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jezebelblues · 29 days ago

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forsaken | h.s

summary: florence 1583. a woman of fire, a man of fuel.

cw: smut18+ penetration (piv), oral fem!receiving, parent death, fem!reader, unedited. unrealistic happy ending if u seek tragedy 😔

world count: approx 17.2k

| omg will be writing more on these 2, renaissancerry is my heart <3 not rlly thinking a series, more like extras on them fosho. ps: am not a historian or time traveler–if u see something incorrect no u didn’t

Florence, 1583

Harry Edward Styles was born to a mother, an older sister, and two fathers—one of blood, one of choice.

The man that bore his blood to the two Styles children preferred the sound of the way glasses of ale would clink in warm evenings, the twinkle of gold coins in the sunlight. Children were the continuation of a name, a bloodline—and that’s all he thought them to be. The only fathering a man was made to do was the ritual of burying their seed in a woman, her duty was to grow them.

So, after a son with his same eyes drew his first breath, he rose a dagger and marked his heel with one singular, vertical dash.

He had done the same when his sister was brought into this world, but he marked her with a horizontal dash.

Their mother, Anne, didn’t understand why—and hated it with every fiber in her being—watching her newborns cry for any other reason then being pulled from the comfort of their mother’s womb.

Once their father left after Harry’s first week on earth, she understood why, his words messily printed with ink on parchment.

Dearest Anne,

Thank you for bringing my own flesh and blood into this world. You are a woman I entrust most with them, having been chosen by God to bear such souls.

Which is why I must leave. A man has more to do with his time on this Earth than to nurture, I shall pour my being into others and bring forth more Brothers and Sisters for sweet Gemma and Harry.

My blood with course through this nation and find itself basking within the kingdom of heaven. I’ve marked my children to find them when God finally calls us forth.

Your womb is a gift from the angels above.

Until then,

– Desmond.

For a while, she mourned the loss of her lover and children’s father. But as time continued, as it always does, she realized that she had dodged the fatal strike of a sword.

She was unsure of the crimes committed by the hands of their father, but she remembers hearing the news of him being hung in the southernmost village of their country.

On Harry’s second birthday, she had fallen in love with a woodmaker, Robin. Shortly after, they moved to Wiltshire and Robin was always known as their papa.

Of course, Harry and Gemma had learnt their true parentage before the dawn of Gemma’s thirteenth birthday, but it was hard to mourn a man you had never known.

Anne would have never told them he was hung in a town’s square, but ascended to heaven of natural causes—the inevitable kiss of an angel.

The scent of turpentine and drying oils had long become as familiar to Harry as the earth beneath his feet. In the cool stillness of his studio, he paused, fingers stained with ochres and umbers, to stare at the remnants of his father’s brush—the one he had used all those years ago, before the fever came.

Harry’s father had been no renowned artist. He was a man of simple trades, a woodworker from the hills of Wiltshire, far from the splendor of Florence’s sunlit domes. But in the evenings, when the day’s labors were done, his father would sit by the window, painting quietly by candlelight. It was there, beside him, that Harry had first seen the magic of creation—colors flowing like rivers across rough wood and fraying canvas, ordinary scenes transformed by the wild, unspoken emotion in every stroke.

His father had painted not for fame, but for peace.

Harry had only been fourteen when his father’s hands, once steady and sure, began to tremble with sickness. His chest had grown tight, his breaths shallow, until finally they stopped altogether. He remembers the way the pads of his fingertips would prune from bringing a water soaked rag to his lips, how his father would drink from the drops of it.

For a while, he hated the color red and grey. His father’s lips would crack with peaks of crimson, leaving faint stains of red on the water rag in its wake. His skin greyed in a speed he didn’t think possible once his heart fell absent of a beat.

In the days that followed, the house had filled with the clamor of neighbors, mourners, and merchants, but Harry could only hear the quiet absence in the stillness.

In the flickering silence, he had picked up his father’s brush.

The years after his father’s death were a blur of movement, as though he had been running from some unseen ghost. He had wandered south, across valleys and mountains, always chasing the sun. By the time he arrived in Florence, he was a man of twenty three and had little more than the clothes on his back and a single paintbrush to his name.

Florence had embraced him like a reluctant lover. The city’s streets were gilded with Renaissance splendor, yet heavy with the weight of expectation. It was a place of grandeur and art, where even beauty was a form of currency—where the Medici and other noble families wore their wealth as a crown and commissioned artists to immortalize their names in frescoes and portraits.

Harry’s talent had bloomed in these streets, but it had come at a price. Every stroke of his brush, every commission, felt like an unspoken promise to a father who would never see what his son had become. The bright colors of his palette were often mixed with the shadow of his grief, and though his name was now whispered in the gilded halls of Florence’s elite, Harry felt as though he were forever painting in the twilight between joy and sorrow.

Sometimes his mind would wonder to the possibility of if he was an angel banished by God, his punishment being to bear the pain of not having lost one, but two fathers.

Three if he counted the absence of Jesus in his life. He felt fatherless, in all senses of the word.

Or maybe it was all well circulated fairytale, conjured in the thoughts of his father’s, the one he shared blood with, brain.

He had grown to resent the mark on his foot, and in the depths of his heart he would refer it as the the kiss of the devil, rather than the mark of God.

He would blame his struggle with faith on his fathers, the three men who sat behind the title.

Desmond, for abandoning his family.

Robin, who loved him like a son and died in front of his eyes.

And Jesus, who had ignored his prayers for his papa to stay and to take him instead.

But it was the pain, the deep and gnawing ache within him, that had given his art its soul. His patrons spoke in reverence of his ability to capture more than a face—how he painted the delicate tremor of a moment, a fleeting look, a breath before the breaking. His works were praised as vibrant, yes, but they also carried something deeper, something tragic. A hidden sadness, like the ghost of a love lost too soon.

In his heart, he knew: he painted because the world was filled with such unrelenting beauty, and that beauty was fleeting. To capture it was to hold on, however briefly, to something that could not last.

One afternoon, as golden light filtered through the shutters, a letter arrived. The wax seal bore the mark of a powerful house—the Candela family. A commission for their daughter’s portrait. A noble request, one that might cement his place among Florence’s greatest. But it was not the promise of riches or recognition that made Harry’s heart stir with something close to fear. It was the girl herself, the rebellious daughter who, rumor had it, could not be tamed by family or duty.

As Harry read the letter, his thoughts drifted back to the girl he had once seen in the Candela gardens. Her eyes had been bright, but wild. Free. In that moment, he knew what she was—a living echo of the spirit he had long tried to capture in his art: untamable, elusive, yet heartbreakingly beautiful.

It was a portrait that might change everything. Or destroy him.

He set the letter down and turned back to the canvas, but his hands trembled once more, just as his father’s had in those final days. A reminder of mortality. A reminder that every brushstroke was borrowed time.

But still, he would paint.

The heavy velvet curtains of the Candela palazzo had long felt like a prison to her. Born into one of Florence’s oldest and wealthiest families, Y/N had spent her life in the shadow of their legacy—one that was both gilded with fortune and bound by duty. From the moment she took her first breath, her future had been decided for her. Her days were filled with lessons in etiquette, music, embroidery, and diplomacy, while her nights were a symphony of forced pleasantries at banquets and balls, always under the watchful eyes of her mother and the judgment of the city’s elite.

But from a young age, Y/N knew she was not made for such a life. Beneath the layers of silks and jewels, beneath the carefully orchestrated smiles and curtsies, there was a fire burning in her—one that she had learned to hide from everyone around her, for fear it would consume her entirely.

Her earliest memories were not of the marble halls of the palazzo, but of the gardens beyond its walls, the wild olive groves that stretched out toward the hills. It was there, in the quiet spaces between her responsibilities, that she found her freedom. She had spent her childhood escaping into the fields, where the wind would tear through her hair and her laughter would echo through the trees, free from the rules that shackled her in the world of men.

Her father, the head of the family, was a cold and distant man, more concerned with his political alliances than with his children. He rarely spoke to her except to remind her of her place—her duty to the family, her obligation to marry into another powerful house and secure the Candela legacy. Y/N’s mother was no different, though her scoldings came wrapped in sweet, deceptive smiles. She had been raised to be an ornament, a living testament to her family’s wealth and power, and Y/N was expected to do the same.

But she refused to be molded by their expectations.

She had always been different from the other girls of her station. Where they dreamed of betrothals and courtly love, she dreamed of escape. She would slip out of the palazzo at night, dressed in the simple clothes of a servant, and wander the streets of Florence, blending into the crowd, invisible for the first time in her life. In the dim glow of lanterns, she would listen to the street musicians, watch the painters in the piazza, and breathe in the freedom that was denied to her by daylight.

By the time she reached womanhood, her spirit had only grown wilder. Her parents, exasperated by her refusal to marry the suitors they paraded before her, tightened their grip on her life. But the more they tried to contain her, the more fiercely she fought to break free. She began to push the boundaries of what was expected of a noblewoman—her wit was too sharp, her temper too bold, her opinions too dangerous. Whispers spread through the Florentine courts, branding her rebellious, unfit for the delicate role of a noble wife.

It was not that Y/N wanted to be unwed. She simply refused to give her life to a man who would cage her like a bird. She longed for something more than what Florence could offer her, more than a life of duty and appearance. There were moments—fleeting though they were—when she felt she could see the world as it truly was, raw and beautiful, and she wanted to live in that truth, not the carefully constructed illusion of noble society.

That was when her mother decided it was time to have her portrait painted, a desperate attempt to remind the world of her beauty, her value. It was, of course, more for show than for art—another piece in the game of noble alliances, another way to lure in potential suitors. But Y/N saw it for what it was: a final effort to tame her.

And that was when she had first heard his name—Harry, the painter from the north.

Her mother spoke of him with the same dismissive tone she used for all the artisans they employed, but there was something about this Harry that intrigued her. He was not born of noble blood, and yet his name carried weight in the circles that mattered. The Medici spoke of him with admiration, and even the Pope had once commissioned his work. His paintings, it was said, had a rare quality—they revealed not just the outward beauty of a subject, but the soul beneath.

Y/N had seen one of his works in the home of a distant cousin, a portrait of a young woman who had died tragically young. The face had been serene, the colors soft and gentle, but the eyes—the eyes had told a story of longing and loss that no courtly painter would dare to capture. It had haunted her ever since.

For days, she tried to convince herself it was just another scheme of her parents—another attempt to make her fit the mold she had spent her life breaking. Yet, she could not deny the flicker of curiosity that sparked within her. What would this man see in her? Would he, too, try to make her into something she was not? Or would he paint the fire she had spent her whole life hiding?

The day her mother informed her of the first sitting, Y/N had felt the familiar weight of resignation settle over her. She would sit for this portrait because she had no choice. She would smile, she would pose, and in the end, her mother would hang the portrait in some grand hall for every eligible bachelor to admire. It was all part of the game they had been playing for years.

But when the day came, and she finally entered the makeshift studio lended to Harry for the length of his time here, she felt a shift in the air, as though the fates had turned their gaze upon her.

Harry was not what she expected. He was younger, rougher around the edges than the other artists her family had employed. His dark curls were wild, and there was a certain sadness in his eyes, something she recognized all too well. He was no stranger to loss, that much was clear. His eyes were a vibrant green she had not seen before, unless she counted the gardens that sat in a rainy haze. Perhaps he was a painting himself. And he, too, seemed out of place in the glittering world of Florence’s elite. It was as though he was merely passing through, as though he belonged somewhere quieter, more distant.

Draped in heavy silks, with eyes as sharp as a hawk and a posture that suggested defiance rather than decorum, the daughter of the noble Candela family was unlike any of his previous subjects. Her name was Y/N, and she exuded an air of mischief that the delicate ladies of Florence rarely allowed themselves to entertain.

He did not greet her with flowery pleasantries, as other painters had. Instead, he regarded her quietly for a moment, his eyes flickering over her face—not in judgment, but as if he were searching for something hidden beneath the surface.

“You’re the one they cannot tame.” He said at last, his voice low, almost amused. His accent confirmed he did not have deep roots in Italy, it sounded more of the English suitors her mother would introduce.

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. And somehow, in that moment, Y/N knew that he had already seen more of her than her family ever had.

She smirked, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “That depends on what you believe needs taming.”

Harry’s lips quirked into a half-smile, and for the first time in years, Y/N felt as though she could breathe just from the few seconds in his presence.

Her eyes gaze around the studio as she waltzes further in, her lips in a closed smile. Her skin held the glow of the sun beautifully, hair bouncing with the scent of lavender. Her fingers feather across a few empty canvasses he has on stilts, messes of paint and brushes scattered onto a table. “They say Hephaestus molded your flesh and bones before sending you to Earth.” She eased, a smile still on her reddened lips. Her steps clicked closer to where Harry stood, eyes still drawn out the windows surrounded by nature. “I heard Aphrodite herself kissed your wrist, frame still soft with clay.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, though her tone soft, there was anything but sincere admiration laced in her words. “I assure you that there’s no markings of her kiss pressed unto me—m’just a man with a brush.”

She hummed, rounding the stilt between them and watching the sunlight glimmer in his eye as the sun would in the waves. There was no denying the shift in the air between them, an unspoken understanding that went beyond the typical dance of polite conversation. In this studio, amidst the scent of oils and pigment, they were stripped of the titles and roles society had thrust upon them.

“A man with a brush.” She repeated softly, almost to herself. She reached out, her fingers grazing the surface of one of the unfinished canvases. The texture of it was rough, still raw with potential, much like her own life—full of promise, but still undefined. “I wonder,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, “what you see when you look at me.”

Harry’s hands, stained with the colors of his art, stilled for a moment. He had painted many faces, each one a portrait of both beauty and sorrow, but this woman—this subject—was different. There was something about Y/N that made him hesitate. She was not like the others who sat for him with plastered smiles, eager to be frozen in time, their beauty immortalized for the world to see.

No, Y/N did not want to be captured in that way. She wanted something more, something truer. Her spirit was restless, untamed, and her gaze held a challenge, as though daring him to see beyond the layers of silks and expectations. To see the woman beneath.

Slowly, Harry moved closer to her, the distance between them shrinking. He studied her face, not with the detached gaze of an artist trying to perfect his subject’s likeness, but with a quiet intensity that sent a ripple through the stillness of the room. His voice, when it came, was low and deliberate.

“I see a woman who was never meant t’be caged.” He mumbled. “I see fire and wind—a calm in an eye of a storm that would bring no ruin; something wild, something the world doesn’t understand.”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly at his words. It was as if, in a single moment, he had unraveled all the masks she had carefully worn her entire life. The world she had known, the roles she had played, felt fragile and false in the face of this raw truth.

“And yet,” Harry continued, his voice dipping lower, “they try to fit you into a frame, don’t they? As if y’could ever be captured.”

For the first time in what felt like years, Y/N let herself be vulnerable. She turned away from the canvases, facing him fully, the light catching the strands of her hair like molten gold. Her eyes met his, no longer guarded, no longer deflecting.

“I don’t belong in that frame.” She whispered, the words slipping past her lips like a confession. “But they’ve been trying to fit me into one for as long as I can remember.”

Harry nodded, his gaze never wavering from hers. “I know.” He said simply. “I’ve spent my life painting what people want to see. But you–”

He trailed off, as though the thought itself was too bold, too dangerous to speak aloud.

“Me?” she pressed, her heart beginning to race in her chest. She stepped closer, drawn to him in a way that felt both terrifying and inevitable.

“With you,” Harry continued, his voice a hushed murmur, “I want t’paint what the world can’t see.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them was palpable, charged with the weight of unspoken desires, and the world outside the studio seemed to fade away. In that small, sunlit room, there were no titles, no expectations, only two souls who had somehow found one another in a world that had tried to break them.

Y/N’s hand hovered near Harry’s arm, and then, slowly, as if testing the waters of some forbidden sea, she let her fingers brush against his. The contact was light, fleeting, but it sent a shockwave through both of them.

“I want that too,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the vulnerability of the admission.

Harry swallowed, the pulse of his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. He had never felt this way about a subject before, had never let himself blur the lines between artist and muse. But with Y/N, those lines had already been crossed the moment she had walked into his studio.

They stood there for a moment longer, hands barely touching, eyes locked in a silent conversation. And then, as if by unspoken agreement, they both pulled back—just enough to remind themselves of the roles they were meant to play, even as those roles were beginning to crumble.

Harry stepped away first, turning back to his easel, his voice steady as he spoke. “We’ll begin the portrait today. But I won’t paint what they expect.” He nodded toward her, “A caged dove to be set free.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a soft smile, her heart still pounding in her chest. She knew, in that moment, that whatever Harry painted, it would be the truest version of herself she had ever seen. And it would bind them together in ways neither of them could yet understand.

“This will displease them.” She smiled, pausing her words. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Her voice carried the weight of a promise, though she wasn’t sure who it was meant for—him, or herself.

Without another word, he jutted his chin toward the chair in the center of the room. “Sit.” He instructed, his tone soft but firm.

She followed his gesture, looking toward the seat and ambling toward it silently. She sat, keeping her spine stiff—something that was embedded into her through her training over the years. His eyes narrowed onto her face, cataloging each curve, line, and hint of emotion that sat in her eyes.

Their sittings became a ritual over the last month—an escape from the suffocating demands of her family, from the world that sought to control her. Each time she stepped into his studio, it was as though she left the weight of her name behind, shedding it like a heavy cloak. Here, she was not the Candela daughter, not the rebellious heiress trapped by duty. She was simply Y/N, a woman with dreams and desires that no one had ever cared to ask about.

Harry painted in near silence, his brush moving with a precision that bordered on reverence. But as the days passed, the silences grew warmer, more comfortable, and slowly, they began to talk. He spoke of his father, of the quiet life in England he had left behind, and of how he had found himself in Florence, painting for men who would never understand the depth of what he was trying to capture.

And she, for the first time, spoke of her own longing. Not for marriage or jewels, but for freedom. For the wildness of the world outside the palazzo gates. She told him of the nights she wandered the streets alone, the moments when she felt most alive, when the weight of her name fell away and she became just another face in the crowd.

With every word, with every glance, they both knew they were crossing a line—one that could never be uncrossed. Their relationship was not one of artist and subject. It was something deeper, more dangerous. And Florence, with all its grandeur, was not kind to those who broke its rules.

As Harry’s brush moved over the canvas, he realized he was no longer painting just a portrait. He was capturing the essence of a woman who had lived her entire life behind a mask, forced into roles she never wanted to play. With each stroke, he revealed her fire, her vulnerability, her defiance.

And Y/N, who had spent her life being told what she should be, saw herself reflected in his eyes—not as the noble daughter, not as the prize her family sought to offer to the highest bidder, but as she truly was.

In those stolen moments, as the sunlight filtered through the shutters and the world outside seemed to fall away, they became something Florence would never understand. They were freedom itself—dangerous, fleeting, and unbearably beautiful.

Y/N’s portrait only neared its finish as time continued to pass. They would always meet three times a week for about an hour or two. She would never say it out loud, but it began to become a favorite part of her weeks—meeting Harry. His soul was anything unlike she’s ever known, and all she wanted to do was linger.

They sat outside the cobblestone studio, lying upon a blanket adorned with fresh vegetables, cheeses and meats. Her mother and Father had been out for the day, and she thought it’d be a perfect opportunity to see Harry as he is, rather than the painter.

He spoke of his travels as he would eagerly show her he could catch the bites of cheese he would throw into his mouth—and he would order her to rank each catch one through ten.

Harry lied back, weight on his elbow as his curls tousled perfectly in the warm breeze. Y/N lied on her belly, kicking her feet in the air behind her as she lie her head on her folded arms.

The afternoon sun peaked from the trees above them, catching the light in her eyes perfectly. Harry always found her to be beautiful, but at this moment she looked ethereal.

He tossed another piece of cheese into the air, leaning his head back and catching it deftly with his mouth, smiling proudly as he chewed. “Well?” He asked, his voice teasing. “What say you? Surely that was a ten.”

Y/N laughed, the sound as bright as the sun and as sweet as the strawberry he head earlier. “A six, perhaps.” She grinned, voice lilting with playful challenge. “Surely you could do better.”

His smirk widened, and he threw another piece of cheese, catching it again with exaggerated flourish. “A six indeed.” He mumbled, feigning offense. “I think you’re quite mistaken, my lady.”

She bit her lip to suppress another laugh, shaking her head against her forearms. “Perhaps your talents lie elsewhere.” She mused, her voice dripping to a soft, flirtatious murmur as she gazed at him through her lashes. “Catching cheese seems beneath you.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something else in them too—something she hadn’t seem from him yet, something that sent a shiver down her spine. "And what talents might you suggest, then?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, though the undertone was laden with meaning.

Y/N's breath caught for a moment, her heart fluttering in her chest as the playful banter between them took on a new edge. Her gaze lingered on his lips before she tore it away, focusing on the light streaming through the leaves above them. "I think you know the answer to that.” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the world seemed to still around them. The laughter and lightness faded, replaced by the palpable tension that had been simmering between them for weeks. It hung in the air now, thick and undeniable. Harry shifted beside her, his playful grin fading into something more serious as he watched her carefully, as though waiting for her to give him permission to step closer to that edge.

He wanted to toss away the platter that lay between them, to grab her waist and flip her onto her back and show her the talents he possessed. It made his heart go into a sputtered mess, to cloud his gaze with need. He wondered if she knew how beautiful she was in that moment.

“Did you hear me?”

Harry blinked, shaking his head before letting a sheepish smile spread across his lips. “No. I suppose not.”

“Have you ever thought of leaving Florence, H? Of leaving all of this behind?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, the question pulling him from whatever unspoken thought had been lingering on his lips. He exhaled softly, rolling onto his back and staring up at the sky. "I've thought of it," he admitted after a moment, his voice quieter now, thoughtful. "But Florence has become something of a home. Even if it binds me, l've learned t’live within those bounds."

Y/N frowned, her heart tightening at his words.

"But don't you wish for more? Don't you long for freedom?"

He turned his head to look at her, and in his eyes, she saw a reflection of her own yearning, the quiet desperation that they had both been trying to ignore. "Of course I do," he murmured. "But freedom is not something easily won. Especially not for people like us."

She swallowed, the weight of his words settling over her like a shroud. She had always believed that Harry, in some way, was freer than she could ever be—an artist, a man without title or the crushing expectations of nobility. But now, she saw the truth. He was as trapped as she was, bound by the invisible chains of his station, his livelihood tied to the whims of men like her father, men who would never derstand the depths of what he truly wanted create.

"And you?" he asked, his voice soft but filled with quiet intensity. "If you could go anywhere, if you could leave all this behind, where would you go?"

She hesitated, the question stirring something deep within her, a longing she had never dared to voice. "Anywhere," she whispered, her gaze distant. "Anywhere but here. I want to see the world, to lose myself in it. I want to go where no one knows my name, where I can be just Y/N—not the daughter of Candela, not someone's prize to be won."

Harry's gaze softened, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden, but the air between them crackled with an intensity that neither of them could ignore.

"And if l asked you to go with me?" she said suddenly, her voice trembling with the weight of the question. "Would you?"

Harry's breath hitched, and for a moment, he didn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost pained. "If you asked me, I would follow you anywhere."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, the enormity of his words settling over her like a heavy cloak. The desire to reach out, to cross the boundary they had been skirting for weeks, pulsed through her veins. But fear-fear of the consequences, of what they would beer if they gave in to this—held her back. Harry could feel the weight of her thoughts, the far away look in his eye. He sighed gently, propping himself back onto his elbow as he took a cheese from the platter, lightly throwing it toward Y/N.

It pulled her from her thoughts with a smile as it bounced from her shoulder onto the blanket spread beneath him. He laughed, leaning across the space between them and stealing the cheese for himself. “That’s a zero, I’m afraid.”

Before meeting Harry around the same time she had been, she brought forth a bowl of fruits from the kitchen—both a snack and a small gift. The heat was unforgiving today, adorned with the same silk gown she was supposed to wear during these sessions, but her feet were bare. The ground was cold beneath her, blades of grass leaving kisses from the dew left behind.

The temporary studio Harry resided in was across the courtyard, a small, cobblestone building hidden between trees and a small pond.

As she reached the studio, the door slightly ajar, she paused, listening. Inside, she could hear the faint sound of Harry moving, his footsteps light as he adjusted the easel or mixed colors on his palette. Her heart quickened, not out of nervousness, but out of anticipation. Each day spent with him had become an escape, a release from the weight of her family’s expectations.

Pushing the door open with her hip, Y/N entered the room, the bowl of fruit balanced in her hands. Harry was bent over his canvas, his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the sinew of his forearms, streaked with paint. His dark curls were unruly, as though he had been running his fingers through them absentmindedly. When he looked up and saw her, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You’re early today, my dove.” He grinned, his voice warm, the familiar hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I brought something.”Y/N murmured, holding up the bowl of fruit. “A peace offering, perhaps.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, setting his brush down and wiping his hands on a nearby rag. He stepped toward her, his eyes flicking from the bowl of fruit to her face, as though trying to discern the real reason for her gift. But there was no pretense between them here, only the quiet truth of what they had started to build—a fragile, unspoken connection that neither of them dared to name.

“I did not understand us to be at war.” Harry teased gently, his voice dropping to that low, familiar murmur that always seemed to make Y/N’s pulse quicken.

She smiled, setting the bowl down on a nearby table. “In these walls, we are always at war.” Her tone was soft, the weight of her words lingering in the air. Her gaze shifted to the canvas behind him, where her likeness had slowly begun to take shape. He was capturing her in a way no one had before—not as the carefully polished daughter of Florence’s elite, but as the restless, untamed spirit she had always been. She stepped closer to the easel, studying the way he had painted her eyes, the intensity of her gaze, the subtle fire that simmered beneath the surface.

“You paint me as though you know me.” She paused, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s eyes softened, his expression unreadable as he stood beside her. “I am beginning to.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the quiet intimacy of his words. She felt exposed, vulnerable in a way she had never allowed herself to be before. For so long, she had worn her defiance as armor, a shield against the world that sought to control her. But here, with Harry, she didn’t need that armor. She could be raw, unguarded, free.

Y/N turned to face him fully, her bare feet making no sound on the cold stone floor. She had spent her life being afraid—afraid of disappointing her family, afraid of not living up to their expectations, afraid of being trapped in a life that wasn’t her own. But standing here, inches away from Harry, she realized that the only thing she was truly afraid of was losing this—this feeling, this connection, this fleeting glimpse of what life could be like outside the constraints of duty and decorum. “I am no artist, but your own beauty belongs on canvas.”

For a moment, Harry’s hand hovered near hers, as though he was about to reach out, to close the distance between them. But instead, he stepped back, turning to the easel once more, a breathy chuckle escaping him. “Okay, Shakespeare. Let us thank our lucky stars that you are not.”

She laughs with him, placing the bowl of fruit on the table beside the paint. She shook her head, popping a grape into her mouth. “Here I thought you to whisper me something poetic—we all have an art about us, we are art ourselves.” She mocked in his accent, rolling her eyes.

“Well that would be simply untrue.” He grinned, adjusting the canvas before him. “I am much too talented for you to compare your hand to my own.”

She scoffed, though it was humorous. Through her feigned offense, his lips only spread wider. “Show me to be wrong.”

“Show you wrong?” She raised her eyebrow, parting her lips. “You want me to paint you?”

He nodded, glancing at the blank canvases behind him. She only rolled her eyes as she gently grabbed his wrist, pulling him to the chair into the center of the room. He sat expectantly, his dimple cratering his cheeks as she retreated back toward the bowl of fruit, fishing out a deep red cherry, skipping back toward him. He knit his brows in confusion, but Y/N’s lips parted to speak before him. “You are to be my canvas.” She smiled, bring the cherry to his lips like a challenge. His expression was amused, though he couldn’t deny the way she made his chest tighten with tension. His eyes flickered between both her eyes and the fruit as he gently bit into the fruit, his lips brushing against her fingertips.

It was slow, deliberately intimate. Their eyes still burrowed into each others, she watched as the bead of crimson juice dribble down his chin. She thumbed it away, her touch light and fleeting before she feathers the fruit across the apples of his cheeks, adding to the already flushed pigment. Hesitantly, she pressed her fingers into the glistening flesh, patting it in and leaving his cheeks and lips painted red.

She steps back ever so slightly, putting the rest of the cherry into her mouth and letting a quiet laugh escape her lips. “Consider yourself to be painted.”

He shook his head, his cherry red lips widening into a smile as he stood. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s how it works.” Harry leaned in close, his breath a whisper against her cheek, but he made no move to wipe the remnants of cherry from his skin. His eyes, still dancing with amusement, searched hers, lingering with a quiet intensity. “I’ll grant you this.” He murmured, his voice low, carrying the hint of a jest. “Your methods are..most unconventional.”

She smirked, refusing to be daunted by his nearness. “Unconventional?” she quipped, her chin rising with a flicker of defiance. “I would call it a work of art. Would you not?”

Harry raised a brow, feigning deep thought as he smeared the red juice across his chin with a casual flick of his finger. “A work of art, you say? If by that you mean I appear as though I’ve just stumbled from a duel with a fruit cart, then aye, I’ll concede to your genius.”

Her laughter rang through the studio, a sharp contrast to the quiet that had hung heavy in the room moments before. It echoed off the stone walls, a sound so free that it banished all thoughts of duty, of propriety. The half-finished portrait on the easel, the weight of her family’s name—all of it melted away. In that moment, it was just them. Two souls bound in a fleeting absurdity, lost in shared laughter.

“Delicate sensibilities,” she teased, her brow arching as she wiped the last of the cherry’s stain from her hand. “I never thought to find such in a man.”

Harry’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin. “Delicate, am I?” He drawled, his voice thick with mischief. In a single swift motion, he swiped his thumb across her cheek, leaving a streak of red in its wake. “There. Now we are even.”

She gasped in mock indignation, taking a step back as her fingers flew to the sticky mark on her face. “You’ll rue this day, Harry Styles.”

“Will I?” he challenged, his tone now deep and laden with mischief of its own.

Y/N moved closer, closing the space between them with a deliberate slowness. Her heart raced, but not with the trepidation that had gripped her so often in this room. No, this was something far more exhilarating. The world outside this studio—the rules, the expectations, the rigid walls of her life—it all felt distant, unimportant.

“I’ve never claimed to be a master of painting,” she whispered, her voice dropping like the edge of a velvet curtain. She took a few steps backward, reaching into the bowl and pulling out a plum. She looks at it expectantly in the gleam of sunlight, trotting back toward the painter. “Yet I do believe the best art thrives with a hint of chaos.”

Before he could form a reply, she bit the dark fruit pressed it hard against his chest. The plum burst, sending dark juice cascading down his tunic, staining it deep purple.

Harry blinked in astonishment, his expression hanging in the space between disbelief and amusement. But the moment of shock passed swiftly, and his laughter came, full and bright. “Your peace offering was a coup!” he declared, lunging forward with a handful of cherries.

Y/N shrieked and darted away, her laughter filling the air as she dodged him. They circled the room, the once-serene studio descending into joyful chaos. Fruit flew, staining the floors, the easel, their clothes—a riot of color and recklessness.

By the grace of God the portrait remained untouched through the ordeal.

It was madness. Glorious, reckless madness. And for the first time in her life, Y/N felt utterly, completely free. Free from the chains of decorum, free from the burden of her family’s name. In that riot of fruit and laughter, she was simply alive.

When at last they collapsed onto the floor, breathless and sticky, the room a ruin of color and laughter, neither of them could stop smiling.

Harry lay beside her, still chuckling as he tugged at the ruined tunic. “If my patrons could see me now, they’d see me cast out of Florence faster than y’could say ‘masterpiece.’”

Y/N propped herself up on her elbow, a grin dancing across her lips. “Then we shall flee to the hills. I’ll hide you amongst the olive groves. We’ll live like rogues, artists and outlaws.”

“Artists and outlaws,” Harry echoed, his smile softening, his eyes lingering on hers with a look that carried something far deeper than the playfulness of a moment before. “I think I could grow fond of such a life.”

And in that quiet, as their laughter ebbed into the late afternoon light, Y/N felt the air shift between them. What had started as a game, as flirtation, had become something real. Something undeniable.

And try as they might, neither could outrun it.

As they lay there amidst the chaos, the moment stretched on, teetering on the edge of something neither could fully name. Y/N’s pulse thrummed in her ears, her heart racing not from the frivolity of their earlier play, but from the weight of his gaze on her. The air between them had thickened, laden with an unspoken tension that neither laughter nor fruit could break.

Just as her lips parted to speak—to say something, anything to diffuse the intensity—a sound, sharp and echoing, pierced the air.

The door to the studio had swung open, and there, silhouetted by the fading light of the late afternoon, stood Y/N’s mother, Lady Candela, her presence a sudden, jarring intrusion into their world of fleeting freedom.

Her eyes, dark and sharp as the blade of a dagger, took in the scene before her: the floor littered with the remnants of their childish game, the streaks of fruit staining both their clothes and skin, the disheveled state of her daughter and the painter. And in an instant, the mask of propriety that Y/N had so desperately sought to tear away snapped back into place.

“Y/N.” Her mother’s voice was cold, clipped, a tone that could freeze the blood in one’s veins. “What, in God’s name, is the meaning of this?”

Y/N scrambled to her feet, her breath catching in her throat, but her defiance flickered in her eyes. She had been caught, but she would not cower. “Mother,” she began, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart, “it was nothing—just—”

“Nothing?” Lady Candela stepped forward, her posture rigid, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. “This disgrace is nothing? You, a daughter of the Candela family, covered in filth like a common servant? Is this how you choose to honor your name?”

Harry, who had risen to his feet beside Y/N, cleared his throat, stepping forward as if to shield her from the wrath of her mother. “My Lady, it was my doing,” he lied smoothly, his voice respectful but firm. “I allowed myself to get carried away during our session. The fault is mine.”

Lady Candela’s eyes flickered to him, her disdain barely concealed. “And you—an artist—think you can speak on matters of decorum in this house? You are here to paint, not to play the fool.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. He could feel Y/N tense beside him, her fists clenched at her sides. The silence that followed was thick with tension, the weight of Lady Candela’s expectations pressing down on them both like a vice.

But Y/N, ever the rebel, would not be silenced.

“I am not a child, Mother,” she said quietly, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I will not be tamed.”

Lady Candela’s gaze snapped to her daughter, her eyes narrowing. “You will be what this family needs you to be, YN. This behavior—this foolishness—ends now. You are to be married, and your actions today have only made that more urgent.”

Y/N’s heart sank, the reality of her mother’s words hitting her like a blow. Marriage. The cage she had spent her entire life trying to escape was closing in around her, tighter and tighter.

She glanced at Harry, her chest tightening. The fleeting freedom they had found in one another was slipping away, vanishing like a mirage in the desert. And yet, she knew she could not let it end like this.

“Perhaps I wished for something more than just another hollow painting to hang on the walls of your prison,” Y/N said, her voice stronger than she felt inside. She could see Harry stiffen at her side, his gaze flickering between her and Lady Candela, but he stayed silent, letting her words hang in the air.

Her mother’s mouth tightened into a thin line. She took a deliberate step forward, her eyes narrowing as they bore into Y/N. “A prison?” she hissed, her voice dropping dangerously low. “You speak of this house as if it were a cage, when all we have done—all I have done—is ensure you live in luxury, surrounded by the finest of Florence. Yet here you are, acting the fool with a common painter.” She spat the word like venom, her eyes flicking toward Harry before returning to her daughter. “Do you want to ruin yourself? To become nothing but a scandal whispered about in the courts?”

Y/N’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms, but she kept her voice level. “What you call ruin, I call freedom.”

Her mother’s eyes blazed, her nostrils flaring, but before she could retort, Harry stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “My Lady, if I may—”

“You may not,” Lady Candela snapped, cutting him off with a sharp glare. “You are here to paint. Nothing more. Your thoughts and opinions are of no concern to me.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he bowed his head, stepping back in silent acquiescence.

The silence that followed was thick with tension, each breath Y/N took feeling heavier than the last. Her mother’s gaze never wavered, cold and unyielding, but Y/N refused to back down. Not this time.

“Mother,” Y/N began again, her voice softer now, though no less resolute. “I do not wish to ruin the family’s name. But I also do not wish to be something I am not. I have given you my obedience for years, attended every ball, entertained every suitor you’ve paraded before me. But I cannot—will not—live a life that is not my own.”

For a brief moment, something flickered in Lady Candela’s eyes—something that looked almost like uncertainty, or perhaps a recognition of her daughter’s growing resolve. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same cold, unyielding stare.

“You have a duty, Y/N,” her mother said, her voice flat, as though the very word—duty—was the end of any argument. “To this family. To this city. And if you cannot understand that, then you are more lost than I thought.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, the weight of her mother’s words pressing down on her like a heavy cloak. But before she could speak, her mother turned sharply on her heel, heading toward the door.

“You will be expected at dinner,” Lady Candela called over her shoulder, her tone dismissive. “We will discuss your upcoming engagement. I suggest you clean yourself up and remember who you are.”

With that, she swept from the room, leaving Y/N and Harry standing in the wreckage of what had once been a moment of shared joy, the heavy door closing behind her with a finality that echoed through the studio.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N could still feel the burn of her mother’s words, each one a reminder of the gilded cage she had been trying to escape her entire life. She swallowed hard, turning toward Harry, who was watching her with a mixture of concern and something else she couldn’t quite place.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “You shouldn’t have been involved in that.”

Harry shook his head, his eyes softening as he stepped closer. “You don’t have to apologize, Y/N. I knew what I was stepping into when I took this commission.”

Y/N let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Did you? Did you know you’d be caught in the middle of a battle between duty and freedom?”

Harry smiled, but it was a sad, knowing smile. “In a way, yes. I’ve seen it before. This city—this life—demands so much from those born into its upper echelons. But I think you are stronger than you know.”

Y/N met his gaze, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. She wanted to believe him, to believe that she could somehow break free from the chains that bound her. But the reality of her situation felt suffocating, as if the walls of the studio were closing in around her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, her voice cracking slightly. “I don’t want to be trapped in a marriage I never wanted. But I don’t see a way out.”

Harry reached out, his hand gently brushing her arm, a small gesture of comfort. “There’s always a way out,” he said quietly. “But it’s not always easy.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for some kind of answer, some hint of hope. But all she saw was the same uncertainty that gnawed at her heart.

“I don’t know if I’m brave enough,” she whispered.

Harry’s grip on her arm tightened, just slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, but full of quiet conviction. “You are. You’ve already proven that.”

For a moment, they stood there in the quiet, the weight of the world pressing down on them, but together, they felt just a little lighter. The path ahead was uncertain, and Y/N knew the battle was far from over. But for now, in this small, sunlit room, with Harry by her side, she felt just a little bit stronger.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

The heavy, golden hour light had faded, replaced by the muted grays of twilight, casting long shadows across the stone walls of the palazzo. Y/N stood before the mirror in her chambers, her reflection staring back at her, cold and distant. She had shed the stained silk gown and washed the remnants of the fruit from her skin, but no amount of scrubbing could remove the weight of her mother’s words or the tension coiled tight in her chest.

Dinner. The final act of the day’s charade, where her mother’s sharp gaze and her father’s stony silence would frame yet another conversation about her future—a future she had no say in. The idea of sitting through another meal where her fate was decided without her input made her stomach twist with dread.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and her maid, Lucrezia, entered the room, her face a mask of quiet concern. “My lady,” she said softly, “your mother has requested your presence in the dining hall.”

Y/N let out a slow breath, her hands gripping the edge of the vanity as she steadied herself. “Of course she has,” she muttered, her voice thick with resignation.

Lucrezia stepped forward, her hands moving to adjust Y/N’s gown—another silk creation, pristine and flawless, as if nothing untoward had happened earlier. “Shall I tell her you are not feeling well?” the maid asked gently, her fingers lingering on the delicate fabric.

Y/N smiled weakly, shaking her head. “No, Lucrezia. I must face it. I always must.”

The maid nodded, though her eyes were filled with sympathy. She knew the weight that rested on Y/N’s shoulders, the burdens placed upon her by a family that demanded perfection at all times. But even Lucrezia, with her quiet understanding, could not offer a solution to the problem that had no easy answer.

With a final glance in the mirror, Y/N straightened her posture and lifted her chin. She would face this evening the way she had faced every other trial in her life—head on, even if it tore her apart inside.

The walk to the dining hall felt longer than usual, each step echoing in the vast, empty corridors. The palazzo, so grand and full of splendor, felt like a prison tonight, its marble floors cold beneath her feet, its towering walls closing in on her with every breath.

When she reached the dining hall, she paused just outside the door, gathering her courage. She could hear the faint clinking of silverware and the low murmur of voices—her mother’s sharp, clear tones and her father’s deep, measured replies. It was the sound of a family accustomed to routine, to the rigid structures of their world.

Taking one last breath, Y/N pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The dining room was grand, as always, with high ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes and a long, gleaming table set with the finest china and crystal. Her father, Lord Candela, sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable as he idly cut into his meat. Her mother sat opposite him, her posture perfect, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes sharp as they flicked up to meet Y/N’s.

“You’re late,” Lady Candela remarked, her tone light but edged with reproach.

Y/N forced a tight smile, lowering herself into the seat that had been prepared for her. “I apologize, Mother. I lost track of time.”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more, her gaze lingering on Y/N for a moment before turning back to her plate. The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the clinking of silverware and the occasional murmur of servants as they moved in and out of the room.

For a few minutes, Y/N focused on her meal, her appetite nonexistent but her movements precise, each cut of the knife and placement of the fork a carefully rehearsed act of decorum. It was a routine she had perfected over the years, a mask she wore to survive these dinners, to navigate the unspoken landmines of her family’s expectations.

But tonight, the weight of that mask felt heavier than ever.

It wasn’t long before her mother broke the silence, her voice smooth but laden with intent. “Y/N, your father and I have spoken, and we believe it is time to move forward with your betrothal.”

Y/N’s fork froze halfway to her mouth, her pulse quickening as she set it down with deliberate care. She had known this conversation was coming—she had felt it looming over her for weeks, like a storm gathering on the horizon. But now that it was here, the reality of it hit her like a blow to the chest.

“Engagement?” she echoed, her voice steady but her heart racing.

Lady Candela nodded, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as though she had just solved some great puzzle. “Yes. We have received an offer from the Montellini family. Lord Montellini is a man of considerable influence, and his son, Leonardo, is a fine match for you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she fought to keep her composure. Leonardo Montellini. She had met him once, at a banquet—a young man with slicked-back hair and an air of arrogance that made her skin crawl. He had looked at her the way one might look at a prized horse at auction, and the thought of spending her life chained to him made her stomach churn.

“Mother, I—” Y/N began, her voice faltering for a moment as she searched for the right words, something that would convey the storm of emotions rising within her without sparking her mother’s ire. “I do not wish to marry Leonardo Montellini.”

Lady Candela’s fork paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded her daughter. “What you wish is irrelevant, Y/N. This is a matter of duty. Of ensuring the future of our family. You cannot afford to be selfish in this.”

Her father, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat, his deep voice rumbling through the room. “Your mother is right, Y/N. This marriage is important. The Montellini family’s wealth and influence will secure our place in Florence for generations to come.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as she tried to find a way out, a way to make them understand. But how could she make them see that she couldn’t—wouldn’t—live her life in a cage, bound to a man she didn’t love, trapped in a world that suffocated her?

“I understand the importance of family, Father.” Y/N said carefully, her voice measured, though her hands trembled slightly in her lap. “But I cannot marry a man I do not love. I cannot live my life as something I am not.”

Her mother’s gaze hardened, her lips curling into a faint sneer. “Love,” she scoffed, the word dripping with disdain. “What nonsense. Love is a fleeting thing, Y/N, a frivolous notion for those who have the luxury to indulge in it. We are not those people.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, her breath shallow as she fought to hold back the rising tide of panic. She could feel the walls closing in on her, the future her parents were trying to force upon her looming like a prison, cold and suffocating.

“But I am not you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but full of quiet defiance.

The silence that followed was thick, the tension between mother and daughter palpable as they stared at one another across the table. Lady Candela’s expression remained cold, unyielding, but Y/N could see the flicker of frustration in her eyes.

“You will marry Leonardo Montellini,” her mother said at last, her voice like steel. “And you will do so without further complaint. That is the end of this discussion.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart sinking as the weight of her mother’s words settled over her like a heavy shroud. She felt trapped, suffocated by the life they were trying to force her into, and for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to fight it.

As the servants moved quietly around the table, clearing the plates and refilling the wine, Y/N stared down at her hands, her mind racing. She knew she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t marry Leonardo. But how could she escape a future that had already been decided for her?

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Harry—to the quiet strength in his eyes, to the way he had seen her, truly seen her, in a way no one else ever had. There was something in him, something that stirred in her a desire for more—for freedom, for choice, for a life lived on her own terms.

But that life felt impossibly far away, separated by the vast chasm of her family’s expectations and the iron grip of tradition.

And as the dinner dragged on, Y/N sat in silence, her heart heavy with the knowledge that, for now, she was still very much trapped. The clinking of silverware and the quiet hum of conversation felt distant to Y/N, as if she were trapped in a cage of sound, separate from everything around her. Her mother, satisfied that her edict had been given, spoke no more of the engagement. Instead, she shifted her attention to her father, discussing household matters and social engagements as if Y/N’s entire future hadn’t just been decided without her consent.

Y/N’s mind, however, was far from the table. It kept circling back to Harry, to the moments in his studio where, for the first time in her life, she had felt something close to freedom. His presence had stirred something within her—a quiet rebellion, a fire that had been smoldering beneath the surface for so long it had almost gone unnoticed. Until now.

As her mother droned on about the upcoming ball and the importance of making a good impression, Y/N’s fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. The thought of standing beside Leonardo Montellini, paraded like a prized possession for Florence’s elite to admire, made her stomach turn. She had seen his eyes on her before—hungry, possessive, as though she were nothing more than a means to an end for him. The Montellinis wanted to solidify their power, and she was the key to that door.

She could feel the bile rising in her throat, the suffocating weight of her family’s expectations pressing down on her like a vice. How many more dinners like this would she endure? How many more nights would she be forced to smile, nod, and pretend that her life was something she could control?

No. She wouldn’t accept this.

“Y/N,” her mother’s voice cut through her thoughts like a blade, sharp and sudden. Y/N blinked, realizing she had been staring down at her untouched plate for far too long. Her mother’s gaze was fixed on her, cool and assessing. “What fare you? You have been rather quiet.”

Y/N looked up, her heart racing as she met her mother’s eyes. For a brief moment, she considered telling her the truth—telling her that she wasn’t well, that she couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Leonardo, that the life they had planned for her was suffocating her.

But the words died in her throat. Her mother would never understand. To Lady Candela, duty was everything, and love was nothing more than a foolish indulgence.

Y/N straightened her spine, steeling herself against the rising tide of emotions that threatened to betray her in front of her family. Her voice, when it finally came, was measured and cool. “I am well, Mother. Merely tired.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she did not press further, turning her attention back to the meal with a dismissive wave of her hand. Y/N, however, could feel the weight of her father’s gaze lingering on her for just a moment longer. He was quieter than her mother, but no less powerful in his expectations.

The remainder of the dinner passed in a blur, with Y/N’s mind distant from the conversation at the table. As soon as the final course was cleared and her parents rose from their seats, she made her excuses and slipped away, retreating to the sanctuary of her chambers.

Once inside, Y/N locked the door behind her and pressed her back against it, her heart pounding in her chest. The events of the evening, the threat of her future being sealed with a man like Leonardo, weighed heavily on her. She crossed the room to the window, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the sill and stared out into the night.

The city of Florence lay before her, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns and moonlight. From her window, it looked peaceful, almost serene, but Y/N knew better. The world outside her family’s palazzo was teeming with life, with freedom that she could only dream of.

And in that world, somewhere amidst the winding streets and narrow alleyways, was Harry.

Her thoughts drifted to him once again, to the way his eyes had softened when he spoke to her, the quiet understanding that passed between them without words. In his studio, she had felt something she had never known before—something raw and unburdened by the chains of her family’s name. It wasn’t just attraction, though she couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him. It was more than that. It was the promise of escape, of possibility. With him, she could breathe.

Y/N closed her eyes, letting the cool night air wash over her as she made a decision.

She could not stay in this gilded prison any longer. She could not marry Leonardo. She would not be used as a pawn in her family’s games. And if there was anyone who could help her find a way out, it was Harry.

Her heart raced at the thought, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. It was reckless, perhaps even dangerous, but she had no other choice. She had to act before it was too late, before her fate was sealed by forces beyond her control.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Y/N slipped into a simple cloak, pulling the hood over her head to shield her face. She moved quickly and quietly, slipping through the darkened corridors of the palazzo until she reached a small, hidden door that led to the courtyard.

As she stepped outside, the cool night air wrapped around her like a cloak of freedom. She paused for a moment, glancing back at the towering walls of her family’s home, the place that had held her captive for so long. And then, with a determined breath, she turned and disappeared into the shadows of the city, her feet carrying her toward Harry’s studio.

The narrow streets of Florence were quiet at this hour, save for the occasional flicker of lamplight or the soft murmur of voices carried on the breeze. Y/N kept her hood low, her steps quick and purposeful as she moved through the labyrinth of alleyways. She had walked these streets before—many times in the dark of night—but tonight felt different. Tonight, the weight of her decision pressed down on her like the stone arches above.

As she neared Harry’s studio, her heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. What was she even doing? She had no plan, no real escape beyond the hope that Harry would understand, that he might offer her a path out of this life she couldn’t bear. A reckless hope, she knew, but it was the only thing she had left.

The studio was tucked away behind a row of trees, secluded from the main roads. The small building, though unremarkable to most, had become a haven for her—one of the few places where she could let go of the expectations that had weighed her down for so long. And Harry, with his quiet strength and sad, knowing eyes, had become the embodiment of the freedom she craved.

As Y/N reached the door, her breath hitched in her chest. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the handle. What if she had misread everything? What if Harry did not want to be a part of her rebellion, her escape?

Yet she stood at his door anyway.

She pushed the door open, the familiar creak breaking the stillness of the night. Inside, the soft glow of a few candles lit the room, casting long shadows over the walls. The scent of drying oils and turpentine filled the air, mingling with the earthy smell of wet canvas. Harry was at his easel, his back to the door, lost in the rhythm of his work.

For a moment, Y/N stood there, watching him in the golden light. His dark curls fell over his brow, and his hand moved with a kind of precision that made her chest tighten. He was absorbed, unaware of her presence, and the sight of him in his element, so quietly powerful, made her heart ache with something she couldn’t name.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness.

He froze for a moment, his brush poised in mid-air. Slowly, he turned to face her, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in the sight of her standing there, cloaked in shadow. “Dove?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of concern in it. “What are you doing here?”

She stepped further into the room, her hands trembling beneath the folds of her cloak. “I had to see you.”

His brow furrowed, and he set his brush down, wiping his hands on a rag before crossing the room toward her. “It’s late. If anyone sees you—”

“I bear no sentiment to it,” she interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended. Her breath came quickly, the weight of everything catching up with her all at once. “I cannot stay there any longer, Harry. I can’t marry Leonardo Montellini. I cannot live that life.”

He studied her for a moment, his green eyes searching hers, and she saw the conflict in his gaze—the pull between wanting to help her and knowing the dangers of what she was asking. “What are you saying, Y/N?” he asked quietly, though there was a heaviness in his tone.

“I’m saying I need to leave. I need to escape before they lock me into a life I never wanted.” Her voice trembled with the intensity of the confession, and she took a step closer to him. “I don’t know where to go or how to do it, but I cannot stay here.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. His eyes flickered with something—worry, perhaps, or fear for what this might mean for both of them. He glanced at the door, then back to her, the weight of her words sinking in.”

“Do you know what you’re asking?” he said, his voice low. “If you leave, there’s no going back. Your family—Florence—”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “But what is the alternative? To be sold off to a man who does not care about me? To live my life in a cage, pretending to be something I am not? I cannot bear it, Harry. I won’t.”

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process what she was saying. She could see the battle in his eyes, the part of him that wanted to protect her warring with the part that understood the gravity of the situation. “And what do you desire from me?” he asked softly, though she could hear the strain in his voice.

Y/N stepped closer, her heart pounding in her chest as she met his gaze. “I want you to come with me.”

The words hung in the air between them, charged with a kind of desperate hope. She knew it was asking too much, knew that she had no right to pull him into her escape, but in that moment, Harry was the only person she trusted. The only person who understood her enough to help her break free.

Harry’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might say yes. His hand reached out, brushing against hers in a gesture so small, so intimate, it made her chest tighten.

But then he pulled away, shaking his head. “Y/N, I—”

“I know it’s reckless,” she cut him off, her voice filled with a kind of raw vulnerability she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years. “But I can’t do this alone. I need you.”

Harry’s expression was torn, his hand still hovering near hers as if he wanted to take it, to pull her into his arms and promise her everything. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. “If we run, they will come after us. Your family will not let you go so easily. You know this.”

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to let the weight of his words crush her hope. “Then we’ll be careful. We’ll go somewhere they can’t find us. Please, Harry.” Her voice broke, and she reached out, gripping his arm as though she could will him to say yes. “I know not of heaven nor hell. I know not of Lucifer or God, I know only what I see before me, and If i were to draw my last breath tomorrow, I would perish with all this regret—my soul bound to my grave for eternity.”

For a long moment, Harry didn’t move. He stood there, staring down at her with an expression so conflicted it made her heart ache. And then, finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly in defeat.

“We’ll need to leave before first light,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Pack only what y’can carry.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, a mixture of relief and disbelief washing over her as his words sank in. “You’ll come with me?”

Harry met her gaze, and though his eyes were filled with uncertainty, there was a quiet determination in them as well. “Wherever.” He murmured. “But we must be careful.”

A flood of emotions rushed through Y/N all at once—relief, fear, gratitude, and something else she couldn’t quite name. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest as tears of both joy and fear slipped down her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against him. “Thank you, Harry.”

He held her for a moment, his hand resting on the back of her head as if trying to steady them both in the face of what they were about to do. “We shall figure it out,” he said quietly, though she could hear the weight of the uncertainty in his voice.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N believed him.

As they stood there in the quiet of the studio, the world outside slowly fading into darkness, Y/N felt a small spark of hope flicker to life within her. She didn’t know what the future would hold, but for now, she wasn’t alone.

The night air outside the palazzo was thick with the scent of jasmine and damp stone, but to Y/N, it felt more like freedom than anything else. The distant sounds of Florence, the murmur of distant conversations and the soft rush of water from the Arno, filled the silence as she made her way through the narrow streets, her bag slung over her shoulder. Her heart raced, but her steps were sure now. This was her choice, her rebellion.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale light over the winding alleys and quiet courtyards as Y/N hurried back to Harry’s studio. Her thoughts were a whirlwind—but she couldn’t think of it now. The only thing that mattered was what lay ahead. She had to believe that there was a life waiting for her beyond the walls of Florence, beyond the expectations that had shackled her for so long. And with Harry by her side, perhaps—just perhaps—she could find it.

As she reached the secluded courtyard where Harry’s studio stood, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The small building was bathed in moonlight, its wooden door slightly ajar, as if waiting for her. She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the doorframe, listening to the soft rustle of the wind in the olive trees.

Inside, the studio was quiet, save for the gentle flicker of the remaining candle on the windowsill. Harry stood at the far end of the room, packing his own bag—his movements careful and deliberate. When he heard her enter, he turned, his eyes immediately meeting hers. There was no need for words; he could see the decision in her gaze, the finality of it. She was here, and there was no going back.

“You are prepared?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of tension there, a quiet understanding of what they were about to do.

Y/N nodded, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “I am.”

Harry’s eyes softened as he crossed the room toward her, his hand reaching out to brush against her arm in a gesture of comfort. “We shall be leaving soon. I’ve made arrangements to head south, toward Siena. s’not far, but far enough. We will be out of reach, at least for now.”

Siena. The name sounded distant and unfamiliar to Y/N, but it didn’t matter. Anywhere was better than here, better than the fate that awaited her if she stayed. She met Harry’s gaze, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes as she nodded.

“I trust you,” she whispered, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them.

Harry held her gaze for a moment longer, his green eyes full of that quiet, steady strength that had always made her feel safe. “Then we’ll make it through this,” he said softly. “Together.”

He moved to the door, pulling it fully open and stepping outside into the cool night air. Y/N followed close behind, her heart pounding in her chest as the reality of what they were about to do sank in. They were running. Not just from Florence, but from the lives they had known, from the expectations and the rules that had governed them for so long.

The streets of Florence stretched out before them, dark and silent, like a sleeping beast. They would have to move quickly, before the city woke, before her family realized she was gone. Harry led the way, his pace measured but urgent as they slipped through the narrow alleyways, avoiding the more well-lit streets where guards might patrol.

Y/N kept her hood pulled low over her face, her heart racing with every step they took. She glanced over her shoulder more than once, half-expecting to see her father or Leonardo rounding the corner, chasing her down. But the streets were empty, save for the occasional whisper of the wind.

They moved in silence, the weight of their decision hanging heavy between them, but there was no hesitation now. They had crossed the line, and there was no turning back.

It wasn’t long before they reached the outskirts of the city, where the walls of Florence loomed high above them, casting long shadows over the ground. The gates were closed, but Harry had anticipated this. He led Y/N to a small passageway, hidden between the stones and covered with vines. It was narrow, barely wide enough for one person at a time, but it led out of the city—an old smuggler’s route, known only to a few.

“This way.” Harry whispered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they hadn’t been followed.

Y/N nodded, following him through the narrow gap in the wall, her heart pounding in her chest as they squeezed through the passage. The air was cooler on the other side, the scent of the open countryside replacing the dense smell of the city. When they finally emerged, they found themselves on a small, winding road that led away from Florence, disappearing into the hills beyond.

Y/N paused for a moment, turning back to look at the city she was leaving behind. The towering domes and spires of Florence rose into the night sky, bathed in moonlight. It was beautiful—so beautiful it made her chest ache. But it was also a prison, a place that had tried to shape her into something she could never be.

She turned back to Harry, her breath catching as she realized the full weight of what they had done. They were free. But freedom came with a price—a price they had only just begun to pay.

Harry met her gaze, his expression soft but serious. “There’s no going back now,” he said quietly, as if reading the thoughts running through her mind.

Y/N nodded, her hand instinctively reaching for his, their fingers brushing in the cool night air. “I know,” she whispered. “And I am ready.”

Together, they turned and started down the road, leaving Florence behind them—its walls, its expectations, its suffocating weight—everything. The future was uncertain, full of dangers and unknowns. But for the first time in her life, Y/N felt a spark of hope flicker within her. She was free. And with Harry by her side, perhaps—just perhaps—she could build a life that was truly her own.

As they walked through the quiet countryside, the stars above them shining like tiny, distant beacons, Y/N knew that they were only at the beginning of their journey. There would be challenges ahead, and dangers they couldn’t yet foresee. But for now, she allowed herself to breathe in the cool night air, to feel the weight of the past slowly lift from her shoulders.

She glanced at Harry, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, and felt a sense of calm wash over her. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together. And that, she thought, was more than enough.

It had been two days since they left Florence behind, and the journey had been long, filled with the quiet tension of fear that someone might catch up to them, might discover their flight. The sun had dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the rolling hills as Y/N and Harry approached a small inn nestled at the edge of a sleepy village. The inn was humble, tucked between groves of olive trees and fields dotted with grazing sheep. It wasn’t much—just a small stone building with weathered shutters and a modest stable for travelers’ horses—but it was enough. For the first time since leaving the city, they could breathe.

Inside, the inn was warm, the smell of bread baking in the hearth mingling with the faint scent of wood smoke. The innkeeper, a woman with kind eyes and silver streaks in her hair, greeted them with little more than a nod, motioning them toward the narrow staircase that led to their room.

As they climbed the stairs, the weight of the past two days seemed to settle over Y/N like a heavy cloak. The adrenaline that had carried her through the journey was fading, replaced by the quiet realization of what they had done. They had left everything behind—their lives, their families, their very identities—and now, here they were, standing on the precipice of a future they had yet to define.

Their room was small, with a single window that overlooked the fields beyond the village. A modest bed stood against one wall, and a small wooden table with two chairs sat near the hearth. The fire had already been lit, the flames flickering softly in the dim light of the evening.

Harry set their bags down by the door, glancing around the room before turning to Y/N. His expression was calm, but there was a tension in his eyes—a quiet awareness that they had crossed a line they could never uncross.

Y/N crossed the room to the window, her fingers brushing against the cool glass as she looked out at the fading light. The sky was a deep, dusky blue, and the first stars were beginning to appear, faint and far away. For a moment, she said nothing, her thoughts swirling like leaves caught in the wind.

Y/N finally broke the silence, her voice soft and uncertain. "Do you think we made the right choice?"

Harry turned from the window, his gaze settling on her. His green eyes, illuminated by the firelight, were filled with something unreadable-fear, perhaps, but also a quiet determination. He stepped closer, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots as he walked toward her.

"There was no other choice, Y/N.” He said gently, kneeling beside her. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against hers, grounding her in the reality of their shared decision. "Not for you, not for me. Remaining in Florence..it would have destroyed you.”

She looked up at him, her heart aching with the weight of his words. "But what have we done, Harry?" she whispered “I–” her voice trembling. "I have abandoned my family, my name. What if they find us? What if–" Her words trailed off, the enormity of their flight catching up with her. Her thoughts tangled in Fear. Fear of what might come, fear of the unknown future they now faced together.

Harry's gaze softened, and he took her hand fully in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a soothing motion. "I do not know what will come," he admitted, his voice low and steady. "But I know that staying in Florence vould have been a life you could not live. You would have been chained, Y/N, to a life of duty, of expectations that would have suffocated you. What we have now, it may be uncertain, but it is ours."

She blinked, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "And you, Harry? What have you given up for me?"

Harry smiled faintly, shaking his head as if the question was unnecessary. "Florence never belonged to me.” He murmured. "| painted for men who looked down on me, for families who never saw what I could truly do. l've left behind nothing of importance." He paused, his gaze deepening as he looked into her eyes. "But y–you are the first thing that's ever felt real to me."

Y/N's breath caught at his words, her heart thudding in her chest. She had never expected this-never imagined that leaving Florence would mean finding something, someone, who saw her not as the Candela daughter but as herself, YN, in all her flawed and wild glory. "And what do we do now?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "We are not nobility here, Harry. We bear no titles, no claims to protect us."

Harry stood then, his hand still holding hers as he pulled her gently to her feet. His expression softened, though there was a hint of something deeper in his eyes, something that made her pulse quicken. "We live Y/N.” he said simply, his voice low and intimate. “For the first time, we live as we choose. I have land in Siena, now—it isn’t much, but it’s a roof and four walls.”

He drew her closer, their bodies inches apart, the warmth from the fire mingling with the heat of his presence. Y/N could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her breath hitching as his gaze settled on her lips for a brief, tantalizing moment. “You are free now.” Harry murmured, his voice a whisper in the quiet of the room. "Whatever comes next, we face it together."

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling deep within her. She could feel the walls between them crumbling, the barriers they had built around themselves dissolving in the heat of the fire. And as she looked up at him, her heart in her throat, she knew that whatever lay ahead, she wanted him beside her—no matter the cost.

Slowly, tentatively, she reached up, her fingers brushing against his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath her touch. Harry inhaled sharply, his hand sliding to her waist, pulling her closer still. The air between them seemed to crackle, the unspoken tension that had simmered for so long finally rising to the surface. "Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, drawing her lips closer to his. Their kiss is slow, appreciative—full of months that had gone without it. He cupped her cheek as he parted briefly, holding her eyes into her own before he smiled. Harry's lips crashed against hers in a fierce, desperate kiss, his hands tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer still. Y/N gasped against his mouth, her fingers gripping his tunic as the heat of the fire surrounded them, enveloping them in warmth. The kiss deepened, becoming something raw, something that spoke of all the things they had left unsaid —their fear, their hope, their unspoken love.

They stumbled back toward the hearth, their bodies pressed together as Harry's hands roamed over her, pulling at the ties of her gown, freeing her from the constraints of fabric. Y/N's breath hitched as the cool air touched her bare skin, but Harry's warmth, his touch, was all she needed. He held her close, his lips tracing a path down her neck, sending shivers of pleasure through her body.

The heat between them became unbearable, a fire that consumed all reason. Harry's hands moved with purpose, deftly undoing the ties of Y/ N's gown, his fingertips brushing against her skin with a tenderness that belied the hunger in his gaze. Her breath came in shallow gasps as the fabric fell away, baring her to him. His eyes, darkened with desire, roamed over her with reverence, as though he was seeing her not as a woman of noble birth, but as someone entirely his, a secret kept only for him.

Her pulse quickened under the weight of his gaze, and her hands, trembling slightly, moved to the front of his tunic. She tugged at the laces, fumbling as her fingers brushed the hard planes of his chest beneath the linen. Harry let out a low groan, his own need palpable in the way his breath hitched, the way his body responded to her touch. He shrugged out of his tunic, tossing it aside, revealing the lean, muscled form that had been hidden beneath.

For a moment, they simply stood there, the space between them charged with a tension that was nearly unbearable. The firelight flickered across their skin, casting shadows that danced along the stone walls of the inn, but all Y/N could focus on was Harry—the way his chest rose and fell with each labored breath, the way his eyes darkened as they traced the curves of her body. Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached for him, her hands sliup his arms, feeling the strength in his muscles. Their breaths mingled, and as Harry leaned in to kiss her, the tension between them reached a breaking point. His lips were soft but insistent, claiming hers with a need that mirrored her own.

Y/N's hands found his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to feel him against her, to erase the distance that had always lingered between them until now.

He guided her down onto the fur-lined rug before the fire, his hands caressing her with a tenderness that made her breath catch. The warmth of the flames flickered around them, casting their shadows on the walls, but in this moment, there was only the heat between them, the way their bodies fit together as if they had been made for this. They had stripped away the layers of propriety, both figuratively and literally, leaving only the raw desire that now pulsed between them. Y/N's heart raced as Harry’s body hovered over hers, his eyes dark with a hunger she had never seen before. Her skin flushed under his gaze, the anticipation swirling in her belly like a storm.

He kissed her softly, his lips moving against hers with a tenderness that made her melt into him, but there was something else in his touch—something deeper, something more primal. As his hands roamed her body, tracing every curve and dip, Y/N felt a strange mix of excitement and nerves coiling inside her. She had never known this kind of intimacy before, never been touched in such a way.

Harry pulled back slightly, his breath warm against her neck as he pressed a trail of soft, lingering kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, and lower still, to the curve of her breasts. His hands slid down her sides, gently parting her legs as he kissed his way lower, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Y/N's breath hitched, her body trembling beneath his touch, and she instinctively pressed her thighs together.

Harry paused, his lips hovering just above her skin, his hands still resting on her hips as he looked up at her with a soft, knowing smile. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice low, rough with desire but tender, too.

Y/N nodded, her breath trembling as she met his gaze, the flickering firelight casting shadows across his face. “I do, H." She whispered.

Harry's smile deepened, and he pressed a soft kiss to her inner thigh, his hands gently coaxing her legs apart once more. "I got you, dove. Promise.” He murmured, his voice a quiet, confident assurance that sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

Y/N's pulse quickened as Harry kissed his way higher, his lips brushing her skin in a way that made her body ache with a need she had never known before. Her hands gripped the fur beneath her as his mouth hovered just above her most intimate place, and when his lips finally made contact, a gasp escaped her, her body tensing with the unfamiliar sensation. It was unlike anything she had ever felt—a warmth, a softness, and then the slow, deliberate flick of his tongue against her bud, sending a jolt of pleasure through her core.

Y/N's head fell back, her breath catching in her throat as Harry continued, his mouth working with skill and precision. He moved with confidence, as though he knew exactly what she needed, exactly how to coax the pleasure from her body.

Harry's hands slid up her thighs, his fingers pressing gently into her skin, grounding her in the moment. His tongue moved in slow, teasing strokes, building a rhythm that made Y/N's body tremble with each touch. Her hips moved instinctively toward him, a soft moan escaping her lips as the pleasure began to build, layer upon layer, each stroke of his tongue pushing her closer to a place she had never been.

"Harry," she gasped, her voice breathless, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched her back, the heat between her legs overwhelming. She had never imagined this kind of pleasure, had never known it was even possible.

Harry hummed softly against her, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through her as his tongue moved faster, more insistently. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer to his mouth, and Y/N's entire body shuddered with the intensity of it, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The world around her blurred, the crackle of the fire fading into the background as she became lost in the sensation of his mouth, his tongue, his touch.

The tension in her belly coiled tighter and tighter, the pleasure building with every movement of his lips, every flick of his tongue. Y/N had never felt anything like it before—this burning, all-consuming need that made her body tremble, her breath catch, her heart race. She was on the edge, teetering between control and surrender, and with one final, skilled movement of his tongue, she fell.

A cry tore from her lips as the pleasure crested, washing over her in waves that left her breathless, her body trembling beneath him. Her fingers tightened in his hair, her hips lifting off the rug as the pleasure pulsed through her, intense and overwhelming. Harry didn't stop, his mouth working her through the height of her release, his hands holding her steady as she writhed beneath him, lost in the sensation.

When the waves of pleasure finally began to ebb, Y/N collapsed back onto the rug, her body spent, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Her limbs felt heavy, her skin flushed and sensitive, and as Harry pressed a final, soft kiss to her inner thigh, she shivered, her body still tingling from the intensity of it all.

Slowly, Harry rose, his hands sliding up her body as he kissed his way back up to her lips, his breath warm and soft against her skin. He settled beside her, pulling her into his arms, his lips brushing her forehead as she nestled against his chest, her heart still pounding from the intensity of her release. “Told you I had you, hm?” He cooed, combing his fingers through her disheveled hair.

She nodded, the sound of her heart thumping in her ears as she cupped his cheek, pulling him into another kiss. His hands roamed from her hips to her breasts, rolling back on top of her with a smirk. His hands roamed her body, caressing, exploring, a though trying to commit every inch of her to memory.

Y/N arched beneath him, her body responding to his touch with a need that had been building for weeks, months even. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate for the connection she had longed for, and Harry groaned, his body trembling with the weight of his desire. Slowly, reverently, he guided himself into her, his movements gentle, careful, as though afraid to break the fragile spell between them. She gasped at the sensation, her fingers gripping his shoulders as he filled her, their bodies finally coming together in a way that felt inevitable, as if they had been meant for this moment all along.

For a heartbeat, they stayed like that, perfectly still, their breaths mingling, their hearts pounding in unison. He was entranced by the feeling of her walls fluttering around his cock, the way she stretched around him.

Then, slowly, Harry began to move, his hips rocking against hers in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. Y/N’s head fell back further into the rug, a moan escaping her lips as she gave herself over to the sensation, to the connection that seemed to bind them together more deeply than any words ever could.

Harry's movements were slow at first, deliberate, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through her body, but soon the restraint he had tried to maintain began to slip. His pace quickened, his body moving against hers with a raw, desperate need that matched her own. The sound of their breathing, of their bodies moving together, filled the room, mingling with the crackle of the fire and the whisper of the wind outside.

Y/N's fingers dug into his back, her nails leaving faint marks on his skin as her body arched beneath him, her breath coming in gasps. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust was a promise, a declaration that neither of them could speak but both understood.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice trembling with the intensity of her need, with the overwhelming sensation building inside her. "I–” But she couldn't finish the sentence. Words seemed inadequate to describe what she felt, the way her body and soul seemed to be unraveling in his arms.

Harry's lips found hers again, silencing her with a kiss that was all-consuming, his body moving against hers with an urgency that mirrored her own. He groaned against her mouth, his breath ragged, his hands gripping her hips as though afraid to let her go. “Y’like that, huh?” He grunted, bottoming out with each thrust. “Sound so pretty, the way you sing f’me.”

She nodded, eyes glossed over in pleasure as she wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder with whimpers of praises. And then, with one final, desperate thrust, Y/N felt herself fall over the edge, her body trembling with release as the pleasure crashed over her like a wave. She cried out, her fingers tangled in his curls, her heart pounding in her chest as the world seemed to fall away around her.

In that moment, Harry pulled away, his breath hot against her neck as he pressed his forehead against her shoulder, his body shuddering with restraint. His hands tightened on her hips as he pulled back, separating them just before the inevitable.

A moan fell from his lips, and Y/N swore it was the prettiest melody she’s ever heard.

He fisted his cock, coaxing his hand back and forth before he lets out a low whimper, spilling himself right onto her abdomen—decorating her in opaque that marked her as his.

His sigh was heavy as he fell back beside her, placing a kiss to her temple as she lie there breathlessly. For a moment, they lay there in the quiet, their bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all, the only sound in the room the soft crackling of the fire. Y/N's chest rose and fell with the aftershocks of pleasure, her heart still racing, but she felt safe. “S’warm.” She giggled, his release glistening in the flames of the fire.

He couldn’t help but smile as he maneuvered his arm beneath her neck, turning to his side as he rested his chin atop her head. “Promise I’ll clean y’up.” He chuckled, draping his other arm across her chest, to which she reaches up and holds his bicep with a smile.

He presses a kiss into her hair, breathing her in. “Ad vitam aeternam.” He murmured, listening to the fire crackle and her even breaths.

Her eyebrows furrowed, recognizing some of the words but she figured the meanings are different, because what she interpreted made no sense at all. He tilted her head back, looking at the man expectantly as he shifted his own head ever so slightly to place a soft kiss against her lips. “To eternal life.”

Her cheeks flushed as she stared into him, the color almost as red as the cherries from the other day. She runs her fingers through his curls, a small smile spreading across her lips.

His own eyes searches hers, the tips of their nose almost touching. His hands cup her face, thumbing gentle strokes onto her cheek. “What?”

She lied her hand atop the one on her face, dipping the tips of her fingers to hold onto his grasp. “I’m falling in love with you.”

He exhales through his nose, a chuckle laced with content emitting from his mouth. He nudges his nose with hers, brushing their lips together softly before pressing it into a kiss. He smiles, pulling back after a beat. “I already have.”

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flwrstqr · 4 months ago

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𓈃 ★ PRINCESS DIAIRIES | PARK SUNGHOON

synopsis you are a shy, awkward teenager living with your artist mother. your life is turned upside down when you discover you are the heir to the throne of genovia. at first, you're reluctant to accept your new identity. as you face challenges at school, with the media, and within yourself, you struggle to balance your normal life with your royal duties. sunghoon, who has secretly liked you for a long time, finds himself falling even more for you as he sees you grow into your new role. as you navigate your new life, you and sunghoon grow closer, sharing quiet moments and, most importantly, falling in love.

word count 6.8k+

meet the cast best friend's brother!sunghoon x quiet kid/princess!fem reader (feat haneul from kiss of life + other ocs)

genre high school au, royal au, angst, fluff, romance, best friend brother au, unpopular to popular, crack, princess diaries based

warnings swearing, kissing, small grammar errors, everyone being mean to yn at first, some annoying characters, mentions barfing, yn being played by a boy at one point, some second hand embarrassment scene 😓,

danielle's note 𖥔 so i just watched like princess diaries yesterday and i ended up falling in love with it so i wanted to write a long ass au for this. plus like i had to cook up a good plot so 😈 sorry if this is ass but anyways i hope u guys enjoy this (this fic is for my fav hoon stan ><)

﹙⠀ PLAYiNG . . . ⠀good luck babe by chappell roan, feather by sabrina carpenter, saturn by sza, i love you so by the walters, obsessed by olivia rodrigo, xo by enhypen, break up with your girlfriend by ariana grande

YOU WAKE UP TO THE SOFT CHIMES OF YOUR ALARM, gradually getting louder until you reach over and silence it. You fumble for your glasses on the bedside table. Once they're on, the world comes into focus: your room adorned with vibrant art pieces that was made by your mother.

You stretch and get out of bed, your feet touching the cool floor. Your school uniform is laid out neatly on the chair by your desk: a skirt, a crisp white blouse, and a blazer. You put on the uniform, the fabric feeling stiff but familiar. As you stand in front of the mirror, you run a brush quickly through your hair. Makeup isn’t part of your routine; you prefer to keep things simple.

Heading downstairs, you hear the familiar sounds of your mom humming along to music in her studio. You grab your backpack from the hook by the door and slip on your shoes. The house smells of fresh paint and coffee, a comforting mix you've grown up with.

“Have a good day at school, sweetheart! Also, don't be nervous during the speech!” your mom calls from her studio, not looking up from her canvas.

“Thanks, Mom. I will,” you reply softly, even though she can't see you.

Stepping outside, the morning air is cool and crisp. You take a deep breath, adjusting your backpack on your shoulders, and start walking to school. You keep your head down, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself.

YOU ARRIVE AT SCHOOL, spotting Haneul leaning against the bike racks, her face lighting up as she sees you. She's waving enthusiastically, and you can’t help but smile back. Haneul, like you, is considered one of the "losers," known for being a "nerd." But she’s your best friend, and that label doesn’t bother either of you much.

“Hey,” you greet her, adjusting your backpack.

“Morning! Ready for another thrilling day of high school?” she jokes, rolling her eyes.

You both laugh and start walking towards your first class. As usual, you pass the popular girls, Eunae and her two "minions", who are gossiping loudly by their lockers. Your eyes dart towards your crush, Siwoo, who’s with them. His blonde hair is always perfectly styled, falling just above his eyebrows in a way that frames his sharp, expressive eyes. Those eyes, a deep shade of brown, seem to hold a confident, almost teasing glint. His smile is captivating, often described as a blend of boyish charm and genuine warmth, making him instantly likable to many (such as you). Your heart sinks as you see him kissing Eunae. You roll your eyes, trying to forget it.

“Ugh, seriously?” Haneul mutters, noticing the scene as well. “She’s so fake.”

You nod in agreement, but your attention shifts as you catch sight of Sunghoon, Haneul’s older brother, standing nearby. His dark hair, slightly tousled, falls naturally around his face. His eyes, a striking shade of hazel, are often focused.

You give him a small wave. Sunghoon notices and waves back, his smile warm and genuine. The bell rings, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Come on, we don’t want to be late,” Haneul says, tugging at your sleeve.

“Yeah, let’s go,” you reply, falling into step beside her as you make your way to class.

CLASS TIME BEGINS, and your heart races as you try to focus on the lesson. When Siwoo stands up to give his speech, you can't help but be mesmerized. His blonde hair is perfect, shining under the classroom lights, and his confidence radiates as he speaks. You know Siwoo isn’t the brightest student, more of an athlete than an academic, but that doesn’t matter to you. He’s cute, and that’s enough.

As he finishes his speech, Eunae and her two friends erupt into loud cheers, their high-pitched voices echoing in the room. You roll your eyes internally but feel a pang of nervousness as you realize your turn is coming up. Public speaking has always been your weak point.

When your name is called, you stand up, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. Your legs feel like jelly as you walk to the podium, your heart pounding in your chest. You hear Eunae giggling with her friends, and it only heightens your anxiety.

"Look who's next," Eunae whispers loudly to her friends, making sure you hear.

You take a deep breath and start your speech, but the words come out in a stutter. "S-so..."

You push up your glasses, hoping it will give you some confidence, but it only makes things worse. The giggles turn into outright laughter, and you can feel your cheeks burning with embarrassment. Your stomach churns, making you feel like you’re going to be sick.

"Oh my God, she can't even talk properly," Eunae says, loud enough for the whole class to hear. More laughter follows her comment.

In the far corner of the room, you notice Sunghoon watching. His eyes are calm, and there's a hint of concern in his expression You feel like you're about to barf and, in a panic, you rush out of the classroom. The laughter follows you, echoing in your ears.

Once outside, you lean against the wall, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. Tears prick at your eyes as the embarrassment washes over you. You feel utterly defeated, wishing you could just disappear. You were always the invisible one, what should you expect?

AFTER SCHOOL, you walk home, the events of the day replaying in your mind. When you step inside, the familiar smell of your mom's cooking greets you. You head to the kitchen, where she’s stirring something on the stove.

"Hey, sweetheart," she says, looking up with a concerned expression. "I heard you barfed in class today. Are you okay?"

You sigh, dropping your backpack on the floor. "Yeah, it was just… really embarrassing."

Your mom walks over and gives you a comforting hug. "I'm sorry that happened. Kids can be really mean sometimes."

You nod, feeling a bit better with her support. "Thanks, Mom."

She pulls back and looks at you seriously. "There’s something I need to tell you. Your grandmother is coming over for tea next week."

You look at her, confused. "Grandmother? But we never talk to her."

"I know," your mom says, her tone softening. "This is the first time we’re going to meet her. She’s your father's mother. After your father passed away a few months ago, she reached out. She said she wanted to speak with you specifically."

You blink in surprise. "Me? Why me?"

"I don’t know," your mom admits. "But I think it’s important to hear her out. She might have something to share that’s meaningful to you."

You take a deep breath, feeling a mix of curiosity and apprehension. "Okay. I’ll talk to her."

Your mom gives you a reassuring smile. "It’ll be fine." You nod, trying to push aside any other thoughts on your mind.

YOU WALK INTO THE CAR MOTOR PLACE, the familiar scent of oil and rubber filling the air. Your heart races as you see your Mustang in the garage, a little closer to the dream car you’ve been saving up for. It still needs a lot of work, but you’re determined to have it ready for your 17th birthday.

As you approach the car, you hear the final notes of a performance. Sunghoon finishes his set and the crowd disperses, girls whispering excitedly about how hot he is. But he pays them no mind. Instead, he walks straight toward you, his eyes lighting up with a genuine smile.

"Hey," he greets, his voice smooth and warm. "Checking on the car?"

You nod, unable to help but smile back. "Yeah, it's coming along slowly but surely."

He glances at the Mustang, then back at you. "It's going to look amazing when it's done. You've been saving it up for a while,"

You blush at the compliment, feeling a flutter in your chest. "Thanks, Sunghoon."

His smile widens, and he leans a bit closer. "If you need any help with the car, just let me know. I'd be happy to lend a hand."

"Really? That would be amazing," you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you at his offer.

Sunghoon's eyes twinkle "Anything for you," he says softly, before giving you one last smile.

YOU STAND AT THE ENTRANCE OF THE GRAND MANSION, your eyes wide with awe. The sheer size and elegance of the mansion are overwhelming. Fancy maids and butlers bustle around. You clutch your cheap, simple backpack, a gift from your mother three years ago, and adjust your school uniform nervously. Your hair is a bit messy, and your glasses keep slipping down your nose.

As you step inside, the grandeur of the place hits you like a tidal wave. The floors are polished to a gleaming shine, intricate chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, and every piece of furniture looks like it belongs in a museum. You can't help but feel out of place, a small figure in this space.

Just then, you hear the soft click of heels on the marble floor. You look up to see her, your grandmother, a woman you've never met before. She descends the grand staircase with an air of grace and authority, her posture perfect and her gaze steady. She's dressed in an elegant gown, a deep shade of blue that compliments her dignified demeanor. In contrast, you feel even more self-conscious about your plain school uniform.

"Hello, dear," she greets you with a refined smile. Her voice is smooth and cultured, a stark contrast to your own uncertain tone. You mumble a shy greeting in return, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Please, sit," she says, gesturing to a plush armchair near the grand fireplace. You sit down cautiously, feeling the softness of the cushion beneath you. A maid approaches and places a delicate china teacup in front of you, the steam rising in gentle curls.

Your grandmother takes a seat across from you. She reaches into a small velvet box and retrieves a necklace and charm, the gold catching the light in a mesmerizing way. "Here's a gift," she says, handing it to you, "has been passed down through our family for generations."

You take the necklace. The charm is intricate, a tiny masterpiece that speaks of history and legacy. You swallow hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. You play around with it nervously as your grandmother eyes you quietly.

As you sip your tea, you can't help but make a bit of noise, your lack of manners showing. Your grandmother eyes you critically but says nothing about your manners. Instead, she clears her throat, the sound resonating in the quiet room.

"I have some news for you," she announces, her tone serious and measured.

You stop stirring your tea and look up, pushing your glasses up your nose in a nervous habit. "What is it?" you ask, curious.

She takes a deep breath, her gaze steady and unwavering. "You are the Princess of Genovia."

For a moment, the world seems to stand still. You choke on your tea, coughing violently as you try to process her words. "What?" you exclaim.

She nods, her expression grave. "Your father was the Prince of Genovia, which makes you the next heir."

"No, no way," you stammer, shaking your head, "I'm just… an invisible me. There's no way I'm a princess."

Your grandmother's gaze softens slightly, "It's true, my dear. Your father never had the chance to tell you, but this is your birthright."

The weight of her words presses down on you, a crushing force that makes it hard to breathe. Your life, once simple and predictable, has been changed.

"No," you whisper, your voice trembling. "This can't be happening."

Your grandmother is about to explain further, her lips parting to speak, but the overwhelming reality hits you like a freight train. You stand up abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor with a harsh sound that echoes in the grand room. "I need to go," you say, your voice breaking.

Without waiting for a response, you turn and rush out of the mansion, your footsteps echoing in the vast hallway. you push the door open, the bright sunlight outside momentarily blinding you. You stumble down the steps.

You walk quickly, almost running, trying to put as much distance between yourself and the mansion as possible. How can this be real? How can you, an quiet girl with a simple life, be a princess? You are the Princess of Genovia. And your life will never be the same again.

THE NEXT DAY, the reality of the previous day’s still hangs heavily over you. You can hardly focus on anything, your mind constantly drifting back to the shocking news. You try to go about your usual routine, but everything feels different, surreal.

As you sit at the kitchen table, pushing your breakfast around your plate, you hear a knock at the door. Your mother goes to answer it, and you strain to hear the conversation. Your heart skips a beat when you hear your grandmother’s voice.

“Hello, my dear,” she greets your mother politely. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” your mother replies, sounding a bit nervous.

They walk into the kitchen together, and your grandmother’s presence fills the small room. She’s dressed impeccably, her elegance stark against the worn, cozy surroundings of your home.

“Good morning,” she says to you with a gentle smile. “I hope you’re feeling a bit better today.”

You manage a nod, but the tightness in your chest doesn’t ease. You notice your mother looks anxious, avoiding your gaze.

“Please, have a seat,” your mother offers, gesturing to a chair. Your grandmother sits gracefully, folding her hands in her lap.

“Yesterday was overwhelming, I know,” your grandmother begins, her tone soft but firm. “But we need to talk more about this. There are important things you need to understand.”

You remain silent, feeling a mix of resentment and curiosity.

“There’s a royal ball in two months,” she continues. “It’s an important event where you’ll be formally introduced as the Princess of Genovia. It’s crucial for our country and for you.”

Your mother takes a deep breath, finally looking at you. “I know this is a lot to take in,” she says. “I should have told you earlier, but I wanted to protect you. I wanted you to have a normal life.”

You feel a surge of frustration. “You knew? All this time?” you ask, your voice shaking.

Your mother nods, her eyes filled with regret. “Yes, I knew. I’m sorry, honey. I thought it was for the best.”

Your grandmother reaches out, placing a hand on yours. “I understand that this is a lot to accept. But you have a duty, a responsibility to your heritage. This is your birthright.”

You pull your hand back, feeling overwhelmed. “I’m just a normal girl. I don’t know anything about being a princess.”

Your grandmother’s expression softens. “You may feel that way now, but you have the potential to be a great leader. We will help you every step of the way. You won’t be alone in this.”

Your mother’s eyes plead with you. “Please, sweetheart. Give it a chance. We’ll support you in any way we can.”

You sit in silence for a few moments, the weight of their words pressing down on you. The idea of being a princess, attending a royal ball, and stepping into a completely different world feels terrifying. But there’s a small part of you that’s curious, that wonders what it would be like to be this new identity.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you say reluctantly. “I’ll do it.”

A FEW DAYS LATER, the sun casts a warm glow over your grandmother’s mansion as you arrive. You clutch your simple backpack, feeling out of place yet again as you step into the grand foyer. Your grandmother greets you with a kind smile, her eyes twinkling with anticipation.

“Today’s the day,” she says, leading you to a large room filled with mirrors and high-end beauty products. “I’ve arranged for the best stylists to give you a makeover. They’ll help you look the part of a princess.”

You nod, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. As you take a seat, a team of stylists and beauticians file into the room, each one carrying various tools and products. They begin their work, chatting amiably as they discuss your transformation.

For nearly four hours, you sit patiently as they work their magic. Your hair is trimmed and styled into a sleek, elegant look that frames your face perfectly. Your eyebrows are shaped, making your eyes look bigger and more defined. They remove your glasses and fit you with contact lenses, giving you a clearer view of the world without the barrier of frames.

As they finish up, you catch glimpses of yourself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the person staring back at you. Your skin glows, your features are more defined, and you look… different. Beautiful, even.

Just then, your grandmother walks back into the room. She pauses mid-step, her eyes widening in shock as she takes in your transformation. You stand up and turn to face her, feeling a rush of nerves.

“Oh my,” she breathes, her voice filled with awe. “You look absolutely stunning.”

You blush, feeling a mix of pride and embarrassment. “Really?”

“Really,” she confirms, stepping closer to take a better look. “Your hair, your eyes, everything… You look like a true princess.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. The stylists beam with pride, knowing they’ve done an excellent job.

Your grandmother reaches out to gently touch your hair. “This is just the beginning, my dear.”

As you walk through the grand halls of the mansion, you feel different. Lighter. More confident. You catch a glimpse of yourself in a large, ornate mirror as you pass by, and for the first time, you see not just a girl, but a princess.

THE NEXT DAY, YOU SIT NERVOUSLY IN THE BACK OF THE LIMO, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. You’ve been riding in this luxurious vehicle for a few days now, but it still feels surreal. The thought of people judging you for your sudden change in appearance and status makes your stomach churn. Today, you’re picking up Haneul and Sunghoon.

As the limo pulls up in front of their house, you take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. The driver opens the door, and Sunghoon steps inside. His jaw drops as he sees you, his eyes widening in shock.

“Y/N… you look…” He’s completely speechless, his gaze fixed on you.

Before he can finish his sentence, Haneul appears, her voice breaking the silence. “Sunghoon, get in already—” Her words trail off as she sees you, her eyes widening in surprise.

Sunghoon finally finds his voice. “You look amazing,” he says, blush creeping up his cheek.

Haneul, on the other hand, doesn’t share his enthusiasm. She crosses her arms, her expression turning sour. “So, what’s the deal? You get a makeover and now you’re one of those popular girls who’ll ditch us?”

Your heart sinks at her words. “Haneul, it’s not like that…”

“It sure seems like it,” she snaps, her voice filled with hurt. “You think you’re better than us now?”

Sunghoon, sensing the tension, tries to intervene. “Haneul, that’s not fair. Let’s hear her out.”

You feel a mix of frustration and sadness. “I haven’t changed on the inside. I’m still me. There’s just a lot going on right now.”

Haneul raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”

The limo moves closer to the school, and you feel the pressure mounting. “I can’t explain it all right now, but you need to trust me.”

As the limo approaches the school, you grab a hat from your bag and put it on, hoping to avoid drawing too much attention. You quickly get out of the car, pulling Haneul aside while Sunghoon steps out slowly, still in shock.

“Haneul, listen,” you whisper urgently, glancing around to make sure no one is overhearing. “I need to tell you something. Please, just hear me out.”

Haneul crosses her arms, still looking skeptical but nods for you to continue.

You take a deep breath, lowering your voice even further. “I’m a princess. The Princess of Genovia.”

“What?” Haneul whispers, her anger dissipating into surprise.

“It’s true,” you say, your voice trembling. “I found out a few days ago. My grandmother told me. My father was the Prince of Genovia, which makes me the next heir.”

Haneul’s expression softens as she processes your words. “Really?” she asks, her voice filled with wonder. “You’re a real princess?”

You nod, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “Yes. And it’s been overwhelming. I didn’t mean to hide it from you.”

Haneul’s face breaks into a smile, and she reaches out to squeeze your hand. “Why didn’t you just say so? That’s amazing! I’m sorry I was so harsh.”

"I'm sorry, I couldn't tell anyone." I say, shrugging.

Haneul giggles. “So, does this mean we get to visit a castle?”

You laugh, “Maybe one day. But for now, I need you both to keep this a secret.”

Haneul nods “Absolutely. My lips are sealed.”

YOU SIT IN CLASS, your hat pulled low to avoid drawing attention. Your fingers tap nervously on your desk as you try to focus on your work. The day has already been overwhelming, and the last thing you want is more eyes on you. But as the class progresses, you hear a familiar, smug voice from across the room.

“Sir, Y/N is wearing a hat, and I think that’s against the school dress code,” Eunae says, a smirk playing on her lips.

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as the class turns to look at you. The teacher glances up from his desk, adjusting his glasses.

“Oh, well, that is true,” he says, his tone regretful but firm. “Y/N, unfortunately, you have to take your hat off.”

Taking a deep breath, you reach up and slowly remove your hat, letting your hair cascade down your back. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you, and you brace yourself for the inevitable laughter or teasing. Instead, you hear a murmur of whispers filling the room.

“Oh my god, Y/N, you’re so pretty! Can we be friends?” one girl exclaims.

“Your hair is gorgeous!” another student adds, their tone filled with genuine admiration.

You look up, seeing the mean girls from your class suddenly smiling at you, their previous disdain replaced with a strange, almost predatory friendliness.

“I think it’s a wig,” someone whispers, a hint of skepticism in their voice.

Before the whispers can escalate, Haneul’s voice cuts through the noise. “I think her hair is gorgeous,” she says loudly, her tone firm and supportive. “But let’s get back to class. We have more important things to focus on.”

Her words have the desired effect, and the classroom falls silent. The teacher nods approvingly and returns to the lesson. You glance at Haneul, gratitude evident in your eyes. She gives you a reassuring smile, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you.

YOU'RE WALKING TO SCHOOL ON AC RISP MORNING. Sunghoon is beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his uniform.

"So, YN," Sunghoon begins, his tone casual, but there's a hint of something more beneath it. "Do you have any plans for Saturday?"

You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow. "Not really. Why do you ask?"

Sunghoon hesitates for a moment, then looks at you with a mix of hope and excitement. "Well, my band is performing at this new place downtown. It's kind of a big deal for us, and I was wondering if you'd like to come."

You stop walking, "Really? That sounds amazing! I'd love to come."

A grin spreads across Sunghoon's face, and he looks relieved. "Great! It starts at seven. I'll send you all the details later." As you start walking again, the conversation shifts back to lighter topic.

"You know," you say after a while, "I've always wanted to see you perform. This is going to be so cool."

Sunghoon chuckles, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "I'm glad you're excited. It means a lot to me that you'll be there."

When you reach the school gates, Sunghoon turns to you, "Thanks, YN. For coming on Saturday. I know it's going to be awesome with you there."

You smile, giving him a gentle nudge. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. See you later,"

A FEW DAYS PASS, and you're walking through the bustling school courtyard, lost in thought about what you might wear on Saturday, when you hear someone call your name.

You turn around to see Siwoo, the school's star athlete and the crush you've harbored for as long as you can remember. He's walking toward you with that effortless confidence that always makes your heart race. The chatter around you seems to fade as he gets closer, and you can feel a rush of butterflies in your stomach.

"Hey, YN," Siwoo says, his voice smooth and casual. "Got a minute?"

You nod, trying to keep your cool. "Sure, what's up?"

Siwoo runs a hand through his hair, looking almost bashful for a moment. "So, I broke up with Eunae."

Your eyes widen in surprise. Eunae, the queen bee of the school and someone who has made your life particularly difficult, is no longer with Siwoo? You can't help but feel a tiny spark of hope. "Oh, wow. I didn't know."

Siwoo shrugs, his usual smirk returning. "Yeah, it just wasn't working out. Anyway, there's this beach party on Saturday. I was wondering if you wanted to go with me."

Your heart nearly stops. Is this really happening? You, the one who has always admired him from afar, being asked to a party by Siwoo? Without hesitation, you blurt out, "Oh my god? Yes?"

Siwoo's smirk widens, and he gives you a wink. "Great. I'll pick you up at seven."

As he walks away, you can't help but watch him go, your mind spinning. The butterflies in your stomach are in full force now, and you feel like you're floating. You finally manage to turn around and head to your next class, but your thoughts are excitement and disbelief.

For the rest of the day, you can't focus on anything. You keep replaying the moment in your mind, wondering if it was all a dream. But no, it was real, and now you have plans for Saturday with Siwoo.

YOU STEP OUT OF THE LIMO, adjusting your school bag on your shoulder. You take a deep breath, ready to face another day of classes and the usual high school chaos. But today, something feels off.

Suddenly, there's a commotion. A crowd of photographers and reporters seem to materialize out of nowhere, cameras flashing and microphones thrust towards you.

"Is it true you're the princess of Genovia?"

"How long have you known?"

"What's your next step as royalty?"

You stand there, stunned and overwhelmed. Your heart races as the realization dawns on you: the secret is out. You glance around frantically and spot Haneul, your best friend and the only person you trusted with the truth. Her eyes are wide with shock, and you can't help but wonder if she was the one who let it slip.

Everyone around you is whispering, their curious and excited gazes fixed on you. Some are even reaching out, asking for your autograph.

Before you can fully process what's happening, you're gently but firmly guided through the crowd by school security and pushed towards the principal's office.

You sit in the chair, your mind spinning with a thousand thoughts and questions. Moments later, the door opens, and your grandmother strides in.

"YN," she says, her tone calm but serious. "We need to discuss the next steps for you. I've already spoken to the principal about the necessary procedures to ensure your safety and academic success."

You nod, still in a daze. "What's going to happen now?"

She sits down beside you, her expression softening slightly. "Things will change, my dear. There will be more security, and certain aspects of your education will need to be adjusted to accommodate your new responsibilities. But don't worry, we'll handle this together."

The principal enters, looking a bit flustered but maintaining a professional demeanor. "We've arranged for additional security measures starting today. Also, your schedule will be slightly adjusted."

You take a deep breath, trying to absorb everything.

THE SUN IS SETTING OVER THE BEACH, casting a warm golden glow across the sand. The beach party is in full swing, with music playing and laughter filling the air. You’re sitting with Siwoo by a bonfire, enjoying the feeling of the cool breeze and the warmth of his presence. He’s been attentive all evening, and you can hardly believe that you're here with him, the guy you’ve admired for so long.

He leans in closer, his voice low. "I'm really glad you came tonight, YN."

You smile, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. "Me too, Siwoo."

Just as the moment seems perfect, a sudden burst of light blinds you. You blink, confused, as you realize it’s the flash of a camera. Then another, and another. You look around and see a swarm of paparazzi emerging from the shadows, their cameras aimed directly at you.

"Princess YN, over here!"

"How does it feel to be the princess of Genovia?"

The questions come rapid-fire, and the crowd presses closer. Panic sets in as you realize your private moment is being invaded. You look at Siwoo, who seems just as stunned as you are.

"Come on, we need to get out of here," he says, grabbing your hand.

You run together, dodging through the throng of people and flashing cameras. He leads you to a small beach shed and pulls you inside, closing the door behind you.

Siwoo looks at you, concern in his eyes. "Are you okay?"

You nod, trying to catch your breath. "Yeah, I just… I didn't expect this."

He steps closer, his gaze intense. "Neither did I. But, YN, there's something I've wanted to do all night."

He leans in, and for a moment, you think he's going to kiss you. But something feels off. The reality of your situation crashes down on you. This isn’t how you imagined it, not surrounded by paparazzi and hiding in a shed.

You try to pull away, but Siwoo's grip tightens slightly.

Just as you're about to push him away, the door of the shed creaks open slightly, and the flash of a camera captures the moment. Realization hits you like a ton of bricks. This was all a setup. Siwoo purposely kissed you in front of the cameras.

"I can't do this," you say, your voice trembling as you push your way out. "I'm sorry."

Before he can respond, you slip out of the shed, the flashes blinding you once again. You hear the paparazzi shouting and the clicks of their cameras, but all you can think about is getting away. You run down the beach, tears stinging your eyes.

THE NEXT MORNING, you pick up the newspaper on your doorstep and your heart drops at the front-page headline:

THE DAILY BUZZ

PRINCESS OF GENOVIA HAS A BOYFRIEND?

Photos of the Princess in a Beach Scandal

Your stomach churns as you see the photos of Siwoo kissing you splashed across the front page. The headline is bold, the images intrusive and unmissable. The story details the scandal that erupted at the beach party, with paparazzi capturing every moment of your private exchange.

You arrive at school, clutching the newspaper in your hand. Whispers follow you through the halls, eyes lingering on you with curiosity and judgment. You can hear snippets of conversations as you pass by.

"Did you see the photos? I can't believe it's true!"

"She's really the princess of Genovia, and now she's got a boyfriend?"

The words sting, but what hurts more is the realization you have yet to face: Sunghoon. You had forgotten about the whole performance on Saturday. You scan the hallway and finally spot him by his locker, his face buried in a book. As you approach, he looks up, and your heart sinks further. His eyes are cold, filled with disappointment and hurt.

"Sunghoon," you start, your voice barely above a whisper. "I—"

But before you can continue, the bell rings, echoing through the corridor. You glance at the clock, realizing you have to get to your private class. You want to stay and explain, to apologize, but you know you can’t afford to be late.

"I'm sorry," you manage to say, but Sunghoon has already turned away.

YOU RETREAT TO YOUR ROOM, hoping for some quiet time. Hours pass as you lie on your bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything in your mind—the paparazzi, the headlines, Sunghoon's hurt expression.

As the night deepens, a realization slowly dawns on you, one that sends a jolt through your heart. You don't have feelings for Siwoo. The excitement and attraction were all lies, fueled by the thrill of being noticed by someone so popular. But when you think about Sunghoon, it's different. You remember all the moments you've shared, the way he makes you laugh, the way he genuinely cares about you.

Sitting up, you take a deep breath. It’s Sunghoon. It’s always been Sunghoon.

YOU PACE AROUND YOUR LIVING ROOM, your heart heavy with the weight of the misunderstanding. Mustering the courage, you pick up the phone and call him.

"Hey, can you come over? I really need to talk to you," you ask softly.

There's a pause on the other end before Sunghoon finally agrees.

When he arrives, he looks weary, the pain still evident in his eyes. You take a deep breath and begin, "Sunghoon, I'm so sorry. I need to explain what happened. Siwoo was using me, and I didn't realize it until it was too late. I didn't meant to skip your band performance."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I… I believe you."

"I know, and I'm so sorry," you repeat, your voice earnest. After a moment, you look at him, your heart pounding. "There's something else. Can you come to the ball with me? It's the Genovia Special Ball, and I want you to come with me."

Sunghoon looks at you, surprised. "What?"

You smile a little and repeat yourself, "Will you come with me to the ball?"

After a few moments, he nods slowly. "Okay, I'll go."

THE DAY OF THE GRAND BALL HAD FINALLY ARRIVED, but instead of excitement, you were overwhelmed with stress. Your grandmother was incredibly upset about the whole situation, her stern words echoing in your mind. The pressure of becoming a princess was suffocating, and in a moment of desperation, you decided to run off.

As you hurriedly packed your things, you noticed a letter on your desk. With trembling hands, you opened it and began to read.

"Dearest Y/N,

If you’re reading this, it means the time has come for you to embrace your destiny. I know it seems daunting, but remember, you are stronger than you think. You have the heart of a lion and the grace of a swan. Being a princess isn’t about perfection; it’s about kindness, courage, and love. I believe in you, and I know you will make me proud. Trust yourself, and remember, you are never alone.

With all my love, Dad"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you read his words. You realized, you couldn't run away from reality and you had to face it.

Meanwhile, at the ball, Sunghoon was waiting anxiously. He felt betrayed and worried as you hadn't shown up yet. Your grandmother, too, was nervous, glancing at the door every few minutes, hoping you would walk through.

Sunghoon paced near the entrance, his eyes darting to the door every few seconds. "Where is she?" he muttered under his breath, clenching his fists. He felt a pang of hurt, thinking you had left him again.

Your grandmother, regal yet tense, addressed the crowd with a forced smile. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. My granddaughter will be joining us shortly."

Determined, you dashed out into the pouring rain, hailing a taxi to the grand party. The rain soaked through your dress, but you didn’t care. You arrived, drenched from head to toe, but your resolve was unshaken. You rushed inside, interrupting your grandmother's speech. She was shocked to see you, but relief washed over her face as she motioned for you to come forward.

"Y/N, my dear," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "You made it."

Soaking wet, you stood beside her, and she handed you the microphone. Despite your usual fear of public speaking, you felt an unexpected calmness. You began your speech, your voice steady and clear.

"Ladies and gentlemen," you started, taking a deep breath, "I apologize for my tardiness. Today, I was reminded of the true meaning of being a princess. It’s not about the crown or the title, but about the responsibility to lead. My father’s words reminded me of this, and I am here to honor him and all of you."

You paused, scanning the room filled with expectant faces. "Being a princess means embracing the values that truly matter: compassion, integrity, and dedication to our people. It's about standing up for what is right, even when it is difficult. It's about listening to the voices of those who cannot be heard and offering a hand to those in need."

You took another deep breath, feeling the weight of the crown yet also the support of your father's spirit. "My father taught me that true leadership comes from the heart. It's about being a beacon of hope and a pillar of strength for others. I promise to uphold these values and to be the princess that you all deserve."

The crowd listened intently, and by the time you finished, they erupted in cheers. Your grandmother placed the crown on your head, and you were officially crowned princess.

YOU SLIPPED INTO A BREATHTAKING GOWN OF SILK AND LACE , its intricate design accentuating your every movement. Your hair was swept up into an elegant chignon, adorned with delicate jewels that sparkled under the ballroom lights.

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement as you re-entered the ballroom. The music had started, and couples were already dancing. Your eyes searched the room until they found Sunghoon, who was waiting for you near the dance floor. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and he quickly made his way to your side.

"You look stunning," he whispered, offering his hand. You blushed and took it, feeling the warmth of his touch.

"Thank you," you replied softly. "Shall we?"

He led you to the center of the dance floor, and the music shifted to a slow, romantic melody. Sunghoon's arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as he began to lead you in the dance. The world seemed to fade away as you moved in perfect harmony, your eyes locked on each other.

"You did amazing tonight," Sunghoon said, his voice low and sincere. "I'm so proud of you."

You smiled, your heart swelling with gratitude and affection. "I couldn't have done it without you," you admitted. "Thank you for believing in me."

As the dance continued, the room seemed to blur around you, leaving only the two of you in focus. Sunghoon's arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer.

"Y/N," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek. "There's something I've wanted to tell you for a long time."

Your heart raced, and you felt a flutter of anticipation. "What is it?" you whispered, barely able to breathe.

"I love you," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "I always have."

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours. His hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you even closer, while his other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing your skin.

You could feel his heartbeat through the closeness, and you melted into his embrace. Your hands instinctively reached up, one resting on his shoulder while the other gently tangled in his hair.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

"I love you too, Sunghoon," you confessed, your voice trembling with happiness. "I always will."

949 notes · View notes

nnight-dances · 3 months ago

Text

ONE KISS, ONE LOVE

PAIRING: park wonbin x fem!reader

GENRE: fluff, hurt/comfort, suggestive dialogue but nothing explicit

TROPES: established relationship!au, idol!wonbin, age gap vibes but no real mention, reader babies wonbin like he deserves to be, texts at the end, just sickening sweet stuff

WATCH: wonbin's night routine

NOTE: inspired by the video above! once again, these wonbin fics write themselves ... he might be my favorite boy to write rn or maybe that's just my way of coping!! anyway don't be surprised if i just start spamming u with the wonbin fics i just have too many good ideas. but they're all gonna be set in this same established relationship style, he's just so bf coded lol... anyway, enjoy <3

you've been in bed for a good twenty, clad in cream pyjamas and skincare intact, when you hear the frontdoor open – signalling your boyfriend, wonbin's arrival. you pause the video you're watching on your phone and sit up to greet him, "bin? welcome home." his heavy footsteps stop where his figure finally comes into your view.

wonbin looks wiped out, no doubt, eyes shadowed by his somnolent lashes. he stares at you for a moment before humming, the sound halfway between a thank god you're here and i could die right now. he peels his layers off with speed, black leather jacket hung up on the tree-shaped rack near your closet and his other outerwear finding its place on the small cabinet next to it.

you watch fondly as even in his fatigue, he patiently makes sure no outside clothes pollute the bed. as soon as he's in nothing but his white tee and boxers though, he jumps onto you, deflating the air out of you like a body pillow.

"hello," he mumbles, face disappearing into your chest where he snuggles closer.

"hi, love," you welcome him warmly, fingers carding through his hair as a force of habit. you breathe against his limp body, letting him unwind on top of you as he often does. it's a silent activity, a night routine of sorts for wonbin on his longest days. he'd trudge home and settle close to you, wordlessly like a cat looking for soothing.

sometimes, you talked to him about your day and he'd hum along, eyes on yours telling all you needed to hear. other times, you would go back to doing whatever you were doing – watching a show, playing a game, or talking to a friend – while he recharged. he even insisted it worked best when you were just doing your own thing.

today, you do neither. setting your phone aside, you occupy yourself with wonbin himself, first meandering through his charcoal hair and then trailing down to his neck, tracing hearts and stars into his skin. you can feel him relaxing under your touch, his face finally coming back into your vision.

"tired," wonbin says, voice coarser than ever. "need to sleep."

"i know, baby," you croon, "wanna wash up first?"

he shakes his head adamantly, "no. sleepy."

you laugh softly, "angel, i'm sure you are but you can't sleep with your makeup on, can you?"

"had a few drinks with taro hyung," he murmurs as if that explains his behavior.

"really? you had time after practice?"

"he snuck it into practice. beer after all that sweating was nice."

"wow, look at you," you muse, hand brushing his bangs out of his eyes, "you sound like an old man."

"i am," wonbin pouts, "let the old man go to sleep."

"sorry, love, i can't do that," you say.

"rude."

"say what you will," you sit up fully, pulling your sluggish boyfriend with you. ignoring his groans, you kiss his nose, "wash up, okay? can't have my rockstar breaking out because he was too lazy to wash his face before bed."

he groans again but this time it's an endearment, his kiss on your cheek disguising his smile. "but i can't move, y/n. please."

"i'll help you," you snake out of the sheets, squatting as you heave wonbin out as well. he stands up unwillingly, head wilting like a sad flower. you laugh, pulling him toward the washroom, "will you listen if i do all the work?"

that gets the job done alright because two minutes later, wonbin's settled against the sink with you between his legs. you crane around his tall limbs to reach for his products, having memorized his night skincare by now.

cleansing balm in hand, you carefully cover every inch of his face, the makeup turning into oil gradually. "okay, babe, now rinse your face for me."

"you said you'd do all the work!" he complains without missing a beat.

you glare at him, "i can't possibly wash your face without making a mess of both of us."

"sounds like an excuse to me."

sulking, he turns around, washing the balm off. next, you go in with his foam cleanser, gently circling his cheeks and forehead. despite all his earlier declarations, he watches you attentively, his hand loosely clasped around your waist to keep you in place. you have to scold him midway at one point when he gets cheeky and sneaks a hand down your pyjamas, feeling the hem of your panties.

eventually, you dry his face off with a hand towel. "there," you peck his cheek, "all clean."

when he doesn't let go of your waist, you raise a brow at him. "you only love me when i'm clean," he scowls, "don't you?"

you narrow your eyes at his tantrum, "i think you're forgetting how i'm sacrificing my screen time before bed to clean you up right now."

he looks unconvinced as he tails you out of the bathroom. he's about to throw himself back onto the bed when you stop him by his hand. "change first," you explain, pulling out fresh pyjamas and throwing them at him.

wonbin stands idly and it's only when he starts raising his arms up that you realize he wants you to do it. you sigh, "bin, you're such a baby today." but you smile as you pull his shirt off, disregarding the way he instantly flexes when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. slipping his pyjamas on, a piece at a time, you clap when he's done.

"i would make a great mother," you pat yourself on the back.

"you can adopt me if you want," he shrugs and you snicker, "i don't think i need to."

"you want anything to eat before you sleep?" you ask as if you hadn't quite literally brushed his teeth. "chocolate," he says without any conviction and you roll your eyes at him, watching as he launches himself at the bed.

"quick, come here," wonbin whines. you pad over to your side of the bed and join him, giggling when his body curls around you instantly. his nose finds its indent against your neck this time, cold and fresh.

for a minute, you think that's all you'll hear out of your boyfriend for the night. but it's just as you're about to reach for your phone when he speaks up again, "sorry if i'm boring."

you're not sure if your ears hear right, "what?"

but his voice is solemn, "...i'm probably kinda boring lately. so i'm sorry."

you turn on your side to face him completely, hand coming to rest against his cheek. "bin, you idiot. you coming home is the best part of my day."

"really? even though i'm too dead to do anything?" he perks up but his eyes gloomy, "we don't even fuck anymore. or go to the movies. or go out at all."

you laugh, "you're making us sound like an old couple on the verge of divorce, baby. you're just busier because of your comeback! i'm so excited and you should be, too."

"i am. but i don't want bore you."

"you don't, though. i'm lucky enough i get to see you at night and take care of you when i can. plus, it's not like you won't have more time after your promotions, right? we can do everything you want then."

wonbin blinks at you, his cool hand finally coming to meet yours where it was still caressing his cheek. he kisses your palm, "thank you. i'm glad."

"of course, love. now, go to sleep or you'll regret it tomorrow," you chirp, rolling over and shutting the lights off quickly.

"...you really would be a great mom," wonbin laughs at your behavior.

"good night, wonbin."

"good night, mom."

you hit his arm at his brazenness but when he just laughs again, the sound is too sweet for you to even pretend to be mad. so instead, you hug him closer, hand on his bicep and his legs tangled with yours.

–

bin: I AM FREE AT LAST

bin: FROM THE SHACKLES OF IT

you: …

you: how would ur fans react if i leaked our texts

you: so much for being mysterious

you: "shackles of it" boy have you ever touched a book

bin: okay so you're rude today

bin: i miss y/n mom version

you: ew?? if u have a kink i dont think this is gonna work

bin: because…?

you: is sungchan still single

bin: i was kidding! haha!

you: ok.

bin: seriously tho let's do smth fun 2nite

you: i get off work late today :(

bin: whatttt you have a life outside of me :0

you: do you WANT me to break up with you???

bin: what i meant was i will be there to pick you up <3

you: wtv man idgaf anymore

bin: noooo

bin: i'll do anything you want don't be mad

you: anything?

bin: well other than leaking our texts ofc

you: i want to live together

bin: ???

bin: we alr do

you: wonbin

you: baby

you: you just always come over to my place

bin: i sleep there it's my home wdym

you: and you still pay the bills for your place?

bin: i don't make that bag for nothing

you: ok so what if we lived together instead

bin: but i really like your place!!

you: i do too

you: let's make it our place

bin: shit

bin: i just actually blushed irl

you: :)

you: is that a yes

bin: i want to marry you

you: okay well let's calm down

bin: did u just reject me

you: i'm telling u that you're gonna regret proposing through text

bin: i love u and i want u to be my wife

bin: omg i just shed a tear at the thought of calling u that

bin: wife…. im changing ur contact name

bin: or should i change it to fiancée? since we havent yet tied the knot

you: park wonbin

you: we are 20 years old

bin: untrue

bin: im 22

you: i am not marrying you right now

bin: … is there someone else

you: i'm not marrying anyone right now

bin: ok so i'm not husband material

you: you are

bin: i'm not father material? you: no comment

you: but we aren't ready babe

you: let's take it slow k?

you: just move in first

you: we have so many memories to make

bin: you're such a flirt

you: ??? u just asked me to marry you but sure

bin: i'll be moved in by the time you come back home

you: i thought you were picking me up

bin: that was before u asked me to move in

bin: now i have to bring all my stuff over

bin: which side of your closet can i use? bin: also thoughts on letting me keep my rock collection next to your figurines?

you: right side and no

bin: wow u didnt even think about it

you: imagine we get into a fight

bin: i refuse to

you: i'm just saying i would be tempted to throw them rocks at u

bin: you would do that????

you: depending on what u do

bin: why are you expecting me to do anything at all????

you: …experience

bin: wow

you: to be loved is to be known

bin: you can't flatter me now

you: i love you

bin: …

bin: i love you too

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spencerreidenjoyer · 3 months ago

Note

could you write something based on the season 9 finale when spencer gets shot in the neck? maybe like y/n takes alex’s spot and she’s like super distraught and freaking out

not letting go | spencer reid x reader

wc: 750, rating: teen/mature

tags/warnings: spoilers for season 9 finale, sorta rewriting the finale (sorry blake ilysm), typical BAU violence, blood, lowkey angst, fluff, hurt-comfort (sort of)

a/n: thank u anon for this request! sorry i took so long but i literally just watched the season 9 finale today. i wanted to just scribble something down for it because it seemed interesting. i don't usually write stuff like this/in this style, so i hope you like it!

It’s stupid, trying to pull Sheriff Coleman back to safety. He’s been shot in the leg, the blood stain on his uniform only growing, and it looks so bad youmre not even sure if he’ll make it. Still, you try, a petite girl attempting to pull a full-grown man behind a police car door to save him from the gunfire that’s hailing down on you from within the diner.

It’s so loud, bullets ricocheting off metal, the sounds of gunfire sending you into a panicked state – but you’re here, trying to haul Sheriff Coleman to safety so his condition doesn’t get worse.

You’re clumsy, your clammy hands only causing your grip on the sheriff to loosen. He’s heavy, feet dragging in the sand underneath you, and the bullets keep hitting the car door you’re hiding behind for cover.

On a limb, you step out when the gunfire seems to lull, pulling the struggling sheriff with one swift movement. You’re left open, no way to defend yourself, and you hear Spencer shouting your name before he pushes you out of the way.

You fall onto your ass, alarmed, and when you turn you see Spencer crumpled onto the floor against the police car. You scream. Blood is rushing from his neck, and you clamber over to him to hold him.

“Spencer! Spence, oh, God,” you babble, your hand reaching up for his neck. You press down against his wound, apologising when he winces at the pain. “I’m sorry, baby. Oh, God.”

“My darling,” Spencer calls for you, voice weak. He can barely keep his head up, barely keep his eyes open. “Oh, my love.”

“Spencer, no,” You fight the sob rising up in your throat. “Keep your eyes open for me, please. Eyes on me, baby.”

“I love you so much,” Spencer says, and it sounds so ominous. Your heartbeat quickens. You feel like the world is ending. “Stay with me.”

You think you hear Morgan and JJ run past you, but you can’t focus on them when all you can worry about is Spencer. “Please, baby, I’m right here.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he chuckles weakly, voice strained. He smiles at you, looking almost drunk. “I love you. I’m so tired.”

“No, baby, please,” you weep, unable to stop the tears flowing from your eyes. “You can’t leave me.”

Spencer’s eyes flutter shut, looking so at peace. You feel his pulse thrumming under your palm still, the blood flowing from his wound warm and red and alive.

Your cry for help is raw, desperate, and you sob into Spencer’s chest as you hold him close to you.

It’s a miracle that Spencer survives – two millimetres to the right and the bullet would’ve torn through the carotid artery.

You sob with relief when the surgeon delivers the news, letting Penelope hold you as you both are hit with the news: Spencer’s okay.

You and Penelope sit by Spencer’s side until he wakes. You hold Spencer’s hand the whole time. Penelope keeps you company, trying to keep things lighthearted. She even brings Doctor Who figurines and red Jell-O and soup for Spencer for when he wakes up.

You wonder how long you could sit here before someone would chase you away, hours, days, weeks– but you feel a weak squeeze to your hand, and you whip your head around so fast to see Spencer, smiling up at you.

“Spence!” You try not to shriek, too overwhelmed with excitement when you see he’s awake. Penelope jumps up too.

“Hi, my love,” Spencer says softly, his voice slightly hoarse. “And hi, Garcia.”

“You’re back,” Penelope says, a tear rolling down her cheek but she’s smiling so wide.

You reach over to hug him, to hold him tight, and you feel his arm come up around you to return the gesture. “Oh, Spence.”

“You didn’t actually think I was going to leave you, right?” Spencer laughs.

You press a kiss to his cheek. “I believed you wouldn’t. But I was still scared. I’m– I’m glad you’re here.”

“I am, too,” Spencer says, his hand rubbing your back to soothe you, as if he isn’t the one who was just shot and in surgery. “I’m right here.”

Spencer eats his Jell-O, and Penelope tells him about how Rossi said Spencer probably rerouted the bullet by the power of suggestion.

You all laugh, and you squeeze Spencer’s hand one more time. You’re not letting him go, not just yet.

He squeezes back as if to say he won’t let you.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencerreidenjoyer writes #criminal minds season 9 #criminal minds 9x24 #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst

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saddleups · 21 days ago

Note

OBSESSED WITH THE JAMES WALKING IN DRABBLE! please (if you can ofc) write one but with the roles reserved? like james is the one jerking off and y/n catches him? i like dom leaning james but god, when he's all whimpering...chef kiss. anyways i love your work blue and i can't wait to see who else you start writing for. have a great day!!

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 2k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . request , complete. JAMES SUNDERLAND X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . m!masturbation . pervert vibes . oral ( m!recieve ) . p_rn w/o plot.

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . aaaahhhh !! thank you sm bb <3 love this idea !! wrote this pretty quickly , but i hope it captures what you're in search of <3 luv u 2 bb !!!!

James had arrived home earlier than expected, a rare occurrence that brought joy. The day at the office had been less than ideal, his mind constantly wandering to thoughts of you and unable to focus on his tasks. He had even considered leaving early just to be able to taste you again, the desperation gnawing at his stomach. But now, as he stepped inside your shared apartment, he was met with the comfortable silence that only came from being in a familiar space. Looking forward to seeing you, he's met with the realization that you hadn't arrived home yet. Glancing at his phone, he reads off a text from you.

"Traffic, sorry babe."

"Of course," he mutters. Placing the phone face down on the catch-all beside the door.

With a sigh of relief, James discarded his suit jacket and removed his tie, enjoying the feeling of being free from the constraints. Leisurely, he walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, retrieving a bottle of water and tearing it open with eagerness. As he drank down the cool liquid, some escaping and trickling down his chin, he couldn't help but think about how much he wanted more than just water to quench his thirst.

Feeling worn from the long day, James made his way to the bedroom and decided to wait for you there. The sight that greeted him was one he had become all too familiar with - mangled bedsheets, pillows thrown haphazardly, and pajamas scattered in unlikely places. It was clear evidence of just how passionate things could get between the two of you, bodies intertwined like pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together perfectly.

Sighing once again, James bent down and began picking up the items scattered across the floor. He knew you wouldn't be happy returning home to such a mess, but he couldn't help but relive the morning's events in his mind. The sweet moans that escaped your lips without inhibition as he moved inside you slowly, savoring every moment until both of you were consumed by chasing each other's highs.

A pair of maroon panties come into James' view. They weren't anything special, a generic bikini style that you rotated in your everyday wear. Miles away from what you'd treat James with on special occasions.

As he picked up the panties from the floor, he couldn't resist running his fingers over the ribbed fabric, tracing the stitching and admiring the lace trim on the band. His eyes were drawn to the small stain in the center, a marvel that it had stayed preserved since this morning. Without hesitation, James brought the fabric to his nose and breathed in the perfume it radiated, feeling his cock throb with each huff. "Fuck," he whispered before running his tongue along the seam where your wetness had soaked through.

Feeling a surge of pleasure rush through him as he tasted your lingering essence on the deliciated fabric. His body responded in an instant. A familiar warmth spreading through his core. His eyes sealed, savoring the moment and letting his imagination run wild with thoughts of you. Everything about you. The arch in your back, "Fuck," the desperation in your face -- your eyes rolling, "god, she's driving me crazy," fingers clawing at the sheets underneath you, "I can't wait."

Unable to resist temptation any longer, James shed his slacks and boxers. Your panties clutched in his grasp, unwilling to loose sight of his newfound treasure. He ran them over his chest, down to his stomach, teasing himself as he pictured your soft skin beneath his fingers instead of the silky material. He returns the fabric to his face taking one last inhale before wrapping it around his hardening length. James stroked himself slowly, pathetically whimpering as he begged to build tension. He imagined your body pressed against his, your lips trailing kisses down his neck.

The sound of jingling keys in the front door broke through his reverie. James hitched a breath, standing up quickly to zip his pants up painfully against his throbbing length. He quickly tucked the panties into his pocket. His heart still racing, beads of sweat dripping down his neck. He heard your footsteps approaching, "James…" you called out into the empty hall. James takes a deep, hard breath in an attempt to compose himself.

You appeared in the doorway, a vision that made his breath catch. Your eyes lit up when you saw him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. James surrendered his weight on the bed, using a pillow to disguise his member from you.

"You're home early!" There's a cheer in your voice that signals to James that you were blissfully unaware of what he was up to just moments ago. You saunter towards him, hands landing on each of his shoulders when you finally approach.

"Earlier than me, that's a first. But in my defense, traffic got me. You got my text, right?"

"Yeah, I did. I'm glad you're home." He muses looking up at you with a half grin.

James pulled you in close, inhaling your intoxicating scent. "I-I couldn't stay way." He murmured against your abdomen. Hands roamed your body. Studying your frame, completely entranced by you.

Your eyes meet with a raw intensity as you stand over James, your fingers lacing through his tousled blonde hair. "Let me shower first," you suggest, the weight of the day still heavy on your shoulders. But James tightens his grip on your waist, determination etched into every line of his face. The pillow on his lap falls to the floor, revealing what was hidden underneath. You can feel it against your knee, throbbing. It must've been so painful for him.

"No, please," James' voice is barely above a whisper. "I've been waiting."

Your jaw clenches at his words, the sight of him like this making your heart race. You help him to his feet, kissing him deeply and tasting the desperation in his touch. He's fighting against the urge that he knows so well - to press you down onto any surface and sink himself inside you with wild abandon. But he waits for your lead.

As your hands roam over his body, unbuttoning his shirt with care, you tease him with playful words. "Don't want to ruin such a nice shirt," you say, knowing that even these small moments of intimacy are driving him up the wall. He can barely speak without whimpering your name and begging for more.

Your hands dip into his pocket, expecting to find a handkerchief or some other object. But instead, you pull out something unexpected - your own panties from this morning. Your gaze meets James', and both of you are overwhelmed with a mixture of pleasure and shame.

"I… I was just keeping them safe," James stammers, his voice shaky.

You say nothing more as you drop to your knees before him.

"Safe from what?" you ask again.

But James can't answer. His mind is consumed with thoughts of you - your name alone sending shivers down his spine and making him ache with need.

"What were you doing, James?" you press, your voice dripping with desire.

James…James…James…the way you said his name made him pant. And he can't resist any longer. "I was jerking off thinking about you," he confesses, his words punctuated by hitched breaths as you work his pants open and free him from the confines of his briefs. "Jesus, fuck," he groans, unable to contain himself any longer.

You ask again, your eyes locked on his impressive cock - thick and long, with a reddened tip and strings of precum glistening in the light. A single vein runs along the shaft, one that always brings you pleasure when it's buried deep inside you.

"With my panties?" you repeat.

"I… I found them while cleaning up," James chokes out, his arousal and embarrassment evident in his confession.

You can't help but feel a surge of arousal at James' confession. The thought of him pleasuring himself with your panties sends a shiver down your spine. You look up at him, your eyes dark with desire.

"Show me," you command, your voice husky.

James hesitates for a moment, his cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red. But the lust in his eyes is unmistakable. With trembling hands, he takes the panties from you and brings them to his face, inhaling deeply. A low moan escapes his lips.

"Like this," he whispers, his free hand moving to grasp his throbbing cock. "I imagined you wearing them, how I push them aside when I put my cock in you."

You watch, mesmerized, as James begins to stroke himself, the panties still pressed against his face. His movements are slow at first, tentative, but quickly grow more urgent. His breathing becomes ragged as he loses himself in the fantasy.

"Tell me more," you urge, your own arousal building as you witness his raw desire.

James groans, his hand moving faster. "I thought about peeling them off you, tasting you through the fabric. God, your scent drives me wild."

You can't resist any longer. You lean forward, replacing his hand with your own. James gasps at your touch, his hips jerking involuntarily.

"Like this?" you purr, matching the rhythm he had set.

"Yes," he hisses, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure. "Fuck, yes."

Your free hand travels up his thigh, nails scraping lightly against his sensitive skin. James shudders at the touch, his breath coming in short gasps of air. You can feel him trembling beneath your fingertips, he's struggling.

"Look at me," your command is soft, direct.

James' eyes flutter open, filled with want. The sight of you on your knees before him, hand wrapped around his cock as if it belongs more to rather than him. It nearly undoes him. He lets the panties fall from his grasp, reaching down to tangle his fingers in your hair instead. "I need you," his voice is thick, louder than his original whimpering state. "Please."

You smirk up at him, slowing your strokes to an agonizing pace. "Patience, love. We're just getting started."

With deliberate slowness, you lean forward and run your tongue along the underside of his shaft. Right on that vein that you loved so much. James' hips buck involuntarily as a low moan escapes his lips. Your tongue swirls around the tip, tasting the beads of precum there. James' fingers tighten in your hair, urging you closer.

"God, you're killing me," he pants, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes.

You take him into your mouth slowly, inch by torturous inch, until he hits the back of your throat. James throws his head back with a strangled cry of pleasure. You begin to bob your head, hollowing your cheeks as you suck. Your hand works what doesn't fit in your mouth, twisting slightly on each upstroke.

James is coming undone above you, his usual composure shattered. His hips rock in time with your movements, seeking more of the wet heat of your mouth. You can feel him getting close, his thighs tensing beneath your free hand.

The desperation in his voice sends a surge of adrenaline through your body. "I need you inside me," he stutters.

With your mouth still engulfed, you muffle out "You are inside me." Your words aren't coherent, but the vibrations in your pitch radiate over James. He moans, loudly, a sweet symphony that only encouraged your motions. Following it with yet another guttural moan, he thrusts forward, his hips stuttering as he spills himself into your waiting mouth. The salty, creamy taste of him floods your senses as you eagerly swallow every drop. Slowly, James pulls away from you, leaving a trail of saliva and cum glistening on your lips.

"Fuck," he gasps, still lost in the intense pleasure that had overtaken him. He traces his cock along your lips, his eyes filled with unbridled desire.

Smirking at him through lust-filled eyes, you taunt, "What was that about being inside me?"

#james sunderland smut #james sunderland x reader #james sunderland #james x reader #silent hill 2 #silent hill 2 smut #silent hill x reader #james sunderland silent hill #silent hill x reader smut #filed: it can't wait #saddleups

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miaoua3 · 2 months ago

Note

ovulating thinking abt jihoon rn can u make his version of the sfw and nsfw headcanons pretty pleaseee😓😓i love your writing i feel like it matches them so well

honestly you’re so real for thinking about jihoonie while ovulating, he gets me going like that too😭 thank you for saying that, i always try to think so hard about how the boys would be/act, trying to stay as close as possible to the true portrayal of them❤️

Jihoon Boyfriend Headcanons:

•(sfw! hcs):

i already said this but i will repeat it for the people in the back: JIHOON IS A ROMANTIC THROUGH AND THROUGH!!! just because he isn’t overly touchy and calling you “honey boo boo bear” like mingyu and dokyeom do doesn’t make him any less of a romantic, he simply shows his love through actions- writing songs for and inspired by you, always ordering your favourite food when he knows you haven’t had the time to eat, buying all the small and somewhat stupid things that he knows will make you happy etc. when jihoon loves he loves strongly and also gently at the same time

he definitely let you reorganise and decorate his studio because he got bored with all the boring decor he had (plus you spend almost just as much time in there as the rest of the boys and almost every evening with him so he wants you to be as comfortable as possible, and if it means buying a lilac couch that is fluffy and totally not his style, then so be it)

believe it or not, behind the closed doors jihoon is actually very cuddly, he loves to snuggle into you, his face hidden in your neck as you sit on his lap while he’s sitting in his chair in front of a computer, one hand gently running up and down your back while he’s clicking around the screen-it always makes him feel calmer, being in your arms, feeling your breath brush against his neck and tips of his hair. plus if you fall asleep like that? jihoon will literally have to physically grab his chest where his heart is from how cute he finds it

although he’s a cuddly bear behind the doors, in front of them he’s still a grumpy little cat that he always portrays himself as, a little tsundere if you will. but he still wants you to know that he loves you without saying it out loud in front of everyone, so he will proceed to do such silly things like thrusting a cup of coffee he bought for you, his face turned away from you (the tips of his ears red however), mumbling out something along the lines of “for you”, he’s just so dkanosbaoabs i want to squish his cheeks and kiss his little chubby cheeks AAAAAH I LOVE HIM SM

loves hiding your voice in his songs, just a little giggle he recorded secretly, or you saying something cute and/or inspiring, he just loves making you part of his art, especially because he considers you his muse. and this way you get to live forever, in a form of his song and i just think that’s so romantic, like being loved by an artist is such a beautiful thing to experience like hoonie pls let me be your muse😭

you actually didn’t know this until you started spending more time in his studio but he gets really bad headaches due to staring at the screen the whole day, paired up with barely eating and not drinking enough water you get a jihoon that can barely hold his eyes opened due to how bad the headaches are. that’s why you started carrying ibuprofen everywhere with you in case he might need it. but what helps him even more than any medication is when you make him lay down on his couch with his head in your lap and when you gently massage his head while talking to him softly about something. he relaxes so fast any time you do this that it has become sort of a daily routine for you to do this, this makes him feel so loved that he often has to close his eyes in order to hide the tears that are brimming his eyes (you would never tell him this but you still see the tears every time he does this)

going on tour is always the hardest time for jihoon because he has to be away from you for so long. he just gets so used to having you around him every day, to your wide smiles while you call him “hoonie” or “jagi” that he feels like he loses a part of his identity when the fans start referring to him only as “uji” :( and don’t get him wrong, his fans are not the one in fault here, neither are you, it’s just a tricky situation that doesn’t really have a good solution other than bringing you with him while he’s touring for months (which you can’t afford to do) or sucking it up for a few months for a bit until he gets to come home to you :(

•(nsfw! hcs):

“oH hE wOuLd fUcK yOu iN HiS sTuDiO” yeah yeah we all established that BUT WHAT ABOUT YOU COCKWARMING HIM IN HIS STUDIO??? just imagine- he’s sitting on his chair, pants pulled down just enough for his thick cock to be freed, your wet pussy clenching around it in need, your soft whines and moans and begging hitting his ears while he tries so hard to focus on the task in front of him so he can finish faster and fuck you into oblivion right there on his desk i- i fear i need him

another member of the “pussy drunk” club. he uses eating you out as a form of winding down after a hard day, he sometimes won’t even greet you after coming home, he will just pull you to the couch, yank your pants down before letting himself fall onto the couch, picking you up and basically drag you up until your core is hovering above his juicy and hungry mouth. he won’t stop until you’re shaking and crying, begging him to either stop or to finally fuck you until you lose all of your senses

what he even likes more than you cockwarming him in his studio is when you suck him off under the table. just the sheer effort that he has to put into concentrating on his task while your tongue is swirling around his head, the rest of his dick being pumped with one of your hands while the other massages his balls, halfway through he just gives up on trying to focus on the computer in front of him and just fists your hair in his hands, fucking your mouth with his eyes closed and mouth opened, moans spilling out of his mouth without his permission

has a thing for strength, like just seeing the difference in your strength, how easily he can manhandle you into positions he wants you in and being able to pick you up with ease before throwing you on the bed with even less effort- it just makes his brain cloud with desire and need that he goes crazy whenever he hears you either gasp or moan when he picks you up or harshly pushes you against the wall

speaking of, he loves to fuck you against any wall there is, like imagine- you two come home from his studio after you spent hours just sitting on his pretty and girthy cock, you don’t even have the chance to close the door fully before he’s picking you up and fucking you right there against the wall by the entrance door, going at the speed of light, your moans and slapping of skin against skin the only sound being heard in the mostly dark apartment i- i need lee jihoon so badly istg

has a thing for bathtub sex- there’s nothing better than when they get some free time and he gets to relax and spend more time with you, doing all sorts of things together, like taking a bath together, two glasses of champagne prepared for you two to enjoy while doing so. the fact that the glasses end up getting spilled in the bathtub while you ride him, water splashing everywhere due to excessive movements he makes you make with his tight hold on your hips is an entirely different matter

surprise surprise- he has a breeding kink. you can’t tell me he doesn’t, like just the sight of you beneath him, begging with tears in your eyes to cum inside of you, to make you full of his cum and breed you is enough to push him over the edge, spilling his load inside of you to the point it starts leaking even while his dick is still inside of you. he won’t stop until he’s sure that he has succeeded in breeding you, and until he sees that dazed and satisfied look in your eyes, his grip tightening on your hips as he pushes himself inside of you to the hilt, refusing to pull out for the nectar several minutes- I NEED HIM SOOOO BADDD PLS JIHOON I PROMISE I CAN TREAT YOU SO WELL DJDJAKXJAIA PLS GOD SEND THIS MAN MY WAY

#seventeen #svt #svt x reader #fypシ #tumblr fyp #fypage #lee jihoon #woozi #svt woozi #woozi x reader #seventeen woozi #woozi smut #woozi fluff #woozi x you

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sillyuin · 21 days ago

Note

if your requests are in, I was wondering who in Svt would give u up for friendship and who would fight for u till the end ( if two of the members were interested in someone). I really like your style of writing and think it’s super super cute so I would love it if you could make this idea come to life: thank you and keep writing xxx🫶🏽

Hi anon! Sorry for keep you waiting but here it is. I struggled a little bc is the first time writing something likes this, but it was also fun, thank you ♥

Seventeen reactions (ot13) - Fight or Flight?

Yuin's note: barely proofread. I'm still stuck with write's block so I don't know how my attempt at comedy turned out.

Scoups: He’d be troubled. Seungcheol really, really wants to be with you and thinking about losing you is something that just can’t think of. So, he would just let it flow, no matter how hard it was, and do his best not to lose his mind. (but we all know he already did it and he’d kill to have you just for him).

Jeonghan: He'd be with a "I’ve got this” attitude and like he trust himself, but lowkey, Jeonghan is terrified about what could happen. This is not a Going Seventeen episode (and he hates to admit it) so he just can’t cheat like is a game, but probably will use all the cards he has up his sleeve.

Joshua: Maybe he has too much self-confidence or just don’t want to rush things over, but Joshua would be very chill about it. He will be your friend no matter what happens and will be there whenever you need him, so what happens it’s completely up to you. Good luck!

Jun: That would be a big surprise, not a pleasant one, and saying that he's just distressed is little for how he'd really feels about it. Jun loves you as you are, but he needs some space to collect his thoughts so he might be a distant for a time :(

Hoshi: Okay, this man would do anything for you so he won't give in so easily. Hoshi doesn’t matter anyone but you, so he will exhaust all the resources available to him, but also trying his best not to overwhelm you in the process (and we all know he’s fighting for his life lol).

Wonwoo: He'd prefer staying in his comfort zone and is okay with just a friendship, letting the path clear for the other person but also leaving the door open. (As soon as he's alone he would drown his sorrows by playing animal crossing and dissociating).

Woozi: Just like Wonwoo he'd prefer to keep it as a friendship, a little of you is better than nothing, open to possibilities but also without really looking for them. However, we all know him and would be so blue that will probably write a song about it (the next SOFT if you ask me).

Minghao: Despairing will not help and he knows that, so he'd try to push further than a friendship. Hao is patient but also dedicated, the last thing he wants is to do something that might hurt you, the best option is to walk at a slow and safe pace.

Dokyeom: Ugh, that would break his heart, he can't imagine his world without you but at the same time, Dokyeom knows that he can't tie you. So, whatever makes you happy would make him happy too... At least on the surface (We all know he'd be tossing and turning in bed trying not to think about it).

Mingyu: Sulky Mingyu just entered the chat because yes, a situation like that is very frustrating. But on the top of that is you. So, as long as you follow your heart, he would respect that decision, lowkey crossing his fingers behind his back for you to choose him.

Seungkwan: Probably too much for him to handle. Seungkwan would feel his emotions on the surface, unable to think properly. He'd prefer to step back for a time, maybe some days, at least until he can look at the others without looking like he wants to slap them.

Vernon: He wouldn't flinch we all know that for sure lol. He enjoys spending time with you and your silly jokes always makes his days a little brighter. No matter what happens, Vernon would be there to share more happy memories with you.

Dino: He'd probably freak out and scream on the inside because a love triangle wasn't on his bingo for this year. However, he's not quitting. If you end up just being friends then he will accept it, but no one can say that Chan wouldn't give his best to get you

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sohnric · 2 months ago

Text

THIS KITCHEN IS FOR DANCING – k. sunwoo

you never knew a kitchen was more than just a place to cook in.

pairing: kim sunwoo x gn! reader

genre: established relationship au (omg who is she..), hurt/comfort, domestic, fluff, tiniest bit of angst. slice of life !!

warnings: hinting at dysfunctional families, the reader has unspecified mental issues

wc: 1.7k

listen to: matilda by harry styles

a/n: thank u sm sweetie pie @csenke for beta reading in such a short time 💞 also this is very loosely inspired by the book happy all the time by laurie colwin!

this fic is dedicated to my best friend @from-izzy 🤍 I originally wanted to write you something else (as you may know), but I hope even this small thing translates just how much you mean to me. happiest birthday to you, i love you so much

The apartment grows silent after everyone leaves and the door is shut behind them, the only sound accompanying your thoughts being the water running in the kitchen sink, the song lowly playing through the radio and your boyfriend’s occasional, quiet humming as he helps you dry off the dishes and put them away into their respective cupboards. Not a single word was shared between the two of you since the guests departed your new place, your thoughts running a thousand miles per hour, eyes hypnotizing the tap as you focus on washing off all the food and grease remains off your cutlery. Your brain is buzzing with the memories of the past couple of hours, each moment replaying in the back of your head once, twice before it moves to another one, trapping you in an endless cycle of motion bouncing against the walls of your skull.

You relive the whole evening again.

The sound of the doorbell ringing, a yelled-out “Surprise!” landing into your ears as the little crowd materializes at your doorstep. The kisses pressed to your cheeks, the potted plant forced into your hands, the kettle your boyfriend’s sister drags inside and places onto your kitchen counter without even asking you, plugging it in. The image of your boyfriend’s dad pressing Play on your old, beaten-up radio, the grin he sends you as he admires your empty apartment.

The bottle of wine your boyfriend puts into your hold when you finally find a place to put the plant down, the soft, apologetic smile sent your way as he kisses the corner of your mouth. The sight of 3 pairs of shoes waiting next to the door, the sound of their socked feet shuffling across the floor.

The side-hug his mother brings you into, her sweet words landing into your ears. “You made it look so pretty and homey,” she says.

You reply that the apartment is still half-empty and looks a little naked. She tells you it’s nothing a few picture frames won’t fix, and his sister suggests getting a colorful rug for your living room to brighten the space up a bit. You nod to her words, taking them all in.

You’re not used to all of this.

People visiting you, people throwing you a housewarming party. People caring enough about your comfort to bring you kitchen appliances you lack and asking you if there’s anything more you need that their son forgot to mention when they asked.

You’re not used to so much care. So much tenderness. To a family so loving their care feels kind of overbearing to your small, fragile heart.

“Are you mad at me?” Sunwoo asks through the endless stream of your thoughts, making you look up from the kitchen sink. You forgot he was here– but then again, where would the dishes be magically disappearing into if not his hands?

The question shocks you. Not because you don’t expect him to ask– just because you don’t really expect your own answer.

“No,” you shake your head, voice a little hoarse. Your eyes burn with emotion, turning into water pools begging to be tipped over if you don’t pay enough willpower to make the streams stop. You bite at your lower lip.

It doesn’t help.

“Then why are you crying?” he asks.

There’s no use stopping it now. There’s no use refusing the apartment that’s now warm from the body heat it received from all the people visiting it this evening. There’s no use rejecting something you never knew you wanted– something you never knew you needed.

“Look, I’m sorry. I know you said you didn’t want anyone to visit for a bit before you get used to the new apartment and all, and you also wanted to have it fully done before anyone else saw it, but my parents insisted, and–”

“Thank you,” you utter out silently, like a prayer, making him stop in his tracks.

It’s only been a few months since you and Sunwoo started dating. Right from the start, the boy knew it would be different with you. He wouldn’t say it was difficult– no, loving you has always been easy for him– but he knew that he had to have much more patience with you.

His love is patient when he listens to your requests and boundaries. When he listens to you cry and picks up your calls even in the middle of the night, staying up with you until early morning just so you wouldn’t feel alone during your sleepless moments. Sunwoo’s love is patient when he gently holds you and kisses you slowly, setting the pace just right. His love is patient when he helps you pick out an apartment that’s just right for you– with the right size, location, on the right floor, not once thinking of his own convenience.

He always listens– just not this once.

Somehow, you can’t find it in you to be mad at him.

You used to think you wanted the world to be quiet for a while. To stop– to leave you alone so you could breathe. You wanted your own place for yourself– your own space, uninvaded by anyone else, stranded from any contact. You used to think you don’t want guests over or family members helping with the move– not that the effort was made anyways.

You used to think you wanted a place for one– a quiet nook to bring you comfort, four silent walls to make you calm. A bedroom to make you sleep soundly, a living room with nothing but a TV and a sofa to keep you company. A kitchen to make food and a table to eat it at before you get off for work. That’s what you wanted.

But after the evening is over and your boyfriend’s family leaves the walls echoing with laughter, the radio playing lowly in the background, tea made from the new kettle waiting on your coffee table, steam warming up the place with gentle cinnamon, your heart squeezes on itself at the realization of just how wrong you were.

Sunwoo turns the water off as he walks closer to you, enveloping you in a tight hug. Your hands are dripping water up to your forearms, making wet puddles glisten onto the tiles of your kitchen floor, yet he doesn’t mind stepping his socks in and having your arms sneak around his waist, all your built-up emotion releasing as he gently rocks you to the beat of the music in the background– action something akin to reaching for your soft, tender heart into your ribcage and gently holding it in his palms, protecting it and keeping it safe.

You never knew you were made for love like this.

You never knew you wanted two pairs of arms holding you to them, the smell of Sunwoo’s cologne clogging up your nose. You didn’t know all you needed was his presence to doze off on evenings that are difficult– a garden in his soul made for you to sleep safely. You never knew the sound of his voice was enough to fight off thunder and make sunlight cut through the clouds, like the sweet chirping of birds waking up in the morning.

You never knew you wanted a place that’s a walking distance from your boyfriend’s– just in case either of you wanted to quickly come over. You didn’t know you wanted a bedroom with soft sheets in it to cuddle in with someone, beams of sunlight dripping into the space through the blinds in the mornings caused by the location of the windows being towards the east. You didn’t know you wanted a living room decorated with gifted house plants and picture frames filled with people you care for the most.

You didn’t know that a kitchen is more than just a place to cook in. You now realize, amongst all the other things, that your kitchen is now also a space for shared meals, chatter and a bottle of wine opened after a long day at work.

Sunwoo’s low voice keeps humming the familiar song into your ear, rocking you from side to side. The dishes are long forgotten and your worries disappear like the last remains of rain puddles left outside after a storm on a sunny day.

The gentle, patient love Sunwoo has for you slowly slips into your heart, mending all the damaged pieces back together and opening up your eyes to so many more things you wanted to stay blind to. You were patient for long enough, though– and you finally see it, right there in front of you, tangible and believable– after all of the love you put out into the world selflessly, tirelessly, it finally came back to you.

And it will stay.

Your new apartment– although you live alone– is a place for love and kindness. A new chapter for new memories, each one brighter than the other. This place is for you to come back to after a long day to rest your limbs and soul in the quiet comfort of it all. This place is made for two people that turn a simple house into a home.

This kitchen is not just for cooking food and heating up leftovers over a cup of coffee during lunchtime. Kim Sunwoo and his endless love show you that a housewarming party is nothing to be scared of if you don’t have an anxious, quiet voice in your ear constantly telling you that there will always be people waiting on the side to somehow ruin your special day for you.

This kitchen is for whispered conversations over sleepy mornings during the weekday. This kitchen is for making pancakes after making love, two arms sneaking around your waist from behind, naked chest pressed against your back. This kitchen is for washing the dishes together, a smiley boy helping you with even the simplest task. This kitchen is for laughter when you burn an omelet or overseason your food, trying out new meals. This kitchen is for matcha in the evenings, a worried pair of eyes rushing you to sleep instead.

This kitchen is for love trapped between four walls, with no way for it to get out and disappear into the wind.

But tonight, most of all, you realize–

This kitchen is for dancing.

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cheeseceli · 1 year ago

Text

First Relationships

pairing: skz ot8 x gn!Reader (individually)

genre: fluff

request: i rlly like ur writing style and i immediately thought of you when i was being delulu over first relationships, so i thought about requesting how skz would react when they discovered they're the first person u dated! im sorry if it's confusing haha <3

warnings: tooth roofing fluff, not proofread

a/n: thank you!! ngl i was delulu when writing this lmao. hope u like it <3

Bang Chan

So patient, it's crazy

Will never rush anything

Everything's at your pace

Hell, if you think it's too early for even holding hands, that's okay

He would always wait for you

And also, your comfort comes first

Always asks how you're feeling throughout whatever you're going through

Sorry but he 100% babies you as well

He finds you adorable

but tbh he'd do that anyways, the fact that it's your first relationship doesn't matter much in this case

Lee Know

Two scenarios

Will tease you relentlessly, no matter what you do

will be extra shy

but he'd also be so excited

it's like your little adventure and you two get to experience everything together

Technically it is but still

like, dates?

He is always so happy to take you to places

Anniversaries?

Even better

My man is just so happy to be there with you

Changbin

My man's honoured

He knows how perfect you are, and he knows you had a lot of options and opportunities before

So to think that you chose >him<

As I said, honoured

Besides spoiling you and treating you like royalty, he'd be really scared of messing up

But calm him down, say you love him and his confidence comes back at total strength

Would never even dare to rush you as well

His patience is also something that must be highlighted

Whatever it is, he will always wait for you to be ready

Hyunjin

The true romantic

He said once that he'd rather be someone's last love than the first one

So to think that he could be both your first and last love

He's so honoured

And giddy

But naturally he will be also really nervous at times

Forgive him if at times it seems he's the one that never had a relationship before

But it's true that it's his first time experiencing love so full like this

Han

There are two possibilities

He'll be pretty confident and maybe even kind of cocky

Will do the "I wonder who taught you how to kiss so well" knowing damn well it was him, sorry

He will be extremely shy

You would even think it's his first relationship

In most cases, he is both at the same time

His duality is insane

Truly scared of messing up

But he is as always, trying his best

Everytime you're nervous he can handle the situation while being calm and humorous

We love him

Felix

He's a bit excited

A bit too excited

You know that Aladdin's song "Whole New World"?

He'd use it to describe your relationship

And he is the cutest

He's just so happy to be there :(

Everytime your relationship takes a step forward and you trust him a bit more, he becomes the happiest man in the world

He's truly grateful to have your trust

Needless to say, he will also always prioritise your comfort

Just say the word and he will do (or not do) whatever you'd like

Your wish is his command

Seungmin

Tries to no make a big deal out of it (kinda fails)

He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable by any means

So overall, he'll act normally

but he'd go as slowly as he can, trying not to scare you off

Scared of words as well

He doesn't want you to feel forced to reply something like "ilyt"

But one thing that is really cute is how he'll always talk you through it

Everytime you are doing something that is considered your first, like first date, first kiss etc

He always asks you if you like it and if you wanna keep going on

the kindest fr

I.N.

Truly, I don't think there'd be much of a difference

He'd be more careful and delicate when the occasion asked for it

but overall that'd be it

Similar to Seungmin, he'd try to not make a big deal out of it

He'd never admit, but sometimes he'd try to prove that he could be the best boyfriend ever because he was scared

He's kinda of a perfeccionist

He'd hate himself if one day he breaks you

He'd hate himself even more if he managed to break your perception of relationships as well

So he really tries his best all the time

feedbacks and reblogs are always appreciated!

dividers by @cafekitsune

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jungwnies · 1 year ago

Text

syn ' how enhypen would comfort you when you're afraid of flying on a plane ✈️ pairing ' bf!enhypen x gn!reader

word count ' 0.8k (almost equally split between members)

requested! hey!! could u make some enhypen headcanons, how the members would comfort their s/o, who is afraid of flying on a plane? btw I really like your writing style<3 (thank you so much!)

이희승 ' lee heeseung

he let's you sit on the outside seat especially because it's closest to the aisle and if you needed to breathe or just walk even to the bathroom you'd be able to easily go

holds your hand the whole time

probably in first class or business to be honest, but still makes sure you're as comfortable as you can possibly be

brings headphones for you and him because you can share audios through bluetooth

puts on something comforting on the little screen, probably asks if they have one of your favorite movies so you can keep your mind off the fact you're thousands of feet in the air flying thousands of miles away from your home

literally holds your hand the whole LIKE FR FR i can't stress this enough

his presence is so calming you probably fall asleep on him feeling safe because no matter what happens he's literally right next you

rest of the members under the cut!

박종성 ' park jay

obviously you both are in first class

holds your hand the whole time

has an arm around you the whole time

when you guys are taking off he distracts you

or whenever there is turbulence he distracts you

and during landing he also distracts you

he makes sure that you're able to sleep if it's a long flight

literally promises to not leave your side

if he has to use the bathroom i guess you're tagging along

makes a playlist for the two of you to listen to and downloads some movie on netflix before boarding so you guys can watch it because airplane mode is a bitch

but again, he's first class so he probably has wi-fi

심재윤 ' sim jake

the way he brings you a support plushie

why is he so sweet

also makes a playlist for the two of you

holds your hand the whole time or keeps an arm locked with yours

leans his head on your shoulder or lets you lean your head on his shoulder

he’s like a human version of a comfort plushy

doesn’t leave your side the whole ride

doesn’t even use the bathroom because he went before the plane ride

always asked if you were hungry or needed anything

if you ever got scared he would always give you his full undivided attention

even if he had to work on something while on the plane to prepare he’d put it aside for you

박성훈 ' park sunghoon

i love sunghoon but he’s the type to just not understand why you’re so scared of planes 😭

obviously he’d comfort you but he’d still be so confused on why

he lets you hold his hand or lean on him

even though he doesn’t understand he still cares and makes sure you’re okay

bro is the definition of “i don’t understand but i love you”

he’s just never sure of how he feels BUT anyways

he promised to be the person you can lean on whenever you’re scared, sad, or even happy

and that’s what he’ll do on the plane

he will stick by your side until it’s over and promise you everything will be alright because he’s right there

김선우 ' kim sunoo

opposite of sunghoon

completely understands your scared

literally comes prepared

brings the most comforting items on his carry on so he can distract you from the fact you guys are hundreds if not thousands of feet in the air

brings face masks and makes tiktok’s with you about the skin care routine for his private LMFAO

will make you smile the whole time

sunoo will literally make you forget you’re on the plane because of how comforting his presence simply is

promises you that everything will be alright

and that it’ll be over soon

as long as you’re on the plane with sunoo everything is aye okay

양정원 ' yang jungwon

i feel like this is starting to get repetitive

but this boy is here for you through thick and thin

he will be your fucking shoulder

your fucking pILLOW on that plane

he will make sure you're okay

he has leader qualities, it would be unlike him to not care for you

he always asks you how your doing

asks if you need anything

he is CONCERNED

he wants you to be calm so he always lets you hold his hand

or grab onto his arm

he doesn't care

as long as you feel safe on that plane he is happy

西村力 ' nishimura riki

he's low key like sunghoon in this situation

he doesn't understand why you're scared

but he cares so he will do everything to make sure you're safe

he jokes with you a lot on the plane

low key people side-eyed because why are you guys laughing every 5 minutes?

he gets your mind off the plane ride because of how much he makes you laugh tbh

he also lets you sleep on his shoulder if it's a long plane ride

he's not as confused as sunghoon on why you don't like planes

riki is low key really good at comforting you, more than he knows tbh

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spatialwave · 8 months ago

Note

i am LOVING your angus tully content 💕 would you please write an angus tully x reader where the reader meets angus in boston while they’re ice skating and then they get to know each other as they explore the city, sort of ‘before sunrise’ style and hunham gives them the space to do so? if you don’t like this idea though that’s totally okay!! have a lovely day regardless :)

𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫

pairing: angus tully x fem!reader word count: 4k notes: reader is very nervous & dorky! thank u for sending 🤎

the chilly december air stung your cheeks, leaving them reddened and sore, but that didn’t stop you from braving the weather and heading to the public skating rink. your friends had cancelled on you last minute, one of them falling sick with a nasty cold and the other deciding that her boyfriend was more important than a night with you during the festivities that boston had to offer. you couldn't be angry at her, though, you were a hopeless romantic at heart and would do the same if you had a boyfriend. you were happy that your best friend found someone so perfect for her, you dreamed of finding him too—the perfect boy.

though, you usually just giggled in your bed at night when you imagined yourself spending the rest of your life with david cassidy. that was much easier than finding real love.

so, alone you were as you willed your way ahead through the boston streets where your father had dropped you off. you promised yourself you'd start getting out of your nervous shell and what better way to test it than being alone at a skating rink? especially when you were notoriously clumsy and horrendous at skating.

if you could do this, you could do anything.

as you approached the skating rink you felt an overwhelming sense of anxiety flooding you. there were a lot of people, too many people, a lot of friends giggling with each other, children learning how to skate with their parents and partners holding hands as they stared into each other's eyes lovingly. you sorely missed your friends, but you shoved that thought as deeply into your consciousness as you could because you promised yourself you wouldn't wallow in your loneliness.

and you were here, weren’t you? successfully making do without them. all you needed to do was get the skates on and make your way onto the ice—that’s all. getting here was half the battle.

comfort warmed you as you fit yourself into the hand-me-down skates your older sister had given you. you tried so hard not to think about the negatives because even if you slipped and fell, it’s not like anyone here knew you. there was not a single person on the rink that looked even the slightest bit familiar and you thanked god you lived in a busy city.

of course, you were unsuccessful in ridding those thoughts because all you could think about was that there was a likely chance you could embarrass yourself in front of a cute boy. you were too boy-crazy for your own good, your mother blamed david cassidy for it.

as you let out a shaky exhale, you darted your eyes around the exterior of the rink as you shrugged off your bag and held your winter boots in your hand. you had ran into your first problem of the evening; there was no one to watch your belongings.

that’s when you noticed an older man just to the left of you, smoking out of a pipe and watching the rink, smiling to himself. he seemed friendly enough, reminding you a lot of your grandpa. there was no better person to watch your things!

“excuse me sir,” you said to him, smiling as you approached him cautiously, “is it alright if i leave my things here next to you? i’m not skating for long… i just don’t want to take them onto the rink with me.”

the man hadn’t realized you were talking to him at first as he pulled the pipe out of his mouth and looked between you and someone on the skating rink. he smacked his lips together a few times in thought, “okay. sure, i don’t mind.” he mumbled, though you could tell that he minded.

he was grumpier than you pegged him to be.

“thank you so much! i won’t be long!” you smiled, happy that you had some form of success, but again you had to ward off the image in your head of him running off with your things. at least he’d only have stolen a woman’s snow boots and three dollars from your wallet.

as you waddled away, you hadn’t noticed that a boy on the rink had skated up to the older man, you were much too focused on not toppling over. your ankles were already wobbling back and forth as you navigated through the snow, unaware of the set of eyes that lingered on you with each step you took.

“you got this,” you breathed to yourself as you made it to the entrance, taking a long and deep breath that caught in your throat. you froze in your spot, feeling frigid as you watched the tens of people skating along the rink so seemingly expert in their ways.

a woman cleared her throat behind you and you jolted up, looking over your shoulder and seeing a mother and her two children waiting to step into the rink, “sorry!” you squealed as you hurried onto the ice and clung to the railing for dear life.

the sounds of the young kids snickering made your cheeks burn red, so you kept your eyes downward and stared at your mitten-covered hands as they gripped onto the rail. then you focused on your feet, slowly moving them back and forth on the ice as you got used to the feeling of the skates gliding across the frozen surface.

with a triumphant huff, you straightened up and slowly started to skate with your hand keeping balance on the edge, much like a learning child. at least they usually had a helper.

you had focused on this for a bit, getting into the swing of things. you looked around with a content smile, slowly moving and breathing in the crisp air as you focused on the sounds of laughter. the christmas spirit was high and you were happier than ever to be experiencing this alone, you couldn’t wait to go home and gush to your sister about your first solo adventure as a young woman.

satisfaction wasn’t fully met, however. you needed to challenge yourself further before calling it a night.

carefully, you let your hand off of the rail and moved carefully away from the edge. your eyes darted around your immediate surroundings, making sure you had enough of a clearing to start skating without bumping into anyone. a big smile grew on your face, you were by no means quick, but at least you were moving!

you focused your eyes back down on your feet, watching closely as you moved one in front of the other with intention. you were getting the hang of it, muscle memory coming back from when you skated as a kid. with your attention far from the outside world, you didn’t notice a duo of young girls coming right for you—too busy laughing amongst each other to notice you drifting in front of them.

one of the girls bumped hard into your shoulder and yelped out a sincere ‘sorry’ as you lost your balance on your feet. you almost kept yourself upright, but you quickly fell back.

you expected to crash down onto the ice with a hard thump, but two arms caught you, hooking underneath your armpits and hoisting you back upright onto your skates. you didn’t have the means to turn around all that quickly, but the person who saved you seemed to realize that, so he skated in front of you and turned to look at you. he made it seem so easy to skate backward.

“you okay?” he asked, but you hardly heard the words because you were so fascinated with how beautiful he was. he had the biggest brown eyes you’d ever seen and a head full of wild curls that he obviously tried to tame. he was also taller than you, making you feel so small under his gaze, but not threatening in the slightest. all you could do was smile at him like a dork.

your knight in shining armour.

a few moments pass and the realization hit that you had been completely silent, “thank you!” you blurted out, your eyes widening in horror because of how you were staring at him like a goddamned fool, "i'm not very good at this."

"you were doing fine until you got bulldozed over," the boy smiled, unabashedly looking you up and down. he cleared his throat and held out two of his gloved hands, "hang on."

you obeyed with no hesitation, your arms extending so you could take his gloved hands in your own. you felt your mouth go dry and you had to force your hands to stop shaking. you were always so much more anxious around boys.

"oh, god," you groaned in anticipation as he started skating backward, pulling you along and forcing you to focus on keeping balance, "you really don't have to spend your time here teaching me how to skate." you looked up at him, feeling like a burden.

"i know," he replied, grinning at you as he kept pulling you along the ice, his gaze only breaking to make sure he wasn't about to skate back into anyone. those brown eyes fell back on you, watching you with a soft gaze as you kept moving with one foot gliding in front of the other, "i'm angus."

"hi, angus," you smiled, chewing on the inside of your lip after you returned the introduction. you could feel your cheeks blushing. you looked down and at your feet again, but your lack of focus got the best of you, "ah, shit!"

just as you lost your footing and balance, nearly flying forward, angus wrapped an arm around you and laughed aloud, pulling you against him so you couldn't tip over. you could've stayed like that forever, nuzzled against this boy's chest and forgetting about the outside world.

"you're clumsy," he teased, flickering his gaze down at you as he led you both to the railing for a rest.

"you only just noticed?" you retorted playfully as you leaned against the support, letting yourself exhale in relief once you could rest the entirety of your weight against it. shyly, you looked back over to angus after a few beats of silence, "you're not here with anyone else?"

angus scrunched his nose in response, shrugging, "it's a long story."

"i like stories," you mused, not ready to let this end. whatever this was.

a breathy laugh came from him as he glanced away to look at something, you hadn't been able to follow his gaze before he was looking at you again. there was something about him that kept your attention, likely the fact that he genuinely seemed to enjoy your presence. it made you giddy and your stomach swirled with butterflies.

"well, i came here with my history teacher," he said, almost sheepishly. you looked at him with slightly furrowed brows, uncertain where this would be going, "i go to a boarding school out of town, north of here. i, uh, didn't get to spend christmas with my family and so i've been stuck at school with him as my chaperone. guess i'm good at convincing people to take me places," he chuckled, his gaze looking anywhere but at you.

"i don't think i would've guessed that story in a million years," you giggled, a smile reaching your eyes as you looked over angus' face, "sorry about your family, though. must be hard around the holidays."

"it's fine," he quipped quickly, you figured it best to not bring up his family anymore.

you fell silent for a bit, thinning your lips as you looked around and focused on your surroundings to pass the time and try to ignore the awkward silence. you watched a group of kids skating together, playfully shoving each other and laughing when one of them wiped out.

"did you want to skate again?" angus' voice broke the silence and you met his eyes. with a small nod, he smiled and gave you his hands again.

the two of you had spent another twenty minutes on the skating rink, laughing together as he taught you how to keep yourself upright. you were happy to report that you'd only fallen on your ass twice, and even when he laughed at you, you felt your heart soaring.

there must've been some good karma you stored up over the year because you weren't sure why you were blessed to run into angus on a night like this. he was cute, funny and just as awkward as you were.

once you two were tired and ready to hang the skates up, you ventured out of the rink and stood at the exit. you had to catch your breath after laughing over some joke angus had made about his time at barton, something stupid that wouldn't have made you laugh in another other situation. angus was just... nice. funny, but in an endearingly dorky way.

as you bent down to untie your skates, you straightened up with a panicked look on your face. "my stuff!" you said, looking up at angus and then around the exterior of the rink, trying to spot the man you'd left your things with. that's where the bad karma came in, leaving you with nothing.

"are you looking for these?" a third voice spoke, your eyes landing on the pipe-smoking man that angus seemed to recognize. you put the pieces together.

"yes! thank you so much!" you smiled as you took the boots from him and your bag, quickly changing into the shoes that allowed you to stand steady. you sighed softly with a smile and looked between the two men, "i, uh, thank you again, sir, for keeping an eye on my things. and thanks, angus, i'm sure by next winter i'll be an olympic figure skater," you smiled, not quite ready to leave without spending more time with the boy, but you weren't sure you'd have the choice.

as luck would have it, though, his teacher, mr. hunham, seemed to have a soft spot for the boy.

"mr. tully, i'm calling it an evening and will be heading to the hotel room, i'm rather tired this evening," the older man explained. you could see the pleading look on angus's face, "i expect to see you there within a few hours or lest you deal with multiple detentions when we're back at barton," he continued with a satisfied look on his face when angus smile, "keep an eye on him for me." he turned to you, letting out a huffy sigh as he looked between the two of you once more before turning on his heels and leaving.

angus was speechless.

"he seems like a nice man," you said in awe as you watched him, growing nervous for other reasons now.

"trust me. he's usually not," angus replied, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat as he looked down at you, "you look cold. i think i saw i coffee shop near here. they probably have hot chocolate or something."

"okay," you smiled, forcing yourself not to let your boy-crazy giddiness get the best of you again.

as you two ventured away from the skating rink, you found yourself feeling more comfortable with each passing second and talking about yourself like an open book. you spoke about everything and nothing, his favourite band was pink floyd and he was currently halfway through reading the novel dune. you shared your own love for the partridge family show, though, you kept your lips tight about your obsession with david cassidy.

you made a mental note to rip the poster of david off your wall if something were to ever come out of this night with you and angus, like hell he'd ever be in your room.

"what do you like so much about boston?" you asked angus as you two walked through one of the downtown streets in boston, your mittens shoved in your pocket as your hands cupped around the hot chocolate you sipped on. the heat emanated from the paper cup and warmed your hands. you two had been walking and talking for a while now and your drink was half-empty.

"you like long-winded answers, don't you?" angus said playfully, bumping himself against your side as you walked together. it caused a laugh to bubble up from you, your cheeks turning red at the closeness.

"what's so long about this answer?" you wondered aloud, glancing up at him.

"my dad is here," he said after taking a moment to think over his words, "he's uh, in the sanitorium," he murmured, not quite meeting your gaze, "not doing well mentally."

"you don't have to say anymore," you urged him, regretful that you asked the question in the first place.

"it's fine, i like you. you're not... judging me." angus admitted, flickering his eyes to you and smiling.

oh, god. that smile made your stomach do flips.

"why would i judge you?" you asked rhetorically, "you've been nothing but kind to me tonight. you didn't even know me and you caught me before i fell on my ass, i mean, that's the most any guy has ever done for me... and you bought me hot chocolate!" you were animated in your words as you spoke, not noticing how you lit up angus' facial expressions.

"like i said, it's because i like you." his lips twitched into a smile before he lifted his cup and downed the rest of his drink. you followed in suit, though, mostly to cover the way you had a smile stuck on your face like a lovesick puppy.

you two found an outdoor garbage bin and tossed your empty cups in, standing on a corner of the street that was near the courtyard with the skating rink. it was quiet there now, only then noticing how late it had gotten.

"so, what's your story?" angus interrupted your thoughts as he kept walking, you needing to take a few quick steps to meet his pace as he led you to a bench to sit down on. the perfect spot to watch the christmas lights flicker around the rink and people watch the last remaining people who were skating.

"it's hardly a story," you laughed, fidgeting with your fingers as you looked up to the night sky, the stars hidden because of the city lights, "i'm just crawling my way to graduation so i can get out of my parent's house and go to college," you look over at him, "are you graduating, too?"

he shook his head, "i was expelled a few times," he admitted with an amused look on his face, "should be graduating, but stuck as a junior because of my atrocious behaviour," he teased with a click of his tongue.

"expelled?" you laughed, "wow, i didn't expect such a gentleman like you to be so fond of troublemaking."

that got a laugh out of him, the smile reaching his eyes as he turned ever-so-slightly to better look at you while you two sat together, "yep, i'm the absolute worst. though, i plead my case as i've been wrongly accused of blowing up a toilet once when it was obviously not true."

"uh-huh," you smirked, "are you certain about the wrongly accused part?" you snorted a laugh.

the night was perfect. the two of you sharing so many laughs that your cheeks were hurting and you were beginning to feel like you knew angus for years and this was simply a reunion of friends. you knew at some point it would end, but you didn't want to think about it. not yet, it was too painful of a thought.

your laughter settled and you couldn't break your gaze from angus, the silence looming, but not overwhelming. as you admired him, you caught the way his brown eyes flickered down to your lips and you inhaled sharply, the breath catching.

"i, uh—can i kiss you?" his words were gentle, but they rang through your ears loudly, causing chaos and mayhem that left you feeling like a nervous wreck, "unless i'm reading this wrong."

you parted your lips to speak but nothing came out. all you could do was look down at his lips and nod, hoping that your movements spoke volumes. thankfully, they did.

angus leaned forward, hesitating for a second, but if you could will your way forward to adventuring boston alone, then you could sure as hell will your way forward to meet him halfway. you leaned forward bravely and closed your eyes just as your lips met his, a tingling sensation rolling waves over your skin.

it was a simple kiss, one that made your lips numb when you pulled away and looked up into his eyes. but it wasn’t enough for angus because you were soon pulled into another as his hand lifted and cupped your jaw, keeping you against him as your lips moved together at a gentle, easy pace. he parted your lips with his own, which gave him the space to slip his tongue into your mouth and cause a soft sound to escape your lips. you were fully entranced by him, completely malleable under his touch as you tasted his tongue on your own—sweet like chocolate.

this went on for a few minutes, maybe longer. you two indulging in the kiss you both were anticipating the moment you set eyes on each other.

“this sucks,” you murmured when the kiss finally broke, you two parting to breathe.

“why?” angus furrowed his brows slightly, his hand still on your jaw.

“because i really like you,” you said, pursing your lips into a pout, “and at some point i’m going to have to say goodbye.”

angus shared the sentiment, frowning slightly, “i’ll come to boston again, okay?” he said, just as passionate about you as you were to him, “and if you give me your number i promise to call you.”

you nodded, sighing and watching the way your warm breath fogged up in the cold air. the city was so silent and you’d never been able to experience it quite like this, let alone with a boy you kissed. knowing that it was getting late, though, left you nervous. you had told your parents you wouldn’t be out long and would go to your sister's apartment downtown for a ride back home—leave it up to a boy like angus tully to make it fun to break the rules.

“when do you go back to barton?” you asked him quietly like you didn’t want to hear the answer.

“the day after tomorrow,” angus murmured, his thumb stroking along the skin over your cheek, “i’m gonna’ try visit my dad tomorrow,” he said, “that’s the whole reason i convinced mr. hunham to bring me here, he doesn’t even know.”

you widened your eyes in surprise, “do you think he’ll let you go?”

“probably not, but i’ll find a way.” he said, but not quite fully convinced.

“it’ll work out, angus,” you said, a shiver running up his spine as you said his name, “just like you and me. i’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

he was glad that you managed to see the bright side in all of this, as the night was coming to an end he was beginning to let his negative thoughts pull through. already he could tell that you were going to be a big part of his life, even if it ended up being fleeting and short.

“come on,” angus breathed out, removing his hand from your cheek and standing up. he offered his hand for you to take.

“where are we going?” you asked him, blinking a few times as you took his hand, no mittens or gloves in the way as his fingers interlaced with yours.

“nowhere in particular,” he said, keeping you close as you walked through the quiet boston streets in the early morning hours and spending the last bit of freedom together that you two could muster.

when all was said and done, you found yourself exhausted as you curled up in your bed with the first bit of sunrise spilling through your curtains. it was a bittersweet end to your night with angus, leaving you uncertain about what the future would hold. all you knew was that you’d be waiting for that phone call he promised you.

and taking down your poster of david cassidy.

#angus tully #angus tully x reader #the holdovers #dominic sessa #angus tully fic #the holdovers fic #wordsbyspatial #spatialanswers

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