quick search looking for a Melissa Schemmenti hoping to learn more about her.

Scrolling the page your brows knit together when you see her profile picture, but with the name Peterson on the end. Maybe she hadn’t changed her last name yet is what you think. Clicking the page, you see her profile pictures, one of her and Barbara, another of her and who you guess is her sister, and a public post written on her wall by a Jospeh Peterson from only a month ago. The post shows a wedding photo in a frame and a long, tiring rant of “I’m not perfect but she loves me anyway” post that you’ve seen so many times before.

Taking a screenshot of the post and the profile, you sit back taking it all in. She lied to you. She was married still, not even close to being out of a relationship. You needed to talk to her.

“Did you like it?” Melissa smiles from her desk, Joe sat on a chair on the other side as they eat lunch together. It was strange having him there, something he hadn’t done since her first year teaching.

“It was fun, the kids are great, Melly. I see now why you talk about them so much.”

Giving him a tight lipped smile she takes a sip of her iced tea looking up when there’s a knock on the door from the school security guard.

“A delivery for you,” he ushers the man forward, clearly from a flower shop given the purple exotic flowers in his hand.

“For Melissa Schemmenti?” He asks checking his clip board.

Melissa’s eyes go wide and her heart starts to pound when Joe looks at her.

“Thanks pal,” Joe nods to the men getting up to take the flowers closing the door after.

“Joe I-“ Melissa steps forward trying to grab the bouquet.

“Who the hell is sending you flowers under your maiden name?” He asks turning the flowers around, not caring if he ruined them while looking for the card. Melissa sees it first, swiftly reaching over and swiping it away before he can read it.

Taking a breath she looks at her husband. “I need you to remember we’re at my job where a bunch of children are present.”

“I don’t give a shit, Melissa!” He fumes. “Who the hell is sending you flowers? What’s his name?”

Stepping forward he snatches the small card from her hand reading it aloud with an almost red face.

“Hi gorgeous, I find myself thinking that even a week without seeing you is too long now. To quote one of our favorites, ‘you reached in and put a string of lights around my heart.’ It might sound cheesy but it’s the truth.

Yours, y/n

Joes tosses the card down and paces running his hand over his beard.

“A woman huh?”

Melissa wants to curl into a ball and sob. She didn’t want it to happen this way. She was only happy that he had no idea who you were.

“A woman, I can’t even go kick anyone’s ass.” He lets out in a defeated laugh.

“This ended a long time ago Joe. It ended the first night you cheated on me.” Melissa stands her ground not showing any fear, finally tired of it all.

“Oh come on Melissa! I thought you were over all of that.” He tries to dismiss her. That’s when she gets angry.

“Fuck you,” she lets out in a bitter laugh. “You and I both know that every single time I found out you cheated on me I had to stop the boys from coming to kill you on the spot. I’m tired of knowing you’re fucking other women and not giving two shits about me. I let it go so we wouldn’t have to deal with the shame of a divorce, but I can’t anymore. I’m too old for this.

I met her when I wasn’t expecting it, and I definitely wasn’t expecting to have an affair. It just happened, it happened and god I love being taken care of and looked at like I mean something.” She starts to cry, her heart pounding. “For the first time in twenty years Joe, d’you know how long that is? To feel wanted and loved?” She whispers.

Joe meets her eyes, cheeks red but eyes softer now after her admission. He does nothing but look at the flowers and back at her with a nod.

Melissa stands across from him, eye makeup running and nerves twisting.

“I want a divorce.” She lets out in a whisper.

“I’ll move out tonight.”

With that, Joe grabs his keys and leaves, the door hitting the wall as he goes. Moving to her desk Melissa sits with her head in her hands, sniffling when Barb comes to her door.

“Melissa I- oh sweetheart.” Barbara rushes over engulfing her friend in a hug.

Resting her hands on the arm Barb has around her, Melissa lets out a sigh. “I did it, Barb. He found out. He found out and I did it. I asked for a divorce.”

Looking at the flowers and the discarded carb and mess on the desk Barbara rubs Melissa’s back. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart. Did- did these do it?” She asks nodding to the vase.

“Yeah,” Melissa sniffles wiping her smudged makeup. “They were delivered with a card when we were eating.” She takes a staggered breath trying to calm down.

“Calm yourself and clean up, text her to say thank you while I go pick your kids up from the lunchroom. We can talk later over dinner.”

Of course Barbara’s a saint, taking care of her and helping her out like the work wife she is. Melissa nods, sniffling once more as Barbara leaves to get her kids. Taking a breath she wipes her eyes and picks up her phone, freezing when she sees a text on her screen.

Opening it she sees your name and a screenshot of her Facebook profile. She can feel her heart breaking in her chest when she sees the anniversary post and your words underneath the screenshot.

We need to talk.

Next chapter

[in-search-of-a-fallen-star]

blood and sugar

put together a quick drabble to celebrate Wriothesley coming home early <3

Pairing: Wriothesley/Reader

WC: 813

Content warnings: brief descriptions of canon-typical injuries, ( bloody nose and bruises). otherwise just fluff.

“I would tell you to remember this the next time you decide to get into a fistfight with a rogue Gardemek, but we both know you’re not going to listen,” you sigh, pulling the first aid kit out of the cabinet and bringing it over to his desk.

“I was just doing my job. Someone had to put that thing out of commission before it hurt someone,” Wriothesley smiles up at you from where he’s sprawled in his chair. The bloody nose and bruised knuckles only add to his rakish charm, not that you’re going to tell him that. 

“Oh, please. I know you can’t resist a challenge, especially if you’ve been told it’s impossible. Also, someone did get hurt, in case you missed that,” you say primly, gently poking one of the rapidly darkening bruises as you begin the careful process of disinfecting his wounds. 

“Your bedside manner is terrible, my dear nurse. I’m in pain, you’re supposed to comfort me and kiss it better.” 

“Not your nurse,” you say absentmindedly while you wrap his hands. “Just filling in for Sigewinne while she’s out. You can ask her for kisses when she gets back.” 

He wrinkles his nose in distaste at the suggestion, and then winces as his wounded nose protests the movement. “I’m not gonna ask Sigewinne. Only your kisses make me feel better,” he wheedles. 

You examine the wrappings on his hands. Satisfied with your handiwork for now, you bring one of his hands to your lips. Ever so gently, you brush a kiss across his knuckles. Beneath you, you hear his breath hitch. You  reach for his other hand, dusting a kiss to the bandages there before you push yourself up and begin to gather the first aid supplies back into their box.

Before you fully remove yourself from his space, Wriothesley catches your wrist, holding you for a moment. When you turn to look at him questioningly, he taps his lips with a smile. “You missed a spot.”

You lean down, hovering your face over his. His eyes slide to half-mast and his lips part ever so slightly as his chin tips up towards you. 

“Hmm. Looks fine to me,” you muse, grabbing the first aid kit and stepping neatly out of his reach. You hear his head thunk against the back of his chair as you return the first aid kit to its place in the cabinet. Making a list in your head, you return to his desk, taking a piece of scrap paper and a pen to make a list of supplies in the first aid kit that need to be replenished after its most recent use. The whole time, you feel his eyes on you, piercing grey-blue irises trained on your face. 

“You gonna make me beg, sweetheart?” he rumbles, voice low. 

“Yes,” you snipe back, not taking your eyes off the list you’re making. 

His chair creaks in protest as he gets up, boots treading heavily as he rounds the desk. He plucks the pen and paper from your hand, tucking them into his breast pocket. He crowds into your space, slowly, letting you feel the warmth of him as he backs you into his desk. You sway back when your hips collide with the hard edge, and he keeps you there, dropping a hand to the edge of the desk and leaning in so close you can smell the sweat on his skin from his earlier bouts in the ring. 

“Please,” Wriothesley murmurs, breath hot on your cheek. “Please, sweetheart, lemme kiss you. You’ve been driving me insane today, all dolled up and looking so sweet.” 

You look up at him through your lashes. His eyes are blown black, dark and beseeching above you. “C’mon sweetheart, have mercy on me,” he begs.

You’ve had your fun, you decide. He has, after all, begged like you asked. It’s a small effort to close the gap between you and press a sweet kiss to his lips. 

He doesn’t let you go far. When you pull back ever so slightly, a growl rumbles from his chest and he pulls you back to him, crushing his mouth against yours. He kisses you like he’s starving, devouring your lips. 

You’re no better; you might play your games but you’re just as hungry for him as he is for you. You sink your hands into his hair and hold him close, clinging to him as your lips slide against each other.

The two of you are lost in each other for a moment, before a knock at the door startles you apart. 

“Your Grace, Sigewinne is here,” a voice comes from the other side of the door. 

You tidy your appearance, taking a step away. “Time for you to get looked over by an actual nurse,” you tell him with a smile. “Try not to bother her too much.”

[green-eyedfirework]

It was a slow day, and Dick was finally getting around to reorganizing his herbs after Tim and Cass had gone through them.  He loved his little siblings, he really did, but Tim’s organizational system could only be comprehended by him, and Cass had a bad habit of not cleaning up after herself.  His last client had hobbled home to finish resting her once-broken ankle, the house call to the new mother and baby was over in early morning, and he had all the time to rearrange his cupboard.

The door creaked, and a shift of fresh air tugged at his hair, accompanied by heavy, bold footsteps.

Well.  Dick stared at the array of herbs spread around him and sighed.  Maybe he should invite Jason over, his little brother wouldn’t be able to help himself from organizing Dick’s stuff.  “I’m coming,” Dick called out, levering himself off the floor and clearing a path to the front with a snap of his fingers.

Three sets of footsteps and no greeting, so Dick wasn’t expecting anyone from the village.  He lived a little further into the woods—closer to the plants he needed and the wild call of nature he used to replenish his magic—but most of his clients came from the village.  They were familiar and friendly.

He sensed the spark of wild magic a second before he saw the scowls on their faces.  Werewolves.

“Hello,” he said pleasantly.  “What can I do for you today?”

The one in the lead, silver hair bound tightly in a braid, bared her teeth at him.  It would’ve been a lot more intimidating if she wasn’t a teenager.  “You can come with us, mage,” she sneered, “We require your services.”

There was a chill down his spine, easily brushed off.  Everyone and their pet wanted a collared mage—the trouble was putting the collar on them in the first place.  Someone like Dick, who’d honed their magic for years?  It would be easier to put a leash on a werewolf.

Healing and killing were two sides of the same coin, after all.

“Are you injured?  Is someone in your pack injured?” Dick asked, still pleasant as he sent out a testing probe.  Three werewolves here, three more skulking at his back window, two outside the front door.  No more in the immediate vicinity, but their pack had be close by for a show of force this large.

The posturing werewolf snapped her teeth.  “We have enough wolves to take you down,” she threatened, “Either you come with us quietly, or we’ll drag you behind us.”

Dick let his smile drop.  “Well,” he said in the tone of voice he used whenever he found Tim and Damian fighting, “That’s rude.”

On his little brothers, it could barely quiet a vehement argument.  On the wolves, it sent them skittering a step back, hackles raised.

“You’re coming with us,” the wolf said, but her voice wavered, her gaze locked on his hands as he rested them on the table.

The door behind them swung open.  In the distance, they could hear growls and curses.  “You should probably not threaten a mage in their own home,” Dick chided lightly, and flicked his fingers.

The wolf’s eyes widened to pale blue saucers, but she couldn’t get out more than a half-strangled, “Wait—” before they were spun out and the door slammed shut behind them.

Dick exhaled slowly, and let the sparks of magic recede back under his skin.  Then he stepped back, over the piles of unsorted jars, and picked up his satchel.

~#~

The curse is a nasty, sunken, barbed thing.  Half of it is hidden, which means that Dick spends more of his magic than is wise before he realizes the scope of the thing, realizes he can’t just yank the thing out.

Under his hands, the wolf is screaming.  He does his best to tune it out.

The surge of magic battling magic is enough to keep any interference away, so Dick settles into the slower, longer, more meticulous path of prying the curse out, tendril by tendril.  It fights his attempts to destroy it as he goes, so he has to expend even more magic on containing it until he can get the whole thing out.

It’s tedious, draining work.  It’s gone firmly dark by the time he finishes sliding the last piece out, and the twist it takes to compress the curse into a tiny speck and shred it to whispers nearly makes him stagger.  His magic reserves have gone distressingly low.

Dick abruptly remembers where he is.  The camp around him is full of wolf growling, loud and agitated.  His patient is passed out, skin gray and clammy and looking ten times worse than when Dick started.  The cuts—the cuts are bleeding freely, red and thick.

He needs to leave.  He has just enough magic to put on a show of force if needed, and he needs every last sliver to bluff his way out.  He cannot be caught here.  Not by a pack that’s already expressed interest in putting a collar around his neck.

The boy is bleeding.  He will die, werewolf healing or not.  Dick can sense the corruption the curse wrecked, magic gone but its effects lingering.  If he heals this, it’ll take every scrap of magic he has left.

It’s a choice that’s not a choice.  Dick’s a healer.  He can’t go against his nature.

Dick breathes in and breathes out, and lets his magic pour out.

Heart and lungs and kidney and liver, a thousand tears in muscle where the wolf tried to fight the curse, blood loss and weakened bone and a hundred small damages.  The cuts, large and bloody, slowly knitted together under his trembling fingers.  Too slowly.

His vision is going black.  Dick fights it, fights it with every breath.  As long as he can remain upright when it’s done, as long as he can walk out—he’s proved his fighting capabilities, as long as he gives them no reason to doubt him—

Dick’s head swims.  When he forces himself back to consciousness, he’s half-collapsed against the bed.  He uses the movement to examine the wounds, as though that was his intention all along, his heart pounding loud and sluggish.  They’re almost closed.

Something pops in his ears and the growling disappears to a low buzzing.

He does one last check for any lingering damage as pink, waxy skin unfurls across the wounds.  There are some minor injuries left, but the werewolf can heal those on his own as soon as he’s gotten some food.

It’s time for him to go.

Dick curls shaking hands on the edge of the bed and allows himself one breath before he lets go.  Everything is curiously muffled, muffled and ringing, and when he drags his head up, he can see the alpha on the other side of the bed.

Mouth moving.  He’s saying something.  Dick can’t hear him.

He takes a step back, away from the bed, away from the alpha—he needs to get out, needs to watch for a path, needs to avoid being cornered because all he has is dregs and it’s not enough to scare off a bear.

His head aches, like someone took a hammer to it.

Dick needs to leave.  Now.  Only he’s not sure he can turn without everything spinning.  The ground feels like it’s roiling under his feet.

He blinks, and the alpha is suddenly much closer.  Dick stumbles back another step in surprise.  His stomach turns over, but there’s nothing in it.  He worked too long and without food.

Dick has to get out.  He has to—everything inside him is screaming danger—he can’t stay, they want to keep him, he needs to leave—

Something wet touches his lips.  Dick raises a hand, feeling like he’s moving underwater, and wipes it across his mouth.

It comes away red.

It’s the last thing he remembers seeing.

~#~

No one can get to Grant, no one can even touch him with all the magic swirling around the mage, and Slade is forced to stand there, a few steps away, and watch his firstborn scream under the onslaught.

Nothing works to stop it.  Not words, not weapons, not every magic-dampening sigil they’ve ever collected.  Slade can do nothing but wait.

Grant stops screaming.  His wounds run red and red and red.  Slade’s claws are fully extended—he will tear the mage from limb to limb if it’s the last thing he does.  He just needs an opening.

Slade doesn’t know how long before the magic falters.  It’s just a second, but the second is enough to register how much worse Grant looks, like the mage is draining his life away.  By the gods and the moon, they should’ve left it alone.  At least Slade would’ve been able to hold his son while he died.  At least he wouldn’t be in so much pain.

The magic swirls back before anyone can attack, and the pack paces restlessly along the perimeter.  Everyone’s expressions are twisted in grief and fury.

The mage will not leave here alive.  That much Slade swears.

The magic is…quieting almost.  Like it’s slowly winding down.  Still impenetrable—Rose tries and fails to get past it, but the shimmer is receding.  Slade stares at Grant, half-dreading that his son is already dead.

But Grant’s chest still rises and falls.  The amount of blood loss is…shrinking.  The wounds seem to be closing over.  In fact, when Slade darts a glance at his son’s face, Grant appears to be getting better.

His skin is no longer ashen, his breaths are fuller, and as the magic recedes, Slade steps forward, stuck in an incredulous daze.  Grant looks better.  Grant looks like he’s healing.

Slade pays no attention to the mage’s movements, his gaze fixed on the miracle in front of him.

The magic dies down to nothing but flickers, and Slade can finally touch his son again.  Grant is warm and alive and healthy under his fingers, and Slade lets out a shuddering gasp.

“Thank you,” he says hoarsely, lifting his gaze to the mage.  He doesn’t know what the man did, but Grant is alive, Grant is healed, Grant is safe.  “I don’t know how I can ever repay you—”

The mage looks terrible.  His skin is waxy and gray, his eyes sunken, his frame curled in on himself.  He’s trembling, and his breaths keep breaking.  As Slade watches, the mage takes a step back and nearly trips on flat ground.

“Hello?” Slade calls out slowly, tension creeping back in.  “Hello, can you hear me?”

The mage looks at him blankly.

Slade rounds the bed, casting one last glance at Grant—alive, healthy, alive—before inching closer to the mage, who looks as worse as Grant had at the start.  Slade doesn’t know a whole lot about mages and magic, but he doesn’t think this is a good thing.

“Can you hear me?” Slade repeats, before he notices the red creeping down from the mage’s ears.  The mage’s expression has gone unfocused.  There’s red creeping out of his nose too, blood smearing across his lips, and the mage raises a hand to wipe it off.

He blinks down at the blood on his hand.  And then he crumples.

Slade is close enough to lunge and catch him before he cracks his head open on the ground, and the mage is alarmingly light.  “What’s the matter with him?” Slade growls as the pack presses in, all concerned murmurs.

Villain manages to fight his way to the front.  “Magic overuse,” he diagnoses after taking in the mage’s—too weak—pulse and examining his face.  “He’s drained himself nearly dry.”

Slade looks back at Grant, sleeping peacefully on the cot, and down at the mage, who appears to be two and a half steps from death’s door.

“Will he recover?” he can hear himself ask.  Slade was willing to do near anything for his son’s health, but to use a life to restore life?  That kind of sacrifice, from someone not pack—

“He should.  Time, and rest, and enough food.  Come, he’s too cold, he needs to be kept warm.”

[muiitoloko]

Hi!! Could you please write the second part for "The Price of Pride"? I loved the first one, thank you!!!🤩

Title: Shattered Facades

Summary: The mission forces Harry and Gawain to face the truths they’ve been hiding, leading to a raw confrontation and a new beginning.

Pairing: Harry Hart × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Jealousy, Smut.

Author's Notes: Hope you enjoy part two! 🫶

First and Second part here.

Also read on Ao3

Later that day, you were tasked with stocking one of the Kingsman safe houses with supplies and replenishing the weaponry. It was a routine assignment, one that you’d done countless times before, but today, your mind was anything but focused on the task at hand.

The training session with Harry earlier that day had left you rattled, your emotions swirling in a confusing mix of anger, hurt, and something else—something you desperately tried to push aside but couldn’t quite ignore. Every time you closed your eyes, you could still feel the press of Harry’s body against yours, the heat of his breath on your skin, the way his voice had sent shivers down your spine.

But then you remembered his words from that night in the safe house, the way he had cruelly mocked your feelings, belittling the very thing you had tried so hard to keep hidden. Your admiration for him had always been an open secret, something you couldn’t quite hide, even when you tried. You had always hung on his every word, looked up to him in a way that went beyond professional respect. To you, Harry had been everything—mentor, friend, the man you quietly, foolishly, loved.

And that was exactly what made his words that night cut so deeply. He had seen through you, seen how much you cared, and instead of acknowledging it with kindness or understanding, he had used it against you, twisted it into something ugly and pathetic.

As you loaded the last of the supplies into the car, you couldn’t stop the bitter snort that escaped your lips. His apology yesterday had been laughable. He said he missed you, but what did he really miss? Not you—not the person you were, not the agent you had become—but the way you had once adored him, the way you had practically worshipped the ground he walked on. He missed the attention, the validation, the way you used to look at him like he hung the stars.

You climbed into the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel tightly as you tried to push the thoughts away, but they clung to you like a second skin, refusing to let go. No, Harry didn’t miss you. He missed being adored, being the center of someone’s world. He missed having you at his feet, ready to hang on his every word, ready to praise him for every little thing he did. That’s what had bruised his ego—the realization that he no longer had that hold over you, that you had seen through the façade and realized that the man behind the title was just as flawed, just as capable of cruelty, as anyone else.

The drive to the safe house was a blur, the roads passing by in a haze as your thoughts continued to spiral. You replayed that night over and over in your mind, each word he’d said cutting deeper, each memory of his cold, dismissive gaze only fueling the fire of your anger and hurt. It was easier to be angry, to let the bitterness take root, than to confront the lingering feelings of affection that refused to die, no matter how hard you tried to smother them.

But those feelings—those ridiculous, stubborn feelings—were a weakness, and you knew it. They had blinded you, made you see Harry as something more than he was, someone worthy of your admiration, your love. And now, faced with the reality of who he truly was, you couldn’t help but feel disgusted with yourself for ever thinking he could be anything more than just another agent, another man who was too wrapped up in his own ego to see the damage he had done.

As you arrived at the safe house, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand, unloading the supplies and carefully arranging the weaponry. The mechanical nature of the work helped, giving you something to concentrate on other than the storm raging inside your head. But even as you went through the motions, your mind kept drifting back to Harry—his apology, his attempt to smooth things over, to make you believe that he cared, that he missed you.

He didn’t miss you. He missed the adoration, the way you used to look at him with stars in your eyes, the way you used to hang on his every word. He missed being the center of your world, the one you looked up to, the one you cared for with that quiet, unspoken devotion. And now that you had pulled back, now that you had started to see him for who he really was, he was scrambling to regain that control, to pull you back into his orbit.

You snorted bitterly as you stacked the last of the weapons on the shelf, the sound harsh and ugly in the quiet of the safe house. If Harry thought he could just waltz back into your life, apologize, and have everything go back to the way it was, he was sorely mistaken. You weren’t that same girl anymore, the one who would have done anything to win his approval, who would have bent over backward just to see him smile.

You had changed. You had seen the truth, seen the way he looked at you that night, like you were nothing more than a silly little girl with a foolish crush, someone who wasn’t worth his time or attention. And now, it was too late to go back, too late to pretend that those words hadn’t cut you to the core, hadn’t shattered the image you had built up of him in your mind.

As you finished your work and locked up the safe house, you allowed yourself one last, bitter thought before pushing it all aside. Harry didn’t miss you—he missed what you represented, the way you made him feel like the center of your world. But you weren’t going to give him that power anymore. You weren’t going to let him make you feel small, insignificant, like you were nothing more than a distraction.

You were stronger than that. You were better than that. And as you drove away from the safe house, the sun setting on the horizon, you made a silent vow to yourself.

You would never let Harry Hart hurt you like that again.

The sun had set, casting long shadows across the manicured lawns of the Kingsman mansion, but Harry Hart, Agent Galahad, was still hunched over his desk in his dimly lit office. The stack of mission reports loomed before him, an endless sea of paperwork that seemed to grow with each passing minute. Normally, Harry would have tackled the task with his usual efficiency, his mind laser-focused on the details that others might overlook. But tonight, his thoughts were elsewhere, drifting back to you—Agent Gawain.

He sighed deeply, removing his Kingsman glasses and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. The frustration gnawed at him, an unfamiliar sense of helplessness that he couldn’t quite shake. Harry had always prided himself on his ability to compartmentalize, to keep his emotions in check, to maintain that calm, composed demeanor no matter the situation. But ever since that day in the safehouse, ever since he had lashed out at you in a moment of anger and hurt, something had shifted inside him.

You were everywhere in his thoughts now, an unbidden presence that haunted him no matter how hard he tried to focus on his work. It was infuriating—this inability to push you from his mind, to regain the control he had always wielded with such precision. He had never been this distracted, this… obsessed. So why now?

Maybe because she’s ignoring you now…

The voice in his head was a mocking whisper, one that made Harry grit his teeth in frustration. But there was truth in those words, and that truth stung more than he cared to admit. He had taken you for granted, dismissed your admiration as nothing more than a schoolgirl crush, something to be endured, even laughed at. He had always known how you felt, and he had always believed that you would be there, hanging on his every word, looking up to him with those wide, adoring eyes.

But now, those eyes were cold, distant, refusing to even meet his. You had withdrawn from him, retreated behind a wall of icy professionalism that left Harry feeling hollow, adrift in a sea of regret. And it was only now, with your absence so keenly felt, that he realized just how much he had come to rely on your warmth, your light.

He missed the sound of your laughter echoing through the halls of the mansion, the way you would banter with him, tease him with that sharp wit of yours that never failed to bring a smile to his lips. He missed the way you used to joke with Merlin, the way you would brighten any room you entered with your infectious energy, your kindness. He missed the way you looked at him, like he was the most important person in the world.

Harry let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh in the quiet of his office. You don’t know what you have until it’s gone. The phrase echoed in his mind, a cruel reminder of just how badly he had misjudged the situation, misjudged you. He had pushed you away, believing that your feelings were nothing more than a distraction, something he didn’t need or want. But now, with that distraction gone, he found himself adrift, unable to focus, unable to think of anything but you.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up inside him. He wasn’t good with feelings—he never had been. His life had always been about control, about keeping his emotions in check, about doing what needed to be done without letting anything—or anyone—get in the way. But you… you had slipped through the cracks, wormed your way into his thoughts, his heart, without him even realizing it.

And now, he was paying the price.

Harry leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to make sense of the turmoil inside him. What was it about you that had gotten under his skin, that had made it so impossible for him to move on? Was it the way you had always looked at him, with that mix of admiration and something more, something deeper? Or was it the way you had always been there, by his side, supporting him, believing in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself?

The memory of your smile, that bright, infectious grin that had once been a constant in his life, sent a pang of longing through him. He missed that smile, missed the way it lit up your face, the way it made everything seem just a little bit better, a little bit easier. But now, that smile was gone, replaced by a cold, distant mask that made Harry’s heart ache with regret.

He had hurt you—deeply, profoundly—and now he didn’t know how to make it right. He didn’t know how to reach you, how to break through the walls you had built around yourself. And the thought of losing you, of never being able to see that warmth in your eyes again, was almost more than he could bear.

Harry sighed again, a deep, weary sound that seemed to echo in the empty office. He wasn’t used to feeling this way—helpless, adrift, unable to find his footing. He had always been the one in control, the one who knew what needed to be done and did it without hesitation. But now, faced with the mess he had made of things between you, he didn’t know where to start, didn’t know how to fix what he had broken.

He closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him—the way you used to joke with him, tease him, your laughter echoing in his ears, the way you would get flustered and nervous in his presence, your cheeks flushing a soft pink whenever he praised you. He had always found it endearing, the way you looked up to him, the way you admired him, even when he didn’t deserve it. And now, he realized just how much he had come to rely on that admiration, on the way you made him feel like he was worth something, like he mattered.

Maybe that’s what it is, he thought, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Maybe I just miss being the center of your world.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, Harry knew it wasn’t the whole truth. It wasn’t just the admiration he missed, wasn’t just the way you used to look at him. It was you—your kindness, your warmth, your laughter, the way you made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

And now, he had thrown it all away, all because he had been too proud, too blind to see what was right in front of him.

Harry’s gaze drifted back to the stack of mission reports on his desk, but the words on the pages seemed to blur together, meaningless in the face of the turmoil inside him. He had never been one to dwell on his mistakes, to let regret weigh him down, but this… this was different. This was something he couldn’t just push aside, couldn’t just ignore.

You were different.

He closed the file in front of him, unable to focus on the words any longer, and leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with thoughts of you. The way you had looked at him during that sparring session earlier today, the way you had pinned him to the mat, your eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something else—something that had sent a jolt of desire through him, even as it filled him with regret.

She’s stronger than you ever gave her credit for, the voice in his head whispered, and Harry couldn’t help but agree. He had underestimated you, dismissed you as a distraction, but now he realized just how wrong he had been. You were one of the best agents Kingsman had, a force to be reckoned with, and he had been a fool to think that your feelings for him were anything less than genuine.

But now, those feelings were gone, replaced by a cold, distant professionalism that made Harry’s heart ache with loss. He wanted to reach out, to pull you back into his orbit, to make you see that he wasn’t the man you thought he was, that he wasn’t the cold, unfeeling bastard he had pretended to be.

But how could he do that when he didn’t even know how to reach you? How could he break through the walls you had built around yourself, when he had been the one to push you away in the first place?

Harry let out a long, frustrated sigh, his hands rubbing at his temples as he tried to make sense of the mess he had made of things. He had always prided himself on his ability to remain calm, composed, in control, but now he felt anything but. The emotions swirling inside him were a confusing mix of anger, regret, and something else—something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to confront just yet.

I need to talk to her, Harry realized, the thought sending a jolt of urgency through him. I need to make her see that I’m sorry, that I—

But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. You were angry—rightfully so—and Harry didn’t blame you. He had hurt you, dismissed your feelings, belittled the very thing that made you who you were. And now, he didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t know how to make things right.

He had never been good with feelings, had always kept them locked away, hidden beneath layers of control and professionalism. But now, faced with the possibility of losing you for good, he realized just how much those feelings had meant to him, just how much he had come to rely on your warmth, your kindness, your laughter.

The days passed slowly after your sparring session with Harry, the tension between the two of you thick enough to cut with a knife. You had thrown yourself into your work, avoiding Harry as much as possible, focusing on missions, reports, anything that kept your mind off him. But deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before the two of you would be forced to confront each other again. And when the news finally came, it was like a punch to the gut.

You had been called to the briefing room for a new mission, and as you took your seat at the long, polished table, you couldn’t help but notice Harry sitting directly across from you. He looked composed, as always, his expression cool and unreadable, but you could feel his eyes on you, feel the weight of his gaze as he watched you settle into your chair. You did your best to ignore him, focusing instead on the file in front of you, flipping through the pages to avoid meeting his eyes.

Arthur—Chester—stood at the head of the table, his presence commanding as always, his sharp eyes scanning the room. Merlin was beside him, holding a tablet that displayed the details of the mission. The tension in the room was palpable, everyone on edge, knowing that this mission was crucial, and that any mistake could have serious consequences.

“As you all know,” Chester began, his voice as cold and sharp as ever, “we have received intelligence that Lord Carlisle is in possession of documents that could expose Kingsman’s operations. These documents must be retrieved at all costs. We’ve arranged for two of our agents to infiltrate Carlisle’s estate during an upcoming party. The two agents will pose as a couple, allowing them to move freely through the event without raising suspicion.”

You could feel your stomach drop as you listened to Chester’s words, a sinking feeling of dread settling in your chest. You didn’t need to hear the rest to know what was coming.

“Agent Gawain and Agent Galahad,” Chester continued, his eyes locking onto yours with a knowing smirk, “you two will be taking on this mission. You’ll pose as a married couple attending the party, giving you the perfect cover to search for the documents and retrieve them without drawing attention.”

Your heart sank. Of course, it had to be Harry. The one person you had been trying to avoid, the one person who had hurt you more than anyone else, and now you were expected to pretend to be his loving spouse, to play the role of a happy couple while searching for potentially deadly intel. It felt like some kind of cruel joke, and you couldn’t stop the rush of frustration and resentment that bubbled up inside you.

You raised your hand, your voice steady but tinged with a touch of nervousness. “Arthur, if I may, I believe Agent Lancelot would be a better choice for this mission. He and I have… better chemistry, and it would be more believable for us to pose as a couple.”

Chester’s eyebrows shot up, a look of surprise crossing his face. You had never objected to a mission before, especially not when it involved working with Harry. He clearly hadn’t expected you to speak up, and for a moment, you thought he might actually consider your request. But then his expression hardened, his lips curling into a mocking smile.

“Better chemistry, Gawain?” Chester’s voice dripped with condescension. “I wasn’t aware this mission was about your comfort level or personal preferences. Lancelot is already assigned to another operation, and frankly, I don’t care if you think you have better chemistry with him. You will work with Galahad, and you will get the job done. Is that clear?”

You swallowed hard, feeling a flush of embarrassment and frustration rise in your cheeks. Chester’s words stung, but you knew better than to argue further. You had already pushed your luck by speaking up at all. “Yes, Arthur,” you replied quietly, your gaze dropping back to the file in front of you.

“Good,” Chester said, his tone dismissive as he moved on with the briefing. “Merlin will provide you with the details of the mission, including your cover identities and the layout of Carlisle’s estate. I expect both of you to execute this mission flawlessly. Any slip-up could result in those documents falling into the wrong hands, and that is something we cannot afford.”

As Chester and Merlin continued to discuss the finer points of the mission, you kept your focus on the documents in front of you, trying to absorb the information and push aside the lingering resentment that gnawed at you. Harry remained silent, his eyes fixed on his own file, but you could feel the tension between you, a tension that neither of you seemed willing or able to break.

When the briefing finally concluded, you gathered your things and prepared to leave, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the room. But just as you were about to step out, Chester called after you, his voice laced with a hint of smug amusement. “And Gawain, Galahad—make sure you practice your… chemistry before the mission. We wouldn’t want anyone to doubt the authenticity of your relationship, would we?”

You forced a tight smile, nodding curtly as you turned away, your fists clenched at your sides. Chester’s words were like salt in the wound, a reminder of just how difficult this mission was going to be. But you couldn’t let it show, couldn’t let anyone see just how much it affected you. You were a Kingsman, one of the best, and you would do your job, no matter how much it hurt.

As you stepped out of the briefing room, you felt Harry’s presence beside you, his tall, imposing figure a constant reminder of the task ahead. He hadn’t said a word during the briefing, and now, as the two of you walked down the corridor, the silence between you was heavy, oppressive.

You couldn’t help but steal a glance at him, your heart twisting at the sight of his familiar profile—the strong jaw, the slightly disheveled brown hair, the way his eyes were fixed straight ahead, as if he were determined to ignore you completely. It was a far cry from the man you had once known, the man who had always been there for you, who had once been your mentor, your friend… your everything.

But that man was gone, replaced by someone colder, more distant, someone who had hurt you in ways you never thought possible. And now, you were expected to pretend that everything was fine, to play the role of his loving wife, to lie to the world and to yourself.

As the two of you reached the entrance to the mansion, Harry finally broke the silence, his voice low and measured. “We should go over our cover story, make sure we’re both on the same page before the mission.”

You nodded, keeping your expression neutral. “Of course. We’ll need to practice our roles as well, make sure we’re convincing.”

Harry’s lips twitched, a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sure we can manage that.”

The tension in the air between you was almost unbearable, the unspoken words, the unresolved emotions hanging like a dark cloud over your heads. But neither of you was willing to address it, to confront the pain and anger that still lingered between you. Not now, not when you had a mission to prepare for.

With a slight shake of your head, you turned to leave, intending to take a taxi to the tailor shop to choose a dress for the mission. But before you could take more than a few steps, Harry’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm and pulling you back with a firm grip.

"Hold on," he said, his voice low but commanding, laced with a tension that matched your own. "We need to talk about this."

You glanced down at his hand on your arm, your heart skipping a beat at the closeness. Despite everything, despite the anger and the hurt, the contact still sent a jolt of something electric through you. But you quickly shoved that feeling aside, meeting his gaze with a hard look of your own.

"What’s there to talk about, Galahad?" you replied, your tone cold, deliberately using his title to keep the distance between you. "We have a mission to complete, and I intend to do my job. That’s all there is to it."

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his grip on your arm tightening just slightly. "That’s exactly my point, Gawain. We can’t let our personal conflicts interfere with the mission. This is too important for either of us to be distracted."

You couldn’t help the small scoff that escaped your lips, a sound filled with bitterness. "Don’t worry, Galahad. I’m well aware of the stakes. I’ll be careful on the mission. Wouldn’t want to have to play the knight in shining armor and save your miserable ass again."

Harry’s eyes flashed with something—anger, hurt, you couldn’t quite tell—but he loosened his grip, letting your arm go as he realized what you were doing. You were throwing his own words back in his face, the very words he had used to cut you down, to mock your feelings. And the realization seemed to hit him hard.

"You’re acting like a child," Harry said, his voice tight, but there was a note of something deeper in it, something that made your heart twist with guilt. "You said that was in the past, but it’s clear from the way you’re acting that it isn’t. Not for you."

You opened your mouth to snap back, to defend yourself, but the truth in his words stopped you short. He was right. You were still holding on to the anger, the hurt, and it was clouding your judgment, making it impossible for you to act professionally. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you tried to put your emotions back in place, to regain control of yourself.

When you opened your eyes again, your gaze met Harry’s, and this time, there was no anger, no bitterness—just a weary resignation. "You’re right," you admitted quietly, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It won’t happen again."

Harry’s expression softened slightly, and for a moment, you could see the man you had once admired so much, the man who had been your mentor, your friend. "We’re a team, Gawain," he said, his voice gentler now. "We need to be able to rely on each other, especially on a mission like this."

You nodded, a small, humorless smile tugging at your lips. "I know. I’ll be more professional in the future."

There was a beat of silence between you, heavy with the unspoken words, the unresolved feelings that still lingered just beneath the surface. But you knew better than to dwell on it now. You had a job to do, and you couldn’t afford to let your emotions get in the way.

Harry seemed to sense your resolve, and he gave a small nod of approval, his eyes lingering on yours for just a moment longer before he turned away. "We’ll meet at the tailor shop in an hour," he said, his tone returning to the businesslike professionalism that had always defined him. "We need to make sure our cover is airtight."

As he walked away, you couldn’t help but watch him go, your mind still spinning with everything that had happened, everything that had been said. But you knew that you couldn’t afford to let it distract you, not now, not when the mission was so important.

With a final, deep breath, you pushed the thoughts aside and made your way to the taxi waiting outside. You had a job to do, and no matter how difficult it was, no matter how much it hurt, you were determined to see it through.

An hour later, you arrived at the tailor shop, the familiar scent of fine fabrics and polished wood greeting you as you stepped inside. The shop was quiet, the only sound being the soft rustle of fabric as one of the tailors worked on a new suit in the back.

Harry was already there, standing near a row of evening gowns, his expression unreadable as he turned to face you. "You’re on time," he remarked, his tone neutral, though there was a hint of something lighter in his eyes.

"Of course," you replied smoothly, trying to keep your voice light, though the tension between you was still palpable. "I’m nothing if not punctual."

Harry raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well, let’s not waste any more time. We need to find the perfect dress for you. Something that says you’re my beautiful wife, but also hides the fact that you could take down half the party if necessary."

You couldn’t help the small smirk that crossed your lips at his words, the familiar banter between you bringing a strange sense of comfort, even if it was tinged with the unresolved tension that still lingered between you. "I think I can manage that."

As the two of you began to sift through the selection of dresses, the atmosphere in the shop gradually shifted, the tension easing as you focused on the task at hand. For a moment, it almost felt like old times—before the mission that had shattered your trust in him, before the harsh words that had driven a wedge between you.

But even as you tried to lose yourself in the selection of gowns, you couldn’t ignore the way Harry’s eyes kept drifting back to you, the way he seemed to be watching you with an intensity that made your heart race. It was as if he was searching for something in your expression, something that he wasn’t quite sure how to find.

Finally, after trying on several dresses, you stepped out of the dressing room in a sleek, black gown that hugged your curves in all the right places, the neckline plunging just enough to be daring without crossing the line into indecency. The fabric was soft and luxurious, the perfect balance of elegance and danger.

Harry’s eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of you, his gaze lingering a little too long on the curve of your waist, the way the dress clung to your figure. "That’s… perfect," he said, his voice a little rougher than usual, and you could see the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

You arched an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you took a step closer to him, the familiar spark of mischief lighting up your eyes. "Careful, Galahad. You’re staring."

Harry blinked, clearly caught off guard by your playful tone, but he quickly recovered, a smirk tugging at his lips as he met your gaze. "Can you blame me? It’s not every day I see my… wife looking this stunning."

The way he said the word "wife," the way it rolled off his tongue with a hint of something darker, sent a shiver down your spine. But you refused to let it show, instead, you leaned in a little closer, your voice dropping to a low, sultry murmur as you whispered, "You’d better be able to keep your eyes on the mission, Galahad. Wouldn’t want you getting distracted by your own… wife."

Harry’s eyes darkened, the smirk on his lips growing as he caught onto your game. "Oh, don’t worry, Gawain. I’m very good at multitasking. I think I can manage to keep an eye on you and the mission."

The tension between you crackled like electricity, the air thick with the unspoken emotions that neither of you was willing to fully acknowledge. But instead of pulling back, instead of retreating to the safety of professionalism, you found yourself stepping even closer, your fingers brushing lightly against the lapel of his suit jacket as you looked up at him through your lashes.

"Just remember," you whispered, your voice a seductive purr, "if you get yourself into trouble, I might just let you fend for yourself this time. I’m not here to save your ass, Galahad."

Harry’s breath hitched, the teasing light in his eyes replaced by something darker, something that made your pulse quicken. But instead of backing down, he leaned in even closer, his lips almost brushing your ear as he whispered, "Is that so? I think you enjoy saving me a little too much, Gawain. But don’t worry—I can take care of myself. Just make sure you can keep up."

The proximity, the heat of his breath against your skin, sent a thrill through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. But you refused to let him see how much he affected you, refused to let him have the upper hand. Instead, you pulled back slightly, your eyes locking onto his as you flashed him a mischievous grin.

"Oh, I can keep up, Galahad," you replied, your voice dripping with confidence. "But can you?"

For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension between you crackling like a live wire, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air. But before either of you could push it any further, the sound of the tailor clearing his throat broke the spell, reminding you both of where you were and what you were supposed to be doing.

Harry stepped back, his expression quickly returning to the calm, composed demeanor that had always defined him. But there was still a glint in his eyes, a spark of something that told you this game was far from over.

"That dress will do," he said, his voice smooth and businesslike, though there was an edge of something darker lurking beneath the surface. "We’ll need to work on our cover story next. Make sure we’re convincing as a couple."

You nodded, taking one last look at yourself in the mirror before stepping back into the dressing room to change. But as you did, you couldn’t help the small smile that played on your lips, the thrill of the banter with Harry still lingering in your mind.

This mission was going to be difficult, there was no doubt about that. But if nothing else, it was clear that you and Harry still had that spark, that connection that had always made you a formidable team. And as you stepped out of the dressing room, dressed once again in your usual attire, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of anticipation, a thrill of excitement that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

The game was on, and this time, you were determined to win.

You clung to Harry’s arm as the two of you made your way through the grand entrance of Lord Carlisle’s estate, the soft click of your heels on the marble floors blending with the murmurs of conversation and the clinking of champagne glasses. The opulence of the mansion was almost overwhelming—gilded chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting a warm, golden light over the assembled guests, while elegant tapestries and priceless works of art adorned the walls. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes, mingling with the faint aroma of gourmet hors d'oeuvres being passed around by liveried waitstaff.

Harry, ever the picture of a perfect gentleman, led you with a firm yet gentle grip, his tall frame exuding confidence and charm. You played your part flawlessly, smiling up at him with just the right amount of adoration, as if he were the center of your world. For tonight, you were no longer Agent Gawain of Kingsman, but Mrs. Darcy, the devoted wife of the dashing Mr. Darcy—Harry’s cover identity for the evening. And while the mission demanded that you remain focused, you couldn’t ignore the flutter in your chest every time Harry glanced down at you, his eyes dark and intense beneath the guise of polite affection.

As you moved through the crowd, your gaze subtly scanned the room, taking in the various exits, the positions of the security personnel, and the guests themselves. You were searching for any sign of the documents that had brought you here, the papers that Lord Carlisle had obtained—papers that could expose Kingsman to the world.

Your fingers brushed against the earrings you wore, a seemingly innocuous accessory that housed the sophisticated technology that allowed you to communicate with Merlin. While Harry had the advantage of the Kingsman glasses, which provided him with both visual and auditory input, you had only the small earpiece hidden within your earrings, allowing you to hear Merlin’s instructions and updates.

“Can you hear me, Gawain?” Merlin’s voice crackled in your ear, the familiar tone instantly grounding you amidst the overwhelming luxury of the party.

“Loud and clear, Merlin,” you murmured softly, keeping your voice low as you leaned in closer to Harry, as if whispering something intimate in his ear. To any onlookers, it would appear as though you were simply sharing a private moment with your husband, but in reality, you were receiving vital instructions.

“Good. I’m patching into the mansion’s security system now,” Merlin continued, his voice steady and reassuring. “Harry, you should be able to see the layout on your glasses. Gawain, I’ll guide you through what I can, but you’ll need to stay close to Galahad.”

You nodded slightly, your expression calm as you responded, “Understood, Merlin.”

Harry’s hand tightened ever so slightly on your arm, a silent reassurance that he was with you, that he had your back. Despite everything that had happened between you, despite the unresolved tension and the hurt that still lingered, you couldn’t deny the comfort that came from knowing Harry was by your side. He might have wounded you with his words, but in the field, he was still the partner you could trust with your life.

As the two of you continued to mingle, playing your roles as the devoted Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, you felt the weight of someone’s gaze on you. Glancing up, you found Lord Carlisle himself making his way towards you, his eyes lingering on you in a way that made your skin crawl. He was an older man, his graying hair slicked back, his sharp features softened only slightly by the practiced smile he wore as he greeted his guests. But there was something predatory in his gaze, something that made your instincts scream for caution.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy!” Carlisle’s voice boomed as he approached, his smile widening as his eyes roved over you with a barely concealed appreciation. “It’s a pleasure to have you both here tonight.”

Harry’s grip on your arm tightened just a fraction, a subtle signal that he was aware of the shift in Carlisle’s attention. “The pleasure is all ours, Lord Carlisle,” Harry replied smoothly, his voice warm and polite, though you could sense the underlying tension. “Your home is absolutely stunning.”

Carlisle’s gaze finally shifted to Harry, though it was clear that his interest lay elsewhere. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I do try to maintain the estate to the highest standards. But I must say, your wife is the true gem of the evening.” He turned his attention back to you, his smile widening. “Mrs. Darcy, you look absolutely ravishing tonight.”

You forced a demure smile, feeling Harry’s arm tense beneath your hand. “You’re too kind, Lord Carlisle,” you replied, your voice smooth and charming, though the compliment made your skin prickle with unease. “Your home is simply breathtaking.”

Carlisle chuckled, clearly pleased with your response, and before you could react, he reached out to take your free hand, bringing it to his lips for a brief, overly familiar kiss. The gesture was meant to be chivalrous, but the way his eyes locked onto yours as his lips brushed your skin sent a shiver of discomfort down your spine.

Harry’s jaw tightened visibly, his posture stiffening as he watched the exchange. “We’re honored to be here, Lord Carlisle,” he said, his voice carefully controlled, though you could hear the edge in it. “My wife and I were just admiring your collection of art. Perhaps you could give us a tour?”

Carlisle’s eyes flickered with interest, though you could tell that his attention was still firmly fixed on you. “Of course, Mr. Darcy. But first, I was hoping to steal your lovely wife for a moment. There’s a piece I think she would particularly enjoy.”

You felt Harry’s grip tighten almost imperceptibly, a silent plea for you to refuse, but you knew better. This was your chance to get closer to Carlisle, to possibly discover where he was hiding the documents. “I would love that, Lord Carlisle,” you said, offering a bright smile as you reluctantly released Harry’s arm.

Carlisle’s smile broadened, clearly pleased with your response, and he offered his arm to you in a gallant gesture. “Right this way, Mrs. Darcy.”

You hesitated for the briefest moment, your eyes flicking to Harry, who was doing his best to maintain his composure. His expression was inscrutable, but you could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his eyes darkened with a mixture of jealousy and concern. It was a rare sight to see Harry so visibly affected, and a part of you couldn’t help but feel a small thrill at the idea that he might actually care.

But there was no time to dwell on that now. You took Carlisle’s arm with a practiced smile, allowing him to lead you away from the main party and into a more secluded area of the mansion. As you walked, you kept your movements fluid and relaxed, playing the role of the adoring wife, while internally, you remained on high alert, your mind racing with possibilities.

“Stay sharp, Gawain,” Merlin’s voice crackled in your ear, a reminder of the gravity of the situation. “Harry, I’ll keep you updated on their location. Gawain, I’m patching into the security cameras now, but you need to stay close to Carlisle. We need to know where those documents are.”

You nodded slightly, acknowledging Merlin’s instructions while keeping your expression neutral. Carlisle led you into a small, dimly lit room that appeared to be a private gallery, filled with various pieces of art, sculptures, and artifacts. The air was heavy with the scent of aged wood and polished stone, and the soft lighting cast long shadows across the room.

Carlisle released your arm, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that made you uneasy. “This piece,” he said, gesturing to a large painting on the far wall, “is one of my most prized possessions. A masterpiece from the Baroque period, depicting the myth of Narcissus. I thought you might appreciate its beauty.”

You took a step closer to the painting, feigning interest as you studied it. In truth, your mind was focused on the task at hand—scanning the room for any hidden compartments, any clues that might indicate where Carlisle was keeping the documents. “It’s exquisite,” you said, your voice soft and admiring, though your thoughts were elsewhere.

Carlisle moved closer, his presence unnervingly close as he leaned in to speak. “I must say, Mrs. Darcy, you are far more captivating than any work of art in this gallery.”

You forced a polite laugh, taking a small step back to create some distance between you. “You’re too kind, Lord Carlisle. But I’m afraid my husband might not appreciate such comparisons."

Carlisle chuckled, clearly not deterred by your attempt to deflect his advances. “Ah, but your husband is a fortunate man, indeed. A woman as beautiful and charming as you… it’s a rare combination.”

As he spoke, you felt the weight of his gaze on you, and you knew that this was your opportunity to gather more information. If Carlisle was interested in you, perhaps you could use that to your advantage. You needed to gain his trust, to get him to reveal more about the documents—and if that meant playing into his flirtation, then so be it.

“Thank you, Lord Carlisle,” you said, allowing your smile to soften, your voice taking on a more flirtatious tone. “You’re quite the charmer yourself. I can see why your guests are so enamored with you.”

Carlisle’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, clearly pleased with your response. “And I can see why Mr. Darcy is so protective of you. A woman of your beauty and wit is a treasure indeed.”

You feigned a small sigh, letting your shoulders slump ever so slightly as you gazed at the painting. The calculated vulnerability was a part of your plan, a tactic to draw Carlisle in, to make him believe you were an unfulfilled woman seeking comfort. You knew how to play this game, how to manipulate the situation to your advantage, and tonight, you needed Carlisle to believe that you were someone he could exploit.

“I just wish Mark would appreciate that about me,” you murmured softly, your voice laced with a subtle sadness. You made sure your words were loud enough for Carlisle to hear, your tone hinting at the loneliness you were trying to convey.

Carlisle’s gaze flickered with interest, his predatory instincts kicking in as he stepped closer to you, his hand reaching out to gently touch your arm. “My dear Mrs. Darcy,” he said, his voice low and soothing, “it’s a shame that a woman as beautiful and captivating as you feels unappreciated. Your husband is a fool if he doesn’t see what a treasure he has.”

You turned to face Carlisle, allowing a small, sad smile to tug at the corners of your lips. You had him right where you wanted him. “You’re very kind, Lord Carlisle,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his with a hint of vulnerability. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m invisible to him. He’s so busy with his work, with all these important things, that I wonder if he even notices me anymore.”

Carlisle’s hand slid up your arm, his touch lingering as he looked into your eyes with a feigned sympathy. “A woman like you should never feel invisible,” he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “If you were mine, I would make sure you felt cherished every single day.”

You felt a twinge of disgust at his words, but you kept your expression soft, playing along as you leaned in slightly, your breath brushing against his cheek. “That’s sweet of you to say, Lord Carlisle,” you whispered, your voice carrying a hint of seduction. “I just wish Mark felt the same way.”

Carlisle’s hand moved to your waist, his grip tightening slightly as he pulled you closer, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice low and suggestive, “I could show you what it feels like to be truly appreciated. Mark doesn’t need to know. It could be our little secret.”

Your stomach churned with revulsion, but you forced yourself to remain in character, to play the part that was required of you. You let out a small, breathy laugh, your hand resting lightly on his chest as you gazed up at him through your lashes. “Our little secret?” you repeated, your voice teasing, as if you were considering his offer. “And how would you show me that, Lord Carlisle?”

Carlisle’s eyes darkened with desire, his hand sliding down your back, pulling you even closer to him. “I have a private bedroom upstairs,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “We could go there now, and I could show you exactly how much I appreciate you.”

Merlin’s voice crackled in your ear, the urgency in his tone a sharp contrast to the sensual atmosphere Carlisle was trying to create. “Good, Gawain,” Merlin said, his voice low but steady. “Keep him talking, but try to get him to take you to that bedroom. The documents are likely hidden somewhere private, and this could be our best chance to find them.”

You nodded almost imperceptibly, letting your hand trail up Carlisle’s chest to the nape of his neck, your fingers playing with the hair there as you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. “That sounds… intriguing,” you whispered, your voice sultry and inviting. “But we’ll need to be discreet. I wouldn’t want Mark to find out. It would ruin everything.”

Carlisle grinned, clearly pleased with your response, and you could see the gleam of triumph in his eyes. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he said, his voice husky with anticipation. “No one will know. Follow me.”

He took your hand, leading you towards a hidden staircase at the back of the gallery. Your heart pounded in your chest, not with excitement, but with the knowledge that you were getting closer to the documents. Carlisle might think he had the upper hand, but you were the one in control here.

As you ascended the stairs, you could feel the tension building within you, the weight of the mission pressing down on you. You had to keep your focus, had to remember that this was just another assignment, another role to play. But as you reached the top of the stairs and Carlisle led you into a lavishly decorated bedroom, you couldn’t ignore the unease that settled in your stomach.

The room was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn to create an intimate, almost suffocating atmosphere. The bed was large and ornate, draped in rich fabrics that matched the opulence of the rest of the mansion. Carlisle closed the door behind you, his eyes never leaving you as he stepped closer, his intentions clear.

You could hear Merlin’s voice in your ear, a steady reminder of the mission at hand. “Stay focused, Gawain. Search the room for anything that might be out of place. We’re running out of time.”

You nodded slightly, keeping your expression soft and inviting as you allowed Carlisle to pull you closer, his hands roaming over your back. “This is a beautiful room, Lord Carlisle,” you murmured, your voice low and seductive. “It’s almost too perfect. Is this where you bring all your conquests?”

Carlisle chuckled, his hands sliding down to your hips as he pulled you against him. “Only the special ones,” he replied, his voice thick with desire. “And you, my dear, are very special.”

You forced a smile, leaning in closer as you let your fingers trail down his chest. “I’m flattered,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his neck. “But I’m curious… what makes me so special?”

Carlisle’s grip tightened on you, his breath hot against your skin as he murmured, “You’re a rare gem, Mrs. Darcy. A woman of beauty, intelligence, and charm. And I can’t resist a woman who knows what she wants.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of the mission pressing down on you as you tried to maintain your composure. You needed to keep him talking, needed to find a way to search the room without arousing his suspicion.

“Tell me, Lord Carlisle,” you whispered, your voice soft and alluring, “what else do you keep in this room? Surely, a man of your… stature has more than just a bed to offer.”

Carlisle’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of desire and arrogance, clearly pleased with your question. “Oh, I have many treasures hidden away in this room,” he replied, his voice low and conspiratorial. “But those are for my eyes only.”

You smiled coyly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his neck, your lips brushing against his skin. “You can trust me, Lord Carlisle,” you murmured, your voice sweet and persuasive. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Carlisle’s grip on you tightened, his hands sliding up to cup your face as he looked into your eyes, his expression filled with lust. “You’re a dangerous woman, Mrs. Darcy,” he said, his voice a low growl. “But I like that.”

You could hear Merlin’s voice in your ear, urging you to stay focused, to search the room for any signs of the documents. But Carlisle was close now, too close, his hands wandering over your body with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl.

As Carlisle's hands roamed your body, you felt a familiar sense of detachment wash over you. You had been in this situation before—seduction was a tool, a means to an end, and tonight, that end was retrieving those documents. You knew the routine, knew how to play the part of the willing, desirous woman. Carlisle wasn't unattractive, and he certainly wasn't the worst target you'd ever had to seduce, but that didn't make the task any easier. It was a job, nothing more. Yet, as you let yourself fall back onto the luxurious bed, the silky fabric cool against your skin, there was a nagging thought in the back of your mind—a reminder of the tension between you and Harry, of the hurt that still lingered.

Carlisle leaned over you, his breath hot against your neck as his hands roamed your body, his touch both possessive and eager. "You’re even more beautiful up close," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I can’t wait to taste every inch of you."

You let out a soft, calculated moan, your body arching slightly under his touch, playing the role you knew you had to. "Then don’t keep me waiting," you whispered back, your voice dripping with seduction, even as your mind remained focused on the mission. You needed to keep him engaged, keep him distracted long enough for you to find out where those documents were hidden.

But then, through the small earpiece concealed within your earrings, you heard a sound that made your blood run cold. It was a deep, familiar growl of frustration, followed by the unmistakable clink of a whiskey glass being set down with a little too much force. Harry. He could hear everything through his Kingsman glasses, every moan, every sigh, every word. And he wasn’t taking it well.

You knew Harry had always been overprotective of you—he was your mentor, after all—but this was different. The tension between the two of you had been simmering for weeks, ever since that night in the safehouse, and now it was boiling over. You could feel his anger, his jealousy, radiating through the silence, even though he wasn’t in the room.

"God, you’re driving me crazy," Carlisle breathed, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric of your dress. "I can’t wait to taste your sweet pussy."

You felt a surge of revulsion, but you forced yourself to stay in character, to keep up the facade. "Then what are you waiting for?" you purred, your voice a sultry whisper, even as your mind raced, trying to figure out how to get Carlisle to reveal the location of the documents.

Carlisle smiled and pulled the top of your dress down, taking a breast in his mouth. You moaned, grabbing the back of his neck, not having to fake your moans this time. God, he was good.

His touch sent shivers down your spine, and as much as you hated to admit it, Carlisle knew what he was doing. You could feel the heat pooling in your core, your body reacting despite your best efforts to remain detached. But you couldn’t afford to get lost in the moment, not when the mission was still at stake. You needed to stay focused, needed to find those documents, no matter how good Carlisle’s mouth felt on your skin.

But even as you tried to keep your mind on the mission, you couldn’t shake the nagging thought of Harry. He was still out there, somewhere in the mansion, listening to every sound, every moan you made. The idea of him hearing you like this, knowing that another man was touching you, made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with Carlisle’s skilled hands.

Meanwhile, Harry was at the party bar, drinking whiskey and getting impatient. He could hear your moans and sighs through the Kingsman glasses, and he didn’t like it. As always, the idea of another man with his hands wandering around your body made his blood boil.

At first, Harry had told himself that his feelings were purely professional—that he was just a concerned mentor, worried about his protégé. But tonight, something was different. The tension between the two of you had been building for weeks, ever since that night in the safehouse, and now, hearing you moan for another man, it was like a knife twisting in his gut. The jealousy was overwhelming, consuming him in a way that he hadn’t anticipated.

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered under his breath, downing the last of his whiskey in one gulp. He couldn’t stand it anymore—he couldn’t just sit here and listen to you like this, not when every fiber of his being was screaming at him to do something, anything, to make it stop.

Ignoring Merlin’s voice crackling in his ear, warning him to stay put, Harry slammed the glass down on the bar and pushed himself to his feet. His movements were deliberate, controlled, but beneath the surface, he was a storm of barely contained fury.

“Harry, you need to stay where you are,” Merlin’s voice came through the glasses, his tone firm and laced with concern. “This is her mission, not yours. She knows what she’s doing.”

But Harry wasn’t listening. The jealousy, the anger, the hurt—it was all too much. He couldn’t just stand by and let this happen. He needed to see you, needed to make sure you were okay, needed to—

“Harry!” Merlin’s voice was sharper now, more urgent. “Damn it, man, get a hold of yourself! This isn’t just about you. You’re going to blow the mission if you don’t pull yourself together.”

But Harry’s mind was made up. He was already making his way through the mansion, moving with the stealth and precision that had made him one of Kingsman’s best agents. He knew he was being reckless, knew that he was letting his emotions get the better of him, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of you, alone with Carlisle, vulnerable, was more than he could bear.

Merlin sighed heavily on the other end of the line, his frustration palpable. “Bloody jealousy,” he muttered, clearly exasperated with Harry’s behavior. “This is going to be a disaster.”

As Harry moved through the mansion, ignoring the curious glances from other guests, his mind was racing. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he found you—he just knew that he had to get to you, had to make sure you were okay. The rational part of his mind, the part that knew he was acting irrationally, was drowned out by the overwhelming need to see you, to be with you.

Back in the bedroom, Carlisle’s hands were everywhere, his mouth leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses down your chest. You were struggling to keep up the facade, to maintain the act, even as your mind kept drifting to Harry.

You could feel Carlisle’s hands slipping lower, his intentions clear, but your thoughts were a jumbled mess of conflicting emotions. Part of you wanted to focus on the mission, to find the documents and get out of there as quickly as possible. But another part of you—a part that you were desperately trying to ignore—couldn’t stop thinking about Harry, about how he was hearing all of this, about how he was reacting.

“Harry,” Merlin’s voice came through the glasses again, more insistent this time. “You need to stop. You’re going to compromise the mission. If you don’t pull back now, everything we’ve worked for will be for nothing.”

But Harry wasn’t stopping. He was already too far gone, too consumed by the jealousy and the anger to think clearly. He was acting on pure instinct now, driven by a need that he didn’t fully understand.

As he neared the hidden staircase that led to the private rooms, Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest. He didn’t know what he was going to find when he got there, didn’t know what he was going to do—but he knew that he couldn’t stay away. Not anymore.

In the bedroom, Carlisle was getting more aggressive, his hands wandering lower, his breath coming in short, hot bursts against your skin. You could feel the tension building, the pressure to act, to do something, but your mind was still racing, still trying to process everything that was happening.

And then, just as Carlisle’s hand slid down to your thigh, the door to the bedroom burst open, slamming against the wall with a loud crash. You barely had time to react before Harry was there, his eyes blazing with fury, his chest heaving as he stood in the doorway, his presence overwhelming.

Carlisle jumped back, his eyes wide with shock and fear as he stared at Harry, clearly taken aback by the sudden intrusion. “What the hell—”

But Harry didn’t give him a chance to finish. In one swift, fluid motion, he crossed the room and grabbed Carlisle by the collar, yanking him away from you with a force that sent the older man stumbling backward.

“Touch her again, and I’ll kill you,” Harry hissed, his voice dripping with venom as he shoved Carlisle away, his eyes never leaving the man’s terrified face.

Carlisle’s stunned expression quickly morphed into one of indignation as he attempted to regain his composure. Straightening his collar, he looked at Harry with a forced smile, trying to mask his unease with arrogance.

“Mr. Darcy,” Carlisle began, his voice laced with false civility. “I must apologize if I overstepped my—”

But Harry wasn’t in the mood for apologies, false or otherwise. Without a word, he reached for his wristwatch, pressing a hidden button that caused a small dart to shoot out, striking Carlisle squarely in the neck. The older man’s eyes widened in shock before he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

You sat up in bed, pulling your dress back into place as you glared at Harry, your irritation bubbling over. “What the hell, Harry?!” you snapped, using his real name in your anger, abandoning the charade entirely. “Why did you storm in here like that?”

Harry’s gaze was dark, his jaw clenched as he looked at you with a mix of fury and something else—something raw and intense that made your breath catch. “Why?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous as he took a step closer to you. “Because I wasn’t about to stand by and let that pompous old bastard lay his hands on you.”

You huffed in frustration, sliding off the bed to check Carlisle’s pulse, making sure he was merely unconscious and not harmed. Harry’s presence loomed over you, his anger radiating like heat. “Don’t touch him,” Harry ordered, his voice tight with barely restrained emotion.

Ignoring him, you struggled to lift Carlisle’s dead weight, intending to put him back on the bed. “Help me with this, Harry,” you demanded, your tone brooking no argument despite your rising irritation. “We need to make this look like he just passed out from too much wine.”

Harry’s scowl deepened, but he moved to your side, grumbling under his breath as he grabbed Carlisle’s arms and helped you lift him onto the bed. His touch was rougher than necessary, his frustration evident in every tense muscle. As you adjusted Carlisle’s position to make it seem like he was simply resting, Harry stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes burning into you.

“You shouldn’t have come in here like that,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “I had it under control.”

“Under control?” Harry’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he glared at you, his frustration boiling over. “Would you rather I’d let him fuck you, then? Would that have been better?”

Your mouth opened to retort, a sharp comeback on the tip of your tongue, but before you could say anything, Merlin’s voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“Both of you, shut up,” Merlin snapped through your earpiece, his tone filled with exasperation. “I don’t care if you two want to bicker like an old married couple, but do it later. Right now, you need to find those damn documents before someone comes looking for Carlisle.”

Harry shot you one last glare before turning away, his hands clenching into fists as he tried to regain his composure. You took a deep breath, pushing aside the lingering anger and focusing on the task at hand. Merlin was right—there was no time for this. You had a mission to complete.

“We need to search the room,” you said, your voice steady once more as you began scanning the area for anything that might hide the documents. “Check the desk, the drawers—anywhere that looks like it could be hiding something important.”

Harry nodded curtly, his usual professionalism slipping back into place as he joined you in the search. The tension between you still simmered just below the surface, but you both knew better than to let it distract you. The mission came first—no matter what else was going on.

As you rifled through the drawers of a nearby dresser, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at Harry. His movements were precise, methodical, but there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. Despite everything, despite the anger and the hurt, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his outburst than just professional concern.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. You had to focus, had to find those documents and get out of there before anyone noticed Carlisle’s absence.

As you continued your search, Merlin’s voice crackled in your ear again. “Gawain, there’s a hidden compartment in the desk. Try the top drawer—it should have a false bottom.”

You immediately moved to the desk, pulling open the top drawer and feeling around for the catch that would reveal the hidden compartment. Your fingers found the latch, and with a click, the false bottom slid open, revealing a stack of papers neatly tucked away.

“Got it,” you murmured, pulling out the documents and quickly scanning them. They were exactly what you’d been looking for—evidence that could expose Kingsman if they fell into the wrong hands.

You turned to Harry, holding up the papers with a triumphant smile. “Let’s get out of here.”

Harry’s eyes locked onto yours, the intensity in his gaze making your heart skip a beat. But instead of responding, he simply nodded, his expression unreadable as he moved to the door, pausing to listen for any signs of movement outside.

The tension between you was still there, but it was tempered by the urgency of the situation. There would be time to deal with whatever was going on between you later—once the mission was over and you were safely back at the Kingsman mansion.

For now, you had to focus. You had to get out of this mansion and complete the mission. Everything else would have to wait.

The car sped away from Lord Carlisle’s mansion, the engine purring softly as Merlin navigated the winding roads with practiced ease. You sat in the back seat with Harry, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife. The adrenaline from the mission was still coursing through your veins, but the relief you’d expected to feel once you were safely out of the mansion hadn’t come. Instead, a different kind of tension had settled over you, one that had nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with the man sitting beside you.

Merlin’s voice crackled, breaking the silence. “Good work, both of you. We got what we came for, and Carlisle will be out cold for hours. He won’t even remember what hit him.”

You handed the documents to Merlin, who accepted them with a nod, tucking them into the glove compartment. “We’ll analyze these once we get back,” he added, his tone brisk and efficient. “But for now, let’s just get you two back to base.”

You leaned back in your seat, letting out a sigh of relief, but your eyes drifted to Harry. He was staring out the window, his jaw clenched, his posture stiff and unyielding. The anger that had flared up during the mission was still simmering just beneath the surface, and it was clear he hadn’t let it go.

“What’s wrong with you?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. The adrenaline was making you edgy, and the tension between you and Harry wasn’t helping. “You almost ruined the mission tonight. What the hell were you thinking?”

Harry’s head snapped around, his eyes flashing with irritation as he glared at you. “What was I thinking?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “I was thinking that I wasn’t about to stand by and let that bastard lay his hands on you, that’s what I was thinking."

“You were thinking with your emotions, not your head,” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest. “We had a plan, Harry. I was in control of the situation. You didn’t need to come charging in like some kind of knight in shining armor.”

Harry’s expression darkened, his hands clenching into fists on his lap. “And what was I supposed to do, Gawain? Just sit there and listen while he—”

“While he what?” you interrupted, your voice rising with frustration. “While he tried to seduce me? It was part of the mission, Harry. I knew what I was doing.”

“Did you?” Harry snapped, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in closer, his voice laced with anger. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were about to let him fuck you just to get those damn documents.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, a mix of anger and hurt swirling in your chest. “That’s not fair, Harry,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “You know I would never—”

“Enough,” Merlin’s voice cut through the tension like a knife, his tone firm and exasperated. He glanced at the two of you in the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing as he took in the heated exchange. “I’ve had about enough of this. You two need to sort yourselves out, because I’m not putting up with this obvious sexual tension any longer.”

You blinked, taken aback by Merlin’s bluntness. “What?” you asked, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “That’s not—there’s no—”

“Oh, please,” Merlin scoffed, rolling his eyes as he glanced back at you and Harry. “Don’t even try to deny it. Anyone with eyes can see what’s going on between you two. And frankly, it’s about time you both did something about it.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Merlin cut you off with a wave of his hand. “Save it, Gawain. I’m tired of Harry’s tantrums and whining about missing you, and I’m tired of watching you both dance around each other like lovesick teenagers.”

You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment, your heart pounding in your chest as Merlin’s words sank in. “I—I don’t—”

“Don’t what?” Merlin shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t like him? Don’t think about him all the damn time? Because if that’s what you’re trying to say, then you’re either lying to me or lying to yourself.”

You glanced at Harry, who was staring at you with an intensity that made your breath catch. The anger in his eyes had faded, replaced by something deeper, something raw and vulnerable that made your heart ache. He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face said it all—he was waiting for you to say something, to admit to the feelings that you had tried so hard to ignore.

“I…” you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Merlin.”

“Bullshit,” Merlin shot back, his tone blunt and unapologetic. “You’ve been in love with Harry for years, and everyone knows it. And Harry—” he added, turning his gaze to the man in question, “—you’re just as bad. You’ve been miserable ever since you pushed her away, and it’s been driving all of us insane.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Merlin. “Merlin, that’s enough—”

“No, it’s not,” Merlin interrupted, his voice firm. “You two need to stop pretending that this is just some professional relationship and admit that you’re head over heels for each other.”

You felt your heart skip a beat at Merlin’s words, your mind racing as you tried to process what he was saying. You had always known that your feelings for Harry were obvious to everyone, but you had never imagined that Harry might feel the same way. And now, faced with the truth, you didn’t know what to say, what to do.

“I don’t like him,” you said weakly, your voice trembling as you tried to deny the feelings that had been bubbling up inside you for so long. “Not like that, at least.”

Merlin scoffed, shaking his head as he glanced at Harry in the rearview mirror. “Do you hear this, Harry? She doesn’t like you ‘like that.’ Despite the fact that she’s been pining after you for years, she’s convinced herself that her feelings are one-sided. But we both know that’s not true, don’t we?”

Harry’s gaze locked onto yours, his eyes dark and intense as he leaned in closer, his voice low and rough. “Is that really what you think, Gawain? That I don’t care about you? That I don’t think about you every damn day?”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, your heart pounding in your chest as you stared at him, unable to believe what you were hearing. “Harry, I…”

But Harry didn’t let you finish. He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “But I was too damn stubborn to admit it. Too scared to lose you. But now, I don’t care anymore. I can’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and I’m done pretending that I don’t care.”

You felt your heart swell with emotion, your breath hitching as you looked into his eyes, seeing the raw vulnerability, the unspoken desire that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. You had spent so much time convincing yourself that your feelings were one-sided, that Harry would never see you as anything more than a colleague, a friend. But now, hearing the truth in his words, feeling the warmth of his hand against your skin, you realized just how wrong you had been.

“I thought I was just a distraction to you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

Harry’s eyes softened, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as he shook his head. “You’ve never been just a distraction, Gawain. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I was a fool for pushing you away.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart overflowing with the emotions you had kept bottled up for so long. “Harry, I—”

But before you could finish, Harry closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was filled with all the passion, all the longing that had been building between you for years. His hand slid into your hair, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his mouth claiming yours with a hunger that left you breathless.

You responded with equal fervor, your hands tangling in his hair as you poured all of your love, all of your desire into the kiss. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other, finally giving in to the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to catch your breath. Harry’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin as he looked into your eyes, his expression filled with a mixture of love and regret.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m sorry for everything I said, for pushing you away. I don’t deserve you, but I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever.”

You smiled through your tears, your heart swelling with love as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

The air in the car was thick with the aftermath of the kiss you had just shared with Harry, a kiss that had been years in the making, filled with all the unspoken emotions and desires that had simmered between you. But as the euphoria of the moment began to fade, reality crept back in, bringing with it the weight of the things that had been said, the wounds that had yet to heal.

You pulled back slightly, your breath still mingling with his, and looked into Harry’s eyes, seeing the raw vulnerability there. For a moment, you just stared at each other, letting the magnitude of what had just happened sink in. But then, the memory of that night in the safehouse—the night Harry had shattered your heart with his cruel words—came rushing back, and the hurt you had tried so hard to bury surfaced once more.

You cleared your throat, your voice trembling slightly as you spoke, “Harry, you once told me that you would never, ever return my feelings. That I was nothing more than a pathetic and desperate girl pining for you."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and filled with pain. You could see the way Harry’s eyes darkened, his expression tightening as he remembered the night you were talking about. There was regret there, a deep, aching sorrow that made your chest constrict, but it didn’t erase the hurt those words had caused.

In the driver’s seat, Merlin blinked, his hands tightening on the steering wheel as he glanced at the two of you in the rearview mirror. “Did Harry say that?” he asked, his voice filled with surprise and a touch of disbelief. “I didn’t know that.”

But neither you nor Harry responded to Merlin. Your focus was solely on each other, the weight of the past pressing down on both of you as you tried to navigate the emotions that were swirling between you.

Harry’s hand was still on your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin as he searched your eyes, his voice low and rough with emotion when he finally spoke. “I was angry, Gawain,” he admitted, his words laced with regret. “Angry at failing that mission, angry at being humiliated by Chester. But more than that, I was angry at myself for letting it get to me, for not being the agent I was supposed to be. And instead of dealing with that anger, I took it out on you. I lashed out because… because I couldn’t handle the thought of disappointing you.”

You blinked, taken aback by his words. “Disappointing me?” you echoed, your voice filled with confusion. “Harry, you could never disappoint me.”

Harry’s gaze softened, his eyes filled with a deep, aching sadness as he shook his head. “But I did,” he said quietly. “I let you down that day, and instead of admitting that, I attacked you. I said things I didn’t mean, things that were cruel and undeserved. You’ve always been more than just an agent to me, Gawain. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I was a fool to push you away.”

Your heart ached at his words, the sincerity in his voice tugging at the wounds that had been left raw for so long. But there was still a part of you that was hesitant, a part of you that wasn’t sure if you could trust him not to hurt you again.

“Harry, I—” you began, but your voice faltered, the words catching in your throat. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let go of the hurt and give in to the feelings that had always been there, but you couldn’t shake the fear that he would push you away again, that he would hurt you just as deeply as he had before.

Harry seemed to sense your hesitation, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck as he leaned in closer, his voice a low, rumbling whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m asking you to trust me, Gawain. Let me prove to you that I’m not going to push you away again. I want you, all of you, and I’m not going to let anything come between us.”

His words sent a thrill through you, a rush of heat pooling in your core as you felt the intensity of his desire, the sincerity of his promise. But there was still a part of you that needed more, that needed to know that this wasn’t just about the heat of the moment, that Harry truly meant what he was saying.

“Harry, you hurt me,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked into his eyes. “You made me feel like I was nothing, like I was just some pathetic girl with a crush. How do I know you won’t do that again?”

Harry’s eyes darkened with regret, his hand tightening on the back of your neck as he pulled you even closer, his voice a low, desperate growl. “Because I can’t lose you again, Gawain. I’ve been miserable without you, and I’m not going to let my own stupidity get in the way of what we could have. I want you, all of you, and I’m not going to let anything—or anyone—come between us again.”

You felt your breath hitch at his words, the raw intensity of his desire sending a wave of heat through you. It was as if all the tension, all the unresolved emotions between you, were coming to a head, and there was no turning back.

Harry’s lips brushed against yours, a feather-light touch that made your heart race. “Let me show you how much I want you, Gawain,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “Let me make it up to you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the heat between you growing almost unbearable as you looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity, the desperation there. You wanted to believe him, wanted to give in to the desire that had been simmering between you for so long.

But there was still a part of you that was hesitant, that was afraid of getting hurt again. “Harry,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to find the words. “I…”

But before you could finish, Harry’s lips were on yours, claiming your mouth in a searing kiss that left you breathless. His hand slid into your hair, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that made your knees weak.

You responded with equal fervor, your hands clutching at his shirt as you poured all of your love, all of your desire into the kiss. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other, finally giving in to the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to catch your breath. Harry’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin as he looked into your eyes, his expression filled with a mixture of love and regret.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m sorry for everything I said, for pushing you away. I don’t deserve you, but I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever.”

You smiled through your tears, your heart swelling with love as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I don’t want you to let me go, Harry,” you whispered against his mouth. “I never wanted you to let me go.”

Harry’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a tight embrace as he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m never letting you go again, Gawain,” he murmured, his voice filled with a fierce determination. “You’re mine, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you know that.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, the possessiveness in his tone sending a thrill through you. There was something so raw, so primal about the way he held you, the way he claimed you as his own, and it made your heart race with anticipation.

Merlin cleared his throat, a deliberate and pointed sound that broke the intimate moment between you and Harry. The two of you turned to face him, your fingers still intertwined, the warmth of Harry’s touch grounding you even as your heart raced with the lingering emotions from your conversation.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, his expression carefully neutral, though there was a glint of something in his eyes—something that told you he wasn’t quite as stoic as he appeared. “Well, it’s no wonder you were so hurt, Gawain,” he said, his tone laced with a touch of dry humor. “If I were in your place, I would have dumped Harry’s ass ages ago and—”

Harry cut him off with a sharp look, his voice firm but not unkind. “Merlin, shut up.”

To your surprise, Merlin actually obeyed, his mouth snapping shut as he returned to his usual stoic demeanor, though you could still see the amusement lurking behind his eyes. He gave a small nod, as if to say, message received, before turning his attention back to the road.

You couldn’t help the small, breathless laugh that escaped you, the tension in the car easing just a little as you glanced at Harry. His expression softened as he looked at you, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint smile.

“I’m sorry for all of this,” Harry said quietly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he held your hand, his voice sincere. “I know I’ve made things difficult, but I’m going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand gently as you leaned into his side, the warmth of his body comforting. “You’d better,” you teased lightly, though there was no malice in your voice—just a gentle reminder of the hurt that had been caused and the work that still needed to be done to heal it.

Harry nodded, his eyes filled with a quiet determination as he looked down at you. “I will,” he promised, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I won’t let you down again.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the weight of the past finally beginning to lift as you allowed yourselves to look toward the future. The tension that had been simmering between you for so long was still there, but it was different now—softer, more hopeful. There was still so much to work through, so much to say, but for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were finally on the same page, ready to face whatever came next together.

Merlin, ever the professional, kept his focus on the road, though you could tell he was listening to every word. He didn’t say anything more, content to let you and Harry have this moment, but you could see the small, approving smile that tugged at the corners of his lips as he drove.

You rested your head on Harry’s shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. Your fingers remained intertwined, a tangible reminder that you were no longer alone in this—that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

And as you sat there, surrounded by the quiet hum of the car and the steady rhythm of Harry’s breathing, you allowed yourself to believe that, maybe—just maybe—things were going to be okay.

[icarusdescending7]

Aquamarine - Chapter 1

Ao3 | Next Chapter

Your fiancé died seven years ago, and you joined the military in his wake to fill the void his death put on you. Now, you work with the 141 for an assignment, hunting associates of their enemies.

Their Lieutenant, however, given you an uneasy feeling. You have a vague sense of familiarity with him, but from where?

-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

You took a deep breath as you left the helicopter. Your boots kicking up dust in every which direction as you made your way to the gathering of men at the end of the strip. The blades of the helicopter spinning it away and spitting more back at you. The sun was beaming scorching rays on you, making you squint, even with the black paint that coated the skin around your eyes. You took in a breath, outstretching your hand to shake the hand of the Captain before you.

~~

Today marked the seventh year since your fiancé, Simon, died in the field. KIA. You never got his body back, and it took you far too long to come to terms with his death. You joined the military as an effort to forget him and the life you’d built with him. It worked, somewhat. Your anniversary, his birthday, and the day of his death were ever-present in your mind and you always took those days the worst. You’d would usually end up hungover in your bed, sporting the ring you’d found in the ashes of your shared home after you’d burned it down in hopes of feeling some relief from your emotions. It was brilliant, a shining aquamarine set into a gold band. He’d wanted to marry you, yet he never even had the chance to ask. You clung onto it, wore it in with your tags as you travelled the world, hoping that one day you’d actually see him again. In 4 years, you had lost hope, losing your humanity with every battle you fought, losing your sense of morality with every man you executed. But the ring kept you grounded. Reminded you why you were here. You’d make sure it stayed sparkly, polishing it once a month, taking it to many jewelers to replenish the band when the chain of your tags wore it too thin, even making sure they preserved the etching in the seat of the band- Mrs. Riley.

~~

“Captain Price. It’s good to finally meet you.” You said, shaking his hand firmly. “I take it this is your team?” You gestured to men behind him, dressed casually.

“Pleasure to meet you in person too, Lieutenant Firefly.” He shook your hand in turn. “These are my Sergeants, Soap MacTavish and Gaz Garrick, and my Lieutenant, Ghost.” He gestured to each man, the Sergeants waved but Ghost just stared. This made your brow furrow but you thought nothing of it- maybe he’s just used to not having to do this. Though, the look he gave made chills run down your spine.

“Well, its a pleasure to meet all of you…” You smiled through the uneasy feeling. “As you know, I’m Lieutenant Firefly. I’m here to assist with following a string of leads you got. Hope to get along with you.” You offered a wave to them all. “Since I’m going to be here for a while, I was informed that my personal effects were moved here. Where might I find my living quarters?” You questioned, turning back to the Captain.

“Right, we haven't received anything yet but I’ll let you know when we do. Soap will show you to your quarters.” He gestured to the Scotsman, who was eager to smack the back of your shoulder and lead you along.

~

He led you to a plain building with a small plaque outside marked “141”. He led you down a few hallways, opening a door to a common room with another hallway, where rooms lined the path. He took you down and stopped at the last door, opening it for you.

“Right, an’ here we are!” He chirped, “We switched rooms so the girl could get a nice one. Ye’ can thank Ghost for that, make sure his sacrifice is recognized.” He beamed, taking up a mocking tone at his comment about Ghost.

Your hand went up to your tags, pulling them out and fiddling with the ring. “I’ll make sure I do, thank you Soap. I’m gonna take a minute to settle then I’ll be out, yeah?” You asked, shooting a smile his way. He nodded but didn’t leave, instead pointing to your tags.

“Real pretty ring, ‘ye engaged?” He asked, leaning in a little closer to get a better look. “Aquamarine? Hey, that’s Lt’s favorite! You two’ll get along, I think.”

You stepped back after he made his observation, smile faltering a little. Another chill went down your spine at the mention of Ghost, what made him so unsettling to you? “I’m not engaged- not anymore anyway, this was my fiancés. He was KIA a decade ago. I found this in the ashes of our home.” You explained, waving it off. “Just a little keepsake.”

“Ah, sentimental? I get it, I carry my older sisters old Claddagh ring around as a good luck charm, see?” He reached into his pocket and pulled a small journal out, pointing to the ring attached to the leather strip that bound it shut. “She passed a few years back, so I get it.” He smiled faintly, looking at the ring before putting the journal back in his pocket. “Anyway, I’ll leave ‘ye to it. We’re probably just gonna be out in the commons, so join us whenever.”

You nodded as he left, clicking the door shut behind him. You set your bag down on the bed, taking a look around the room. You shed your heavy gear onto a chair, running your fingers over the worn wood of the desk it sat at. Little carving dotted its surface, some new, some old. A dog, some bullets, even a rough carving of a woman’s face. You turned around, taking in the slight decor of the room. Some old paintings, an even older lamp, a musty looking chair, worn side tables. The bed was big, bigger than any you’d encountered anywhere else during your time in the military. You hummed, thankful. Even if the man gave you the creeps, he was still nice enough to give you a big bed.

You fell backwards onto the bed, fiddling once again with the ring. “I’ll have to make sure I polish this when my stuff get here.’ You thought. You brought it up to eye level, turning it over to look at the engraving in the seat. You sighed at the sight, taking a moment to mourn what you could’ve had. That moment was cut short at the sound of knocking. You sat up and looked at the door, then a gruff voice came from the other side.

“Hurry up, Price just got word your stuff’s here.” It called. It wasn’t one you’d heard before, was it? You paused. That tone, the roughness of it, it was so familiar but so unfamiliar at the same time. Even down to the Manchester accent.

There’s no way.

You shook your head, trying to get the thoughts to dissipate before they made you spiral. ‘You’ve thought this about everyone who’s sounded even remotely similar! You need to get over him!’ You yelled at yourself, but you didn’t believe yourself. You managed to get the thoughts to go away, gathering your composure before going to the door and exiting. The person on the other side was gone, so you simply made your way out to the common area, where everyone but Ghost was seated. He stepped forward and Price spoke.

“I just got the message that your stuff’s here. Ghost’s gonna help you bring it back.” He smiled. Ignoring the awkward feeling in your gut, you returned it.

Before you could say anything, Ghost brushed past you, as if he would die if he were close to you for any reason. You were taken aback and looked at Price, who shrugged, as if to say “That’s just how he is.”. You sighed, following him. He set a brisk pace, and was hard to keep up with at a walking pace. Finally, you ended up at the depot, where all incoming packages and transferred items wound up. He got to the desk before you, requesting your stuff to be brought up. The man at the desk disappeared for a moment, coming back with a cart and two small boxes. He warned you both that it was heavy, but two of you made light work. They were mostly clothing and a few books anyway.

~

He helped you heft your stuff back to your quarters, but the silence was thick and uncomfortable. You were the first to say something as you shifted the box in your arms, trying to throw it up to your shoulder.

“Do you normally talk so little?” You’d asked, which was met with more silence. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

More silence, then another question.

“Why the mask? You look brooding.” Once again, silence. “Okay… awkward.” You grimaced.

It was a long, awkward walk. He stopped to hold the door for you and you entered, but he didn’t follow from the door. He seemed almost frozen. When you approached again, he snapped out of it, storming away from you and towards the commons. You could only stand there, confused.

You arrived a little bit after him, and the rest of the guys were sat there staring at you. Their faces reflected the same confused look, and you felt a little better.

“Does anyone know…?” You asked, setting the box in your arms on the back of a couch. “What he’s so worked up about?”

They all shrugged, Soap speaking up. “I ‘spose we’re just as confused as you are, lass. He came storming through here angry as a hornets nest.” He said, leaning over the couch to see Ghost leaving your room and entering his, the door shutting with a slam. “Somethings got him, though. That’s for sure.” He grimaced.

[eywaseclipse]

Burning Desire*

Characters: Na’vi reader, So’lek featuring Ri’nela

Synopsis: (Pre-hallelujah mountain battle and rda resistance) So’lek and y/n go into the jungle for a daily herb retrieval to help with Ri’nelas healing practices, when you come across a strange looking flower. So’lek accidentally brushes past it, causing an aggressive pollen to pollute the air and affect him. The flower just so happens to be the Txunmga Mowan Fìsyulang also known as the Poisonous Pleasing Flower. The effects of the sex pollen only enhance what feelings are already there, creating a stronger more powerful desire, bringing all to the surface. If not treated immediately one may feel as if they are dying, causing extreme sexual agony and discomfort.

Warnings: really just no plot all smut 18+ only

Word Count: 3k

You finish the last strand of hair completing your fresh braids, as you string you favorite jade bead into your silky black locks with a satisfied sigh. Your feather and leaf top sways lightly as you rise to get your herb pouch and bow together. You take one last look in your mirror to asses your work, grabbing your things, securing your knife, and bow waiting for So’lek to accompany you on your extractions. The sudden flap to your tent moves with a slap, causing your head to turn to the source. A toothy smile meets your own, as you see So’lek enter your home. “Hey sevin pretty.” He greets you. “Hi So’lek.” You can’t help the way your heart beats a hair faster at the sight of the mighty warrior, your cheeks blushing in the process. “You ready for herb retrieval today? Ri’nela gave a list of what she needs replenished.” You nod your head, “Yup. Spent yesterday with her as she went over everything. I’m all set.” You say securing your bow and arrows one last time. You notice the way his eyes slightly advert from your face, to your chest just barely gazing to your nipples poking through your feathered top. A small smirk falls on your face as you catch him, a cough erupts both your thoughts. “I-okay, let’s go.” He awkwardly waves his hand to you. You chuckle to yourself as you both descend from the branches and into the thick of the forest. 

You walk in comfortable silence, the sun peaking through the leaves of the canopy leaving streaks of light across your blue skin gently caressing it with warmth. You let out a content sigh, with So’lek enjoying the hot afternoon as well. “Did Suya finally lose her baby tooth?” You interrupt the quiet. So’lek looks to you, eyes wide in amusement. “Yes, but only because she begged me to tie a string around it and yank it out so she would get her prize.” You and him laugh, knowing how entertaining that would be to witness. “My, what a sight that would’ve been huh?” “You should have seen it, my dad almost passed out from stress.” He laughs to you. Just as you’re about to respond a small plump object obstructs your path. You quickly avoid the round fruit and look down. “Holy shit So’lek look! Utumauti Banana Fruit.” Your happy eyes look to So’lek just as shocked as you are, kneeling down to get a better look. “You know what they say about those who find a bananafruit right?” “Good luck.” 

You smile. You take the plump fruit, and hold it out to So’lek, offering it to the warrior. “Here, you should have it. I know it’s your favorite.” You nudge it towards him. His hands lightly push it back to you, “No way, you’re the one who found it pretty girl. It’s all yours.” You lightly roll your eyes to him. “Did you fall on your head So’lek, you know it’s rude to refuse a banana fruit. Come on have it, it’s what I want.” You smile. You see the internal conflict through his eyes knowing that as a Na’vi custom it’s rude to take the offer as Eywa would like the fruit to be enjoyed by its finder. He sighs deeply, grabbing the fruit from your hand,  taking out his hunting knife and proceeding to cut it down the middle slicing it in half, juices dripping down his hands. “Here, we share it.” He says with a proud smirk. “Alright.” You take your half of the fruit and slowly bring it to your lips, the pungent delicious flesh pops in your mouth, with the sweet flavors bursting onto your tastebuds. “Mmmm” You close your eyes in delight, hearing So’lek do the same. 

Both of you relish in the rare find of an untouched bananafruit from the canopy treetops, humming in satisfaction, continuing your search for the herbs Ri’nela requested. With one of the plants on your list now in front of you, you begin scan the leaves of the ripe Paywll water plant, squeezing the succulent skin to make sure it can be harvested for its wondrous healing properties. Content with the ripeness, you take your hunting knife and begin cutting the ends of the leaf to put into your herb pouch, “Y/n come take a look at this plant, I have never seen one of these before. Was this one on this list?” You turn your head to where he points to the blue flower. “What plant?” You inquire. But it’s too late, he sneezes loudly as the pungent pollen invades his nose causing the disorientation to make him stumble back. You run to him, gripping his shoulders looking for any signs of injury. “So’lek?! Hey!” His eyes meet yours, blinking several times as if in a trance. His pupils begin to widen so much, they completely drown out the color of his amber eyes. You stare in horror as his expression turns into something you can’t quite name. You look down to where the fallen flower sits in the grass, kneeling to get a better look. Its beautiful blue petals have speckles of purple and bioluminescent dots scattered all around, with the inside has its pollen. And then it occurred to you, during the wet summer season many of these poisonous flowers bloom in the damp areas of the forest. “Shit.” You whisper softly. You turn your head back up to So’lek where his chest begins to fall up and down, breathing harder and harder. “Y/n what’s happening to me? Fuck.” He groans out. 

You slowly bring yourself in front of him, looking to where his skin begins to sweat small beads from frustration. “So’lek, don’t panic. But I think you just inhaled the fumes of the Txunmga Mowan Fìsyulang Poisonous Pleasing Flower..” So’lek struggles to keep his composure as he fights the urges now beginning to take their effect. “The what?” He groans out. “Fuck I gotta call this in. Ri’nela will know what to do.” You bring your fingers to your neck comm, silently praying she’s wearing hers or close by to hear you ping the channel, as you hear So’lek fall to the ground with a loud thud. “Ri’nela, this is y/n, it’s an emergency!” “Y/n?” Her voice sparks to life. “Ri’nela, I think So’lek might’ve inhaled the toxic fumes of the Poisonous Pleasing Flower. I don’t know what to do, it seems it’s taken its effects already.” You wait anxiously for her reply. “Shit, y/n, this is not good. The only way to satiate the poison is to… allow it to run its course.” “How? I’ll do anything.” You hear her take a deep sigh. “Y/n, he’s about to feel the most intense sexual urges, you need to be careful. The plant only heightens the emotions of one’s desires that already exist. I shouldn’t tell you this, but So’lek feels those urges towards you. You need to be careful.” Your stomach drops to her confession, could you have heard her right? Sexual urges? So’lek? For You?? “Ri’nela what are you saying?” You whisper softly. “I think you know..You have to tame the beast or else the poison will cause his mind to aggressively hallucinate. Under the sex pollen’s effect one will think they need to have sex or they’ll die. It’s best to submit to avoid getting hurt. I’m sorry y/n there’s not much you can do now.” Your ears pin to your skull, knowing Ri’nela is only trying to help. You sigh, “It’s okay Ri’nela I got this. Thanks.” “Good luck.” She bids you goodbye. You can hear the shaking in her voice worrying for you, but you look to where So’lek is now heaving in confusion, you must do whatever it takes to help him.

You rush to his side bending down, careful your touch doesn’t alarm him. “Y/n I feel…ah!” He winces to your touch. “Fuck I’m sorry So’lek! This was the sex pollen from the Poisonous Pleasing Flower.” “The what? Fuck why am I feeling this way?” He looks down to where his loincloth forms a tent, his now throbbing length creating a tight bulge through the material. He begins to whimper, bringing his hand to palm his growing boner closing his eyes in the process. You’ve never seen such a sight before, your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Trying to look away, but you can’t help but stare at him in wonder. “So’lek, the effects of the poison will have you believing that if you do not relieve yourself through sex, you will die.” “Fuck” he whimpers. You witness him start to aggressively hump the air, bucking into nothing as he desperately clings to pleasure himself, when suddenly he pounces onto you with your back hitting the soft grass. “Ah!” A surprised yelp escapes your mouth. “Y/n, this feeling, I can’t fight it. I don’t think I can hold back. Everything I feel right now, is telling me to fuck you senseless. To breed you completely and take you as mine. I’m trying so hard not to hurt you.” He whimpers out. 

You see the way he bites down on his lip, his eyes squeezed shut with brows furrowed tightly. Your heart aches knowing he is clinging onto the last thread of composure and sanity, desperate to be the gentleman he was raised to be. You know he is waiting for your verbal consent, it’s all he needs before he can truly unleash the beast waiting to erupt from within. You take a gulp of breath, touching his face softly, as he moans in the process. “So’lek, it’s me. I’m here. It’s okay. I want you to fuck me. Make me yours, I’ll submit to you completely.” You see as his eyes shoot open, huge pupils penetrating your soul. “You-you’re sure? Ah fuck. If I start I won’t be able to stop. I might hurt you.” He groans out fighting the pleasure. “So’lek don’t worry about me, I can take it.” You nod furiously. That’s all he needs to hear, as he plunges his lips into yours in a violent kiss. His tongue immediately assaults your own, poking into your mouth causing a pathetic whimper to escape. His teeth clank into yours, as he pushes his head as hard as he can into you. 

“Fuck.” He starts to rut his hips into yours harder and harder, your loincloth now beginning to soak with your own arousal. “Oh So’lek that feels so good, don’t stop.” His ears perk up to your sweet little whimpers, as he flips you over bring your body onto his stomach. “Look at you submitting to me little girl. All desperate. I bet you have the sweetest little pussy.” He growls into you. “Come on, sit on my fucking face.” He whines. You immediately do as he says, fearing any resistance could result to danger. You’re quick to untie the strings of your loincloth, releasing from your tail, it falls down, as you throw it to the side. Your throbbing pussy lips glisten in the afternoon light, your juices now falling onto his stomach. “Oh fuck, even prettier than I imagined.” He groans. Your swollen bud practically throbs with excitement as you feel his strong hands grip your hips harshly, bringing you to hover over his face. 

Your cheeks flush with shyness, as he aggressively lowers you to his mouth, your clit immediately making contact with his nose. “Oh!” You squeal out. “Mmmmmm.” He groans into your silky lips, relishing in the taste of your sweet nectar. He begins to prod his tongue through your tight hole, flicking it back and forth while his nose rubs against your clit over and over again. You look down to where his eyes are closed in complete bliss as you grip his braids holding on for dear life. “Oh!” You throw your head back in ecstasy feeling him begin to suck and slurp harshly. He brings his head to sway back and forth, shaking it to give you the perfect amount of stimulation, as he brings a free hand to slip under his loincloth desperate to feel his own release. The fire burning in your stomach starts to reach its height, feeling his lips begin to suction onto your swollen bud, “Oh So’lek!” You scream out. All he can do is moan into your pussy, the vibrations sending electricity to course through your veins. With one last harsh suck, you feel the fire now erupt through your body with your thighs convulsing violently on top of him. Your juices squirt out onto his face and chest coating him with your nectar. Your breath heaving you look down to where he lays, as you climb off of him. You see a dark spot in his loincloth from his own release, making eye contact with his barely ring of amber eyes. He wipes his mouth quickly, eyes darting to your body up and down like a Thanator stalking its prey, “Fuck you tasted even better than I imagined.” He groans out. 

You lean forward to undo his own loincloth, assisting him to get rid of the material him bucking his hips in the process. The cloth falls to the the ground and his still hard cock slaps to his toned stomach with a loud smack. His own juices coating his azure skin, as your eyes bulge out of your head at the sight. He growls once more, placing his hands around your waist. “I am going to fuck you so hard you’ll forget your own name. You belong to me now. Understand?” He squeezes your skin harshly, “Ah, yes So’lek I am all yours!” You whimper out. He smirks deviously, bringing your back against the tree, then spinning you around. A slight tug to your tail is made as he wraps it around his forearm for leverage. The contact alone has your pussy pulsate with anticipation, your back instinctively arches in the air as you press your ass into his cock. “Oh so needy baby. Look at you submitting to me. You’re such a little slut huh?” He slaps your pussy hard, as your back arches even more praying he fucks you soon or you’ll combust. “Tell me!” He shouts. His hips buck into the back of your pussy, his hard cock sliding through the folds of your silky lips. “Tell me what a little slut you are!” 

He grunts. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you cling to the last of your composure. “I’m a little slut! I’m your slut!” You whimper out in desperation. “Good girl.” He huffs. Without any warning, he plunges the tip of his swollen cock straight into your pussy. Your slicked walls welcoming him with ease, as his cock brushes against your cervix. “Fuck!” You scream out in bliss. His pace is brutal, so fast and unrelenting, that it forces you to grip onto the base of the trunk for dear life, arms stretched out straight to keep you from falling down.

Your ears are filled with the sound of slapping skin, his balls violently smacking against your ass as his cock drills into you, squelching into your pussy. Your eyes begin to roll back once more in complete bliss. “Fuck so wet baby! This all for me?” He grips the back of your neck with one hand as his other presses into your belly. The outline of his cock poking through your skin, “Feel that baby, that’s me fucking you balls deep. Gonna get you pregnant.” He whines out. “Oh fuck! Yes! Get me pregnant So’lek please!” You scream out. All rational thoughts of taming this beast fly out the window, as if you’re under the trance of the pollen yourself. He brings the tip of his cock out of your pussy, then slams it as hard as he can into your hips with brute force. “Unf” You whimper out, no longer being able to form a sentence. Your incoherent slurring fill Neteyam’s ears with pure euphoria as he feels his tight balls twitch readying for release. “Gonna fill you right up. Fuck! My little cum dump aren’t you?!” He groans into your ear. You turn your neck to face him, cranking it to the side, as he grips you jaw and goes in for a violent kiss. Your tongues immediately finding one another. “Ugh! So’lek I’m gonna cum!” You whimper out. 

His pace begins to lose rhythm, as he approaches his own climax. The pace so fast it makes your head spin, as your pussy clenches around his length harshly. “Oh fuck princess! You’re so tight, squeezing me so good.” He loses control, feeling your tight walls close in on him as he brings his hand to tug your tail, bringing you as close as possible. Your pussy pulsates around him as you release your orgasm in a crescendo of bliss. “Ah!” You scream out, the blinding white pleasure causes spots to appear in your eyes, with your head thrown back in complete delight. The feeling of your tight walls squeezing his cock causes him to reach his high, as his hot white seed coats your pussy, shoot into your womb. You feel yourself milking him dry, as the last of your high causes you to clench around him once more, your bodies heaving in absolute delight. So’lek brings his forehead to rest on your shoulder as he finally feels the effects of the poison lifting off of him like a stone sitting on his chest. His breathing starts to even out, as he hears yours follow suit. He’s careful to pull out of you as gently as possible, gripping your waist for stability as your weak little whimpers fill his ear with guilt. 

Your slumped form now slowly turns around, to meet his eyes as he tries to avoid contact with you. “Hey, So’lek look at me. Are you alright?” He shyly meets your concerned gaze, shocked that it’s even possible you’re still here standing in front of him on your own two feet after what he’s just done to you. A monster. “I’m fine. Y/n. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” He says in a hushed tone, with tears beginning to form in his eyes. “So’lek, it’s alright baby. I wanted this. I  don’t want you thinking I didn’t want this.” You softly stroke his cheek as the tears begin to fall, catching them and wiping them away. “What I just did was dishonorable. I- I am so ashamed.” He looks down in horror. “So’lek, the plant’s poison works so that the victim feels the emotions that are already present, just heightening the sexual desire. I felt it as you did. I wanted this. I have wanted you since the day at the watering hole 5 years ago.” You chuckle lightly. He raises his eyes to meet yours, “What? You mean to say.” “Yes So’lek.” You shyly nod. Is it true? The girl of his dreams confessing her love to him, he blinks several times in disbelief. “I had always hoped that I would get your parents blessing to mate with you under the spirit tree and take you as mine, this… this is not what I planned.” He sighs. “Hey look at me, we have time. We have not stained anything. If you still wish to court me, mate me, you have me So’lek. I am forever yours” You smile to him placing his hand your beating heart. He smiles so wide his fangs glisten in the sunlight, causing you to mimic his own. “I could not ask for anyone else y/n, my heart is yours eternally.” 

[jules-writes-stories]

Into the Night

A Retelling of Hades & Persephone | Azriel x Eris | Azris Week | Day 7| Equinox

Cast of Characters |

Eris | Persephone Azriel | Hades Lady of Autumn | Demeter Helion | Helios Lucien | Hermes Rhys | Zeus The Archeron Sisters | The Fates Cassian as himself

The first two parts are below. Read the whole story on AO3.

I

Scarlet hair blew across a pale face, like blood on freshly fallen snow. Golden eyes were lights upon dark water, a windy smile. He wanted this fae of Forest and Flame, like nothing he’d ever wanted before. Ours, the shadows whispered.

Each day was the same. Azriel spied on the beautiful male gliding through Autumn’s citrine-ruby forests, watched him slip between stalks of grain and orchards, the scent of stone fruit and loam cloying in the setting sun. 

Somehow the shadows had found their way into this court of hearth and harvest, once in thrall to a wicked Fire Lord, whose wife rose up and took the throne. Now, she ruled as Autumn’s High Lady with her seven sons. And it was the eldest that Azriel desired for his own.

He’d told his brothers, Rhysand, High Lord of Night, and Cassian, Lord of Bloodshed, just how much he needed the prince of Autumn. “Not until the Equinox,” Rhys had insisted. And Azriel was a patient male, a spymaster and a shadowsinger. He could wait for what was his.

Even as the golden cord that bound him to his mate, woven by the Mother herself, dragged at the unruly beast that was his heart. 

II

Today was the Equinox, most High Holy Day in Autumn, and all of Prythian. When Day and Night aligned in perfect balance. It was the one night each year, when the magical boundaries and borders dropped between Prythian’s courts. All fae, High and lesser, Solar and Seasonal, united as one, beneath the Mother’s loving gaze. 

Eris Vanserra, heir of Autumn, prepared for this night of revelry, like any other. He wore green velvet and diaphanous silk that whispered of trysts in moonlit forests. Gold lined his pointed ears, a single hoop in one nostril. 

Warrior, prince, fae of fire—this was his kingdom. And tonight, he would find his pleasure and replenish the land, to give back to its plenty. The prince left for the Forest, his brothers close behind. Fae danced around pyres, in time with distant drumming, already buzzing on wine, the scent of sex, sweet and smoky, in the night. 

Eris felt alive and aroused, in need of something he could not place. Soon. The drumming paused as voices hushed. Crackling bonfires and the breeze in ancient treetops were the only sounds. 

Now.

His magic was rising. It snapped beneath his tongue, itched his palms. Tingled at his fingertips, and down his spine. Until there were full sparks, flames along skin, at the tips of his hair, wreathing his hands. It was life and death and sex, to forget one’s before and after—not to become or have been, but to be.

Now. 

As his magic settled, finally, pulsing through his veins, Eris looked up in awe, ready to receive the Mother’s love. And this was why the fireling was taken so completely off guard. For it was at this very moment, while all of Prythian’s eyes were on the heavens, that Hel’s shadows and darkness came.

 *          *          *

Now. It had to be this very moment. When the wards between their courts were unguarded. Azriel commanded the shadows to bank the bonfires with darkness. Fae cried out as the earth quaked, seeming to cleave open, as the Night Court male landed silently in the darkened Forest. 

The shadowsinger reached out and with strong, scarred hands, pulled the fireling, by his narrow waist, to his chest. Mine. 

The golden thread thrummed with pleasure at the contact, at the scent of embers and rain, of the male in his arms. Amber eyes took in hazel.

 “Who are you?” a voice, breathless, but unafraid, asked in the darkness. 

“I am the singer of shadows. I am yours,” Azriel whispered back, his breath against the skin of the male’s white cheek. And then, before the Autumn fae could panic or react, they were passing through folds of space and time. 

 *          *          *

Eris was lost in the darkness, his only anchor a pair of strong arms, a solid chest, the scent of mist and moonlight on cedar.  He was holding his breath, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Open your eyes,” a low voice rumbled, laced with amusement. The Autumn prince did, and what he saw, left him speechless. He clung to the leathers of a male, built like a warrior, with enormous, bat-like wings, spread against the night sky. And this male’s beauty was heartbreaking. His raven curls were perfectly tousled, as if the wind herself had run long fingers through them. Golden brown skin, high cheekbones, and hazel eyes lined with thick lashes. 

Eris pulled away with a jolt, baring his slightly elongated canines. Flames coiled along his hands. “Take me back to my home.” He growled, with all the authority of an Autumn prince.

But the winged male simply smirked and stared. His eyes moved slowly, starting at Eris’s red hair, the flushed tips of his pointed ears, then shifted with lazy dominance, downwards, lingering at molten eyes, a perfect nose, kissed with faint freckles, to the male’s pink, pouting mouth.

Heat coiled low in the fireling’s belly, at the base of his spine, arousal licking through his veins, even as he grew angry. Who was this male, to look at the heir of Autumn, with such possession? The fae prince bared his teeth again, flames growing hotter.

Hazel eyes, unphased, unhurried, continued to move down the prince’s lithe frame. They took in the long column of a pale neck. Broad, graceful shoulders and a narrow waist. Hips that would feel perfect in his hands. 

And then, the winged male, shrouded in shadows, said, “Eris, you are home.” 

I tagged anyone who asked/expressed interest, but please lmk if you ever want on/off my 🏷️

@c-starstuff-man0, @natashachelsea @chunkypossum, @fieldofdaisiies @jir67 @futurehunt @the-darkestminds @hellolordling @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @brekkershadowsinger @disney-acotar-hp @moonpatroclus @azrisweek @unanswered-stars @theartofmischief @lilah-asteria

[junemermaid]

mlc fic snippet

so I missed Wednesday because of jet lag and other nonsense, but today was a good writing day so fuck it, we ball

this is from an incredibly self-indulgent difanghua one-shot set about five years post-canon so please assume a bit of characterisation shift. to be posted as soon as I can wrap it.

Li Lianhua has watered all the herbs twice. Trailing surreptitiously after him, Di Feisheng tips the skin of murky water off the top of each pot while inside, Li Lianhua opens and closes the drawers of his apothecary cabinet. Outside, he can hear the splash of water and the furious clink of earthenware on the riverbank. Fang Duobing is venting something on the breakfast dishes. "I think I'll go to town early," Li Lianhua says, to no one in particular. Hulijing leaps up from her sunning spot on the back porch. "It's market day tomorrow, and that herbalist from the north hills should be there. I should replenish some medicines." "We're still living well on the money from our last job," Di Feisheng counters. "There's no need for your quackery, unless you're bored." "Maybe I am," he says, airily. "I could pick up some of those pomegranates you say you don't like, but they always seem to disappear as soon as I bring back any." "Have you checked the dog's teeth?" "Lao Di!" Li Lianhua swats him gently in the arm. "Blaming an innocent creature for your misdeeds. That is beneath you, surely." How about blaming an earnest young man for your own turmoil? If Di Feisheng could claim great certainty for himself, he might have a secure footing to speak from. "You have your kit?" is all he asks. These days, Li Lianhua refuses weapons, but has agreed to carry a smoke signal and a few sachets of Su Xiaoyong's knockout powder. They can't always keep him within sight, and he can't be confined to the Lotus Tower, so it's a solution comfortable to all of them. Most aspects of their life together are. "I do. And Hulijing, of course." As Li Lianhua leans up, Di Feisheng obliges him with a kiss, wrapping an arm around his waist. Turning his cheek to his shoulder, Li Lianhua presses close, the pliant line of his body a more honest thank you than any he could utter. "Go on," Di Feisheng says against his hair. "I'll keep an eye on Xiaobao. He'll sort himself out." So you do the same.

tbc

[he-calls-me-kitten]

I literally love ur blog sm! Do u think u can do just really soft sex with Satan after a long day at rad? If not that's fine but have a great day/night love!

Awww this is so adorable! Soft sex is so underrated honestly and it being with Satan?? The wrathful Avatar being gentle just for you? Oof my heart-

Thank you for the ask, love! So sorry for the extreme delay - it's such a lovely idea!

"You look like you've had quite a day." Satan smiled as you entered his room and plopped yourself down on his bed, next to him.

"Ugh don't ask." You groaned as he chuckled and put his arms around you. He didn't need to ask, you'd tell him anyway.

"So Levi and Mammon flooded the classroom because of a stupid bet of who can hold their breath under water the longest. Fyi it should have been Levi cause he's literally a water snake in his demon form but he forgot to transform and it ended on a tie."

Satan facepalmed. Must he call these imbeciles his 'brothers'? "I'm guessing that lead to a tie-breaker." He said, running his fingers through your hair.

"Yes and Beel and Asmo got involved. It was a duo challenge now of who is a better team player! And as you can guess Asmo and Beel kept getting distracted and it ended up being a solo effort by Mammon and Levi. Which again... wait for it... ended in a TIE. But now guess who is the new tie-breaker?"

"Oh no, MC..."

"Oh yes MC! I had to run 3 laps with each of them in a weird relay race! I've had it with today!" You say, hiding your face in his pillow. His scent was always so relaxing.

"Well thank you for still coming to see me after all that." Satan smiles, rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

You peeked up and looked at his softened gaze. In times like these, he never denies even your most ridiculous requests.

"Hold me tight." You said and watched color rush to his cheeks. You turned towards him as he eased his arms around you, with your neck buried in his neck.

"I can do a little more than that...if you'd like." He said as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head. The way his fingers inched under your top, asking for permission replenished all the energy you lost through the day.

"I'd like that."

Satan pressed a kiss against your mouth just as you uttered the words. Your lips opened on their own, letting his tongue slip in and entice moans from you.

Patient yet passionate you couldn't understand how he did it, you were just happy to be on the receiving end. From your lips to cheeks, right down to your neck - he marked his love on you little by little.

"You... you're really beautiful..." Satan paused after he'd pulled your tshirt off. You blushed under his intense gaze as you pulled his green sweater off him and hugged him, hiding your face in his shoulder.

He groaned deliciously at the contact between your bare skins, bucking his groin into your hips almost involuntarily. Fingers hooking into your waistband, he pulled off your shorts next.

"S-Satan...need more ...please..." No his fingers wouldn't be enough. He was pleased really, he didn't know how long he could have held back anymore. He took off his pants and showed you exactly how much he wanted you.

"You're so ready for me, kitten... So good for me..." He whispered and kissed your cheeks as you screamed in pleasure at his thrusts.

You don't know how long it went on but you know you had the best sleep right after.

[materlux]

The Priestess and The Swordsman - Chapter 2: "Will you help me?"

This took longer to finish, honestly it's not favorite work and is more like a filler chapter to tie the previous to the last.

I added Yanqing, learnt I have absolutly no idea how that boy acts, and improvised, sort of.

I still hope you enjoy!

CW: Mentions of: Curses, blood, death, chronic illness? It's angst/fluff, JIng Yuan being a worried dad, and Mimi, found family. 2.6k

Bog-rosemary represents; to be bound by fate.

Honkai Star Rail | Main Masterlist

It’s been a week, you think, you have been losing track of time these past days. Since you were bedridden, you spent most hours of the day asleep or half conscious, under the watchful eyes of various healers from the alchemy commission, courtesy of Lady Bailu and Jing Yuan.

   Lady Bailu comes to see you at least once this week, to replenish the bandages and the ointment for your arm, and check on you herself.

   Jing Yuan is here at least once a day, you get the feeling he’s using you to skip work, but you like the company so you don’t question him.

   Aside from the healers who come and go, your best company has been Jing Yuan’s 400 something pound ‘cat’, Mimi, who he clearly trusts greatly. When he first brought it with him, you thought he had gone mad, but Mimi has proven to be great company. 

   He lays himself out on the bed by your side, no one would be foolish enough to do anything to you with a lion as your bodyguard. He’s very warm and his fur is soft, he keeps quiet and lets you sleep as you please; and on the days when you get up to wander the small room, he follows you around and lets you use him for support. All around a good roommate.

   Today is the first day you have felt more alive, energy is practically exploding out of you, but you are under strict rules: No moving from your bed when you are alone. For once no healers are walking back and forth, Lady Bailu isn’t here to see to you herself, you’re alone. 

   Well, not entirely alone, Mimi lays stretched out on the wood floor before a window, sunlight bathing his light fur. He’s been asleep since the moment he walked into the light, what careless behaviour, you wish you could indulge in the same careless behaviour.

   An idea, Mimi is a surprisingly great caretaker, it’s like he knows you're sick. With him around you aren’t alone, so technically you can get out of bed, it’s not like anyone is here to see you break the rule.

   So you get out of bed and instantly Mimi is by your side, as you walk he stays pressed up against your side. You rest your hand on his back, his fur is still warm from the sun. You walk around the small room, it quickly gets boring, you have seen everything in this room at least a dozen times now. The door leading out to the small seating area and kitchen is right there, unlocked and easy to open.

   It’s been awhile since you’ve seen the seating area or kitchen, it’s cosy; with a couch covered in pillows and blankets, a coffee table with dark coffee stains, and walls covered in picture frames of people you don’t know. The kitchen is stocked with food and drinks, the counters are clear and light shines in over the sink. Outside the window, the garden stretches seemingly endlessly.

   You stand before the front door, it’s made of dark wood with raised details. If it was a rule that you had to stay in bed, it was basically law that you stay in the house, but you long to see the flowers, feel the breeze and the sun, touch the running water. One step outside wouldn’t kill you, plus Mimi won’t leave your side.

   The stone pathway is warm under your feet, the breeze caresses your hair, the flowers are soft on your skin. You slowly make your way around the garden, you intend to stay close to the house, only wandering around the first couple of beds, but the sound of running water and the desire to feel it on your skin lures you away.

   The small stream of water leads into a pond filled with lilies, the pump under the water is slightly clogged with algae, so parts of the surrounding area have turned swampy or boggy. Small pink bell-like flowers bloom from low growing plants, you kneel down to look closer to them, bog-rosemary you conclude. The water is cold as it runs over your hand, it sends a shock through your nerves.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

   You don’t know how long you spend out in the garden, Mimi stays by your side like you expected. What you don’t expect is to see the General of the Luofu looking so frazzled, he looks around frantically, until he spots you.

   Jing Yuan walks down the pathway in quick steps, out of instinct you take a step back, he looks upset. He stands before you and for the first time he seems to be at a loss for words, he looks down at you wide eyed like you just insulted his entire bloodline.

   “What are you doing!?” He asks in a raised voice, his tone makes you wince. “You’re supposed to stay in bed!” You feel so small before him now, you take another step back and avoid his eyes. “Look at me! What are you doing?” He demands, you glance up.

   His eyes are fierce, hot molten gold full of anger, your mouth dries up and your throat closes. You know he won’t hurt you, your whole body and mind knows he won’t lay a finger on you. So then why do you suddenly feel so threatened? Why do you want to run away and hide? Why is he making you feel like this, he’s never done anything to warrant this reaction.

   But as you look into his eyes, molten gold gives way to cold silver, they look down at you with disgust, something so foreign in the gold but all too familiar here. The priest drinks from his cup of wine, dark and red, but seems too thick to be just wine, what is it? The room closes in around you, the doors vanish and he leans in, it’s too much it’s all too much.

   Something soft and warm brushes against your leg, Mimi’s standing between you and the General, the tuft of fur at the end of his tail brushes against your leg with every swing. He lets out a low growl, he must have sensed your distress and come to your aid, defending you from his owner.

   Jing Yuan looks taken aback by the display, and yet he doesn’t seem upset about it, almost proud. He takes a deep breath, and much more softly beckons you to look at him. You do, the formerly molten gold full of anger, gives way to something underlying, concern.

   “Why are you out here?” He asks more calmly this time, there’s no malice in his tone. “I- I just wanted to see the garden…” you answer quietly, you look down at your feet and study the gaps in the stone.

   He speaks your name so softly you might have mistaken it as the wind, but the wind wouldn’t be able to mimic even half the affection in his tone. You look up at him, and with a gentle hand gesture he beckons you over, with small steps you move to stand before him. A warm hand grazes your skin, rubbing at tears you didn’t notice were falling.

   “Next time you want to go out, wait for me.” He smiles gently down at you, and you nod. “Okay,” he nearly whispers. “But I am glad to see you feeling better.”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

   From then on, on the days you feel well, you wait for him on the couch, Mimi resting by your feet. He guides you around the garden, and holds you steady when the curse makes the world spin. In return you tell him about the flowers in the garden, about all their hidden meanings and useful abilities.

   On days when you can’t leave the bed, he sits by your side and rests, you wonder if the position is even comfortable. You ask him about his day, and he opts to tell you about the fun stuff, the happenings of the Luofu, and how diviner Fu is ‘oh so cruel’ for making him do paperwork on such a fine day. Much like Mimi, the lion-like general also makes for good company, he keeps your days interesting and less quiet.

   On bad days he holds your hand as healers attend you, people you barely know asking questions and treating your arm, he helps keep you grounded and he even answers some questions when you can’t. A rough but warm thumb running over your knuckles, as the healer rubs ointment over your darkening skin.

   The black tendrils have started creeping past your shoulder, over your collarbone and up the side of your neck. Areas near the beginning are cracking open, they burn terribly, they keep you awake through all hours of the day and night.

   Lady Bailu comes by and does her own examination of the damage, she offers you some painkillers and soothing tea to ease your mind, a good night's rest is important for your health, she says as she bandages your arm and helps you back into your shirt.

   She leaves your room, she and Jing Yuan speak just beyond the door, you can’t hear what they say but you recognize their voices. It must have been bad news, because when Jing Yuan returns with Mimi hot on his heels, he has a solemn and almost distant look to him.

   Mimi joins you on the bed as you adjust yourself, you weave your fingers into his mane, untangling knots as you go. Jing Yuan takes his place by your side, the old chair creaks in protest, he stares at the wall across the room, clearly in deep thought.

   “What’s wrong?” You ask, you’re looking down at Mimi, he looks back at you and rumbles. Jing Yuan stays quiet, he must be deep in thought.

   “Yuan, what’s wrong?” Your hand escapes Mimi’s mane to poke at Jing Yuan’s arm, he snaps out of his stupor and looks at you. “What’s wrong?” You repeat the question again, but he only looks at you, with something akin to pity.

   “Nothing,” he says, but he sounds distant, you aren’t convinced.

   “If it’s about me, shouldn’t I also know?” It may be phrased like a question, but it’s meant as a statement, because you should know. The room grows quiet as he looks into your eyes, you hold eye contact and he relents with a sigh.

   “The healers and Lady Bailu theorise that once the tendrils reach your head, well…” The words die on his tongue, but you get it.

   “I die,” you finish, he winces and his eyes seem to go glassy.

   “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

   “What for? There was nothing you could do, only the aeons can undo this.”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

   It’s like the air around you has grown heavy with a sort of sadness, and frankly you’re kind of tired of it, all this grieving over you when you’re right here. Sure more of the tendrils have started cracking open, and your bedsheets need to be changed almost everyday because of the blood, and yeah your skin is more lifeless now, but still.

   Mimi is the only one who seems unbothered by the heavy air, he sleeps in your lap, as you tease his mane into weird hairdos. Lady Bailu comes to see you more often now, you get the feeling Jing Yuan would like the same freedom, but he has important duties to fulfil.

   One day you offer a solution to this problem, one that would also satiate a certain curious itch of yours, he could take you to his office. That way he can feel more at ease and you get to see the General of the Luofu’s office, how cool wouldn’t that be.

   You already asked Lady Bailu, and she agrees under some conditions: You must stay seated, covered by a blanket for warmth, and Lady Bailu and other chosen healers must be allowed entrance at all times. You nod along to it all, it suits you just fine, you even add your own condition: Mimi must be allowed to accompany you as well.

   You shush Jing Yuan and lay out the conditions, a solemn smile grazes his features, it makes you happy in return to see him a little less dreadful. He agrees to try it for just one day, and you take the offer.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

   The General of the Luofu’s office is massive, it dwarfs the priest’s old office and the atmosphere in this room is far more comfortable, despite the walls being lined with weaponry.

   You sit in the corner of the General’s chair, which is more like a bench, with a blanket and a lion’s head in your lap. The General in question walks back and forth before the desk while looking through documents. 

   It was odd at first to hear people call him General, when you are used to calling him by name. He is still adamant you only call by name, or the nickname you have taken to, it’s really just a shortening of his name: Yuan.

   A warm cup of tea is held between your cold palms, it’s a soothing herbal tea, recommended by Lady Bailu. It soothes your mind and nerves, and warms your body at the same time. Mimi doesn’t mind when you rest the cup and your hands on his head, when your arms become tired.

   A young boy, maybe your age, walks with purpose and confidence up the collection of stairs before the General’s desk. He goes to exchange words with Jing Yuan, but his eyes spot you on the chair, the two of you stare at each other for a moment.

   The boy looks back at Jing Yuan clearly confused, the General bears an ever relaxed disposition, and calmly explains the situation. The boy introduces himself as Yanqing, the General’s retainer and a lieutenant in the cloud knights. You introduce yourself, but leave out the part about your origin.

   The Lieutenant quickly goes back to his duties and reports to the General, after which he takes his leave. You see the boy again later in the evening, you slept from a little over midday to now, the sun is setting and you’ll be going back to your room soon.

   You expect the Lieutenant to leave after he gives, what you guess is his last report of the day, but he stays. As the General organises his documents and cleans his desk, the Lieutenant joins you behind the desk, at first you just look at each other.

   “Hello,” he says, somewhat awkwardly.

   “Hi,” you respond, your voice is laced with sleep.

   The General adjusts one last pile of papers, before he rounds the desk to stand by your side, he ushers Mimi from your lap and places the cup formerly in your hands, on the desk.

   “Yanqing,” he starts, gathering the blanket and wrapping it around your shoulders. “If you’d like to join me as I bring them back to their room, you’re welcome,” Jing Yuan offers, the young boy perks up and mulls over the option.

   “I’ll take you up on that offer, general.” He sounds so formel, especially compared to your ‘Yuan’.

   “Good.” The General smiles.

   The General bends down and gathers you in his arms, blanket and all, and stands with ease. Yanqing follows behind the General, but Mimi keeps pace by his side.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

   You fade in and out consciousness the entire walk, the voices of Yanqing and Jing Yuan bleed in and out of existence, like whispers on the wind. At some point, warmth and soft sheets envelop your body, distantly you feel a hand gently smooth over your hair, before the world goes quiet.

[puck-luck]

new beginnings | july 1 - july 7

36:90 – HONEY

July 1. It’s the first of July and Honey hates today. It’s the anniversary of the day that she told her parents that she wanted to leave Charlotte. She wanted to tell them ahead of their usual July 4th barbecue because they were in a good mood. She’d known for months by then, since the case against Thomas ended, that she wanted to leave the city. She’d been saving up, she had Bea on board, and her only remaining task was to tell Christopher and Stephanie that she wanted out– that she wanted to go to the mountain house and live there, alone, at least until she figured everything out.

That happened in 2019. She and Bea didn’t make it to Litchton until weeks later, after fighting with their parents about how this would be better than going to college. Honey had wanted to move immediately and rid herself of her tainted memories of Charlotte, North Carolina, but the compromise was that Bea would spend her birthday at home for the last time and the pair would pay Honey’s parents half of the value of the mountain house in order to keep it. Honey worked her ass off to complete that payment, just so that she could be out from under the thumb of her parents and free to start over. 

At times, she thinks she was too hasty. She wonders what it would’ve been like if she had stayed in Charlotte with her parents– where she would’ve ended up, how she would be living, if she would be past the Thomas thing by now. It’s truly a mystery to her and Honey tries not to spend too much time thinking about what could’ve been.

Still, she woke up feeling off today. She always does on the first day of this month and normally, she’s at work or able to hang out with Bea to take her mind off of it.

Bea, however, had other plans for the day. When Honey called her earlier and asked if she wanted to come over, or if Honey could come over to hers, Bea had gasped and apologized because she had forgotten what today was and already invited Quinn over. 

"He’s here now, but you can come hang out with us," Bea said. "I know third wheeling isn’t your idea of a good time, but I’ll give him a really quick blowie to tide him over while you’re here."

Honey had told Bea that she didn’t have to do that and that she would manage well enough on her own.

Bea, before hanging up, had said, "Well, if you decide you can’t be alone, you know who’s always free..." 

Then, when Honey had sworn into the phone, Bea promptly laughed and ended the call.

Which leaves Honey with where she is now, staring at her text messages and debating whether or not she should text him. 

For a while, Honey had convinced herself that she was fine. She had read her book, played some music and danced around her living room, prepared an early lunch and eaten the last of her peaches and blackberries. She needs to buy watermelon tonight for Independence Day, but it’s too early to head to the fruit stand. She likes to go in the evenings, when Joan replenishes her supply. She goes outside and tries to string up an old hammock she finds in the bottom of her hall closet, then she sunbathes for a while until she can feel the sunburn prickling at her skin. 

And here she is. Actually debating it– actually considering texting Trevor. Honey has only a few problems with texting Trevor– #1, that it’s the first time she will have reached out to him. #2, that she’s not averse to him coming over, not in the slightest. 

A month ago, even up until two weeks ago, Honey swore that she wouldn’t allow any of the boys to step foot into her home. This was her sacred space, rarely to be shared with anyone but Bea and occasionally Sean, Bea’s ex-fling from their first winter in Litchton who comes up to mow Honey’s grass on his riding mower once a month. Honey is perturbed that she’s okay with inviting Trevor over– even more perturbed that there’s a part of her that wants to invite Trevor over. 

Sometime after she comes inside, in true Blue Ridge Mountain fashion, it starts to storm. It’s finally July in the mountains and that means rain, at least a sprinkling, every afternoon around 3pm. Unless, of course, they’re in a drought-week, when it doesn’t rain at all. After the drought-week ends, they’ll have a short monsoon season to make up for it. 

Honey prefers when it rains every afternoon for an hour. Most days, the sun is still shining and she gets to look out for a rainbow. What seemed rare during her summers in Litchton as a child, just from her own flawed memories that have faded over time, is plentiful now. Honey loves the rainbows just as much as she did then, back when she used to play fairies in the woods with her Barbie dolls and little pink wings strapped to her back.

She wishes her parents would have allowed Bea to come visit back then so that Bea could’ve put on her own purple, feathery angel wings and run around with Honey. They used to do that in the cul-de-sac where Bea lived when they first became friends, brandishing magic wands and riding their old scooters until they were too tall to comfortably reach the handles. Then, they learned to bike.

Sometimes, when she thinks about days like that, Honey misses Charlotte. When she was a kid, Litchton seemed so far removed from her world and she would dread being alone up here with no one but her parents and the townsfolk to talk to. As she grew up, she started to understand it more. Once everything happened, the switch flipped, and Charlotte was ruined for her. Litchton was completely safe– the only thing that had been missing was Bea.

So they came up together– which is part of the reason why Honey feels extra lonely. Bea can’t hang out today and Honey misses her. Honey is lonely because she misses having Bea in the house on this very significant anniversary and that, not the fact that she wants Trevor to come over– thank you very much!– is what spurs her to text him.

“Come over?”

Honey stares at the message, deleting it and retyping it in a series of different ways (“Do you want to come over?”, “What are you doing rn?”, and “Hi”) before deleting all of them and sending her original composition with a cringe. She tosses her phone onto her bed, face down, then she crosses the room and decides to reorganize her sock drawer.

It takes all of ten minutes for her to empty the drawer, refold all of her socks and underwear, and move all of her bras to one of her cubbies in her closet. When she finally checks her phone, Trevor hasn’t responded. 

Her stomach sinks because really– she thought that Trevor was more into her. He’s always been the kind of guy to respond immediately (the one time she texted him back before this) and the kind to follow her around just to get her attention. Why hasn’t he texted her back yet?

It’s hard not to take the lack of response as a rejection, because Honey’s gone completely insane apparently and she suddenly cares what Trevor thinks and what Trevor does. She tosses her phone down again and moves on to her shoes, reorganizing them into neat lines and tossing out the pairs that she deems too old or too unfashionable or too unique to fit with anything but one specific outfit.

It’s then that she hears her back door bang open and the clatter of feet climbing her steps.

Oh my God, Honey thinks. Oh my God. There’s an intruder and he’s coming to get me. I knew I should’ve locked my back door after sunbathing! Dad told me that I needed to buy a gun if I was going to live alone in the woods!

Honey looks around the room for something to defend herself and settles on her lamp, unplugging it and holding it up, ready to crash it on the head of whatever poor soul tried to enter her house and hurt her. It’s completely self-defense.

She presses her back against the wall behind her door and subtly reaches over to lock it, just as the footsteps make it to the top of the stairs. They come racing down the hall and she rears back, lifting the lamp higher. 

The person jiggles the doorknob, then when they realize it isn’t opening, they bang on the wood. The pounding has Honey grinding her teeth and shrinking back, hoping that the person isn’t strong enough to break the door down and that they don’t have a weapon that they can drive through the door before shouting “Here’s Johnny!”

“Honey!” Trevor calls, knocking. “Honey, are you okay? Let me in!”

Honey rests her head against the wall, knocking it against the paint a few times. She’s a fucking moron for jumping to conclusions that the person in her house was an intruder– she needn’t have worried about Trevor not texting her back. Of course he was already on the way, as soon as he read her “Come over?” message. 

She sighs and her hand drops to her side, still holding the lamp. She pushes away from the wall, unlocking the door and pulling it open. 

Trevor looks disheveled on the other side, pushing his way into her bedroom and grabbing her arm to pull Honey behind him as he surveys the room. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” His eyes drop to the lamp in her hands and he furrows his brow. “What’s with the lamp?”

“I thought you were a murderer who broke into my house!” Honey exclaims, thrusting the lamp against his chest until he cradles it there.

“You invited me over!”

“I thought you would text me back like a normal person!”

“You were going to defend yourself against a murderer with a lamp?”

“Well, I didn’t have a gun!”

“You would’ve shot me?”

“This is an absurd conversation! Why didn’t you just text me back?” Honey throws her hands up in exasperation. 

“I thought you were in danger,” Trevor says. “So I came right over.”

Honey laughs. “You are such a caveman.”

Trevor breaks out into a smile. He places the lamp on Honey’s bedside table and then brings his hands to her shoulders, drawing her against his body into a tight hug. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, squishing his cheek against the top of her head.

Honey squirms in his arms. “Lemme go,” she says, struggling. 

“No,” Trevor insists, holding her tighter. 

“Lemme go,” Honey repeats, drawing out the word and pouting up at the boy.

“Hi,” Trevor says, loosening his grip on her just enough that he can bend down and peck the pout on her lips. “What’d you invite me over for? Thought you hated me.”

“Still do,” Honey tells him, although they both know it’s a lie. She’s still perturbed about the fact that she doesn’t hate him, but she’s unwilling to admit it. Maybe she doesn’t even have to– he seems to know. 

“Gonna answer my question?” Trevor teases. “Why’d you invite me over… and all that?”

“Oh, blah,” Honey scoffs, waving him off. “Not important.”

“Very important since it’s the first time you texted me first,” Trevor corrects. “That’s so monumental that I thought you were dying and you needed me to save you.”

“Good God,” Honey says. “I didn’t know you had a savior complex, too.”

“Why do you think I’m still hanging around with you?” Trevor jokes, winking at Honey. 

“Ugh, so not funny,” Honey tells him, rolling her eyes. “Only invited you over because Bea was busy.”

Trevor groans. “Oh, I know. Quinn went over to hers at the asscrack of dawn and slammed the front door behind him. That door is so heavy that it practically shook the whole house.” He pauses. “So I’m your second choice?”

“It was either you or Ada,” Honey says. “Except Ada doesn’t like it when we bother her on the weekend. She says she sees enough of us at the Nook on the weekends.”

“I’ll remember that next time Bea drags me to a church service and I see her there.”

“Bea drags you to church services regularly?” Honey asks.

“At least twice.”

A quick silence passes between them and Trevor grins, broad and stupid. 

“Hi, Trevor,” Honey finally says, a proper greeting for the boy. She pulls him down by the collar of his shirt and plants a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Wanna go get fruit with me?”

“I drove all the way over here, found your only unlocked door, and broke in just so that we could leave again?” Trevor asks. 

Honey beams up at him. “Yes. That’s why I invited you over.”

Trevor clicks his tongue at her and rolls his eyes, then reaches over to her bedpost and picks up her mesh bag, the one that she always takes to the fruit stand on Mondays. He slings it over his shoulder and returns to her bedroom door, holding it wide open for her. 

Honey walks past him, feeling him turn and lumber closely behind her. He stays close to her, hands pinching the sides of her hips over her jean shorts. Honey weasels out of his grip– he’s so touchy– and lets him lead her out the front door to the car. She chases him, getting him back for his own lack of personal space, using the back of his shirt like a bride’s train.

She’s giggling a little as she does so, catching herself as she pulls open the passenger door to his car. She quiets herself and sits in the front seat, her knees together and turned away from Trevor. She looks out the window, watching the trees pass until they make it to town. 

He pulls into the parking lot of the grocery store and follows Honey dutifully to the stand. Trevor greets Joan as Honey starts to shop, inspecting the berries and the watermelons on the stand. He hovers near her, murmuring and holding up one of the larger watermelons for her to inspect. 

“Fourth of July?” He asks. “Are you coming to hang out with us? Jim and Ellen are coming tomorrow and they want to have a barbecue with everyone on Thursday. Then, maybe a lake day on Friday?”

“I might be able to make it,” Honey says. “Is Bea officially going?”

“Quinn is convincing her now,” Trevor replies.

Honey snorts. She bets he is– it’s not hard to convince Bea to do something when you’re dicking her down on the regular.

Trevor nods, understanding the implication Honey is making. “So?”

“If Bea goes, I’ll go.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Trevor says. He puts the melon on his shoulder and holds it with one hand. “Get me another? We’ll need two since there are nine of us.”

“No, we don’t,” Honey corrects. “One watermelon can feed up to thirty people. I read it once.”

Trevor quirks a smile. “Okay. Only one. I’ll tell Jack that you know better than he does.”

“I do know better than he does, and I last longer in the sack, too,” Honey says definitively. She barely realizes the joke she’s making, letting the words fall from her mouth the same way she’d joke around Bea. It’s an ease that comes with years of friendship, but with Trevor, the ease came within weeks. 

She doesn’t have the time to ponder what that means for her– what her relationship with Trevor is, aside from the obvious fact that they’ve hooked up four times now. Does the fourth count if he robbed her of an orgasm by finishing so soon? She considers the other boys to be her friends– why not him? 

I don’t know. It’s just different with him.

Trevor allows Honey to load a bunch of fruit into the bag that he’s still carrying. He holds the watermelon in one hand, atop his shoulder. The other, eventually, cradles a pineapple that he took from Honey so her arms were free. When she goes to take her wallet out to pay for the fruit, he lifts a foot and nudges the back of her knee so that she crumbles forward a bit. 

She turns to him, ready to berate, but Trevor just turns his hip and pops it toward her.

“What?” Honey snaps.

“Let me pay,” Trevor says. “The watermelon is for my party, after all.”

Honey lets her shoulders sag when she lets out a deep sigh. “You won’t take no for an answer, will you,” she states.

“Nope,” Trevor replies, smiling again. 

Honey relents and uses his wallet, earning a sympathetic smile from Joan. Honey doesn’t feel like she deserves it. It’s the kind of smile you give to a mother whose child is screaming in public, or a wife whose spouse is pissing her off and she’s barely containing herself. Trevor is not her spouse, that’s for sure. She might be questioning their relationship, but she knows that it’s nothing more than friends– maybe?– who hook up.

He’s just helping her through the Thomas thing. He’s helping her get comfortable with sex again, with being desired again. That’s it.

They load the groceries into the car together and Trevor drives her back to the house, carrying all the fruit into her kitchen and insisting on putting it away.

He does so completely wrong and Honey knows that as soon as he leaves, she’ll have to reorganize based on her own system. She watches from the counter, only correcting him a few times before he tells her to quit and let him do this good deed.

Honey heads upstairs, to her bed, and changes into a pair of pajamas. It’s just about dinner time and she had plans to make herself some pasta, but she doesn’t want to crowd Trevor in the kitchen. She burrows into her bed, bringing her knees up as a stand to rest her book on while she reads it and waits for him.

It’s a good thirty minutes before Trevor returns to her bedroom, two plates in hand. Instead of pasta, he made some sort of wrap and filled a little bowl with ranch for them to dip their dinners into. She thanks him quietly and they eat together in relative silence. 

Trevor’s knee presses against her hip, touching her at all times. It’s a little overstimulating, but Honey doesn’t mind it all that much.

“I didn’t really want to be alone today,” Honey says through a bite. “That’s why I invited you over.”

“Okay,” Trevor says simply. He doesn’t press any further, and while Honey appreciates that, she also wishes that he would.

She talks on. “Today’s the day I told my parents that I wanted to leave Charlotte.”

Trevor pauses and watches her for a moment before taking another bite of his wrap. “That sounds like it was hard.”

Honey blinks, surprised that Trevor’s first instinct is to be empathetic, not to ask more questions or shrug her off like she assumes most frat-boy-esque guys would. 

“It was,” Honey acknowledges after hesitating for a moment. She looks down at her plate in her hands, then moves it to her bedside table and leaves it there. She’s not very hungry now that she’s talking about her life with Trevor. She’s not on the verge of tears this time, which is exciting.

“You left because of him,” Trevor says. “Didn’t you?”

Honey sucks her teeth. “It was a little more complicated than that. Thomas’ actions were the straw that broke the camel’s back, really. I had wanted to live here for a while and I knew that I didn’t want to go to college, but yes. I moved because of Thomas.”

“Was it the right decision?” Trevor asks, polishing off his wrap and wiping his hands on his shirt like a neanderthal. Honey wants to berate him for not having proper manners– another side effect of growing up where she did in Charlotte. 

Honey thinks for a moment. “I asked myself that this morning, you know.”

“Great minds.”

“Hmm. Wouldn’t call your mind great, Trev. Too many hockey concussions, I bet.”

Trevor chuckles, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Whatever, Honey.”

Honey considers his question again as he leans over the edge of the bed to set his plate on the floor. “I think it was the right decision. I’m happier here than I ever would have been as an adult in Charlotte.”

“With me?” Trevor teases, inching closer and bundling himself under the covers next to Honey. 

“I only just met you, I wouldn’t say you’re a big part of my happiness in Litchton,” Honey tells him. “You’re reaching.”

Trevor shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

“But, yeah. Today’s the anniversary of the day that I told them I wanted to leave. It’s a weird day for me.” Honey pushes his wandering hands away and gathers their dishes before walking to the kitchen. She starts to wash the plates and the bowl of ranch, which went relatively untouched throughout their meal. 

Trevor follows her to the kitchen, doing that same puppy-dog thing that he always does. “I can’t imagine you anywhere other than Litchton.”

Honey raises her eyebrows quickly, widening her eyes in a sarcastic glance at the boy. She scrubs her plate harder, making sure there are no scraps remaining. “Really,” she drawls.

Trevor snickers. “You sound like Jack. Yeah, really. Would you ever tell me about what Charlotte was like for you?”

“Mm. Maybe someday. Not today. I’ll answer any other question.” Honey realizes shortly after Trevor’s face lights up that she should be more careful with her words.

“So do you really last longer than Jack in the sack?” Trevor asks, jumping at his chance to hold her to her statement. 

“Oh, fuck off, Trevor,” Honey laughs. She sets the wet plates in her dishrack to dry, then dries her hands on the washcloth that she keeps on the handle of the cabinet near the sink. 

“C’mon,” Trevor goads, smiling wide. He rounds the counter and puts his hands on Honey again, tugging at her loose shirt until her chest is pressed up against his front. “You said you’d answer any other question. That’s my question.”

“You are so annoying,” Honey groans. She rolls her head back so that she can look up at the boy, putting distance between them. 

Trevor scrunches his nose and leans down, inches from her lips. “Do you really last longer than Jack in the sack?” He whispers.

Honey pinches her lips together to avoid smiling at his silliness. She likes the side of Trevor that she sees when they’re alone, his quiet confidence and goofy charm. She’s a little embarrassed to admit that it’s starting to work on her after all this dedication. He still gets on her nerves, though, and his lines are stupid and that will never change. 

She lifts up onto her tiptoes slightly, daring the boy with her own whisper. “Wanna find out?”

When Honey says it, to be fair, she doesn’t expect Trevor to say yes. She expects him to pull away with a laugh and lead her back up to her bedroom, where they’ll snuggle in her bed because he’s touchy and too apprehensive to cross the line until Honey initiates their next hookup.

What she doesn’t expect is for Trevor’s eyes to flash and then grow dark, for him to bend at the knees and grip the back of her thighs and lift her. He carries her away, up to the loft, and he tosses her onto the bed on her back. A yelp escapes from Honey’s lips. Trevor follows her down, blanketing her with his body. He kisses her, long and deep, causing her to melt underneath him.

Then, when they break apart, she pushes him up and looks at him, squinting at his face. He’s content, hovering above her for a moment.

“All bark, no bite?” Trevor asks, his thumb rubbing in soothing passes on her cheek. That hand cradles her jaw while he cups her waist with the other. 

“I don’t bite, unless you want me to,” Honey says, parroting his own words from the night that she jerked him off in his bedroom. 

Trevor seems to recognize the words, leaning down to kiss her again. “I want you to,” Trevor murmurs. “I want you to be all bite, Honey.”

Honey shrugs with one shoulder, nonchalant. “Whatever you say.” Then she places her hand on the back of Trevor’s neck, her index finger tickling the hair at his nape. She pulls him down, leaving absolutely no space between their bodies, and she fits her lips over his pulse point, bruising his skin with her suction.

She’s going to teach him a lesson for leaving all those hickeys on her neck on Saturday. He’s going to get the exact same treatment. She’s half-sure that it’ll backfire on her and he’ll just show the marks off without a care in the world, but she can only hope that he experiences the same shame she did. They’re not in high school, for fuck’s sake– hickeys aren’t cute or practical. They’re a pain.

Although, the little moan he breathes out when she nibbles at his skin is so appealing that she just loses herself, sucking marks along his neck.

Trevor pulls his shirt off, exposing more skin for her to mark up. Honey kisses down his chest, along his collarbones, and over his shoulders before licking her lips and tasting his sweat. He tugs at her shirt, making it go askew before he can fully take it off because he’s so excited to get his fingers on her tits again. 

Honey knows her nipple piercings are hot. It’s part of the reason why she got them– she loves to look at herself in the mirror, loves to see the expression on people’s faces when they learn that she has them, loves to answer the question “Did it hurt?” that inevitably comes up within minutes of the piercing reveal. 

She just didn’t know that Trevor would like them so much. 

His mouth is practically sealed over one of them, tongue flicking over it in little kitten licks that have her breathless and gasping in order to keep her mind from floating away. It took a couple of months for her piercings to become as sensitive as they are now and she would absolutely go through the entire healing process again if it means that Trevor will treat her tits like this every time they hook up.

He’s ignoring her other breast so that his fingers can find her pajama shorts, a Walmart pair with stars on them and a scrunchy waist. Trevor dips his hand under the waistband, finding that she’s not wearing underwear. She rarely does when she’s wearing pajamas, especially considering her favorite pajama shorts are a pair of old boxers that she can’t get rid of, despite who they used to belong to. 

Trevor moves quickly, skimming his fingers along her folds until he decides that she’s ready to take one. Then, he starts to finger her– harsh and quick and just enough to get her ready and loose. He wants to go the whole way and Honey knows it. Better yet, she’s okay with it. 

She wrenches him off of her chest with a hard tug to his hair, drawing a whine from Trevor’s throat that she drinks up. She kisses him again, using her other hand to pull his waistband back and snap his shorts against his hips. It’s her not-so subtle way of telling him to get a move on.

Trevor removes his hand from Honey’s shorts, tugging them off, then tugging his own. He loses the articles of clothing in the bedsheets as he makes his way underneath them. Honey can feel the covers brushing her skin, feeling light and airy against her body. Trevor’s hand returns to the space between her legs and his fingers press into her cunt, stretching her open.

He’s not nearly as fervorous as the first time he fingered her on the counter in The Reading Nook. He kisses her in a way that has her mind straying from the feeling of his fingers inside of her. 

“You want me to make you come now? Or do you want to come on my cock?” Trevor asks, his lips brushing against hers as he speaks.

“Don’t care,” Honey replies. “Whichever.” She rolls her hips down on his fingers. His thumb catches her clit and she jolts, her hand finding Trevor’s side and digging her nails into the skin. He tucks the “offending” digit to the side, avoiding her clit. It’s the opposite of what she meant for him to do, but he does it anyway. He speaks. 

“Here’s our dilemma,” Trevor says. “I could make you come now, but that means you might finish as fast as Jack would. But, on the other hand, then I’ll make you come on my cock, and Jack can barely even dream about coming twice in one night.”

Honey’s not sure why he’s still thinking about how long she lasts in the sack compared to Jack when he’s got her in the sack… underneath him… and naked. 

“Or, you could last longer and I’ll make sure you come while I’m fucking you,” Trevor finishes. “What do you think?”

Honey huffs and drags her hand under his underwear, pushing the band down as far as she can with one hand. “Think about it like this, Trevor. You could make me come once or you could make me come twice. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Trevor’s eyes widen as she says it, like her words are really that eye-opening and meaningful.

“Oh, you’re coming twice,” Trevor decides. He wiggles his fingers inside of her, scissoring them as he thrusts and twisting on occasion, just for a new sensation. “I’m going to make you come so many times this summer, Hon.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Honey replies. She’s close to the precipice, reaching down to rub her clit for the added stimulation. 

Trevor frowns and bats her hand away. “Let me do that,” he complains.

“Then do it,” Honey says. “Because y’sure are taking your time for someone who wants to see me come so bad.”

“Don’t be so bossy,” Trevor chastises. He bullies his fingers inside of her, replacing her fingers on her clit with the heel of his palm. “I know how to make you feel good. Trust me.”

Honey feels taken aback, surprised by Trevor’s chagrin. It’s clear that he prefers to take charge in the bedroom, even though his sweet little noises highlight how well he takes what Honey gives him. 

At one point in her life, she liked it when her partner took charge in the bedroom. It’s part of the reason why she let Thomas take pictures and why she sent him nudes while they were apart. She got a kick out of it– but ever since she experienced Thomas’ betrayal, she has become so much more self-sufficient and independent. Honey is on the borderline of independent and hermitish, having grown so used to being alone.

That isn’t to say she doesn’t miss the feeling of being ordered around. She enjoys being told what to do, being led in that way, and she knows that she likes it. What she’s not sure of is if she can trust Trevor like that– it took her a long time to get to that point with Thomas. Logically, it should take even longer with Trevor.

For the first time in a long time, Honey really wants to throw caution to the wind. She wants to take the illogical route. She wants Trevor to take care of her. It’s a matter of saying yes– yet, her mind is calling for her to deny him. Her mind is calling her to continue the attitude, to bat him away the same way he pushed her hand away and show him how well she can take care of herself– because she doesn't need him. She's fine on her own.

But she wants to lose herself in him. She wants it more than she’s wanted anything. 

“Relax,” Trevor murmurs. He kisses her lips chastely. When he pulls away, he kisses her cheek and redoubles his effort between her legs. His fingers are swift and agile, always moving in some way, and it really is only a matter of time before Honey is trembling beneath him, gasping and stuttering because it’s the only response her body has to Trevor.

In a moment that’s positively inspired, Trevor’s fingers nudge against the soft, spongy, elusive spot inside of her. His contact causes Honey to cry out and clutch at his skin, wherever she can get her hands. 

“Trevor, keep– there,” Honey chokes out, rolling her hips as best she can while her legs shake. She’s close, so close. She can feel her restraint slipping away with each pet of the pads of Trevor’s fingers on her walls. 

The ecstasy of being with someone, rather than doing this alone, continues to send a thrill through her because it’s new. It’s been years since she had this. It’s been years since she wanted to have this and Trevor proves himself more and more worthy each time they have one of these moments.

If Honey isn’t careful, she’ll fall for him further with each climax he gives her.

The thought can barely cross her mind before she’s tumbling over the edge, her mind’s last ditch effort at self-preservation buried by an avalanche of pleasure, kickstarted by the man with whom she told herself she would never be alone.

Trevor carries her through the debris of her orgasm, a guiding hand secure on her hip to keep her body from arching off the bed. 

“So good, baby,” Trevor praises, pressing his lips to her cheek. He touches his pelvis to her side, giving himself some relief and reminding her that there’s still more to come.

Honey can’t even correct him when he calls her ‘baby,’ despite normally being against the sentiment. The only people in her life that have ever called her ‘baby’ are Bea, her parents, and Thomas. Bea’s aware of Honey’s aversion to the pet name, so usually she tacks ‘Honey’ onto the name and doubles up. Honey doesn’t mind that so much.

She kind of likes the way that the word bleeds from Trevor’s mouth, though. It’s soft and laced with some sort of admiration that she can’t define. The word rolls off of his tongue like it’s the most natural thing in the world and, as much as Honey dislikes it, she wants to hear him say it again. He says it like the end of a prayer.

Her hand dips into his shorts and she wordlessly tugs at them again, insistently pulling until Trevor laughs and buries his face in her neck to blow a raspberry. It’s then, after indulging in his silliness, that he lifts his hips and sheds his underwear. 

Honey smacks his shoulder lightly, scolding him for leaving her neck wet and for dillydallying so much. It’s not much of a punishment, but once his cock is freed, she wraps her fingers around his cock and starts to work over him.

Despite his low groan and the way his hips lurch forward, Trevor touches her wrist. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to come in your hand this time.”

“Where do you want to come?” Honey whispers at the same volume. Her hand moves slower, but it still moves nonetheless. 

Trevor leaks from his tip, cursing her name softly. “In you,” he admits, mumbling a little. “Wanna see my cum leak out of you.”

“God, you’re possessive,” Honey faux-scolds. “You love when there’s proof that you’re fucking me, huh?”

Trevor blushes at her call-out, rolling on top of her so that he can bury his face between her breasts. His hands are on the sides of her chest, smushing her tits together so that he’s practically smothered. It’s so silly and so boy that Honey wants to giggle.

Honey touches his hair, petting through the strands until he’s able to show his face again. Before he can speak, she continues.

“You know,” Honey muses. “Once every three months, Bea and I have a girls day where we go to this clinic in Winston and treat ourselves to a birth control shot.”

“You do?” Trevor asks, popping up like a meerkat. His features are contorted with delight, forming that fuckass face he always makes. 

“Mhm,” Honey confirms. “And it’s 99.7% effective.”

“Well, .3% is such a slim margin. I think I’m willing to risk it,” Trevor says.

Honey fixes him with a little look. “You think?”

“Actually, I know I’m willing to risk it,” Trevor corrects. “I need to fuck you. You don’t know how badly I’m aching for it.”

“Explain it to me,” Honey goads, squeezing his shaft and guiding it to her lower lips. She’s dripping from her previous climax, but even without that, she’d probably be wet enough for Trevor to bury himself inside of her. 

“Never wanted anyone like I want you, Honey,” Trevor tells her earnestly. “I can’t explain it in words. I need to fuck you because I need to show you how I feel. I need to make you come until you’re absolutely boneless and stupid because it’s how I feel when I’m around you.”

Honey quirks her eyebrows, reaching down to trail her hands through her wetness. She smears her come all over his cock, an action that has Trevor closing his eyes because he’s so overwhelmed.

“I can barely fucking stand being around you sometimes because I want you so bad,” Trevor whines. 

He’s groveling as she teases him, guiding his tip through her folds. He’s blurting precum, creamy and mixing with her own juices. Honey remembers how he tasted, musky and manly and she thinks about doing it again, depriving him of her warm cunt and instead treating him to her warm, wet mouth.

“I’ve never– fuck, all my other times have been sex for sex, Honey. Not with you. Never with you. Need to make you feel good because you make me feel so, so good.”

Honey feels lightheaded at his words and how honest he sounds when he says them. She was never going to deprive him of her pussy, but he’s certainly made a case for himself. It’s impossible to even consider sucking him off now.

Honey brings his tip to her center, feeling herself flex and widen to embrace him. 

It’s monumental for Honey. They’re both holding their breath as Trevor takes over and inches forward, smothering her neck in sweet kisses that don’t leave a mark, thank you very much. Honey wraps her arms around his neck, keeping him tight against her body. She’s biting her lip until she realizes she can feel the vein on the underside of his cock throbbing inside of her, which is when her mouth falls open and she keens.

Trevor treasures the sound, tip brushing against her walls in a way that has her making the same noise again.

Honey rakes her eyes over his face and down his chest. She catches a series of crescent shapes on his chest, indenting the skin there. In a flash, she connects that it’s the place where her fingernails caught on his skin the first time she came, digging into his body almost violently because he made her feel so overcome with satisfaction. She clawed at him and in astonishment, she traces the marks. 

After touching those marks, Honey lets her eyes fall lower, to the place where he’s fucking into her. He’s still moving slowly and she can see the way she’s coating him completely. It derives more of a feeling, watching him fuck her. Feeling it is one thing, but seeing it is another. It intensifies her excitement, drives her closer to the edge.

She always comes more quickly the second time, her ability to hold on struggling with each hard snap of Trevor’s hips.

It’s been less than two minutes since he started fucking her and Honey is reeling.

It seems Trevor is going through the same thing.

“God, you’re tight,” Trevor grunts out, his teeth clenched tightly. “Can’t believe I’m fucking you.”

“Can’t believe you’re fucking me,” Honey echoes, her eyelashes fluttering as she takes him in. 

There’s reverence in his eyes, reverence that flickers into something softer when she speaks. He’s barely holding himself up, hovering just enough that he can drive his hips into her heat. He still shares her breath, his lips just millimeters from hers. She can practically taste the sweat forming at the bow of his lips because he’s so close. 

“Did you–” Trevor starts to ask, but he cuts himself off. 

Honey fills in the blank. Did you think about this? “Couldn’t help it,” Honey admits. “I–” She interrupts herself with a moan when Trevor increases his pace, increases the strength of his thrusts. 

“And you say you hate me,” Trevor teases. He sweeps his thumb across her cheekbone, then pushes her messy hair up onto the pillow and out of his way. It’s spread around her head like a halo, and it probably looks silly, but Honey can’t find it in herself to care. 

“I do,” Honey reminds him, the protest growing weaker each time she says it. She pulls him down by his hair, scratching over his neck and back until her hand rests on the base of his spine, feeling it flex and curve with each movement. She fits her mouth next to his ear and whispers, “But I don’t hate the way you fuck me.”

Trevor shivers in her grip as she whispers to him. “Yeah?” He asks, all breathy. Honey could probably come from just the sound of his breathing. “You like this? Like it when I fill you up with my cock?”

“Oh, I needed it,” Honey banters back. The statement is half true– she didn’t really realize how much she missed having sex until the possibility came back into her life. The other half is purely a joke to stroke Trevor’s ego– she knows he gets off on being wanted by her, having his feelings reciprocated. 

He is a good fuck. He’s someone that Honey is able to give herself to because he cares that much. 

She’s coming before her mind can start spitballing anxious accusations: that Trevor will leave her worse than Thomas did, that she’ll have to move towns again, that people will start talking about her behind her back again and knowing things that they have no business knowing.

No, her troubles and anxieties are just the tiniest voice in the back of her head, barely audible and certainly not important. 

The important thing is the way that Trevor spills inside of her when she clenches down. She can feel him twitching, see the way his eyes roll into the back of his head and his head dips as his chest heaves and stutters, and hear the way his strangled moan gets caught in the back of his throat. Soon enough, she can taste his tongue against hers, kissing her and slowing everything back down to a normal pace after the burst of energy that exploded from her body when they came together.

It takes them minutes to come down. Their breath syncs up, although neither of them realizes it, and Trevor is slow to pull away.

It’s just the two of them and Trevor is cuddly, Honey learns. He keeps an arm over her stomach as she lays on her back. He lays his cheek on her shoulder, watching her until he rests his forehead where his cheek lay, closing his eyes and pressing a kiss to her skin.

Today seems to be a day full of broken promises for Honey, because she once said that Trevor would never make it to her house. She once said he would never fuck her. She once said he would never see her again.

Now, he’s asleep in her bed, and Honey can only turn to him, curl up in his arms, and take a deep inhale through her nose, letting Trevor’s scent wash over her. It’s comforting and strong, just like his arm around her, and Honey presses a series of kisses over the crescent shaped marks on his chest before she closes her eyes and falls asleep.

37:90 – TREVOR

It was hard for Trevor to tear himself away from Honey this morning. Well, he uses the term “morning” loosely. When he woke up, it was as the sun rose because Honey apparently always wakes up early before her first shift of the week. Trevor had tried to hold onto her and keep her tight against his chest, but she had wiggled away.

Then, he had rolled to her side of the bed and breathed in the smell of her shampoo on her pillow. It had taken him minutes to blink his slumber away and gain control of his limbs, enough that he could roll out of her bed and follow after her. 

He couldn’t find his shirt, so all he could pull on were his boxers and his shorts. Once he started following Honey, it didn’t take him long to figure out why his shirt was missing– it’s because she was wearing it.

Trevor’s morning wood was already a contender that Honey had denied when they had woken up, but seeing her in his shirt made Trevor’s dick twitch with interest like she had never said no. Of course, he didn’t mention the boner, or the fact that she was wearing his shirt, because she would just give him lip about it and whip the thing off before he could tell her how much he liked it.

Honey made coffee, mostly for herself, and Trevor stole the last of it to make himself half a mug of the warm drink. As he did that, Honey bundled up on the sofa with her book and a blanket. She got to reading, blowing cool air on and sipping her coffee intermittently. Trevor joined her and just watched.

They didn’t speak much– just a sentence here and there from Trevor and a hum from Honey answering him. Sometimes, she would make a little noise about something she read and Trevor would ask her to read the line aloud. Out of context, her huffs made little sense, but Trevor liked being part of her morning routine.

While he would’ve preferred to sleep until noon with the beautiful girl, Trevor decides he would get up early every morning to experience this quiet domesticity with Honey, if that’s what she wanted. 

When the clock mounted on Honey’s wall chirped to mark the start of a new hour, she promptly snapped her book shut and looked at Trevor. 

He had gotten the hint and wished for her to have a good day, leaning across the couch to offer up a kiss, which he was delighted that Honey actually took. They rarely kissed outside of hooking up, or getting close to hooking up, but Trevor felt the same rush of affection in his kiss goodbye as he did in the kiss they shared when he pressed his fingers inside of her heat.

“See you on Thursday?” Trevor mentioned quietly before he went but after the kiss, hoping that Honey would definitively show up to the Hugheses’ Fourth of July barbecue, the first one to be thrown in Litchton.

“Mhm,” Honey had agreed quietly, a minute nod shaking her body with the movement on the plush couch cushions. She brought a finger up and touched the corner of Trevor’s mouth, just a trace, before letting her hand drop back down.

Trevor kissed her again, then he went.

He’s sure that she got ready for her opening shift at The Reading Nook after he left. She probably realized she had donned his shirt after getting out of bed and changed into something more Honey. He wouldn’t complain about that– he loves her tiny tank tops and her little daisy dukes and her flowy, unique skirts. 

Yet, in his caveman way– as Honey would call it– Trevor loved seeing her in nothing but one of his Ducks-branded shirts. That’s why he left the shirt adorning her beautiful body, an image that he’ll keep coming back to in the days to come before he sees her again. 

Thursday. He’ll see her Thursday.

He pulls into the driveway of the mountain house, thinking about how Honey is probably parallel parking on Litchton’s main street. He likes the idea that they’re living their lives adjacently, that she’s doing the same thing as he is. Maybe she’s thinking about him, and how he’s just now arriving home, too.

He’s so preoccupied with Honey’s habits that he hardly notices the new car in the driveway. Ellen and Jim must have driven up late last night instead of staying the night in the Charlotte hotel that Quinn had booked for them. 

When Trevor walks through the door, Cole calls for him from the kitchen. 

“Honey, I’m home!” He teases, popping his head around the corner. “See how it works both ways, Z? You’re hopeless for that gi– where’s your shirt?”

The abrupt change in conversation has more heads peeking out from around the corner, looming eyes surveying his half-clothed figure. Quinn rolls his eyes, Jack smirks, and Ellen tilts her head like she’s about to scold him.

“I was– working out,” Trevor says. It’s not technically a lie. He hopes that it’s close enough to the truth that it can redeem him, especially in the eyes of Ellen Hughes, who is practically his second mother. 

Luckily, Ellen is the kind of mother to ignore her children’s sexual exploits when she can. She tries to avoid them, taking any lie that comes her way without a grain of salt. She’ll buy anything as long as it can make sense.

“Well, honey, why don’t you head upstairs and get a shower,” Ellen suggests. “Then you can join us downstairs– with all of your clothes– and you can join us on our tour of the town?”

Trevor’s heart does, in fact, flip-flop when Ellen calls him “honey,” like a pavlovian response. 

“Oh, Mom, one of the girls is named Honey,” Luke says gently. “Y’gotta stick to other nicknames. We wouldn’t want to get confused.”

“And when am I meeting these girls?” Ellen asks. “You all have mentioned them every time we’ve talked. I’m anxious to see what’s got all of my boys so smitten.”

“Smitten,” Jack repeats with a scoff. “They’re our friends, Mom.”

Trevor takes that sentiment as his leave of absence, heading up the stairs and hopping in the shower. He takes his time, washing his hair and hastily scrubbing his body with soap to get rid of the traces of Honey so that he feels less guilty around Ellen and Jim. The ghost of Honey’s hands– as wonderful as they feel when he’s alone– raise goosebumps over his skin when he thinks about Ellen and Jim knowing.

Maybe Honey is rubbing off on him. 

In all honesty, it’s probably the fact that Trevor has now gotten an insight into the private life that Honey lives. She doesn’t want to share their relationship with people. She barely wants to share herself with people, but she’s started to welcome Trevor in. 

Hell, she invited him over yesterday. She teased him in her sweet, devoted, but biting way. It’s the same way that she talks to Bea when they’re sharing jokes or private moments in a room with everybody. Trevor is starting to get to know Honey. 

He doesn’t want the other guys to know and chirp him for it, because she’ll close back up. He doesn’t want Jim and Ellen asking about their relationship, because it will make Honey shrivel up and close in on herself like a piece of origami.

So, Trevor plants a worm in Jack’s ear. 

“Sorry I ran out so fast yesterday. I didn't know the ‘rents were driving up. I would’ve stayed.”

“Nah, man, it’s all good,” Jack says. They’re walking down the main sidewalk. They passed The Reading Nook a hundred feet or so ago and it took everything out of Trevor to not look inside and find Honey. “You were busy.” He raises his eyebrows when he says the word, smirking to himself. 

Regardless of his assumptions and fuckboyish attitude, Trevor notes, now is the time to save himself and Honey from speculation.

“Yeah, I–” he clears his throat. “Was chatting with someone and ended up spending the night with her. She’s leaving soon for a vacation, so I wanted to, uh. You know.”

They’re out of earshot of the parents and the brothers (and Cole), but Trevor knows Jack will pass the words along to the rest of the boys the same way the knitting ladies string gossip along their needles.

Jack eyes him. “You’re not��� with Honey?”

Trevor huffs out a little laugh, concocting the lie that came to him in the shower earlier perfectly. “Dude,” he laughs. “Honey and me? She wouldn't touch me unless she was dared to.”

“But you like her,” Jack insists. “And I told her that you like her.”

“When did you– never mind,” Trevor says, shaking his head. “The point is, she doesn’t want me. I’m finding my kicks elsewhere.”

“You know, Bea would probably…”

“No,” Trevor interrupts. “I’m not hooking up with Bea.”

Jack puts his hands up in surrender. “Alright, bud. You’re probably right not to chase Bea. She wouldn’t hook up with you anyway. Quinn wouldn’t allow it.”

At the mention of his name, the older boy turns and casts a glare at the boys walking behind him. He keeps walking forward in line with his dad, but his sharp look tells Trevor that he had been listening in since the mention of Bea’s name.

God, he’s like a fucking dog, turning his head at the first mention of his girl.

Trevor is no better.

Luke walks arm-in-arm with his mother down the block, all the way down to the grocery store. It’s a Tuesday, so Trevor’s favorite fruit stand isn’t set up out front. It’s weird. He never goes to the grocery store on Tuesdays. It’s a completely fresh crowd of people in this small town, people that he’s never seen before. 

That is, until a gruff voice sounds behind them in the beer aisle. They were buying more Michelob for Jim to share with Quinn and Jack. “Boys,” the man says, voice sharp.

Trevor turns and sees Earl hobbling towards them, shoulders rounded from years of poor posture. He’s alone, or so it seems.

“Hey, Earl,” Trevor greets. He sticks his hand out when the man is near enough, then shakes it. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah, it’s a real treat,” Earl grunts. He fixes a stink eye on Luke, who hesitates and flushes like he hopes the man can’t see him. Luke half-steps behind his mom before Earl continues. “Why did I hear from Miss McLean that you’ve been chopping wood in your backyard when you know I sell perfectly good wood at my store?”

Trevor goes to laugh, but stops himself. Earl is just like Honey, but fifty years older and a man– he’ll stop at nothing to embarrass those who are on his nerves. Trevor’s fond of the shared idiosyncracy, just in different ways. He definitely isn’t fond of Earl in the same way that he’s fond of Honey.

“Don’t blame little Lukey,” Cole says, jumping in. “It was a Saturday. Earl, you’re not open on Saturdays.”

Earl’s arched eyebrow and reproachful gaze turns to Cole. “As if my wife wouldn’t make me open that store just to sell you some logs, boy.”

Cole turns bashful. 

“Where is Vera?” Trevor asks. “Is she shopping with you today?”

“Hell no,” Earl says. “She doesn’t like to do the shopping. I do it. She cooks the food I bring home. We’ve been doing it this way since we got married. She’s off with her little friends at the Nook down the street. Or maybe she’s at home. I don’t know. As long as we end up in the same house by nightfall, I don’t worry too much.”

“How about I come by tomorrow and pick up a couple’a bundles of wood for our Fourth of July celebrations,” Trevor offers. “I’ll buy extra to make up for Luke’s missteps.”

Earl nods and hmphs at the boy as an agreement, reaching out to shake Trevor’s hand again. He nods at Ellen, then at Jim, then walks off. 

“Who was that?” Jim asks, the edge of his lips turned up the same way Quinn’s does. 

“He’s the owner of the hardware store,” Quinn explains. “He’s really close with Bea and Honey. Bea thinks he’s like the grandfather she never had.”

Trevor bites back a “and how do you know that, Q?”, choosing instead to press his lips together and survey the beer options.

“There are a lot of characters in this town,” Ellen comments. She’s got a tiny smile on her face as well, already enjoying the peculiarities of the town. 

“You haven’t even met the best ones yet,” Quinn replies with a nonchalant little laugh.

Trevor knows that he means Honey and Bea, and quite frankly, he couldn’t agree more. They’re not natives, but they’re easily the most interesting part of this town. They breathe the life into the town.

Maybe it’s just because they’ve been the group’s tour guides over the past couple of weeks. They know the town and they’ve welcomed the boys enthusiastically, helping Litchton to feel just as special to the boys as it is to them. 

Part of it might be that Trevor can hardly imagine where he’d be if he hadn’t come to Litchton this summer. He despises the idea that they could’ve spent the summer in Michigan at the lake house like always. They would’ve gone through the same motions as always– boating, surfing, golfing, pool, and the like– and Honey and Bea would’ve been far away. Neither groups would have known that the other existed.

The idea of being without Honey, now that he’s known her, tears Trevor apart. It’s why he has to keep their secret. He has to go at her pace, refusing to let his own feelings for her turn into a snowball growing as it rolls down a mountain like in a cartoon. He’s not walking on nails or anything, but it’s a bit like torture to want Honey this much.

She’s always on his mind, if only in the back of it, echoing faintly with each of his thoughts. Even when he’s laughing with the boys, who sometimes feel more like his brothers than his actual brother, she’s there.

He can’t explain it. All Trevor knows is that he needs her.

38:90 – HONEY

The Reading Nook is closing early for the week. It’s the last day of Honey and Bea’s work week, so they’re doing a deep clean. It’s a Wednesday, too, so there’s nothing special happening today. The ladies came in yesterday, the children’s storytime is canceled for tomorrow due to the holiday, and Ada wants to close on Friday so that she can stay in Raleigh for a few extra days with her family. 

Bea was conveniently on time this morning. Honey soon learned that she was waiting until Independence Day to meet Jim and Ellen, with whom she is already on a first name basis. Honey assumes that Quinn told her to call their parents by their first names, despite the fact that Bea would probably prefer to call them “Mr. and Mrs. Hughes.” Honey knows that that’s what she’ll be calling them tomorrow.

Honey also thinks that Bea is waiting to meet the parents because she’s procrastinating. She’s nervous. She has never met the parents before in a relationship, nevertheless a relationship that has so many different dynamics. 

Consider this: you’re primarily nervous because the parents of the guy you like are coming into town. On the other hand, you’re fucking his brother and one of his best friends too.

Long story short: Bea has every right to be nervous.

Honey has been trying to keep her busy. She’s been trying to keep Bea’s mind off of this. Unfortunately, there’s not much that can keep Bea distracted. 

They swept. They mopped. They reshelved. Honey and Bea rearranged the stacks to make the Nook into a more open-floor plan. Then, they sat on the beanbags in the children’s section for an hour. Honey read her book and Bea talked to her sister on the phone, tossing and catching the golf ball that she had produced from her bag when they cleaned it out.

And now there’s about two hours left in their shift. Bea has shut her phone off and tossed it onto the table in the back room. She’s still tossing her golf ball around and Honey is growing tired of hearing her sighs and deep breaths.

There’s one thing that will keep Bea entertained for hours, but Honey has been putting it off as long as she can– partially because she wanted to sit with it before telling Bea or anyone else.

She closes her eyes and braces herself, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“You’ll never guess what I did on Monday,” Honey says. 

“Ugh, finally, she speaks,” Bea groans, rolling to face Honey on her beanbag. “What did you do?”

“Trevor,” Honey reveals simply.

Bea’s reaction is comedic. Her jaw drops and stays there. Her eyes are wide, but her brows are drawn together. She blinks at Honey and squints, allowing her mouth to close slightly like she’s about to speak before she tilts her head like a dog waiting for a treat. She almost forms a word, but then she pokes her tongue into her cheek and shakes her head. She rolls off of her beanbag towards Honey and, in a very smooth and coordinated moment, picks it up to use it like a pillow in a pillow-fight.

Honey shrieks when Bea attacks her, lifting her arms to protect her face.

“What the fuck do you mean you ‘did’ Trevor? Why the fuck am I hearing about it now when this shit happened on Monday? I tell you everything about Quinn,” Bea complains, vicious and seething.

“I didn’t ask to hear everything about Quinn!” Honey defends herself.

“You signed up for it when you became my best friend!” Bea exclaims, her voice shrill. “Just like how I signed up for your stories, bitch!”

“Come on,” Honey scoffs. 

“No, no,” Bea corrects, wagging her finger. “Not ‘come on.’ ‘Come on’ is what I say when you hold out on me, which you are.”

“I’m not holding out on you, I’m telling you now,” Honey says.

“Two days later!”

“Good fucking God,” Honey sighs. “Can’t you let me process it for a while?”

“I can, but I’m going to be mad about it,” Bea insists. Her voice raises into a whine. “Why can’t we process it together?” 

Honey stares at her for a second, then shakes her head with a little laugh. “Why would we process it together?”

“Because it’s a big deal for you,” Bea says. “We always talk about big stuff like this. Do I need to remind you that I was the one to encourage you to fuck Trevor in the first place?”

“Irrelevant.”

Bea frowns and glares pointedly at Honey. She quirks an eyebrow, challenging the girl.

Honey stares back, a slight smile growing as she and Bea have a silent staring-competition. Bea loses, which makes Honey laugh and causes the other girl to pout.

“Please,” Bea pleads. “I want to know all about it. This is the first time in, like, five years that I’ve gotten to hear real stories like this. When Hayden kissed you on that one date, you cried for ages and you didn’t even tell me if it was a good kiss.”

She’s, of course, referring to one of two dates that Honey went on between Thomas and Trevor. Hayden was a dating app boy that had kissed Honey and caught her so off guard that she bawled. 

“That’s because it wasn’t a good kiss,” Honey returns. 

“Okay, and this one was,” Bea says. She looks at Honey expectantly, still rolled tight against Honey’s beanbag. She’s hugging her own beanbag to her chest, but her arms can’t quite fit all the way around it. 

Honey relents, sighing and rolling her eyes as she says it. “Yes, Bea, Trevor is a good kisser.”

Bea smiles, shit-eating and wide. “What else is he good at?” She wiggles her eyebrows. 

Honey’s face practically burns. She’s writhing a little, embarrassed by Bea’s vulgarity. 

She hesitates too long, because Bea rises up into a cross-legged sit, beanbag covering her lap like a blanket, and hovers above Honey. She sets her face in an annoyed, cross expression like that will make Honey move more quickly. “You have to tell me,” Bea says in the most threatening tone she can muster, which isn’t very intimidating considering Honey has known her for most of their lives and cannot take her seriously most of the time.

“I’m gonna!” Honey exclaims, covering her face to hide the goofy smile that’s overtaking it. “Let me get my bearings.”

“You’ve had two whole days to get your bearings, you little slut!” Bea says, a little bit too loud because Ada shushes them and reminds them to use proper language in her building.

They giggle about it for a moment, leaning against each other. Bea buries her face in Honey’s shoulder, shaking with silent but open-mouthed laughter while Honey tries to smother her own. It’s not funny– but here they are laughing like it is.

“He fingered me,” Honey mumbles eventually, once they’ve calmed down. It’s sheepish and she’s still red, her cheeks prickling with heat. 

“Yeah, and he fingered you last week, too,” Bea sasses. She snaps her fingers, her voice growing into a sing-songy drawl. “Something new, please.”

“He loves my tits,” Honey tells her. 

Bea claps. “Now we’re getting somewhere. The nips?”

“The nips,” Honey confirms.

Bea was there when she got her nipples pierced. It was one of their weekends in Winston when they first moved down to Litchton. Honey was in a bad state and had been for weeks. She was a complete wreck over Thomas, constantly fearing that he’d make his way to the mountains because he knew about her summer home and that she’d see him out and about. She was terrified that the people in the tiny town would learn about what happened to her and pity her and she needed a big change.

Bea had introduced the idea of the piercing nonchalantly. “You’ve been thinking about getting your nipples pierced for ages,” she had said. ��Let’s just go into the city to some tattoo parlor and get it done. It’ll be like a hundred bucks maximum.”

Honey had agreed, realizing that she had been thinking about piercing her nipples for ages. There was no good reason not to– she wasn’t living at home anymore, she wouldn’t be using her parents’ money, and she didn’t have a boyfriend who would touch her piercings all the time. That was that. They had gone to a tattoo parlor and gotten it done, then Bea had taken Honey out for hot chocolate to combat the chill of the ice pack stuffed into her sports bra to reduce the swelling from the fresh bars.

They healed in about nine months and Honey was ecstatic after she had gotten them pierced. It was the perfect change and it got her buzzing– she went back to the tattoo parlor for a few more piercings in her ears before she bit the bullet and got her first and sole tattoo.

It was a little dragonfly surrounded by a bed of flowers. She got it right on her lower back, realizing only after that it was in prime tramp stamp territory. By then it was too late, but she loved it. She chose the dragonfly because she had changed so much after Thomas and she learned through reading her poetry books that dragonflies symbolized change and growth. She liked the design too– it wasn’t just the “artsy-fartsy symbolism shit,” as Bea calls it.

It occurred to her on Tuesday that she was glad Trevor had fucked her in missionary. She wasn’t quite ready to explain to him that she got the tattoo and the piercings because, at its very core, she wanted to be permanently different after she left Charlotte. She was already permanently different on the inside, but the transformation of her body was a change that she could control.

She doesn’t regret her choices one bit. She feels sexier with them, with each of them, and Trevor’s glowing reviews of her nipple piercings are a good sign. She likes that he’s so receptive– she likes it a lot.

Despite not wanting to explain her tattoos to him and get all mushy, Honey is not embarrassed to admit that she’s thought about Trevor fucking her from behind and pulling out to come all over the small of her back. She might’ve gotten off yesterday thinking about his cum painting over her tattoo in white strokes and how his eyes would grow darker when he’s done marking her up.

That’s neither here nor there.

What is here, however, are Bea’s constant questions. She peppers Honey with question after question about Trevor’s sexual habits and abilities (even though Honey knows she told Trevor that she doesn’t want to hear about him like that), requiring every detail. Honey is so caught up in describing the way his voice gets breathy when he gets close that they don’t even notice the tinkling of the bell on the door, signaling that someone is entering the store.

The girls don’t even look up, hearing Ada greet the customer. Honey just lowers her voice and continues on. Bea is staring at her with wide, attentive eyes. She nods with each new scrap of information that Honey presents. She continues to ask questions.

“Wait,” Bea says. “Go back. You went to jerk him off to give him some relief and he told you not to? Because he didn’t want to come? What do you mean, he didn’t want to come?”

“He didn’t want to come in my hand,” Honey clarifies.

Bea’s mouth forms an ‘o,’ then she smiles devilishly. “Where did he want to come?” She prods. “On the tits he loves so much?”

Honey barks out a short little laugh. She wouldn’t put it past him. He probably thought about it milliseconds after seeing her breasts for the first time.

“That’s the best part,” Honey says. “He wanted to come inside me.”

“He did not,” Bea gasps, holding a hand over her mouth and touching her index finger to the tip of her nose. “He told you that?”

“And then practically motorboated himself because he was embarrassed,” Honey confirms.

“He’s such a little freak!” Bea exclaims, grinning ear to ear. “So he came in you, and what? Cleaned you up? Q always–”

“Don’t care,” Honey interrupts. “Like, no? We fell asleep before I could go shower or anything.”

Bea shudders. “Ugh, didn’t you feel gross?”

“Not really,” Honey drawls. “Yes? But it also felt good. All of it was good. He’s– experienced.”

Bea narrows her eyes. “Experienced,” she repeats.

“Not in a bad way,” Honey says. “It’s just clear that he knows what he’s doing.”

“I hope you’re talking about me,” says a voice from the aisle. “I would hate to learn that there’s someone else satisfying you the way I want to.”

Honey and Bea’s heads both snap to face the person standing in front of them. The universe seems to be playing a sick joke on Honey because she just can’t stop humiliating herself. Of course the customer was Trevor, the exact person that she’s talking about graphically with her best friend.

Bea bursts into laughter almost immediately, while Honey isn’t sure if her face turns pale or a bright, fire engine red. 

Trevor is smirking at her. Honey knows in an instant that he’s proud of his entrance and how he surprised her. She knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he heard her review and is now all smug and condescending. 

She hates that. She doesn’t want him to be smug and egotistical like a famous hockey player, or like any other attractive man in his twenties, to be fair. She wants him to be goofy and silly and doting like he is when it’s just the two of them.

Honey just buries her face in her hands and hides behind them. She curls up on the beanbag and wishes that she could disappear.

She hears Bea stand, still laughing, and pat Trevor’s arm. “I know I told you that I wasn’t interested in speculating or believing anything Honey told me about you,” Bea says. “But I’m glad you made our born-again virgin come two times in one night. Maybe go for three next time.”

Honey’s face burns impossibly hotter, especially when she hears Trevor breathe out a laugh of agreement.

Bea walks away, leaving the boy to join Honey on the abandoned beanbag. She can hear him slide it across the floor and she can feel it press into the fabric of her own beanbag.

It isn’t long until his fingers find her wrists and he pulls her hands away from her face. He’s laying on the bag next to her, turned to face her with adoring eyes. It makes Honey sick to her stomach, a little bit. 

“Hi, Honey,” Trevor says softly, intertwining his fingers with hers. He grips her hand, but she keeps her fingers stiff and straight.

“Hello, Trevor,” Honey replies, monotonous. 

“My girl,” he muses. He lets his eyes wander over all of her features and Honey embellishes a frown just to spite him. It makes him smile. “Embarrassed I caught you talking about me?”

“Needed to cheer Bea up. She was running on fumes. She’s nervous to meet the parents.” Honey changes the topic and speaks in short sentences, avoiding Trevor’s lovesick little puppy eyes. Ugh. She can’t stand him.

“Mm, how about I never make you meet my parents?” Trevor offers, taking his hand from her loose fingers and running his knuckle over her cheekbone. He’s still laying on his side. He’s folded one of his arms up to use as a pillow.

“I don’t think our relationship is quite like that,” Honey says.

“You’re right,” Trevor agrees. “Especially because we’re not telling anyone.”

Honey goes to open her mouth, but he cuts her off.

“Speaking of which,” he begins, dramatic emphasis on the first word. “The boys think I’m on Raya.”

A nagging feeling washes over Honey, causing her to curl her lip. “Why would they think that?” She asks.

“Well, because I told them I was,” Trevor says. 

Honey goes to open her mouth again, but he cuts her off again.

“In the interest of not revealing our relationship, I told them that I had met up with someone and that’s why I spent the night away. I wanted to tell you in case anyone mentioned it.”

Honey sets her jaw and feigns a shrug. “Okay.”

Trevor narrows his eyes. “‘Okay’?” He repeats. “That’s it?”

“I don’t care what you tell the boys,” Honey says. “As long as you’re not telling them that we’re together.”

She kind of hates the idea of Trevor being on Raya, or on any dating app. She’s the one that he’s fucking. She knows that it was her idea to keep it a secret, but the fact that it takes some fake other woman to cover up their shenanigans bothers Honey. She doesn’t want him seeing other women. That’s not sanitary, especially if they’re fucking bare. What if this imaginary other woman gives him an STD?

That’s not the only reason, her mind points out. Also, she's imaginary. Imaginary women don't have STDs. You just don't want Trevor to fuck other women so that you can have him all to yourself–

Shut up, Honey hisses back, overcorrecting and locking that niggling thought in a safe. 

It’s convincing enough. Trevor squints at her for just a second longer before his face clears. He leans closer and plants a kiss on the corner of her lip, mostly because Honey turned her head at the last second to avoid him. That causes him to frown, but he shakes it off.

That’s one thing she’s willing to admit that she likes about Trevor. He adapts to her moods very well. He’s patient. She appreciates that. 

He lifts his book to show her the cover once he sits up.

“For Ellen,” he explains. “She needed a book.”

“Yeah. There’s not much to do in Litchton,” Honey says. She feels lame, words spilling from her mouth in a way that is awkward and uninterested. 

Why does she have to get like this? It’s not like Trevor is actually fucking another girl. He just thought up a convenient lie to keep the boys at bay. Isn’t that what she wanted? Why does she feel so… bland?

Trevor brushes a piece of hair off of Honey’s forehead. “Gonna tell her it was a recommendation from Bea. Would that make things easier for you? Get Bea off on the right foot with the mother so you don’t have to hear about all of her anxieties?”

“That would be fine,” Honey says. It’s better than fine, really, but she can’t seem to find a way to express that. She’s going to go home later and overthink this exchange in the shower for sure.

Trevor leans down and presses his lips to her forehead for a moment. His touch lingers even after he pulls away. “See you tomorrow, baby.”

In another moment that Honey knows she’ll regret later in the shower, she doesn’t even correct him. By the time she thinks to, he’s already standing and walking away, leaving the store.

She’s already dreading seeing him tomorrow. Is it too late to cancel?

As they leave the store an hour later, Honey asks that question to Bea and nearly gets smacked across the face for even considering leaving the other girl alone in her time of need. Honey’s stuck. The sky seems extra dark tonight because of it and she knows she’s going to have a restless sleep.

It doesn’t occur to her that her doubt and disjointedness stems from the fact that she’s starting to really care for Trevor. It’s too impossible. Honey would never grow to like Trevor like that– right?

39:90 – TREVOR

Jim has been on the grill all day. Like his oldest son, he’s happiest when he’s behind the grill, save for when he’s on the ice. 

Quinn is standing right next to his father, flipping burgers. He’s been there for only a few minutes. It’s the first time that he’s left Bea’s side all day. The only reason he left Bea’s side is because Ellen pulled out a stack of baby pictures that she brought to show Bea– at Quinn’s request. Despite the shrieks of laughter from Bea and constant awws between shrieks, Trevor can’t feel bad for Quinn. This was by his own design.

Annoyingly, the baby pictures have stolen Honey’s attention, too. She’s quieter than Bea, usually just looking up from the album to stare at the person pictured. Sometimes, she’ll lift the picture and hold it next to the person in her line of vision.

“Lu, I didn’t know you were so blond as a baby,” Honey calls. 

Luke and Cole are stoking the bonfire. It’s a hot day, but it’s become Fourth of July tradition to eat and drink around a bonfire. Luke barely looks up to reply to Honey, just shrugging and returning to the pieces of wood below him. He and Cole are attempting to make the logs stand in a conical sort of configuration. The wood keeps falling over.

“We thought he’d have my hair for the first few years of his life, then it started to turn brown when he was in elementary school,” Ellen says. “I was so disappointed.”

“I don’t know what I’d do if I carried three babies and none of them had my hair,” Bea says. She fluffs her freshly-cut layers (another distraction tactic while dreading meeting the parents, if Trevor had to guess) and purses her lips. “I like my hair too much and I’d be disappointed if no one had my color.”

“I thought the same thing, but I don’t mind the brown so much,” Ellen says, looking over at Quinn and Jim. “I like that they look like their dad.”

“Well, Jack has your smile,” Bea adds. “So at least that’s something.”

“Quinn does too,” Ellen replies. “He just doesn’t know how to use his smile.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Honey agrees. Her lips quirk in a tilted smile. Trevor wants to kiss her. “Mrs. Hughes, we love your sons, but none of them can fake a smile. They always look so awkward.”

Ellen laughs. “Don’t I know it,” she says. “When they were kids, Jim and I had to make potty jokes to get them to smile instead of saying ‘cheese.’”

Bea snorts.

“Mom!” Jack exclaims from next to Trevor, helping slice up toppings for the feast. “That’s just not true.”

“You were the worst!” Ellen replies. Then, she says to the girls, “We had to do personal lessons on smiling in my bathroom mirror. I think that’s when he really fell in love with himself.” She winks, teasing her middle son.

If Jack wasn’t right next to him, holding a knife, Trevor would mention that he caught Jack doing something similar the other day. The boys had just gotten the news that they were chosen to be on the cover of NHL ‘25 and Jack had promptly disappeared upstairs to ‘work on his look.’

Trevor makes eye contact with Honey, sharing a slight smile with the girl before returning to the half of a watermelon on the cutting board beneath him. 

“He is quite a fan of himself,” Honey muses. “But we can forgive him for it.”

“Stop talking about me,” Jack grumbles.

“J, how can we not? Look at this picture,” Bea says, brandishing a shot of the three brothers on a pier at the lake when they were children. “You’re wearing the rattiest baseball cap, a terrible shell choker necklace, and the string on your very long basketball shorts is a quarter of the size of Luke.”

“Quinn’s string is worse,” Jack fights back. “And his shorts are longer.”

“Yeah, but Quinn is cute,” Bea teases, pursing her lips and blowing a kiss at Jack.

He waves it away.

Trevor knows there’s a picture in that stack of photos depicting him, Cole, and Jack in their first stint together at USNTDP. They’ve all gone back since that first round, but those years together were pivotal for their friendship. In the picture, his hair is all messed up by the wind, but they’re all laughing at something stupid Cole had said just before the picture was taken. 

He knows Honey has seen the picture when he feels a pair of eyes boring into him. He glances up and there she is, pinching the corners of a print and raking over Trevor. He flashes a little finger gun at the girl, then goes back to his melon.

It isn’t long until the burgers and hot dogs are ready. Jack has finished cutting up all the toppings, Trevor has finished with the watermelon, and Cole and Luke have gotten the fire roaring. The girls put the photos away. 

They file through the makeshift buffet in a single-file line. Ellen goes first, a common courtesy that the boys uphold every year. Jim and Quinn go next, having cooked all the food. Trevor goes next, despite Jack’s great effort to shove ahead in line. 

They all choose seats around the fire, which is crackling in a satisfying way. Praises stem, blooming all over Luke and Cole. There are only six chairs– the other four that they found were either broken or so completely dusty and dirty that Jack had bailed on cleaning them off. 

Ellen perches on the arm of Jim’s chair, Bea finds herself pulled down onto Quinn’s lap after trying to respectfully stand near him, and Honey is the last to try and find a seat. She opts to stand between Luke and Cole’s chairs and Trevor really wants to have her sprawl out across his legs so that he can feed her bites of watermelon, but instead, he just stands and offers his seat.

At first, Honey refuses it. She’s been acting weird since he came to see her at The Reading Nook yesterday. He’s hoping it’s a weird mood like the one on Monday, her dreaded July 1st. Unfortunately, Trevor has got a feeling that it’s something to do with him.

After he tilts his head and implores for her to “Just take the seat,” she relents. He’s left standing and eating his food between Cole and Luke, both of whom invite him to come and sit on their laps if he’s uncomfortable. They think it’s funny but it’s not, really.

Trevor’s a little preoccupied with Honey’s reservation at the moment. He had thought he was doing the right thing by telling Jack that he was hooking up with someone off of a dating app, considering Honey wants to keep things private. She had been agreeable enough yesterday, and she had still allowed him to kiss her and call her ‘baby’, but her words had just gotten shorter and shorter. 

He wants to think of a way to get her back to goofy and joking self. She’s bratty and biting most of the time, but now she’s just… there. And he can tell that it’s bothering her, too, that she’s getting shorter with him. Sometimes she seems like she’s trapped in her own body, like she wants to say something but it just can’t leave her mouth. 

The idea pops into his head when he’s walking to the bowl of watermelon slices to get another. He doesn’t cut this one up, instead opting to hold the slice to his mouth and take bites out of it.

The juice will definitely get Honey’s attention. If he knows anything about her, he knows that she likes it when they’re fucking, and this will spark her imagination.

He takes a bite as he walks back to the circle, hovering right in Honey’s line of vision. She keeps her head down stubbornly, focusing on clearing her plate. 

Trevor isn’t quiet while eating his slice of watermelon. He chomps on the fruit, slurps up the liquid that trickles down to coat his fingertips, and still Honey does not look up.

He’s halfway through the slice when Honey finally notices him.

She just glances up at first, catching Trevor in her line of sight before going back to her plate. Then, she does a double take. Her eyes zero in on the lower half of his face and widen, but she does a good job of masking the reaction and returning her face to neutral.

Until he bites into the watermelon again, letting his eyes bore into Honey’s when she fixes him with an annoyed look. Her eyes flicker lower, then return back to his. Her expression has turned from exasperated to pleading– for Trevor to cut it out, he presumes. He will not.

No, instead he just smiles and takes another bite. He wiggles his eyebrows at her. He lets the juice from the melon gather at the corners of his mouth, not even wiping it when it starts to drip down his face.

Honey scowls and flashes a mean glare at Trevor. 

They’re communicating silently, a rush going through Trevor as he realizes that Honey completely understands what he’s doing and he completely understands what her non-replies and nasty looks mean.

So, he brings his thumb to the corner of his mouth and mops up a bit of juice. He brings the dripping pad of his digit to his mouth and lets his lips close around it, raising one eyebrow as Honey’s jaw clenches and the muscle in her cheek twitches.

He’s almost got her– almost.

It’s a little gross, but he finishes his last couple of bites as messily as he can without arousing suspicion from the other boys, or, heaven forbid, the Hughes parents. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, then runs his fingers through his hair. It has the desired effect– his hand is a little wet and it makes his hair a little bit stiff, strands clumping together because of the sticky juice.

His action also gets him the desired reaction from Honey. She sets her plate down and wipes her mouth with her napkin, stands, and stomps into the house. 

Her movement draws the eyes of almost everyone in their circle. Jim, Cole, and Quinn are the only ones that don’t look up to watch Honey go. They continue to pick at their food. One of Quinn’s hands is on Bea’s thigh.

“I wonder what that’s about,” Ellen says.

“Maybe I should go see,” Bea muses, uncrossing her legs so that she can move off of Quinn. He holds her there. 

“She’s probably just going to the bathroom,” Quinn says. “You worry too much.”

Bea turns to him and frowns. “She got sick here like two weeks ago, remember? Maybe I should worry.”

Trevor shrugs. “I’ll check on her. I’m standing anyway.”

He tosses the rind of his fruit into the trash as he goes toward the house. He enters through the sliding door into the basement and he climbs the stairs to the main level. When he doesn’t find Honey in any of her normal haunts– the kitchen, the balcony, or the living room– he heads upstairs.

He calls for her with no response. He checks the bathrooms and the bedrooms, finally at the point where he’s wondering if she left when he opens the door to the final unexplored room in the house: his own bedroom.

As he opens the door with a little creak, Honey’s hand darts out and grabs onto his shirt. She’s pulling him into the room and kicking the door shut when the handle slips from his palm.

“Are you trying to piss me off?” Honey snaps. 

She smells like vanilla. Trevor had been trying to place the scent for ages, but he finally found her bottle of perfume the other day. Now that he knows it’s vanilla, he can’t ignore it. Yes. She smells like vanilla. It’s so Honey.

Trevor smiles at her, letting his hands find her hips over her shorts. “Not trying to piss you off,” he says. “Trying to turn you on.”

Honey seems to lag for a second, looking at him with a tilted head. She laughs. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Trevor says. He noses against her cheek, testing his luck by letting his lips inch closer and closer to hers. “But did it work?”

“Your ploy with the watermelon?” Honey asks. “Trevor, if you want to eat me out, all you have to do is say that. You don’t have to trick me into hooking up with you at this rate. You can just ask.”

Trevor didn’t realize it was that easy. Lord knows that if he’d asked, she would’ve ragged on him mercilessly until he’d kissed her silly. Then they would’ve hooked up, but just asking is not ‘that easy.’

Despite his theory that it’s not quite so simple, Trevor asks. 

“Can I eat you out?” he asks. He pecks Honey’s lips before she answers. “Please?”

“Well, there are parents downstairs, so no,” Honey says. 

Trevor fixes her with an unimpressed look. “So it’s not as easy as asking.”

“No, I prefer when you beg,” Honey says, her face breaking into a smile. She’s beaming up at Trevor, proud of herself for that little comment. 

“Do you want me to?” Trevor asks. “Because I can.”

Honey makes a nonchalant noise, leaning into Trevor’s space and claiming his lips. 

“I’d like to see you beg,” Trevor murmurs.

“I don’t beg,” Honey replies.

“I bet I could make you beg,” Trevor says.

“I bet you can’t.”

Trevor grins. “What do I get if I win the bet?”

“You’ll never win, so probably nothing,” Honey says. 

“Can I try something?” Trevor asks.

“Nothing while the parents are downstairs,” Honey says.

“Well, the parents are outside, so I think we’ll be okay,” Trevor says. He pauses and raises his eyebrows, signaling Honey again. “Unless you really don’t want to.”

“You’ll have to make it quick, we’ve already been gone for too long,” Honey says. She wiggles out of Trevor’s grasp and shimmies out of her shorts, settling down on the side of the bed. 

Trevor follows after her, sinking down so that his knees are flush with the ground and his head is fixed right in front of where her legs meet. “Something else, too,” he says. He fits his hands on her hips, now only covered by her underwear and her shirt.

“What?” Honey asks, sounding fond and playing into what Trevor is saying.

“You’re never allowed to undress yourself again,” Trevor mumbles. “Not while I’m around. I want to do that.”

“I can only promise you that if you prove yourself worthy.”

“Feeling like Your Royal Highness again?” Trevor teases, chortling out a breath. Just as she opens her mouth to speak, he lowers himself down and licks over her clothed cunt, dampening the fabric even further. She’s wet already– always a good sign, Trevor was starting to wonder if he was the only person in this relationship that became aroused at the slightest chance of intimacy. 

Maybe he’s overexaggerating, but at least Honey is wet. At least he’s hard. Things seem to be working out.

“Just making my court jester entertain me so I don’t have his head chopped off,” Honey replies. She lifts her hips slightly so that Trevor can dig his fingers into her underwear and start to drag them down. She moves one of her legs so that the bend of her knee is right over Trevor’s shoulder. With a bend of her leg, she pulls him closer. “So entertain me.”

“You’re bossy,” Trevor says.

“You like it.”

“I can be bossy too,” Trevor says. 

Honey barks out a little laugh. “Okay. Whatever you say, Trev. How about you focus less on bossing me around and more on eating me out?”

Trevor hums noncommittally, but he kisses over the insides of her thighs. He refuses to kiss over her core until she’s begging, true to his bet. That means he has to put in the work now. 

‘My’ court jester, Honey had said. He smiles to himself. The insult is nothing compared to the way she called him ‘hers.’

He teases her on purpose for as long as he can. He can smell her and he’s unashamed to say that he’s absolutely drinking it in. He refuses to count each time that they’ve hooked up, firmly believing that the second he lets himself think these hookups with Honey are a real, consistent thing, it’ll end. 

He can’t let it end, which is why he treats every one of their encounters like it’s the most special moment of his life. He thinks he’d probably like lifting the Stanley Cup more, but it’ll be hard to compare the two events until he wins a Cup. Until then, he’s got Honey and her sweet, sweet wetness. It’s calling his name.

“Hurry up,” Honey says. She threads her fingers through Trevor’s hair.

He’s always liked when girls touch him, especially when he’s going down on them. Honey’s different, in a way. The girls of his past had touched his hair to give themselves something to ground them. Honey grabs his hair to keep him in place, to guide him where she wants. He likes it, but he’d like it even more if she would let him work his magic.

She’d laugh if she heard him think that, which makes him laugh.

“Don’t giggle when you’re going down on me,” Honey scolds. “It makes a girl very insecure.”

“Sorry, baby,” Trevor says. He traces his nose over her folds, then his lips along the same path. “Didn’t mean it.”

She tugs his hair and whines out a little complaint at his teasing.

Trevor takes one of his hands off of her hips and brings it to cover the hand in his hair. He tightens his grip around her wrist, lifting her hand from his locks. He turns her wrist over and slots his fingers though hers, holding her hand tightly. 

“Let me do the work,” Trevor says. “Court Jester has to make his Majesty come.”

“Then stop making jokes,” Honey spits out.

When Trevor looks up through his eyelashes, she’s craning her neck so that she can get a good look at him. She’s checking his work like an overbearing TA. God, lay down, Trevor thinks. Instead of telling her outright, he lowers his mouth to her core. He doesn’t deny himself the pleasure of tasting her any longer.

Trevor ignores Honey’s movements under his mouth in order to fully take in her taste. He’s focused on licking over her hole, prodding at the opening with little kitten licks until she’s more wet from his spit than her own slick– because he’s cleaned all of that up. The taste of her is coating his tongue and, while Trevor knew that he would never want to part from her again after tasting her for the first time, it’s even worse than he thought. 

He feels like he’s eating a really, really good meal and it’s so amazing that he’s lifting his plate and licking all the crumbs off of it. In his mind, he’s doing this in a restaurant where people are whispering and pointing at him for being so disrespectful and impolite. In reality, the restaurant is his bedroom and his plate is Honey. 

He can feel her juices dripping down his face onto his chin, just like the watermelon juice from earlier. It’s exactly by design. Everything that he imagined himself doing when he decided to seduce her with the fruit is happening, all according to plan.

Trevor feels her hole flex around his tongue when he pushes it inside of her. Her clit is slippery as it slides over the curve of his nose. She’s moaning and grinding down on his face, but she’s not begging yet. Her voice sounds like it’s cutting through a dream, or maybe like it’s a beam of sunlight shining through a layer of clouds. Either way, he loves how she sounds. It just reinvigorates him, making Trevor double his effort. He slips a finger into her, right where his tongue used to be, and he starts to move it in and out of her. 

She swallows him, greedily inviting his digit further and further inside of her warmth. His knuckle brushes against her muscular opening, stretching her. Trevor’s much more aware of her noises now and the way that her hips twitch with each pet of his fingertip. 

“Beg me,” Trevor says.

“I don’t beg,” Honey responds through gritted teeth. The hand that’s in Trevor’s is holding onto him with a vice grip, whereas the other one is bundled up in the pillow under her hair. Her back arches off the bed with a curl of his index finger.

Trevor wishes they had more time so that he could take off her shirt and ravage her more properly. He wants to get his hands on her tits, on those spectacularly pierced nipples. He wants to make her come all over his tongue and then he wants to kiss her until all she can taste is herself.

“If you don’t beg, I won’t let you come,” Trevor teases, although he can’t imagine leaving her so unsatisfied. She’d kill him if he built it all up to take it away. 

But it would be fun, a little voice in the back of his head says. She’ll need it more next time if you take it away.

‘Next time,’ he thought, although he said that he wasn’t going to count the times they hook up or that he wasn’t going to start looking forward to the next time, since it’s never guaranteed.

Now, he’s thinking that it might be fun to tease Honey like that. 

“I don’t beg,” Honey repeats. Her twisting hips and tight grip has Trevor thinking otherwise– maybe not verbally, not yet, but Honey is begging for more in her movements. She’s close. He can tell from the way her pussy contracts around his finger and his tongue.

He’s trying to fit both inside of her now, flicking the end of his tongue as quickly as he can. He maneuvers his thumb around, tilting his head to the side so that he can continue to lather his spit into her cunt like a french kiss while the pad of his thumb starts to pet over her bundle of nerves.

Her breath hitches with a moan, her tone high-pitched and wanton. Trevor smirks against her, closing his eyes and surrounding himself with the sensations of her being– her body writhing beneath him, the taste of her wet on his tongue, the warmth of her cunt around his fingers. Her leg is still thrown over his shoulder, pulling him close. 

Trevor pulls back to press a kiss against the skin of her thigh. He rests his cheek on her skin, looking up at her while she grinds on his fingers. He fits a second one inside of her, admiring how her stomach is starting to glisten with a thin sheen of sweat. He hooks his arm around her thigh, then touches her waist. 

“You gonna come?” Trevor asks.

“Yes,” Honey bites back.

Trevor stills his fingers. “Then beg,” he says. “I wanna hear that pretty voice tell me how bad she wants it.”

“I don’t beg,” Honey says again.

Trevor’s smirk widens. “Then I guess you won’t come either.”

He draws his fingers out of her, albeit a little reluctantly on his end. She fights to keep him inside, flexing her muscles and closing her legs with him still between them, but Trevor bats her away and escapes. He can feel his eyes twinkling as he smiles at her, smug and proud of himself for being so strong. His resolve could crumble at any second, to be fair. If Honey were to say one ‘please,’ Trevor would be inside of her and making her come before she could think of something else to say.

For now, though, he manages to hold fast. 

Honey’s betrayed expression, abhorred and disgusted, almost makes Trevor want to laugh. It almost makes him want to apologize and smother her with kisses– this might be his final offense. She may never allow him to touch her again. He seems to doubt that, though, which is why he just rocks back onto his haunches and stands. He towers over her, but he keeps a hand on the leg that was once around his shoulders. Now, it’s curving around his waist. Trevor pats the side of her knee and kisses the same spot before dropping the appendage. 

“You’re kidding,” Honey says. She sounds despondent. Her legs are spread and she brings one hand up to run through her hair. 

“You think?” Trevor asks. He leans down over her, putting his hands on either side of her head to hold himself up. He kisses her, just a peck, before standing again. “I’ll see you down there.”

He heads to the door, winking at Honey before he opens his door and slips out. He walks down the hall, down the stairs, and all the way back to the bonfire.

The parents and boys seem none the wiser, but Bea gives Trevor a reproachful, knowing look. She can’t have found out that he denied Honey an orgasm already– he only just came downstairs. 

Honey gives him the same look when she eventually rejoins the group, bundling up in a sweatshirt that she stole from Luke the week before. She pulls her legs up into the sweatshirt too, looking like a blob in her foldable campout chair. She pouts the whole night and scowls at Trevor when she catches him looking– he likes her so much. All of her little looks just make him smile in his fond way, which makes her frown even more. 

She’s his brat. It’s about time she got a taste of her own medicine– her attitude was always going to get her in trouble. He’s really enjoying it.

40:90 – HONEY

Honey almost doesn’t want to join the boys on their lake day today. She almost wants to stay home and give Trevor the silent treatment for the rest of the summer for taking a second orgasm from her the night before. First, he comes in his pants far too quickly, then he’s actively eating her out and he stops? Who does he think he is? 

If he had had a good reason to stop, Honey wouldn’t care. But to stop because she won’t beg him for a release or for more? She knows that he didn’t want to stop. He just did it to piss her off.

And it worked! It completely worked. She left the house in a huff late last night, then chattered about Trevor’s big mistake the whole drive back to Bea’s place. Bea had been equally disappointed with Trevor’s performance, although slightly less enraged than Honey. She was more concerned about not spending the night with Quinn after spending so much time in his lap. She acts like she’s a touch-starved, wounded animal when she doesn’t get her way– and at least if she had spent the night with Quinn, he would have made her come!

Honey is frustrated, and annoyed, and she wants to concoct a plan for revenge that is so diabolical that Trevor will never deny her what she wants ever again.

Ever again, she says, as if she’ll be seeing him after the summer ends. 

If he keeps pulling stunts like this, she certainly will not be seeing him after the summer ends. She will be avoiding him forever after the summer ends. 

Fucking Trevor.

She’s pissed. Still– she went to sleep pissed, she woke up pissed, and she went about her day. Pissed.

Now, Bea is picking her up so that they can drive to the lake and meet the boys and Honey wants to yell in the car. 

“I could scream,” Honey says as soon as she opens the passenger door.

“Then scream,” Bea replies. She turns down the volume on the stereo and rolls the windows up so that Honey isn’t airing her grievances to the world while they drive to the reservoir about twenty minutes up the road. “Are you still screaming about the fact that you didn’t come last night? Or did Trevor do something else wrong?”

“He might as well have,” Honey grumbles. She buckles herself in and crosses her arms over her chest. 

“Is that why you’re wearing your sluttiest little swimsuit?” Bea asks.

Honey gasps, then looks down at her chest. She’s wearing a strapless striped red and white top with matching bottoms. It’s not even her swimsuit. It’s Bea’s. She didn’t like it, so she left it at Honey’s. Honey is only wearing it because it’s the closest thing she has to a Fourth of July outfit. 

“It’s not that slutty, and it was yours first, so of course it’s the sluttiest swimsuit I have,” Honey answers. 

Bea grins at her before throwing the car in reverse and backing out of Honey’s driveway. She reaches over Honey’s seat and rests her hand on Honey’s headrest. Honey rolls her eyes and looks out the window. Honey is not Quinn. Bea’s chest doesn’t need to be in her face. 

“Plus, it’s the most patriotic look I have,” Honey adds.

“You look like a candy striper,” Bea says. It’s not a compliment. 

“Be fucking serious,” Honey says. “I do not.”

“You do, but I don’t mind it. I’m sure Trevor won’t mind it.”

“Ugh, don’t even bring him up,” Honey groans. She leans her head back on the headrest and scrubs her hands over her face. “I can’t stand that fucker.”

“Can’t stand him so much that you lay down in his bed every chance you get,” Bea says. 

“Hey–”

“Or you can’t stand him so much that you sit on the counter in the back and let him fingerfuck you until you come all over the area where I make my lunch every day,” Bea continues, raising her voice as Honey protests.

“Ugh, that’s enough,” Honey says. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Don’t bring that up. It just reminds me of what I’m missing.”

“Have you decided what you’re going to do about it?” Bea asks. “You were throwing some lofty accusations out into the world last night.”

Honey swears under her breath. “I had an idea.”

“A real idea?” Bea teases. “Or just an empty threat?”

“Was thinking about flirting with him so much that he thinks he’s getting laid and then I’ll just, kinda… y’know,” Honey mumbles. Her skin prickles with shame.

“Toxic,” Bea says. “I like it.”

“Well don’t say it like that,” Honey complains. “I’m not a toxic person.”

“Trevor makes you crazy and he didn’t let you come last night. I think you’re allowed to be a little toxic, especially if it means I’ll get to laugh at him all day long,” Bea says. “I’ve been sorely lacking my ‘laughing at Trevor’ time.”

“You’ve been too busy hanging out with Quinn.”

“You’ve been hiding away with Trevor. I can’t laugh at him if you’re keeping him from us. I have to be in the same room.”

“You’re not going to be in the same room as us if I can help it,” Honey tells her.

“I’m going to be stuck on a boat with you all day.”

“If I don’t throw you overboard.”

“Let me have my fun,” Bea whines. “I can’t fuck the boys until after Jim and Ellen leave tomorrow.”

“You’re a shitty liar,” Honey says. “I know Quinn snuck out last night and came over.”

“No, he didn’t!” Bea refutes, but she turns bright pink and stares out the windshield. Normally, when she drives, she can’t keep her eyes on the road because she’s too busy throwing glances at Honey. 

Honey stays silent, stifling a laugh.

Bea glares at her from the side of her eye. “Whatever,” she says. “How did you know?”

Honey reaches over and taps the skin behind Bea’s earlobe. “He left a mark.”

Bea’s hand flies to cover the tiny, barely noticeable hickey. Honey only noticed it because she knows Bea and she saw Quinn lean up and kiss Bea in that exact spot after dinner last night. It was mostly chaste– but Honey has seen him done much, much worse when the parents aren’t around.

“He’s out to get me, I swear it,” Bea announces. She pushes her knuckles over the skin like she can get rid of the bruise with a few swipes of her hand. “He wants to embarrass me in front of his parents.”

“Maybe he just wants you to loosen up,” Honey suggests. “Maybe he senses that you’re freaking out.”

Bea turns her head and frowns at Honey. “He knows exactly what to do when I freak out. He doesn’t need to leave hickies on me as proof of purchase, or whatever. Do you know what Jack will do when he sees these? He’ll chirp. He’ll chirp and chirp and chirp like little fucking Tweety Bird and then it’ll become a big thing where I’m fucking Quinn, and Jack is jealous or whatever, and Ellen will catch on. It’s my slut summer and I don’t want her judging me.”

“So, what? You’re going to get revenge on him, too?” Honey asks. “Going to join the dark side with me?”

Bea sighs. “No. I like him too much. Despite the hassle, I really, really love when Q marks me up.”

“Maybe that’s why he did it,” Honey says. “Because he knows how much you like it.”

Bea hums. She turns the radio back on, then rolls the windows down. Honey’s hair flips in front of her face and all around the vehicle until she ties it up with the navy handkerchief she’d tied to her belt loops as a nice Independence Day accessory. 

It’s midday and the sun is burning a bright hole through Honey’s sunglasses. Cole had better have brought his sunscreen like their last lake day. If he didn’t Honey is going to be even more upset because she’ll have to buy a tub of aloe vera to fix her burns.

It takes another ten minutes to pull into the parking lot near the boat shed. Bea manages to find a spot next to Quinn’s big rental car. They are not in the car, nor have they been for a while. Bea says that they went out in the morning so that they could soak up as much sun as possible. It’s only the second time that Honey has ever seen them rent a boat all summer, whereas they’re so used to owning their own boat on their own lake. It’s definitely a change of pace and Honey can’t blame them for needing time on the water. She used to be the same way. 

She used to go on family trips to the beach for weekends and she even went on Thomas’ family trip to the beach each year that they dated. That’s two whole weeks she spent with Thomas and his entire family– one for each year that they were together.

She shakes the memory and follows Bea to the pier where they docked last time. The boys are on time, approaching from the distance. It doesn’t take them long to tie the boat down and help the girls over the hull. 

It’s Cole who helps Honey over the edge and Quinn who helps Bea, although neither of them really need it. Honey finds Trevor on the boat almost immediately, bundled up in a towel next to Jack. His hair is dripping from a recent bout on the wakeboard, Honey presumes, and she hopes that he fell in. She doesn’t really, but for the sake of the moment and for the sake of her continued plan of revenge, she scrunches her nose up and closes both eyes and wishes that he fell of the board and got left behind in the water for a few minutes.

It’s truly the least that he could do after leaving her so high and dry the night before.

‘I’ll see you down there,’ he had said. Fuck that.

“Hey, Co,” Bea says. “Can I borrow some of that sunscreen you’re so adamant about using?”

“Yeah,” Cole agrees. He turns and digs through a beach bag until he finds a bottle of the lotion. He holds it up, then pulls it out of Bea’s reach when she extends an arm. “Want me to do you up?”

“Hardy har,” Bea replies. “Sure. I don’t care.”

She turns her back and allows Cole to lather her up. Honey stands near them and chats, letting Cole fill her in on the hours that she and Bea had missed as the boys work to undock the boat and as Jim shifts the gear and trucks forward. They had had breakfast and lunch on the boat. They had practically driven the perimeter of the reservoir and wakeboarded for a while. It had been a nice morning, very reminiscent of their past summers in Michigan. Cole had enjoyed it and so had the other boys. Jim and Ellen were in a good mood, even throughout the brief moments when Quinn would change direction and drive over his own waves to splash the occupants of the boat. 

When Bea is done with her sunscreen, Honey takes the bottle from Cole and turns it over in her hand. 

“Want me to get you, too?” Cole offers. “It’ll be just like last time.”

“She’s in the middle of a revenge plot,” Bea reveals.

Honey glares at her. 

“Revenge on who?” Cole asks, straightening his back a bit and perking up with excitement.

“None of your business,” Honey says. “It’s irrelevant.”

“So, Trevor?” Cole says with a laugh. “You’re not slick. You’re jealous that he’s hooking up with other girls.”

“I am not jealous of any girl that Trevor is hooking up with,” Honey replies, channeling venom into her tone. “I don’t care who he hooks up with as long as it’s not me.”

Bea raises her eyebrows quickly, looking down at the ground. “Definitely not jealous,” she mumbles.

“Oh, fuck off,” Honey curses. “Go suck on Quinn’s neck.”

“Mm, revenge,” Bea says. “Good point. We can do this revenge tour together. Co-baby, go find someone to exact revenge on, too.”

“Jack, probably,” Cole says, tapping his chin like he’s thinking. “He cut in line while we were wakeboarding. It was my turn and he took the tow-rope right out of my hand.”

He sets off to find the boy, who has left Trevor alone at the bow of the boat. Jack has joined his family in the tiny sitting area near the helm. Trevor looks serene as he watches the waves pass.

Time to ruin that.

Honey walks over with the sunscreen in hand, tapping it against her opposing palm until it’s clapping loudly and drawing Trevor’s attention. By this point, she’s right in front of him and waiting for him to turn around. When he does, she wordlessly hands over the bottle of sunscreen and turns her back.

Her hair is tied up from the car ride, but the flyaways are flying from the open windows and the wind from the moving boat. It’s worse because she’s facing away from the wind now, so Honey brings her hands up to retie the handkerchief. She knows that her body is moving with her reach and she hopes that the wide expanse of her back is titillating enough for him to jump at the opportunity to touch her.

She knows it works when she feels his thumb brush over the dragonfly at the base of her spine. From position alone, she knows that he’s stroking over the wing of the bug. His hand leaves her lower back and rises to cover the lotion that he wiped across her shoulderblades. 

They don’t speak, but they don’t have to. Honey doesn’t feel pressured to say anything. She just lets Trevor cover her with the sun protectant until her back is sufficiently done up. It’s then that she turns to face him and raises her eyebrows expectantly. 

Trevor hands the bottle of lotion back. He’s standing now, over her, and he abandoned his towel when he stood up. His hair is drying now, but his nose is a bit too pink and sunkissed for her liking.

Honey hums. She opens the bottle and squeezes out a little dollop onto her index finger. She plops it on Trevor’s nose, but leaves it for him to rub in. As he does that, she covers her chest in the lotion. She tosses the bottle down onto the cushions on the bow and stands right in front of Trevor. He’s shameless with the way his eyes look down her cleavage and Honey is fully aware of it. He just smiles when his eyes make their way back up to her face.

She smiles back, then devilishly folds down the band of her swimsuit just enough to make sure she’s not skimping out on her coverage. The extra skin, particularly the tan line that he rarely ever sees, and her smirk definitely gives Trevor the idea that she wanted him to have– that he’s forgiven for his little tirade last night and that she wants to hook up with him again.

Honey leaves him there for now. She goes about her day– she sits with Ellen and Luke. She watches Quinn put Bea on his shoulders while on the wakeboard, then watches them wipe out seconds after they find their balance. 

They resurface laughing and Jack asks if Honey wants to try, but she says no. She watches Cole jump at the bit, his own revenge tour in the spotlight now. It takes all of two seconds on the board for Jack to realize that Cole was out to get him– when the boy hooked his legs over Jack’s shoulders and laced his fingers beneath Jack’s chin, it clicked. 

Within a split second– Honey wishes she had filmed it so that she could watch it back in slow-motion– Cole had leaned back and went head first into the wake. He pulled Jack down with him in a satisfying slapping noise that Honey knows will result in a bright red splotch. Jack will complain about it all day long and he’ll sleep on his stomach tonight, asking for his mom to rub his back until he falls asleep.

He’s such a boy. Always whiny and needy when he gets sick or feels bad. Honey is so glad she hasn’t had to deal with something like that since she and Thomas broke up.

With one look back at a laughing Trevor, she realizes her mistake. He’s probably even worse than Jack and now she’s fucking him– she wishes she had some wood to knock on, because she has definitely jinxed herself. 

Just as the sun starts to get lower and the sky begins to turn a more vibrant shade of blue before dulling out, Quinn pulls Honey aside. Jack is now driving the boat, resolutely ignoring Cole and his feigned apologies.

“What does Bea want for her birthday?” Quinn asks, sitting on the port side of the boat with Honey. His legs are spread and Honey really likes the color of his boardshorts. They make a nice contrast with his skin and the hair on his thighs, although she thinks that might be a weird thing for her to say to him. She’ll tell Bea to tell him later.

“Shouldn’t you ask her?” Honey replies with a quirked brow. “I’m not a mind reader. These days, you spend more time with her anyway.”

Quinn stares for a moment, unimpressed. “What would Bea like for her birthday?” He rephrases. “From me. I never know what to get people.”

“Especially not the people you’re fucking, hm?” Honey laughs. 

“I wanted to get her a necklace or something,” Quinn says. “But I don’t know if that’s, like, too serious.”

“I think it’s serious enough,” Honey says. “We can go shopping on Tuesday. I’ll tell Ada I can’t come into work and it’ll be fine. There’s a store in Winston that has some good stuff that she’ll like.”

“You’d help me?” Quinn asks, sounding surprised.

Honey scoffs at him. “Of course I’ll help you, moron. It’s actually the perfect time for me to buy her a present, too. I haven’t gotten around to it.”

The corner of Quinn’s mouth lifts. “Too busy?”

He sounds too knowing for Honey’s liking. She knows that he knows about her and Trevor, but that doesn’t mean she likes the way he’s comfortable enough to tease her about it. She doesn’t want him to feel comfortable enough to pry.

“What did Bea tell you?” Honey asks, tilting her head and pursing her lips. 

“Everything bad,” Quinn says. “All the stuff that I enjoy hearing about Trevor. His shortcomings. He didn’t make you come last night?”

Honey grinds her teeth. “Fuck off.”

“I wouldn’t tolerate that if I were you.”

“I’m working on it,” Honey growls. She stands abruptly and leaves Quinn snuffling with laughter on the bench. Stalking over to Bea, she flicks the girl right on her hickey and tears up her comment about the pretty color of Quinn’s boardshorts like a piece of paper into a million little pieces.

Once the sun starts to set, Jim steers them toward the dock but stops the boat a few hundred feet away. They can see the lights on the pier and will be able to drive back there easily in the dark. 

The light fades and the fireworks start. There are a couple of houses and campsites on the reservoir. Honey and Bea often come here on summer holidays to watch the fireworks from the pier. It’s better on the boat.

Honey also thinks it’s better because she can see Bea curled up in Quinn’s arms, petting over his arm hair like she always does. She’s wearing his blue sweatshirt, buried in the fabric with the hood over her head. She’s absentmindedly smiling and making comments to those around her and she looks so content that Honey feels just as warm and fuzzy inside as Bea probably does. 

Honey shifts her weight on the cushions where she sits, unsticking herself from the leather. She’s definitely got prints on her legs in the design of the cushions, like she just took a really good nap and the impressions of the sheets are still printed on her skin. Ellen gave her a blanket to cover up with earlier when the sun started setting, chilling the air significantly with the way it bounces off the rolling waves.

She’s comfortable and warm and alone, pleasantly, until Trevor joins her. She supposes it makes sense– there was room next to her and that she was staring at the happy couple… who aren’t an actual couple. Honey’s a little jealous, but she’s mostly happy for Bea. 

“Room for another?” Trevor asks. He’s already lifting the corners of the blanket and sliding under, not bothering to listen for a response from Honey. 

“I’m saving this blanket for someone who follows through with things they commit to,” Honey retorts, although she loosens her grip on the blanket so that he can cover himself. “You’re stealing all the warmth.”

“It’s not a big enough blanket,” Trevor says.

“Yeah, that’s why I was the only one using it,” Honey tells him. She sounds defensive, but she’s joking and so is he. 

He steals the rest of the blanket from her and wraps it around his shoulders, which are, inanely, still uncovered by any shirt or sweatshirt. Maybe he deserves the blanket more, but it was Honey’s first. He’s such a little thief.

He makes up for it when he pulls her onto his lap and wraps the blanket around her shoulders. He completely covers her with his arms and plasters his chest to her back, hooking his chin over her shoulder. His hands clasp in front of her chest, his wrist falling on the swell of her breast. He certainly makes himself comfortable, shifting underneath her until he finds a good position.

“What are you doing?” Honey whispers, looking around at the other people on the boat. All of them are facing out towards the fireworks and the twinkling stars near the skyline. 

“Missed you today,” Trevor replies at the same volume, kissing Honey’s cheek swiftly before leaning back until his back meets the hull of the boat. Honey rests back on him when she’s sure that no one is looking at them. 

He’s daring, but she could still roll off of him in an instant if she needed to. Plus, it’s kind of nice– his cock is nestled underneath her and it’s still mostly soft. She can feel it and she’s not shy when she wiggles around on his lap just to torture him a bit. It works until he shifts his arms so that the tip of his pinky can settle under the band of her swimsuit. He brushes against her underboob, lighting a fire in the pit of her stomach.

“You’re very brave,” Honey whispers. “Acting like this after you left me out to dry last night.”

“You had it coming, you brat,” Trevor teases. He presses his hips up and he’s definitely growing harder as a result of her wiggling. “One of these days, I’m going to put you in your place. You got a taste of it last night.”

“Oh, you think you have that power over me?” Honey asks.

“I think I could have that power over you,” Trevor whispers. 

Honey doesn’t like how his voice raises goosebumps on her neck. She puts her weight on him, letting her head fall back. She looks up at him in the darkness and he looks especially handsome when the sparks light up his face in a myriad of reds, greens, and golds– because no one could be bothered to buy red, white, and blue fireworks for the holiday. 

“If you let me,” Trevor continues, finishing his thought with another tiny kiss on her cheek. 

Honey shivers. “You have to prove that you’ve earned my trust.”

“Baby, when have I ever let you down?” Trevor asks.

“Last night!” Honey hisses. “You left me– on your bed– last night!”

Trevor chuckles and moves a hand to her hips. He positions her right on top of his bulge. “I’ll make up for it later,” he promises, rolling his lap in a sensual curve, only exacerbated by the rocking of the boat from the waves of the lake.

It’s then that Honey moves off of his lap with a little bit of a struggle from the boy. He doesn’t want her to get off, but she tucks herself into his side and throws her legs across his lap. He keeps an arm around her, keeping them bundled in the blanket. It’s even warmer this way, with Trevor acting as Honey’s own personal furnace. 

“Not tonight,” Honey tells him. 

Trevor pouts a bit. “You don’t want me to make up for last night?” Trevor asks, his question rhetorical– because if it wasn’t, Honey would call him out very loudly for being a gaslighter. 

Honey shrugs one shoulder, knocking Trevor’s arm down to her waist. His fingers spread over her side as widely as he can, touching as much of her skin as possible. His burning touch keeps her in place, stuck like her childhood handprints near the cement of her back steps. 

“Not really.” She smiles. “I do okay on my own.”

Trevor frowns and groans at that, pressing his forehead to hers and wincing, as if wounded by the idea of Honey getting off without him. 

Honey chuckles out a breath, then turns back to the fireworks. They stay like that throughout the rest of the fireworks show. Trevor rubs soothing circles on her skin underneath the blanket until she’s squirming and reconsidering her denial. Right at the grand finale, through the thousands of little pops that echo over the water, Trevor tilts Honey’s head up and steals a kiss from her. 

He moves out from under the blanket and wraps it securely around Honey’s shoulders. He pulls at the edges to make sure it’s in place, smiling softly at Honey and nodding in a nearly invisible motion before scooting away. He lets a respectable distance linger between them. It’s electric and sizzling, like there’s a live wire pulling at Honey, encouraging her to crawl back into Trevor’s lap.

She wants to throw caution in the wind and say ‘screw it.’ She wants to bundle up next to him like Bea and Quinn and take whatever chirps she gets.

Her mind just will not allow her to do such a thing. She can barely fathom it, so she stays planted in her spot. She smiles at Bea before looking away, just making a moment of eye contact that will definitely leave Bea wondering and texting her later. 

Other than that, she just tries to look out into the distance. She’s quiet, but not unresponsive. She talks to the Hughes brothers, to Cole, to Jim and Ellen… even wishing Trevor a good night. 

The mood has certainly shifted, just between Honey and Trevor. It’s thicker. She’s got a lot of thoughts bouncing around in her head, but she can’t identify any of them. Same with how she feels– she feels something, but she’s not sure what.

It’ll solve itself eventually.

41:90 – TREVOR

Trevor has never been to the wine bar in Litchton before. He didn’t even know it existed until today. Apparently, Ellen had gone out to do some shopping in the one, little boutique in Litchton and the very kind shopowner had asked her if she liked wine. Ellen had said yes, then the shopowner had revealed that there was a cute, fairy-light-lined wine bar just around the corner through the alley.

It had seemed sketchy at first, walking through an alley in a tiny town to get to a bar, but with a group of six men including five professional athletes and one former-professional athlete who has transformed into a very protective husband… Ellen seemed okay. 

Once they got to the wine bar, they realized that nowhere in Litchton could be sketchy at all because it’s all so eclectic. The bar is outdoors, mostly. It’s a wooden patio with flower boxes with wildflowers planted inside them near the entrance. There’s seating inside, but it’s just a bunch of couches in silly colors. You have to go inside to order, but it’s such a nice day, so the group sits outside.

Ellen and Jim insist on paying for everyone, so Cole and Jack dive head-first into the IPA menu. Luke and Jim settle for some bottled domestic beer. Ellen and Quinn both go for a ‘refreshing white’ wine and Trevor is left staring at the menu while everyone makes their way to a table outside.

“Not much of a wine guy?” The bartender asks. She’s smiling at him like she’s holding back a laugh, then looks him up and down.

She’s checking me out, Trevor realizes. 

She’s not bad-looking, obviously. Part of being a bartender is looking your best to receive the best tips possible. In Anaheim, maybe Trevor would steal a second glance at her and flash one of his dashing smiles.

She’s wearing a pink button-up and a long cream skirt that has a slit in the middle. He can see the bootstraps of two tall brown boots from where she stands behind the counter. Her hair is dark and she’s pretty. She’s definitely older than Trevor, but not old enough for it to be concerning or weird.

He normally likes interactions like this, even. It would be so easy to turn on the charm and get a discounted drink. 

But, Trevor just smiles tightly and turns the menu over in his hand. “No, not really. Beer and liquor, mostly, but I’m trying to extend my palette.” 

“Have a moscato. It’s an easy place to start. Nice and sweet,” she says, turning her back and picking through the selection of bottles behind her. She returns with a bottle and a glass in her hand, setting both in front of Trevor delicately. As she uncorks the bottle and pours the wine, he spots the glimmering ring on her finger.

Good– his choice not to flirt with her has already paid off. 

“How did you learn so much about wine?” Trevor asks. “It’s pretty daunting.”

“How did you learn so much about beer?” The woman returns. “It’s the same thing, basically.”

“Good point.”

“When your husband grew up in Napa Valley and his one big move in college was to take girls out for wine and cheese, you learn a lot. There are only so many dates you can go on with a man like that before you start picking stuff up,” she jokes. Then, she spreads her arms out and gestures to the bar around them. “And now we own this place, so it all worked out.”

Trevor nods, following her gaze around the bar. He likes the mood-lighting and the funky plush chairs strewn around the room. “It’s a great place. My girlfriend would love it.”

The word comes naturally. He's telling the truth, too– Honey would love this place.

“You’ll have to bring her around sometime,” the woman tells him. She extends a hand over the counter for Trevor to shake. “I’m Sarah.”

“Trevor,” Trevor replies, shaking her hand. He reaches for his glass of wine and takes it from the counter, holding it by the stem so that he doesn’t ruin the temperature of the chilled wine. 

“Oh, you’re Trevor,” Sarah says. She takes a deep breath like it’s a big revelation, who he is. “Wow. My mother hasn’t stopped talking about you since she tried to teach you how to knit three weeks ago.”

Trevor had thought she looked familiar. She’s Scarlett, only thirty-five years younger. Trevor is surprised he didn’t connect the dots sooner.

“Tried?” Trevor asks. “She succeeded. I’m a terrific craftsman.”

“And humble, too,” Sarah says with an eyeroll. “She’ll be so disappointed to hear that you have a girlfriend.”

Oh, fuck.

Trevor’s eyes widen and he feels his heart stop. He hadn’t thought anything of it when he called Honey his ‘girlfriend’ to this random stranger, but now, Sarah isn’t that much of a stranger. She’s the daughter of a woman with whom Honey hangs out every Tuesday morning, a woman who loves to gossip and can’t keep a secret. Trevor doesn’t even know Scarlett, but he’s seen enough of her and hung around enough to have a feel for her character.

He’s screwed. He told someone in Honey’s circle that they’re dating… when they’re supposed to be a complete secret. Especially considering they're not really dating. She keeps saying no when he invites her to dinner.

Sarah doesn't know who he’s talking about, though. That's his saving grace. Maybe he has a girlfriend back home. For all she knows, his girlfriend is far, far away from here.

Sarah’s smile widens. “I know that look,” she says. “This girlfriend isn’t going to be very happy with you, huh?”

Trevor bites the inside of his cheek and begrudgingly looks down at his feet. He scuffs his shoes against the bar, then dares to meet Sarah’s eyes again. “I’ve said too much.”

Sarah gives him a nod, making a show of locking her lips. 

Trevor bows his head in concession, then thanks her after a pause that went on for slightly too long. He goes to join the rest of his party outside, but Sarah calls after him. 

“Trevor,” Sarah says.

“Yeah,” Trevor replies, coming back to face her with fifty feet of space between them.

Sarah licks her front teeth, seeming to debate her following statement. She beckons him forward and Trevor comes closer. Sarah leans over the counter as far as she can and Trevor turns his head so that she can speak directly into his ear.

“Tell Honey that you both are welcome here any time. I’ve got a bottle of grüner veltliner with her name on it.”

Trevor pulls back, blinking at the dark-haired woman a couple of times. She quirks her lips and gives him a bowed head of her own before turning to reorganize the cooler behind the bar.

Trevor stands there for a few moments too long. He stays planted in one spot before he’s able to scrub a hand over his face and turn back to the door that leads out to the patio. He doubles back.

“How did you know?” Trevor asks.

Sarah shrugs, picking up a glass from the drying rack and running a clean cloth over its base. “Old women love gossip, Trevor,” she explains. “But they love to watch their babies fall in love. Scarlett is hoping there will be an open bar at the wedding.”

Trevor flushes. He's not sure what to say from here, so he just gives Sarah an awkward wave and shuffles out to the patio.

He wishes he could give Jim and Ellen his full attention during their last few hours in town. He tries his hardest to talk to them and contribute to the conversation, but his mind is elsewhere.

A wedding.

The thought of marriage has never crossed Trevor’s mind before. 

Never. Not in regards to any of his past girlfriends or childhood crushes. His future was always hockey, not a wife and two kids and a golden retriever and a picket fence.

Then, he imagines Honey in a long white gown, with a bouquet of blue hydrangeas in her hand like the ones that grow in her backyard. Like the ones in the vase on her kitchen counter, the ones she toyed with as he put her fruit away on Monday.

With barely over half a summer to go before he leaves, Trevor has an abrupt revelation. It's all Sarah’s fault, which means that it's all Scarlett’s fault by extension. Trevor is never knitting again.

Because just like a quick snap of his fingers or a gunshot at the start of a race, he’s thinking of marriage with Honey and he doesn’t dread it at all.

It's really hard to make eye contact with anyone for the rest of the day. 

Trevor goes to his bedroom as soon as he gets home, kissing Ellen on the cheek to say goodbye and shaking Jim’s hand. He stares at his phone for a while, looking at Honey’s most recent message of “Come over?”

He stares at her contact name. It’s the honeypot emoji, all on its own. It's inconspicuous enough, although relatively obvious to anyone who knows them both. Honey would kill him if she saw it. She’d kill him if she knew he thought something was missing from her name in his phone, and kill him more if she knew that the thing that he thought was missing was a ring.

He turns his phone off and throws it across the room. She barely even likes him, although she's warming up to Trevor at a snail’s pace.

He’d be a fool if he let one elderly woman’s comment about marriage change their whole relationship. They're not getting married. He and Honey, they're just– well, they're just hooking up. They're just having fun. She’s not looking for all of that.

Why did he think it was a good idea to call Honey his girlfriend?

42:90 – HONEY

Honey is about at her wits end. Six hours ago, when Bea called her and informed her that the parents were gone, Honey didn’t think she’d still be stuck in the basement of the rental house. The first few hours were fine with Bea updating her whiteboard and Luke entertaining them by trying to cook a late lunch. He was craving tacos, so tacos they would have, and it was a pleasure to watch him do all the work.

Jack, Cole, and Trevor are playing some video game that Honey can’t be bothered to learn the name of. Luke is upstairs cleaning up his mess. Bea sits firmly on Quinn’s stomach, pinning the boy down on the couch, and she’s taking a pair of tweezers to his eyebrows. 

It’s devastatingly domestic. Honey hates how Quinn’s eyes are half-open and blink up at Bea like the world’s laziest cat. She hates the concentration on Bea’s face as she leans closer to the boy to get a better look at the stray hairs she’s itching to pluck. She hates how Bea’s lips purse when she frowns out of pure focus and she hates how Quinn smiles at Bea after his gaze drifts to her lips. She especially hates that when Quinn complains that it hurts, which it doesn’t, because Honey has plucked her own eyebrows enough times to know that it doesn’t, Bea soothes the affected area with a kiss and then plops another on Quinn’s mouth before continuing.

She’s never felt so single in her life.

Honey thinks this might be her payback from when she and Thomas were together and Bea was the single one. She remembers being in high school and driving around with Bea in the backseat and Thomas behind the wheel. They would go to the Target in Charlotte almost every day, just for something to do. Bea had to deal with her shrieking laughter when Thomas was touchy and overbearing because they were ‘in love’ or whatever high schoolers claim to feel at the time. 

When Honey ignores the way the relationship ended with Thomas, she thinks it wasn’t so bad. It was fun, even. She really liked Thomas. That’s what made his eventual betrayal so hard to deal with.

Her other problem is that when she looks over at Trevor, she has started getting the same butterflies that she would get with Thomas. Like just before they started dating, when Honey would go to his baseball games because their games were always just before her practice, and he would point at her with his baseball bat before he went up to bat. 

“K, baby, you’re all done,” Bea murmurs with a pat to Quinn’s cheek. 

It pulls Honey from her thoughts and her face immediately contorts with distaste. 

Quinn takes his hands from where they were resting on Bea’s bare thighs– she’s wearing underwear and a big shirt like a slut, Honey could kill her– and wraps his arms around her waist. He sits up, keeping her firmly on his lap, and kisses her.

“Thanks, Sweet Bea,” Quinn replies at a similar volume, punctuating his sentiment with another peck.

Honey might actually put her hands around her own neck and start squeezing. She’s revolted by how sickly-sweet they are.The most frustrating bit is that they don’t even want to put a label on their relationship. Bea is still fucking Jack and Cole in addition to Quinn– and Quinn doesn’t care. He still treats Bea like she’s the only girl in the world.

Meanwhile, the guy that she doesn’t have a label with is sitting on the couch between two of his best buddies, cajoling about something stupid. He’s wearing a muscle tee that he clearly made himself because the arm holes are so wide that when he leans forward, Honey can see the way his tan stomach folds and flexes when he breathes.

She really ought to check her calendar. Her normal schedule is completely out of whack after her period came early last week. Her hormones are running rampant.

Or, that’s just the best, most scientific excuse for her behavior.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” Honey announces, standing from her spot in the room and clasping her hands together. “Goodnight all.”

“Goodnight,” Jack bids, singing a little bit. He’s distracted from his latest win in that stupid game. 

“Bye, Hon,” Bea says. She’s got her legs wrapped around Quinn’s waist now and he’s got a hand in her hair. Honey refuses to reply to her. She’s petty and annoyed and Bea is the cause of that annoyance. 

Stop having such perfect sex! Honey wishes she could shout at Bea. I’m so jealous of how happy you are!

And Bea would be perfectly nice about it, and probably never bring Quinn up again, but then Honey would feel guilty for making her stop talking about her romantic life… until the cycle just started again.

So, instead, Honey leaves. 

Well, she means to. She makes it to the door before Trevor catches her hand and pulls her back. He tilts his head and pushes her hair behind her ears, clearing her face.

“You’re upset,” he says. “You’ve been glaring at them all day. What’s wrong, Honey?”

“Nothing,” Honey says petulantly. She can’t just tell Trevor that she’s jealous that Quinn and Bea can be all lovey-dovey without a shred of consequence. It’ll just make him think that she wants to act that way, and she really doesn’t. Quite frankly, she’d rather him fuck her until her mind is completely blank from pleasure.

When Trevor hums out a contemplative little “baby,” Honey feels herself snap.

Her fingers circle his wrist and she pivots, turning from the front door and dragging Trevor upstairs. She wrenches open his bedroom door and then slams it behind them, pushing him into the bedroom with both of her hands on his chest until his knees hit the side of his bed and he falls on his back.

“What are you doing?” Trevor asks as Honey paws at his shirt. She tugs the hem over his head, catching him slightly on the neckline. 

“Don’t call me ‘baby,’” Honey hisses, correcting the boy for multiple transgressions with an aggressive tug to his shorts. 

Trevor smiles and helps her kick the shorts away when they reach his ankles. “Sorry, baby. I didn’t know it made you so mad.”

“God, shut up and do what you do best, Trevor,” Honey spits out. She pulls her own top over her head, freeing her chest. She tries to stomp all of the butterflies that flap around in her stomach when Trevor’s eyes fix on her favorite accessories. 

“Ooh, yes ma’am,” Trevor teases. He bites his bottom lip and his eyes shine when Honey unbuttons her jean shorts and forces them down her legs. Her underwear follows, which is when she comes back to Trevor on the bed.

She snaps the waistband of his boxers against his hip before taking the final item of clothing off of him. She’s hyper focused on her actions, unable to see the way Trevor looks down at her. He reaches to touch her hair, but she smacks his hand away. 

Their encounter is frantic. Honey climbs onto his lap and has his cock inside of her so quickly that the whiplash is better than a quippy response. Trevor moans at the feeling and goes to grab her hip, but Honey stops him.

“Don’t touch,” she commands. “This is about me.”

“Oh, I see,” Trevor says. “You’re just pent up from the other day, aren’t you?” He ignores her directions and places his hands on her waist.

Honey glares at him, fixing him with a look so lethal that he really ought to curl up into a ball and die. 

He just laughs and continues, pulling at her body until she starts to move against him. His cock, pulsing inside of her, erases some of her jealousy and frustration from her body. She rolls her head back, her eyes closing from sheer fulfillment.

“Need my cock to fix your problems, babe?” Trevor asks, snapping his hips up once in a shocking movement that has Honey pitching forward. 

Her mouth falls open and her hair falls into her face. Honey’s nails dig into Trevor’s pecs, just like how they did when she came all over his fingers the other day. Those marks have probably only just healed, too, and now Honey is millimeters away from digging in too deep and breaking his skin.

“I hate you,” Honey pants, shaking the hair out of her face. She rocks her hips, bouncing on Trevor’s– unfortunately, very satisfying– length. She retracts her talons and presses her hands flush against Trevor’s chest. She moans when she imagines his cock leaking inside of her, her hand going lower until her thumbnail scrapes his nipple.

He hisses, pelvis stuttering beneath her. “Big talk for a girl who pushed me down and took my cock before I could get to the bottom of all of this,” Trevor quips, one of his hands steadying Honey while the other tweaks her nipple in retaliation.

She whimpers from the spark of his touch, but bounces more harshly. Her knees are practically screaming in pain from the position, but she continues to work up and down over Trevor’s cock. She’s close already and she can’t let her sore joints stop her from reaching the orgasm that is just over an arm’s length away.

“It’s the only thing you’re good for,” Honey says, but the end of her statement twists with a moan as Trevor snaps his hips again, pushing his cock even further into her.

“The only thing?” Trevor asks, a smug smile pulling at his lips. “I seem to remember you begging for my fingers last week. And my tongue two days ago, come to think of it.”

Honey scratches down his chest, leaning so that her face is right in his, their noses almost touching. “I don’t beg,” she reminds him, grinding down on his cock in circular motions when the tip of his dick prods at her sweet spot. “You should know by now that I do not beg.”

“You should,” Trevor says. He lifts a hand and brings it down on her asscheek, the slap filling the room and jolting Honey. She straightens up again and rides Trevor with a renewed fervor that has her eyes rolling back. “Do you like this, baby? Riding me like I’m a toy for you to use?”

Honey struggles to breathe through the moan that is ripped from her throat. She bounces on his cock, first fueled by his words, then driven over and over by the building feeling in her stomach.

Without sliding out of her, Trevor rolls them over. He throws Honey’s knee over his shoulder and crowds her space, lewd noises echoing between them with each snap of his hips. “Or do you like this?”

Her hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders. This is exactly what she was looking for– a hard, harsh fuck that has her practically wailing beneath him. She’s not even sure she’s making noise, but how could she not when she feels this good? Her nails are out again, leaving long, red, raised lines on Trevor’s shoulders and upper back as he fucks into her. The marks will certainly spark some chirps from the guys if they see them, that’s for sure, but they still don’t know that the chick Trevor is pulling is Honey, and that secret is more delicious than the stiffness in her hands as she marks him.

“Yeah, you like this best,” Trevor mewls, leaning down to lather his tongue over her breast. He catches her piercing between his teeth, tugging at it until she whimpers. Then, he releases it and pounds a nail into her coffin: “My big cock,” he whispers, voice dark and gruff. “Filling you up and fucking you until I come inside you. Want me to warm you up, Honey? Put all my cum in this pretty, pretty pussy?”

He’s smug, but he’s right, and Honey kind of wants to hit him for it. She won’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing, of telling him that she absolutely wants him to warm her up until she’s leaking. 

She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in, their teeth clashing in a messy, heated kiss. “I hate you,” Honey repeats, nibbling Trevor’s bottom lip after she says so. She bites down gently and tugs, arching her back and rolling her hips down to meet each of Trevor’s thrusts.

Trevor bends down to leave a line of kisses along Honey’s neck and clavicles, sucking a hickey under her ear in the same spot where Quinn marked Bea while the parents were in town. He laughs, a breathless little chuckle that settles on Honey’s chest and makes a home there. “If you hate me so much, why are you still letting me fuck you?”

It’s because of the feeling that washes over her shortly after his thumb makes contact with her clit. He’s hitting her g-spot consistently enough and they’re fucking bare and he’s kissing her and his thumb is there– and she comes. It feels like a kaleidoscope, the way her vision goes white and spotty as he ruins her. 

She’s gone limp, unable to control her muscles except to pull Trevor closer. She feels him come, too, spilling inside of her. 

Their climaxes are sloppy and sweaty, bodies sliding against each other through the aftershocks. Trevor is still fucking into her, barely. His dick twitches as he’s pulling out, pressing kiss after kiss to her neck.

“Better?” Trevor asks softly. He rolls off the bed and finds his boxers, pulling them back on before rejoining Honey on the bed.

“Temporarily,” Honey replies. Her tone is a little clipped, but she’d hate to lie to Trevor and say that all is solved. She’s still a little wound up, but his dick did work wonders. She particularly lost her head when he was a little rougher– the spank while she was riding him was like a revelation. “I’ll need another session in about a week.”

Trevor snuffles out a laugh. “I’ll be needing one sooner than that,” he says. “How about tomorrow? You don’t have work, you’re not busy… I can feed you fruit afterwards…”

He trails off with an enticing wiggle of his eyebrows and Honey laughs aloud. She rolls her eyes and pries herself from the mattress, grimacing slightly as his cum starts to drip down her thighs. She crinkles her nose and hobbles toward his bathroom, hoping that she’s not leaking onto his carpet. While sex without a condom is hot in her mind, it’s rarely ever hot in practice. 

She uses his toilet and rifles through his drawers a little just for fun before Trevor calls for her. 

“There’s clean underwear in the basket near the hamper,” he says. “I just haven’t folded it yet. Grab whatever you like.”

Honey makes a face at herself in the mirror. She has clothes. She doesn’t need his clean clothes. They won’t even fit her– and plus, she likes her old pajama boxers way more than she would like his.

She returns to the bedroom, all clean and no longer dripping. “I’ve got clothes, Trev,” she says. To prove her point, she bends down and collects her underwear, shorts, and top. She starts to pull them on, but pauses when she catches Trevor rustling in bed and battling with the top sheet.

“You’re not staying?” Trevor asks. “C’mon, baby, come sleep with me.”

“Already did,” Honey quips. She points a finger at Trevor briefly after the joke, then finishes dressing. She pulls her hair up into a ponytail, then realizes she doesn’t have a hair tie because she gave it to Bea earlier, so she just lets her hair drop back down past her shoulders. She smiles at the boy, who is frowning at her. She purses her lips in an air-kiss. “Don’t call me baby.”

She starts to leave, rolling her eyes when Trevor whistles at the sight of her backside in her shorts. She tries to wipe the smile off of her face in case she runs into one of the other boys or, God forbid, nosy Bea McLean. 

She gets lucky in two ways: the sex earlier, pun definitely intended, and in the way that no one catches her sneaking out. She can still hear them playing that stupid game and she has a feeling that Bea is in one of the bedrooms with her choice man of the evening. 

When she’s alone in the car, that giddy smile overtakes her face like it couldn’t behave for a second longer. 

Honey feels like she’s swaddled in the butterflies that have been flying around in her stomach these past couple of weeks. She’s digging herself deeper and deeper into a hole that will be very hard to climb out of come August when Trevor leaves, but for now, she’s got a man that she likes who lets her play pretend enemies until she’s ready to tell him the truth. It’s not a label, but it’s enough.

[acerathia]

pink camellias || Chapter 1: hyacinth

Chapter Summary:

purple hyacinth: sorrow

Wordcount: 3.2k

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Pairing:

Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

Tags/CW:

royalty au, inspired by Mulan, war and its consequences, violence, childhood friends to strangers to companions to lovers (i am sorry), Angst, Acts of Service, Character Death (Major, and Minor), swordfights, misogyny, f!reader, kidnapping, implied torture, let me know if I missed anything lol

Note:

I got too impatient, so, I'm posting the first chapter today lol, still, i hope you enjoy reading it!

You opened the windows as soon as you woke up. As the soft sunlight warmed your skin, you watched the breeze rustle the flowers of the garden. Beyond that garden was a beautifully constructed posh house, barely blocking your view to the adjacent village. The rows of different houses gave the scenery a special kind of feel. The view was breathtaking, the bustling of all these people making you feel alive under your skin. 

You stood by the window, trying to discern the lives of the common people below you in the valley. There was a small stripe of forest bordering the village and the mansion, which stood atop a hill. 

“I wonder how life is down there”, you mumbled before looking back to your bed.

The softest of fabric was spread over the king-sized bed and you slowly stepped closer, your hand enjoying the feel of silk between your fingers. Then with a tiny jump you threw yourself onto the mattress, sinking deeply in its comfort and warmth.

With a sigh, you tried to imagine living in such a village. Maybe you would operate a bakery, making tasty bread and confects. You would wake up early, which you usually would never even think about, but this was only imaginary. If you were lucky, you could watch the sunrise for some time, while waiting for the dough to rise. Your hands would be kneading and caressing the dough into different, but nonetheless tasty goodies for the day, the lit oven warming your back with a gentle sigh. It would hug the soft dough and prepare it for the day.

After the bread and sweets would be ready, you would open up the shop, awaiting the first jingle of the door. You would, as usual, greet the oncoming customers, the ones you saw regularly with some deep questions, and the newer ones with some welcoming small talk. Your heart would beat in happiness every time something of yours would find its home somewhere else. And if everything got sold, you would close the shop and head to the market to replenish some of your necessities. If not, you would go around and give the bread to someone who would need it at the moment, not wanting to let anyone go hungry. 

You imagined such a routine to be relaxing and enjoyable, especially connecting with so many people. The wish to go out and change something for yourself lit a spark, even if the possibility of leaving this place without guard would never happen. 

Some day you would wake up with the hope of appearing in another place, like the characters in your stories. Landing inside a novel with the knowledge of every scenario, being actively a part of some grand scheme or an adventure. But no matter how long you kept your eyes closed, you stayed in your little bland life. 

Sometimes you would dare to write down some ideas, with your scrawly font. And while doing so you blamed yourself for not listening to your teacher when learning how to write. But you wrote. You wrote every little idea that emerged in your little head. Huffing and puffing when the intricate dreams vanished after waking up. 

With a low grumble, you stared at your ceiling. You grew weary of only imagining things and felt the urge, the desire to actually live your own adventure. 

“My Lady, I’ve brought water to wash up”, the voice of your maid Hana sounded before she entered the room. 

You furrowed your brows, wondering how long you had been lying there, and if you would succeed in sneaking out, if your maid wouldn’t be so punctual. But you only greeted her and rolled from the bed to walk towards a stool.

While you were washing your face, Hana brushed your hair gently and got rid of all the knots taking residence on top of your head. You looked into the mirror, feeling the soft towel on your skin. 

This was your face, even if you wished you were another person. No matter what you think, the baby fat on your face would not dwindle until much later. For a moment you wondered how soon your birthday was. 

“You should go to the dining room to eat some breakfast, my Lady.”, Hana told you, after helping you into a simple baby blue wrapper. Something simple for your indoor endeavors, as you did not plan on leaving this mansion any time soon. 

With a nod you made your way to the dining room, greeting your father, who was leaning over some papers spread over the table. 

“Good morning sweetie, did you sleep well?”, he asked while stretching his arms for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. 

“Yes, thank you for asking, Father.”, you smiled with a slight crook, before turning to greet your mother the same way. 

After the greetings, you took a seat and started eating your breakfast. 

Despite the current silence at the table you were quite attached to your parents, as they were to you. They both were loving and warm and so doting on their only daughter. And who were you to resist getting spoiled like that? You would do anything for your parents, and even if you longed to go outside and experience new things, you were aware how your disappearance would break their hearts, and yours. 

“Ah, we’re supposed to return to the palace today, did you prepare your luggage, or did you forget again?”, your mother started speaking with an amused smile after finishing the meal.

“Mother! Of course, I prepared everything! But, I’m still going to ensure that everything has its place.”, you hurriedly responded and jumped from your seat. Soft chuckle followed you out of the room. 

How could you forget the return to the palace? Your father was the marquess and your mother attended to the queen herself. And despite your current young age, you wanted to make a good impression on the people living there, even if they may have already formed one around your person. But nothing speaks against working to better those impressions. 

With the help of your maid, you threw everything you may need in that visit into a tiny case, fitting for your tiny stuff. And when Hana suggested you take your stuffed cat with you, you vehemently refused. Because what if someone saw it and thought of you as inferior? Especially little kids your age, they were usually the most vicious and you refused to be the victim of their bullying. 

After making sure everything was in order, you let your maid help you into some outdoor gown with the same blue color as the other one. With a fitting pair of gloves and a bonnet, you were ready to leave your home for your stay at the palace. 

Clutching Hana’s hand you made your way outside to the awaiting carriage. The coachman already heaving their luggage into its respective space. But you didn’t need his help to get into the carriage, not even Hana’s help. You grabbed some of the fabric of your dress and took the large step with one stride. The next step let you tumble into the insides of the carriage, where you immediately acted like everything went as planned. 

Hana took the seat in front of you and the car slowly left the property. You knew that your parents were in the carriage in front of yours, so you did not fret and simply enjoyed the passing sights of the marquisate.

After a couple of minutes, someone slightly shook you and you blearily opened your eyes. You didn’t remember closing them in the first place. Did you already arrive at your destination? That was weird, you thought the way would take some hours. But beggars shouldn’t be choosers and you didn’t mind that very convenient time skip of sleep. Even if you now felt tired and grumpy. 

With half-closed lids you let Hana lead you to the inside of the palace, where you already occupy a room. This wasn’t the first time your character visited the palace, but every time felt like it was. And no matter how much you wanted to look around, you felt drained and wanted nothing more than to continue your nap in peace. 

The moment you stepped into the room, you threw yourself onto the bed, without care of your bonnet falling off your head. But for some reason you could not fall asleep again, making you whine into the soft pillows, before sitting up. 

And before you could even plan anything for the afternoon, someone started knocking on your door. 

“Hello! We were wondering if you wanted to play knights with us?”, a boy your age with bright green eyes, Izuchan,  asked you with a smile, the moment you opened the door. Another was lingering with crossed arms and a slight scowl. 

You turned to look at Hana, who just nodded with a sigh before you also nodded to the boys in front of you. “Yes! I’d love to participate in a game!”

With that, you followed them outside, where the sun shone upon your heads and warmed you slightly. 

They immediately started clashing their wooden swords and began screaming something about ‘villains’ and ‘crime’. You wondered when it would be your turn, but you didn’t hold a wooden sword in your hands. 

For some reason you felt the need to fix it, so you started wandering to the training camp of the real knights, looking for some kind of sword you might be able to use. 

The only thing you discovered were of course actual knights in training. Their movements and the swing of the sword in their hands were mesmerizing and you could not help yourself but stare. Their flow seemed like a hidden dance, its steps only obtained by the truly worthy. 

You felt trapped in watching the blades clash, eliciting bursts of tiny stars. A desire to wield this magic grew in you and a grin formed itself across your face. Now you fully understood the reason everyone admired knights. And you desired to be one. 

You barely managed to rip your gaze from their dangerous dance only to see the object you were seeking only minutes ago. Without a second thought, you grabbed the wooden sword to return to the fighting boys. Only to see them running towards the training grounds, their gaze focused on something behind you. 

And what were you supposed to do but follow them? So you ran with them towards a group of people converging around a massive person. 

“Allmight!”, Izuchan gasped and started talking about the best knight in this whole kingdom and you couldn’t do anything but listen with rapt attention and interest. 

Kacchan tried to get to the overrun knight, but before he had the possibility of reaching him, Allmight found the right timing to detach himself from the crowd and thus was missed when the boy finally broke through. 

The blond started raging, concealing his disappointment in a fit of anger and screams. The other boy tried to calm him down, yelling ‘Kacchan’ to get his attention.

Undeterred by his outburst you gripped the wooden sword tighter in your hand and declared something to him, maybe you hoped to calm him down or to distract him from his missing hero. 

“I am going to be a knight! One better than you!”, you declared war on these two young boys, who were supposed to be your friends, but your ambitions seemed to destroy any semblance of kinship. 

“Hah? A girl can’t be a knight, are you stupid?”, Kacchan immediately replied, his anger only simmering, but directed at you nonetheless. 

“You’re stupid!”

While you could have replied with a better comeback, annoyance made your brain empty, only the desire to show him filling you to the brim. 

Without waiting for the next words of this brash boy, you turned and ran towards the toy dummy, which has been abandoned offside the actual training grounds. You didn’t care if your dress stained, the seams filling with mud, as you hit the dummy repeatedly, acting as if you were already a seasoned knight. 

The two boys joined you soon after. And while the blond and you could not do anything but push each other into anger, you still played with your wooden swords, even if any of you would have dared to say that it has been a fight for life and death. 

And if your maid clicked her tongue and reprimanded you for ruining your dress, you only responded with your dreams and hopes of becoming a knight. Out of necessity, your maid had, soon after that conversation full of sighs and aspirations, sewn you some proper clothing resembling the ones of a knight. 

With your pants and shirt, you continued to fight your friends at every possibility, even if it meant getting stained in blue blood underneath your skin and ripped hair between your fingernails. 

***

The seasons have passed and you still lived at the palace with your mother. You spent your daily life studying everything this place had to offer and everything your duty obliged you. But the moment you managed to free yourself some time, the people found you in a pair of pants, swinging that old wooden sword with your friends. 

Finally, you had finished your reading for the day, getting some free time for your extracurricular activities. But before the teacher could properly dismiss you, your maid knocked and entered the room, a grave expression marring her face. 

“Miss, I’m afraid, your mother is at death's door…”, she started speaking, but you jumped from your chair, grabbing the fabric of your dress to allow you to run as fast as you managed. 

Your mother, your dear, loving mother, laid there, unmoving in her too-big bed. Her pale frame almost sunk into the soft fabric of the bedding and you were afraid. You were so afraid to step too close and to hurt her. 

Still, you carefully sat at the end of the bed, taking her hand in yours, as soft as your rough hands cared to achieve. You only had eyes for her, everyone around you nothing but a blur. Nonetheless, you caught some pieces of information from the people hurrying around you in a senseless frenzy. The white plague. Your mother has been suffering under the act of consumption for longer than any of the people around her anticipated. Her paleness mistaken for lack of sun and worry. Her feverishly red cheeks and lips simply for a mistake in the chosen shade. 

You wondered how long she had been plagued by this illness. How long had she been suffering without anyone taking notice? Had she already known prior to this? 

Suddenly her lack of presence in your life in the last couple of months started to make sense. She knew you would have noticed her lack of energy immediately. How could you not? Your mother used to be the sun in any dark room. Her presence soothing and warm, even if bright. This woman in front of you was nothing but a pale, sick shadow of her old self. And it hurt you.

It hurt to see the most important person in your life suffer and on the brink of death. Oh, how you would do anything to soothe her aches and take her pains away. 

Something cold dripped onto your hands, but you were not able to find the source of those tiny drops. Not until you took a shuddering gasp and a sob broke free, your lungs yearning to scream and cry. 

Even if you grew weary and bored of your life, you cared for this woman, it drove you crazy. How were you supposed to move on after this? 

People grabbed your sobbing shoulders, but you refused to let go of her frail hand. Someone was whispering empty words into you and you didn’t react with anything but a heartbreaking wail, lowering your head against her hand, pressing her cold skin against your cheeks. 

Despite your vehement protest, someone managed to loosen your grip around your dead mother, leading you into your room. After getting pushed onto your own bed, everything became a blur. 

You barely noticed getting moved around or getting into a carriage. The only thing you numbly remember was the regret of not telling your friends about your hasty departure. Even if you yourself had not known about it until you arrived back at the mansion you used to live at. You supposed this was your actual home, even if the palace felt more like it. 

After your arrival at the mansion, you refused to eat and did not leave your room under any circumstance. At some point, your father's worry grew and he started trying to lure you with different things. Most of them got no reaction from you at all. 

“Hello dear. How have you been?”, he asked with a soft voice, taking a seat at the end of the bed. You gave him a tired smile as an answer, your voice itching and scratching. 

“Good, good.”, he nodded, taking your hand in his. “I know I have said it multiple times already, but you need to get out a bit… I know, I know. But she would not want you to suffer in such a dark room.” He tried to persuade you, already knowing your answer, even just with your nonverbal facial expressions. 

“How about this: You still want to be a knight, don’t you? Well, then we shall get you some proper sword master to teach you. Can’t have you swing a wooden sword without instructions forever.”, and his suggestion made you perk up. 

You still wanted to master swordsmanship, but your father had never supported that particular endeavor of yours. Until to this day, it appeared. Even if the circumstances should have been better, your mother should have been there to celebrate that milestone with you. Still, you knew she would have wanted you to run towards your dreams, even if she wasn’t there. You decided to dedicate this work of life to her before you agreed to your father's suggestion with a slight nod and a hesitant smile. 

And your agreement seemed to spark some happiness in the eyes of your old man, as his smile gained that special depth. Without further words, because you simply didn’t need to, he pecked your forehead, before standing up. And if he pulled the curtains open and let you bask in the warmth of the estranged sun before he left your room, then so be it. Because this time, the sun didn’t symbolize another day without her, but a new opportunity dedicated to her, in remembrance of her. Starting with that day, you promised yourself to think of her every time you held a sword. Your dear beloved memories with her would lend you whatever strength you would have needed in any possible situation. 

Your gaze wanders out of your window, into the beautiful garden. And you were mesmerized by the whipping flowers, almost like it was your first time seeing them. With this breathtaking, familiar view you held your promise close to your heart and planned on never letting go.