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sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years

Text

42 Hours (II)

Content: part 2 to an enemies to lovers au in which Harry and Y/N are forced into a cross country road trip to make it to their best friends’ wedding on time!! includes a karaoke bar in Cleveland, Ohio, sharing of motel rooms (oh my god there was only one bed 👁️👁️), and a lesbian wedding in the Catskills

Warnings: language, alcohol, NSFW content, making fun of Nebraska and The Notebook

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 32k

A/N: okay can I just say that I am so glad this is finally done. I have been working on this fic for over a month!!! the entire thing is over 51k in length!!!!!! my word doc is almost 100 pages!!!! this was meant to be a fun story about enemies to lovers stuck on a road trip!!!!! what happened!!!! but thank you guys so much for all the love and support and interest in this story <3 I was really nervous about splitting it up (which looking back was a good choice because again. it’s so long.) but you all showed so much love for the story and the characters!!!! I’d like to give a special shout out to miss andrea @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy and miss alex @darthstyles for proof reading, and miss andrea again for this pretty header image!! if you’re looking for any good reads after this, I highly recommend checking out their masterlists!! and as always, if you like this fic, please like it AND reblog it!! and shoot me a message about it!! feedback is always appreciated, not just by me, but by ALL content creators, and is the main motivation for us to create more for you all to enjoy!!

{masterlist}

here is everyone’s wedding looks!! and HERE is a lil moodboard of Jo and Laure’s wedding so you can sense the vibes!!

also!! if you want to set the mood for a road trip with Harry, here is a link to the playlist that is mentioned and referenced in this fic!!

It’s almost instantaneous, Y/N notices, how quickly and easily she and Harry fall into a rhythm of friendship. From the moment she wakes up the next morning to a blue sky, the storm long passed, and Harry holding out a cup of black coffee for her, the stress and anxiety of the previous day is gone. There’s no watching herself around Harry, biting her tongue to stop herself from snapping over every small motion he makes as he fidgets in the driver’s seat. There’s no irritation caused by the way he taps his fingers on the steering wheel, or how he asks any question that crosses his mind, speaking out his random chain of thoughts just as often.

The thing that Y/N’s come to realize is that Harry is so much more interesting than she’d ever thought. He’s certainly more interesting than the endless fields of corn that whip by her window as he drives down the interstate. His jokes are dumb, but he says them with such a big grin on his face that she can’t help but laugh. His comments are strange, but Y/N finds herself enjoying the weird words that slip from his mouth without being caught by a filter.

“If we were in a Children of The Corn situation,” Harry begins, raising his voice to be heard over the sounds of Simon and Garfunkel. “Do you think you’d be able to outsmart the cult? Or would you get sacrificed to He Who Walks Behind the Rows?”

Y/N half chokes on the bottle of water she’d just raised to her lips, and coughs the liquid from her lungs as she turns to give Harry an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”

“We’re in Nebraska. That’s where it takes place, right?” Harry asks, glancing at Y/N from behind his sunglasses. “There’s, like, a weird child cult, and they kill all the adults in town for the corn harvest, or something, and then this couple on a road trip discovers them, and tries to stop them. Do you think you’d be able to?”

“Do I think I’d be able to stop a child cult? Or would I get sacrificed to their weird corn god? That’s what you’re asking me?” Although she can’t help but snort at the ridiculousness of the question, her mind is already appraising the situation Harry’s proposed. “I think I’d be able to stop them. They’re just kids, right? You just can’t be afraid to—you know—” Y/N drags her thumb across her throat, and Harry quirks up an eyebrow at her casual response.

“You’d kill a bunch of kids?”

“If the kids were evil and wanted to kill me? Absolutely.” Y/N leans her head back on the head rest, still keeping her eyes locked on Harry. “Wouldn’t you?”

Harry lifts one shoulder in response. “I don’t know. I’d try to reason with them, I think.”

Y/N extends a finger gun at him, clicking her tongue in sync with the motion. “And that’s why they’d sacrifice you and not me.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head slowly as he turns his attention back to the road. “Lovely. Wouldn’t you try to save me?”

Y/N hums, pretending to think the question over. “That depends on how annoying you’ve been that day.”

“You’re such a sweetheart, Y/N, you really are.” Harry laughs more, but stops abruptly as he spots a sign to the right of the road. “Oh! There’s a souvenir shop at the next exit!”

A groan falls from Y/N’s mouth as her head flops back, already sensing defeat. “No, Harry, you don’t need another keychain—”

“You don’t know that! Maybe I could get a corn stalk keychain!”

…

“You know, I could drive for a bit. If you’d like.”

Harry looks up at Y/N with an apprehensive gaze, his nimble fingers halfway through attaching a new silver key chain in the shape of Nebraska to his key ring. “What?”

“You’ve been driving for three days straight.” Y/N leans over the passenger side of the car, resting her arms on the sun-warmed roof. “I could drive. I know how to; I just don’t do it in L.A. because the traffic is annoying. But the interstate is practically empty, so…”

“Uh, no offense, Y/N, but…” Harry opens the drivers door, a small smile curving the corner of his lip. “No one drives Stevie but me. And besides, she’s a stick. Have you ever driven one?”

“Well, no.” Y/N admits, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “But you could show me.”

Harry inhales deeply, glancing around the souvenir shop parking lot. Y/N can tell he’s surveying the area, searching for a reason to say no, but as far as she can tell, there isn’t one. There are no other cars around, and the area is mostly flat, giving her a good space to practice driving in. With a defeated look on his face, Harry exhales sharply and gives a quick nod as he takes a step back from the driver’s side. “Fine. Get in.”

Y/N and Harry swap sides in the car, although Y/N is much more enthusiastic about it than Harry is. From the moment she climbs in and begins adjusting his seat, a pained look comes over Harry’s face, making her roll her eyes.

“Oh, come on. You’re a giant, Harry, I have to adjust things so I can reach the pedals.” Y/N scoffs, reaching up to adjust the rear view mirror. “You can put them all back later.”

“Yeah.” Harry sucks in another breath before pushing his sunglasses up into his chestnut curls. “Okay, so…there’s three pedals on the floor. The right one is gas, the middle is the brake, and the left is the clutch. And then here—” Harry takes Y/N’s right hand and places it over the gear shift. “This is how you shift. There’s six gears, right? And their use depends on the speed you’re going, so you’re going to start with one—” His hand squeezes hers as he shifts the gear shift over and up to the left with ease. “Which is here. Here’s two—” He shifts the gear shift down to the left, and continues to move it as he speaks. “Three. Four. Five. And reverse. Got it?”

“I think so.” Y/N nods, her hand flexing beneath Harry’s large palm. His rings feel cool against her warm skin, and she has to admit, it’s not the worst feeling in the world. “Up left, down left, up middle, down middle, up right, down right. Right?”

“Right.” Harry lifts his hand off hers to point towards her feet, which are sitting on the carpet cover in front of the pedals. “You want to start with your foot pressed firmly on the clutch, the one—yeah. There, to the left. Keep it pressed there. Is it pressed there?”

“Since you first told me to press it, yeah.” Y/N furrows her brow in concentration, which is caused both from learning how to drive manually, and the effort it takes to stop herself from laughing at the nervousness in Harry’s voice. “Now what?”

“Take off the parking brake.” Harry pulls the lever down himself, making sure Y/N is focused on her other movements. “And the car is in neutral, so you can turn the key in the ignition.” He holds out his keys towards her.

Y/N takes the cool metal from his hands, quickly finding the right key for the Impala and slipping it in. The car roars to life, a sound which is now familiar to her ears. “Okay. There.”

“Good.” Harry pauses for a moment before reaching across Y/N’s body and buckling her seatbelt, which she had forgotten in the excitement to drive. “Safety first.” He sits back in the passenger seat, fixing his seatbelt across his own body. “I have a feeling we’ll be needing these.”

“Oh, shut up.” Y/N sticks her tongue out at him, her eyebrows and nose wrinkling as she makes a face. “What do I do now?”

“Now…” Harry fidgets with his seatbelt again as he moves forward in the passenger seat, one hand bracing against the dash as he directs her. “Press the clutch and the brake at the same time, like that. Now move the gear shift into first gear.”

Y/N does as he says, pushing the gear shift over and up to the left. It takes much more pressure for her to move it without Harry’s help, she notes, but doesn’t let the effort show on her face. “Then?”

“Take your foot off the brake.” Harry instructs, caution laced through his voice. “And slowly—slowly! —release the clutch as you press down gently on the gas.”

“Okay…” Lifting her left foot first, Y/N does her best to match the motion with her right foot, pressing down at the same pace as she lifts the other. Her movement, however, isn’t as smooth as she wants it to be, and the car lunges forward in a choppy motion.

“Careful!” Harry says loudly, twisting his body to face Y/N as he continues bracing himself. His entire body is tense, his shoulders practically up by his ears as he appraises Y/N. “You have to do it at the same time!”

“Alright, alright—” Y/N tries again, focusing on matching her feet to each other. This time, the movement is smoother, and the car begins to drive forward slowly, moving faster as Y/N presses down more. “Is that—am I doing it?” Y/N asks nervously, navigating herself slowly through the parking lot. “Is that it?”

“That’s it. You’re doing good, yeah.” Harry nods slowly, but Y/N can see the strain in his jaw from the corner of her eye. “Now let’s try…let’s try shifting gears, so you can speed up.”

“Try not to sound so terrified.” Y/N mutters, turning the wheel to guide the car around a lamp post.

Harry ignores her comment. “You’re going to do the same motion, but this time release the gas while pressing down on the clutch. Then move the gear shifter to two, like before, and—”

Before Harry can finish speaking, Y/N attempts to change into second gear. The car lurches again as she releases the gas and presses on the clutch, and the jagged motion only gets worse after she shifts into second.

“Slowly, Y/N—” Agitation is clear in Harry’s voice, and his knuckles turn white as he grips the dash. “Slower!”

Another lunge of the car shifts Y/N to the side, and her foot slips off the clutch completely. With a sickening sound, the car lurches to a stop, despite Y/N’s foot still pressed on the gas. “What—?”

Harry, who’s been wincing throughout the entire ordeal, sucks in a sharp breath. “You stalled her.” He says, shaking his head with a quiet horror.

Y/N tugs on her bottom lip as she glances at him from the corner of her eye, her voice hesitant. “Is…that bad?”

“Is that—?” Harry’s green irises snap to meet hers, wide open and shocked. “Yeah, it’s bad. That’s enough practice for today, I think. I’m driving again.”

Y/N tries to protest. “But—”

“Nope! Out!” Harry shakes his head firmly, unbuckling his seatbelt and exiting the car in one swift motion. “Come on!”

With a defeated sigh, Y/N unbuckles herself, climbing out of the driver’s door that Harry’s just opened for her. “Sorry.” She mumbles, walking around to the passenger’s side and climbing back in.

Harry gives her a small smile, albeit a pained one, as he begins to move his feet over the brake and clutch, shifting the car into neutral. “It’s fine. That was pretty good for a first practice, really. Just…maybe it’s too soon for highway driving.”

Y/N buckles her seatbelt as Harry restarts the engine, and within a few minutes, he has his signal flipped back on to head back to the highway. “You know, mostly I wanted to drive so that I could pick the music.” She says casually, resting her chin in her hand after propping it up against the arm rest. “I’m getting a little tired of The Beatles on repeat.”

Harry laughs, raking his hand through his curls before shifting gears with ease. “Oh really? What would you put on, if you had a choice?”

“I don’t know.” Y/N shrugs, taking a moment to think. “We could listen to a nice sonata, maybe. Oh! Or Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. I haven’t listened to it in full in a while.”

A sound of surprise and indignation leaves Harry’s mouth. “Tchaikovsky—? No! No, you can’t listen to classical music on a road trip! You need music that you can scream the lyrics to!”

“Is there a rulebook about what you can and can’t listen to on a road trip?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as she poses the sarcastic question. “I wasn’t aware.”

“There’s an unofficial rulebook, yes.” Harry risks a glance over at Y/N, his green eyes alight. “And one of the most important—if not the most important—rules is that any song you listen to has to be able to be sung loudly while driving down a highway. Everyone knows that.”

“My bad.” Y/N says sarcastically, toeing off her shoes to better cross her legs beneath herself. “So, in short, we’re stuck listening to your playlist, huh?”

“Now you get it.” Harry shoots her a cheeky grin, pointing with his free hand. “You can change the song, though. If you’d like.”

“Really?” Y/N reaches down to the small catch all tray between them, where Harry’s phone sits connected to a car charger. She picks it up carefully, raising an eyebrow in question. “May I?”

When Harry nods, Y/N clicks on the screen, which displays the controls to the Spotify playlist currently being projected through the car’s speakers. Unsurprisingly, a Beatles song is moving across the scene, causing Y/N to press the skip button immediately. The next song is by The Killers, called “Spaceman,” and while she likes it, it’s not really something she feels like listening to in the moment. She hits skip again, passing over “Night Moves,” “Piano Man,” and “Seven Wonders,” (the last skip earning a sound of protest from Harry) before a familiar album cover pops up on the screen.

“Hold on.” Y/N says, mouth agape as the 1990s Vocoder sound fills the car. “You listen to Cher?”

“Are you kidding?” Harry’s surprised expression matches hers. “Of course! She’s a treasure.” He taps his fingers to the beat of “Believe” while his head bops to the same pattern. “I love this song. It’s a good one.”

Making a sound of agreement, Y/N lets her gaze drift to the window, watching the agriculture fields that whiz by. “Yeah.” She murmurs, losing herself in the beat. “‘No matter how hard I try…you keep pushing me aside’…”

“‘And I can’t break through’…” Harry’s voice joins with hers, louder and surer of himself than hers had been. “‘There’s no talking to you’…”

Y/N’s head turns from the window, locking eyes with Harry for the split second he looks away from the road ahead of them. “‘It’s so sad that you’re leaving…it takes time to believe it’…”

“‘But after all is said and done’…” The grin playing on Harry’s pink lips grows, popping out his dimples as he continues to sing. “‘You’re gonna be the lonely one’…”

With a grin pasted across her own face, so big that her cheeks ache, Y/N joins Harry for the chorus, yelling the lyrics more than singing them. “‘Do you believe in life after love? I can feel something inside me say…I really don’t think you’re strong enough’!” Harry’s hand drifts down to the volume dial, turning the music up until the bass thumps through the entire car. Y/N can feel it in her chest like a second heart beat.

“‘Do you believe in life after love?’” Encouraged by each other, Harry and Y/N scream the lyrics even louder on the repeat, straining their necks as much as their vocal cords. “‘I can feel something inside me say…I really don’t think you’re strong enough’!”

When Harry’s hand moves again, Y/N thinks that he’s reaching for the dial again, perhaps to turn it down, but then his hand makes a questioning motion, and Y/N realizes that Harry, ever the one for dramatics, is acting out the lines.

“‘What was I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for you?’” Harry points at Y/N then, an exaggerated look on his face as his whole body moves to the beat. “‘Well I can’t do that! And there’s no turning back’…”

Not wanting to be one upped, Y/N pushes up the sleeve of her sweater, exposing her wrist enough that she can tap on it. “‘I need time to move on’…” A fit of giggles interrupt the next line as she and Harry both raise their arms to flex their muscles. “‘I need a love to feel strong’…” Y/N taps on her temple as she sways her body to the beat the best she can in the car. “‘Because I’ve got time to think it through’…” When she turns to point at Harry, she finds him already pointing at her, once again in sync with her thoughts. “‘And maybe I’m too good for you, oh’!”

They repeat the chorus in the same way as before, screaming the lyrics as loud as they can, pulling dramatic facial expressions and dance moves to match. Halfway through the repeat, Harry attempts to mimic the classic Cher move of pushing hair over the shoulder, and the ridiculous sight is enough to send Y/N into another fit of laughter. She almost misses the entrance for the bridge, but recovers just in time to yell the lyrics in sync with Harry.

Forming fists and dragging her arms towards her dramatically, and Harry doing the same with his free hand, the two of them screw their faces up as they sing passionately. “‘Well I know that I’ll get through this…because I know that I am strong’…” The flexing of arms returns for a moment before being replaced by impassioned pleading hand gestures. “‘I don’t need you anymore…I don’t need you anymore…no, I don’t need you anymore…no, I don’t need you anymore’…”

Although they’d been energetic in the previous choruses, Harry and Y/N give their all for the final chorus, bouncing and yelling and gesturing as much as they can as they drive down the interstate at sixty-five miles per hour. They quiet for a moment as the beat falls out, singing the lyrics at a slightly lower volume, but when the beat returns, they scream the lyrics one final time in unison before the music fades out.

The song changes to “Baby Driver,” and Harry reaches to lower the volume as he and Y/N both struggle to catch their breath. They laugh between pants, hands on chests as they rapidly rise and fall. Y/N lets her head fall back against the back of the seat, shifting her legs so only one rests on the seat beneath her thigh.

“That was a good one.” She admits, pushing her now-sweaty hair out of her face. “I’ll give you that. Cher was a good choice.”

“Do you see what I meant, now?” Harry asks breathlessly, his grin still plastered to his face. “Do you still want to listen to Tchaikovsky?”

In lieu of a reply, Y/N reaches for Harry’s phone again, skipping songs until “Jessie’s Girl” begins to drift through the speakers. “Turn it up again, Harry.”

There’s a twinkle in Harry’s eyes when he does as she says.

…

“I can sleep on the floor.” Harry volunteers, tugging his hand through his stretched out curls as his eyes scan the interior of the motel room. “Make a little bed out of pillows. Then you can have the bed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry.” Y/N shakes her head adamantly, setting her bag on the small table in front of the room’s mirror. “You can’t sleep on the floor!”

Harry purses his lips. “I’ll take the chair, then. I can stretch out on it—”

“Please, you have limbs like Gumby.” Rolling her eyes, Y/N unzips her bag and pulls out her toiletries. “You can’t sleep comfortably in a chair. We can deal with one bed for one night. It’s not the end of the world.”

Four days ago, Y/N might have considered having to share a bed with Harry the end of the world. If someone had told her about the lack of available motel rooms on the road, Y/N might have never left L.A. And that first night in Utah, she remembers, she would have rather smother Harry in his sleep than share a bed with him. Now, however, they’re in Iowa City, and for all her talk of how much she despised Harry before, she’s found herself quite fond of him in a short period of time.

There’s a list of reasons why that’s happened, she thinks, as she pulls out her charger to plug into the wall. Their forced close proximity in the car and motel rooms probably has something to do with it, as well as Harry being her only company for the last four days. And maybe, just maybe, a small part of it is due to the way Harry looks in the dim motel room light as he flops back on the bed, his red and black striped t-shirt riding up just the slightest bit to expose the fern tattoos lining the bottom of his stomach. The way his jade irises manage to sparkle in the light of the lamp, or how his chipped nail polish still manages to look elegant as his fingers dance along his chest and twist his rings over his knuckles. The way his lips, despite his constant habit of biting them, look so soft and so pink, and how Y/N thinks she could just—

Y/N clears her throat, stopping her thoughts in their tracks. It’s really been too long since she’s been around another human being, she thinks, keeping her back to Harry as she roots through her suitcase for her pajamas. Four days is too long for her to be with the same person, with hardly any alone time, and she’s wondering if she’ll be able to have alone time any time soon when her fingers brush over the familiar smooth silicone surface of her vibrator.

Y/N pauses, pulling her fingers back as if she’s been burned. Right. She’d tossed that in there just before leaving L.A., just in case she needed some stress relief. Glancing back over her shoulder subtly, Y/N sees that Harry has his phone out now, his nimble fingers tapping along the screen as he lays on the bed. Maybe some stress relief is exactly what she needs.

Grabbing the first articles of clothing she can get her hands on, Y/N carefully wraps her vibrator within the fabric, trying to fold it so that it doesn’t look like its hiding a small purple sex toy. Once that’s done to the best of her ability, she grabs her toiletry bag, tucking it under her arm as she quickly makes her way to the bathroom.

“I’m going to shower.” She mutters, closing the door behind her without waiting for Harry’s response.

Although the ritual of stripping from her clothes, starting the shower and adjusting the temperature settings, and relaxing her muscles underneath the (albeit low pressure) stream of water is familiar, it takes Y/N a few minutes to work up the courage to run her hands down the length of her body. She takes her time as her fingers dance over the planes of her breasts, down her stomach, fluttering over her hips before making their way to the crevice where her thighs flow into her core. Taking a deep breath, Y/N begins with just her fingers, running them through her wet folds slowly and carefully.

She allows herself the time to warm herself up, waiting until she can dip her index finger inside her slick entrance and circle its way around her clit before grabbing her vibrator from the shower ledge. She flicks it on to its lowest setting, making sure the electronic buzz is hidden beneath the sound of the shower before gently circling the tip around her clit.

The relief, Y/N finds, is instantaneous. A breathless sigh slips past her lips as she rubs the toy over her folds, delighting in the fluttering sensation it leaves behind. Without breaking contact, Y/N turns the toy up a level, biting her lip to keep from moaning as she presses it back to her clit.

Despite the tension building up in her body as Y/N works herself to an orgasm, this is the most relaxed she’s felt in days. The tension, she finds, is so much sweeter than the anxiety and stress she’s been experiencing throughout the road trip. Although her shoulders tense, it’s different than the knots worked into her muscles from hours in the car. Although her leg feels as though it may cramp from its position perched on the bath tub ledge, the burn is more welcome than the ache of being stuck in one seated position.

If someone were to ask her what crossed her mind when Y/N brought herself over the edge, what thoughts drifted into her head as she gripped the wall of the shower with one hand as her core convulsed in the most delightfully sinful way, Y/N would tell them that it was nothing specific. Strong hands, she’d say, smoothly and knowledgeably caressing her body. A low voice whispering dirty nothings in her ear. A deep breath flowing down her neck as cherry lips and white teeth nipped and kissed down her skin and across her collar bones. Nothing specific. And Y/N would believe it when she’d say it.

But if anyone were to be listening at the exact moment that she thrust the vibrator inside her, panting and whimpering as her index and middle finger worked over her clit and brought her to climax, they’d hear the breathless whisper of a name that Y/N herself didn’t even know she was saying.

The nice thing about getting off in the shower, Y/N thinks, once she’s regained enough function in her head to do so, is that cleanup is a breeze. Within fifteen more minutes, Y/N’s washed her body, shampooed and conditioned her hair, and is climbing out of the shower with the motel towel wrapped tightly around her body. Within another few minutes, she’s towel dried to the best of her ability, and finally realizing that the pajamas she’d grabbed in her quick bid for the washroom happened to be the pink silk set that she’d tucked at the bottom of her suitcase four days ago.

Cheeks burning, Y/N weighs her options. She could wrap the towel around herself, she thinks, and instruct Harry to look away as she snuck back to her suitcase and grabbed the sports bra and boxers she’d been sleeping in for the past few nights. Or…she runs her fingers over the lace trim of the set. These pajamas were quite comfortable, and the silk would feel so nice on her body after multiple nights of scratching motel sheets. And, if she’s being honest with herself, her other pajamas are quite dirty from a new nights of use. Now that her body feels completely relaxed and clean, she’d like to put on something to match.

When she steps out of the bathroom, Y/N does her best to seem casual and calm, still running her towel through her set hair, her clothes and toiletry bag (where she’s hidden her vibrator) tucked under one arm. “The shower’s free.” She says to Harry, barely glancing at him as she returns her items to her bag. “Although the water pressure is pretty shit.”

A low chuckle echoes from Harry’s mouth. “I expect nothing less.” He says, and Y/N thinks she may be in the clear when the laughter stops abruptly.

Biting back a sigh, Y/N straightens her back, knowing that she can’t avoid the conversation forever. “What?” She asks, tossing her towel on the motel room chair.

Harry is sitting up on the bed, his phone still held loosely in his right hand as his left props his body into an upright position. As his eyes scan over Y/N’s body, his tongue darts out of his mouth, wetting his lips without Harry being aware he’s doing it. “What—” His voice cracks, and a flush creeps up Harry’s pale neck as he clears his throat. “What are you wearing?”

Y/N begins to comb her fingers through her hair, sectioning it off before she begins to braid. “Pajamas.”

A scoff leaves Harry’s mouth. “No, no, those aren’t pajamas. That’s…lingerie.”

“Yeah, well…I brought them as pajamas.” Y/N mumbles, twisting her hair into the desired pattern before tying it off with the ponytail on her wrist. “Look, I—my other ones are dirty, and I didn’t want to put a sweaty sports bra back on right after showering. But…if it makes you uncomfortable, then I can—”

“I’m not uncomfortable.” Harry cuts over her, giving a quick shake of his head. “I just—we’re sharing the bed tonight, so I wasn’t sure—as long as you’re comfortable—”

“I am.” Y/N says quickly, cheeks beginning to burn as the conversation continues. “I’m comfortable.”

“Alright then.” If Harry’s cheeks are any indication, then he’s feeling the same thing Y/N is. “I’m…going to shower, then.”

And that’s how, two hours later, after watching a rerun of When Harry Met Sally, Y/N ends up in bed next to Harry Styles in lingerie that she’d bought to impress her ex-boyfriend.

Harry, to his credit, is doing his best to draw a line between them. His lanky body is practically hanging off the edge of the bed with how far he’s pulled himself from her, his defined back turned towards Y/N. Her own posture mimics his, back turned from Harry, clinging to the edge of the bed in an attempt to respect his personal space. The problem, Y/N thinks, exhaling hard as she shifts under the covers, is that she doesn’t like sleeping on her side like this, and she especially doesn’t like tensing up to make sure her limbs stay in their designated zone. It feels awkward and uncomfortable, and after laying in bed for over an hour, she finally huffs before turning onto her back, her hands settling down over the sheets.

“Harry.” She whispers, twisting her head to the side as she struggles to make out the shape of his body in the dark. “Are you awake?”

The bed creaks as Harry’s body shifts towards her, twisting on his hip to be able to meet Y/N’s eyes. “Yeah. Can’t sleep.”

“Me either.” Y/N rolls over again, propping herself up on her side to face him as he matches the motion. They’re closer now, their faces about six inches away as they rest their heads on their pillows. Y/N can smell the mint of Harry’s toothpaste on his breath. “Why can’t you sleep?”

Harry shrugs one shoulder as best he can while horizontal. “Dunno.” He mumbles, voice low in the quiet darkness. “Don’t think I’m used to sharing a bed with someone and not…being close to them.”

“Yeah.” Y/N matches the tone of her voice to his, as if speaking quietly and gently will preserve whatever it is hanging between them. “Feels weird.”

Moving his hands from his chest to tuck them under his pillow, Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth, a nervous look apparent in his eyes even in the darkness. “Would it be okay if I moved closer?” He asks, caution written into every word. “It’s just—staying on the edge isn’t very comfortable.”

Four days ago, Y/N would have shoved him off the bed. Now, however, she finds herself nodding, pulling her top leg into a bent position, her bare knee brushing over Harry’s beneath the sheets. “That’s fine.”

Y/N watches the way Harry’s body visibly relaxes, the tension she didn’t even know he had leaving his body. Trying his best to move without disturbing her, Harry turns over to lay on his toned stomach, and the sheets pull down around his body enough that Y/N can see how his Rolling Stones t-shirt has ridden up his back. Without thinking, Y/N pulls one hand from beneath her pillow and reaches for the sheets, pulling them back around Harry to his mid back.

“Thanks.” His voice is raspy, half muffled by the pillow as he tucks his hands beneath his head, eyes still locked with hers with an intensity that, during daylight hours, would have made her cheeks burn.

But in the safety of the darkness, Y/N simply returns her hand to its previous position, allowing the lack of light to masquerade the concern written onto her face. “You’re welcome.”

…

“I’m not saying The Notebook is a bad movie, I’m just saying that it doesn’t make sense!”

Harry gives Y/N an incredulous look as he flips on his turn signal, shifting gears in the car so he can exit the highway and head towards a gas station. “What do you mean, it doesn’t make sense?” He demands, turning the car over the curve of the road. “They’re in love! Noah reads to Ally to help her remember that! What about that doesn’t make sense?”

“Well, the dialogue for one.” Y/N shrugs, tapping her fingers to the beat of “Heroes” that’s drifting through the speakers.

Harry scoffs as he pulls into an empty gas station, slowing the car to a gentle stop in front of a pump. “Give me one example of the dialogue not making sense!”

“‘If you’re a bird, I’m a bird’?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as she quotes the movie. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“What do you mean, what does it mean?” Harry demands, shifting the car into neutral and pulling the emergency brake before turning off the ignition. “It’s romantic! It’s talking about—about reincarnation, and past lives—”

“And what about how Noah and Ally first met, huh? She was on a date with someone else! She wasn’t interested in him!” As she rants, Y/N’s volume grows, almost drowning out David Bowie completely. “And then he climbed up a Ferris wheel, demanded that she go out with him, and said that if she didn’t, he was going to kill himself!”

Harry points an accusatory finger at her, his expression fierce. “Don’t! It was romantic—”

Y/N pushes his finger away, holding her stance adamantly. “It was creepy! And don’t even get me started on the arguments, and the lying, and—and she was engaged to someone else! Noah was a homewrecker!”

Harry takes a deep breath, squeezing his keys in his hand as his eyes close for a moment. “I’m going to fill Stevie with petrol.” He says, his tone careful and controlled. “And when I get back, I am going to give you a very long lecture on why you’re wrong.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she grabs Harry’s sunglasses from the cupholder next to her, slipping them onto her face as she sticks her tongue out at him. “Whatever. Go pump the gas, Styles.”

With one last withering look, Harry climbs out of the car and slams the door behind him, turning his attention to the rusted gas pump in the middle of nowhere along the Illinois interstate. Y/N can’t help but laugh at the irritated look on his face, and how he flips her the bird when he catches her laughing. Small giggles still roll through her as she turns her attention to Harry’s phone, choosing a new song as David Bowie slowly begins to fade out. She’s just begun scrolling through her options when her own phone begins to vibrate from where she has it tucked underneath her leg.

Y/N sets Harry’s phone back down on his seat as she grabs her own, her eyes widening when she sees Brant’s name lighting up her screen. She should answer, she thinks, as she hasn’t spoken to him in person since their conversation in Colorado. That conversation seems like a lifetime ago, and Y/N’s thumb hovers over the “accept” icon, her teeth tugging her bottom lip over and over. She should answer. She should. Brant will probably want to discuss work, and find out when she’s coming back so they can plan another dinner, because he always likes to schedule things at least a week in advance. He’ll tell her about his coworkers, what the weather in L.A. has been like (as if it ever changes), and maybe, just maybe, if he has time, he’ll tell her about a new Netflix series he’s just starting to watch. Y/N should answer.

The driver’s side door opens with a creak, and Harry bends down to poke his head inside. “Alright, I’m going to go inside the petrol station and get us some snacks, and then I’m going to explain to you exactly how wrong you are.” He says firmly, mouth pressed into a flat line of determination. His expression falters for just a moment as he sees the conflicted look on Y/N’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Y/N says quickly, pressing “ignore” and tucking her phone back under her leg. “Just go get the snacks while I create my counterargument, alright?”

Harry rolls his eyes, reaching into the car and pulling his sunglasses off Y/N’s face. He slips them over his own eyes, his expression back to its determined look. “Fine. Do you want Cheezies?”

“Uh huh. The crunchy ones!” Y/N reminds him, grabbing his phone from the seat again to continue selecting a new song.

“Right. The crunchy ones.” Harry shoots her a finger gun as he shuts the car door. “You can eat them as I prove you wrong!”

“You wish!” Y/N yells back, the phone call all but forgotten as she watches Harry walk into the gas station.

…

“We should go out tonight.”

Y/N sets her duffel bag on the queen-sized bed situated in the center of the motel room, giving Harry a confused look as she registers his words. “Go out?” She asks, tugging on the zipper of the bag. “Go out where?”

“To a bar.” Harry flops down on the bed next to her bag, leaning back on his elbows as he speaks. “All we’ve done this entire trip is drive, and we’re getting to the Catskills tomorrow. We can have a bit of fun tonight, can’t we?”

Y/N snorts as she rifles through her bag, pulling out her phone charger and favourite book. “It’s a road trip; driving is the point, isn’t it? Besides, what kind of bars are in Cleveland, Ohio?”

Harry shrugs lightly. “We passed a sign for one on our way into town. And we haven’t had dinner yet, so we should go get something to eat anyways. And I haven’t had a pint in forever.”

“I doubt you’ll like the pints from a dive bar in Cleveland, Harry.” Y/N rolls her eyes as she plugs her charger into the wall. “I don’t think they’ll be up to your standards.”

“That’s for me to decide, isn’t it?” Harry matches her eye roll with ease before turning his expression into something more endearing. “Please? We don’t have to stay too long if you don’t want to!”

Y/N sighs as she sits down on the bed next to him. “Harry—”

“Just one drink!” Harry pleads, pouting out his bottom lip. “Please? To celebrate not killing each other on this trip?”

In spite of herself, a small laugh falls from Y/N’s mouth. “The trip’s not over yet, Harry. Don’t count your eggs before they hatch.”

“Y/N…” Harry whines, turning onto his side as he looks up at her. “Come on!”

Y/N tugs her lip between her teeth as she looks down at Harry. It’s true, she thinks, that all they’ve done for the last five days is drive and sleep in motels. Maybe they could use a break before tomorrow’s final day. And they’ve been getting along so well today that Y/N would hate to put a damper on their moods now…

“Fine.” She relents, ignoring how there’s a turning feeling in her stomach when she sees Harry’s green eyes light up. “But just one drink!”

…

“I’ll take another Old Fashioned, please!” Y/N says to the waitress, raising her voice to be heard over the man singing a bad cover of “Take on Me” on the small bar stage. “And—Harry, do you want another?”

Harry bites back a laugh, barely managing to cover it with a cough as the waitress turns to him. “Uh, yes, please.” He smiles charmingly, flashing his eyes to Y/N between his words. “I’ll have another pint.”

With a quick nod, the waitress begins to work her way from their table to the bar, pushing through the crowds of people scattered around the bar.

Y/N leans over to Harry as she twirls her straw through the remnants of ice in her empty glass. “You picked a good bar!” She says loudly, gesturing to the people around them. “Who knew this would be the center of Cleveland’s drinking scene?”

“I did! I have good taste!” Harry replies with a laugh, lifting his pint glass to his lips to drain the remnants. “And here I was, thinking that you’d be whining to go home after the first drink!”

There’s something about the way Harry says “home” that turns Y/N’s stomach. Or maybe it’s the Old Fashioneds, she thinks, as she eyes the three empty glasses sitting in front of her. “Oh. Yeah. Maybe we should go…?”

Harry groans, waving off her suggestion without a second thought. “No! We’re having fun! When was the last time you went out?”

“Uh…” The alcohol makes it hard for Y/N to think back in her memory, but she does her best to focus for a few moments to search for the answer. “I think…a few months ago? Jo came to visit, and we went out for drinks…”

“That’s just sad.” Harry shakes his head, feigning disappointment. Or maybe not feigning it, Y/N thinks, because a deep sigh leaves his lips right after. “You live in L.A., a place with so much culture and so many opportunities, and you don’t take them!”

“I take opportunities just fine!” Y/N defends herself, a pout working its way onto her lips of its own volition. “I’m just busy—”

“You’re always going to be busy!” Harry argues as the waitress approaches them with their drinks. “You—thank you—” He says to her as she hands him his pint and Y/N her Old Fashioned. “You have to take time for yourself, to enjoy things! Or else life is just going to pass you by, and soon you’ll be old and grey in your apartment, with no cool stories to tell!”

Y/N takes the straw from her previous drink and slips it in her new one. “I have stories!” She argues hotly, a flush coming over her face from both the alcohol and the argument. “I have plenty of stories!”

Harry takes a gulp from his pint, wiping away the drop of beer that drips from the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah? Tell me one.”

“Like—” Y/N takes a long sip of her drink. “Like now! The story of how I had to go on a road trip with a guy I hated to make it to my best friend’s wedding on time!”

“I’m not really a fan of that title, honestly.” Harry purses his lips, his brow furrowing as he sets his pint back down on the table. “How about we call it the story of how you had to go on a road trip with a guy you hated to make it to your best friend’s wedding on time, and along the way, you and the guy actually realized that you got along pretty well, and became friends?”

A small smile plays on Y/N’s lips, and she raises her glass towards Harry. “Sounds like a plan.” She says softly, barely audible over the noise of the crowd. Harry lifts his pint glass and clicks it against her drink.

They both take a sip of their drinks, and when Harry lowers his glass, there’s a mischievous glint in his eye that immediately makes Y/N uneasy. “I have another idea for a story.” He says, setting his glass down and pointing towards the stage. “How about the story of us singing karaoke at a bar in Cleveland, Ohio?”

Y/N snorts, half folding herself over their table as the snort turns into a full laugh. “Not a chance in hell, Styles!” She says through her laughter, tapping her fingers against the wood table top.

Harry pushes her shoulder, making her sit up again as he tries to convince her. “Come on! We’ve been singing in the car for two days straight! There’s tons of songs we could do—”

“The car is completely different than a stage!” Y/N argues, shaking her head firmly. “No way!”

“What, are you worried about making a fool of yourself?” Harry raises an eyebrow as he gestures around the bar. “Is there anyone you know in the audience? The audience that’s full of people who are pissed out of their minds?”

Biting her lip hard for a moment, Y/N gives a reluctant shake of her head. “No.” She mumbles, looking down. “But I just—I don’t sing karaoke.”

“And you didn’t spend five days in the car with me, either. Until you did, and we had fun.” Harry points a ringed pointer finger at her, and the annoying glint in his eye means he knows he has her trapped. “There is literally no better place to try it than right now, in this bar, where you know no one.”

Y/N glances around the bar, appraising her surroundings. She knows Harry has a point; besides himself, she knows not a single soul in the building. They’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, and she won’t ever find herself in this bar—or, honestly, Cleveland, Ohio—again. If there was ever a time to try karaoke, it would be now.

And hasn’t this trip been full of trying new things? New foods, new conversations, new ways of thinking…Y/N finds herself locking eyes with Harry, losing herself in his intense gaze. Y/N’s not sure what’s swirling around in his irises, whether it’s alcohol or something else entirely, but it’s intoxicating.

Y/N lets out a harsh exhale, pulling the straw out of her drink and downing it entirely in one swift motion. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she slams the glass back on the table before looking back at Harry to find a new grin pasted across his pink lips.

“Alright.” Y/N slips off her stool, stumbling for just a moment until Harry catches her elbow. “You go pick the song.” She says, pointing towards the DJ near the stage. “I-I’m going to run to the bathroom.”

Harry nods, catching his lip between his teeth as his hand squeezes her arm. “Are you alright? You stumbled there—”

“I’m fine! Perfect, actually.” Y/N assures him, pulling away and walking towards the washroom. She calls over her shoulder to him as she does. “Go pick the song! I’ll be back in a moment!”

When Y/N reaches the washroom, she’s surprised to find it empty, and she’s even more surprised when she catches her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Is that really her? She wonders, propping herself up on the counter as she leans closer to examine herself. Her skin is flushed from the alcohol, all across her cheeks and neck, and it only gets warmer as the heat of the bar finally hits her. Y/N undoes the top few buttons of her plaid shirt, exposing her chest to the air. Cocking her head to the side, Y/N studies herself for a moment before undoing the rest of the buttons and rolling up the sleeves to wear the shirt like a cardigan, leaving her bralette exposed. It’s a different look than anything she’s ever done, but…she likes it, she realizes, as her eyes scan over her reflection. She likes this. Being somewhere that no one knows her, somewhere filled with people that won’t judge her for drinking too much, somewhere that she doesn’t have to worry about stories getting back to her work. Y/N likes the wild look in her eyes, the breathlessness stirring inside her, the plumpness of her lips from the ice of her drinks. When she looks at herself, she sees a different person. Someone she doesn’t recognize. Someone who seems to know what they want.

Her phone vibrating in her back pocket pulls her from her thoughts, and it takes Y/N a moment for her intoxicated self to manage to pull it out. When she sees Brant’s name flashing on the screen, she only hesitates for one second before hitting decline. That one second of hesitation, however, is all it takes to make her contemplate herself in the mirror again, second guessing what she sees. She tucks her phone away before washing her hands, and splashes a little bit of cold water on her cheeks to help cool herself down. Giving herself one last look over, Y/N buttons the few bottom buttons of her shirt back together, tying it into a neat knot to cover her stomach. Even if no one here knows her…she can’t get too wild. She still has to be who she is.

After exiting the bathroom, Y/N returns to the table, expecting Harry to be waiting there for her. All she finds, however, is his jacket tossed over the back of his chair, and his now empty pint glass sitting on the table. Y/N turns in a small circle, wondering where he is in the crowd when she hears his slightly slurred voice magnified over the speakers.

“Y/N. Up here, love, c’mon.”

Y/N turns towards the stage, her eyes wide as she realizes Harry has a microphone in one hand and has the other hand wrapped around the microphone stand. His smile is practically glowing underneath the stage lights, and his eyes seem to be doing the same. He releases the mic stand to run a hand through his hair before beckoning her forward.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Cleveland, this—” Harry points towards Y/N, and she almost swears that every person in the bar turns towards her. “This is my very good friend Y/N. And five days ago, she hated my guts!” The crowd boos, and Y/N stares at Harry with incredulous eyes. What is he doing?

“No, no, don’t boo, it’s alright. I hated her guts too.” Harry says with a shrug, leaning against the mic stand again. “But everything’s alright now! We’re getting along, she’s stopped being such a control freak, and she even said she would let me pick a song for us to sing tonight, isn’t that nice?”

The crowd cheers as Y/N walks towards the stage, stopping just before it to stare up at Harry as he continues his drunken monologue. If she was sober, she’d probably pull him down from the stage, grab the front of his patterned button down shirt, and drag him back to their table. But the alcohol running through her system is making her bold, and with her head swimming in the amber liquid she’d been consuming, all she can do is laugh and stumble her way to the stairs to the stage.

Someone wearing a t-shirt with the bar’s logo on it helps her up the stairs, handing her a microphone once she makes it onto the stage. Harry, realizing she’s where she needs to be now, motions to the DJ behind her, and a familiar beat that Y/N can’t place begins to play.

“Harry—” Y/N speaks without raising the microphone to her lips. “What song—?”

“Don’t worry, you know it.” Harry assures her, his eyes flickering over her appearance quickly. “You look great. Just go with it!”

There’s really no choice but to go with it, she thinks, because within a moment, Harry has a simpering smile on his face as he lifts the microphone to his lips, his body turned towards the audience but his eyes flickering to you.

“‘I wasn’t jealous before we met…now every man I see is a potential threat’.” He sings in a confident voice, and Y/N watches the split second it takes for the crowd to realize he’s actually good. And it’s not just his voice, she thinks. It’s his demeanor. The part of Harry’s personality that had first irritated her, the part that lives for a spotlight, the part that can draw someone in with a snap of a finger…that part shines on a stage.

In contrast, all Y/N can do is stare with a shocked expression painted across her face as Harry continues to serenade the crowd. He makes eye contact with specific people as he croons the next lines, his hand confidently wrapped around the microphone “‘And I’m possessive, it isn’t nice…you’ve heard me say that smoking is my only voice’.”

It’s then that Harry’s attention turns back to Y/N, his eyelids hooded, half hiding his emerald eyes as he saunters back towards her. It’s like a switch has flipped in his head, because Y/N is certain that he’s never looked at her in this way before. “‘But now it isn’t true…now everything is new’…” The closer Harry gets to her, the less Y/N can breathe. By the time he’s a foot away from her, she feels like her breaths are stuttering in her chest, giving barely enough oxygen to her body to keep her going.

Harry, it seems, is unaware of the affect he’s having on her. His long limbs are loose and free as he continues to move closer, the smirk on his face intertwined with something deeper that Y/N’s drunken mind can’t quite put her finger on. “‘And all I’ve learned, has overturned…I beg of you’…”

The scent of cologne, alcohol, and sweat that emanates from Harry as he gets close enough to press his forehead to hers reminds Y/N exactly where she is, and what she’s supposed to be doing. Just managing to bring the microphone to her lips in time, Y/N shoves Harry on his shoulder, pushing him away enough that she can walk past him and distance herself. “‘Don’t go wasting your emotion’…” She sings, glancing at him over her shoulder as she moves away. Harry watches her with darkened eyes, a hungry look on his face as Y/N begins to sway her hips to the music. It’s fun, she realizes, being on stage like this, and playing the part with Harry as she sets down a challenge. “‘Lay all your love on me’.”

The crowd cheers as Harry begins to take measured steps towards Y/N again, looking like the cat who wants to catch the canary. Y/N, ever the competitive player, refuses to give in so easily, and quickly extends a hand to two people sitting in front of the stage. They give her support as she slides down from the platform, working her way through the tables without so much as a glance behind herself at Harry, who she knows is following her.

“‘It was like shooting a sitting duck…a little small talk, a smile and baby I was stuck’.” Y/N finally turns around, pausing her walk to see Harry hopping down from the stage. She points at him slowly, giving a small shake of her head as she sings the next line. “‘I still don’t know what you’ve done to me…a grownup woman should never fall so easily’…”

Harry’s smirk only grows, and he runs a hand haphazardly through his sweaty curls. He’s enjoying playing the part too, and Y/N can tell by the way he allows her to cross the seating area, so that they’re walking parallel to each other towards the bar. He’s not chasing her down. He’s taking his time, knowing that he’ll get her in the end.

“‘I feel a kind of fear…when I don’t have you near’…” Y/N pauses at a table of two men and a woman, leaning down between the latter two. She only takes her eyes off Harry for a moment to give a questioning look to the man, who gives her a smile of permission. Y/N runs her fingers across his shoulder and down his arm, but keeps her eyes glued to Harry the entire time. “‘Unsatisfied, I skip my pride…I beg you dear’…”

When he sees Y/N’s fingers trace down the collar of someone else, Harry’s brow furrows in jealousy, his jade eyes shifting even darker than they were before. He keeps pace with Y/N as she begins to move again, but there’s an air of tension in his saunter that wasn’t there a moment ago. When he sings, it sounds like half plea, half demand. “‘Don’t go wasting your emotion…lay all your love on me’.” Harry rounds a table of people before beginning to close the distance between him and Y/N, each of them now standing in front of the bar. With the tension between them now palpable, the crowd is moving out of their way discreetly, watching as the two approach each other. Harry licks his red lips before singing the next line. “‘Don’t go sharing your devotion…lay all your love on me’.”

Y/N releases her bottom lip from between her teeth, running her fingers over the finished wood of the bar before pulling herself to sit atop it. She crosses her legs carefully before leaning her weight on one hand, giving a small shrug, knowing that Harry’s eyes are glued to her every motion as the bartender pours him a shot. “‘I’ve had a few little love affairs…they didn’t last very long and they’ve been pretty scarce’…”

Harry’s lips wrap around the shot glass, throwing it back just in time to sing the next line as tequila drips from the corner of his mouth. The drop of alcohol runs down his chin to trace the muscles of his neck, and as Harry pulls himself to sit next to Y/N on the bar, the only thing she wants to do is lean forward and lick the liquor from his skin.

“‘I used to think I was sensible’…” Harry passes a newly poured shot to Y/N, meaning for her to take it from him, and he nearly stutters over his next line as Y/N wraps her hand around his own, guiding him to guide the shot to her mouth. There’s a sharp intake of air into the microphone before Harry can sing again, and Y/N smirks at the small victory as she wipes her mouth doing her best to hide how the bitter taste of the tequila affects her. “‘It makes the truth even more incomprehensible’.”

Y/N brings her microphone to her mouth again to sing the next verse with Harry, their eyes locked together as they lean forward into each other. Despite the cheering of the crowd, Y/N can’t help but feel as though she and Harry are the only two in the bar, as if this—very public—performance were small and intimate and just between them.

“‘Because everything is new’…” Harry grips the knot in Y/N’s plaid shirt, easily pulling it undone with one hand. His eyes break away from hers for only a moment to canvas over her newly exposed midriff and lace bralette before snapping back to her gaze with a renewed vigor. He keeps the tails of the shirt clutched within his strong hand as he begins to lean back on the bar, pulling Y/N down with him.

“‘And everything is you’…” Y/N almost falls over before she catches herself, bracing one hand beside Harry’s head on the bar to support her weight as he lays down fully. She can feel how tightly he’s gripping her shirt by how the hem of it is pressing into her skin, and the pressure of the fabric cues another kind of pressure to begin to curl inside her stomach. When she sucks in a breath, she can taste tequila and Harry’s cologne on her tongue, and she struggles to bite back a whine while Harry wraps her shirt tighter around his hand.

“‘And all I’ve learned has overturned’…” Harry releases the wrinkled fabric of her shirt, his now freed hand trading the cloth for the skin of her exposed waist. The coolness of his rings against her flushed skin makes Y/N’s breath stutter, and she curls her body over him more in response. The taste of Harry’s touch has sparked a need to be closer, as well as a new fluttering in her core, and judging by the way Harry keeps licking his lips, he knows it.

Refusing to be the only one affected by their close proximity, Y/N moves her supporting hand from the bar to Harry’s hair, tugging on it harshly as Harry opens his mouth to sing the next line. As Y/N sings “‘I beg of you’…” with a pleading glance, Harry grunts deep in his throat, just managing to pull the microphone away from his lips so that Y/N is the only one to hear it.

Although getting a reaction out of Harry was her goal, actually hearing that reaction is another story entirely. Heat rushes to Y/N’s face as Harry grips her waist tighter, pressing her thighs and hips to his own as he guides the two of them to the beat of the music. The cheering and wolf whistles from the crowd are the only thing that keep Y/N grounded and in the moment, reminding her that—despite how it feels—there are people watching the two of them.

“‘Don’t go wasting your emotion…lay all your love on me’.” Harry grinds his hip against Y/N’s once more, moving them in a steady and consistent pace. Y/N repositions her body in return, spreading her legs so she can straddle Harry’s hips more easily. She knows, though, that she needs to start pulling back. She has to do something to get away from him, to break the trance that his touch has her in, before she does something she’ll regret.

“‘Don’t go sharing your devotion’…” Y/N slowly sits back up, letting go of Harry’s hair in order to trail her free hand down his chest. Although she knows that she’s supposed to be distancing herself from him, she can’t resist digging her nails in just the slightest bit, delighting in the hiss that leaves his mouth. “‘Lay all your love on me’…”

Harry sits up slowly as the key changes, his eyes glued to Y/N’s lips as she sings a line by herself, her voice growing ever so slightly fainter every time Harry tugs on his red lips with his teeth, soothing the mark with his tongue a moment after. “‘Don’t go wasting your emotion…lay all your love on me’…”

Now that they’re both sitting upright, Harry grips their bodies and turns them so that their legs once again dangle off the bar. Y/N can feel the blood rushing from her head as she drapes her arm over Harry’s shoulder, her eyelids fluttering as Harry digs his fingertips into her waist. “‘Don’t go sharing your devotion’…” Harry’s pupils are so blown that his irises practically look black. His chest is heaving with every breath, his exposed skin flushed and sweaty. His curls are a mess from Y/N tangling her fingers in them. If Y/N didn’t know any better, she’d say Harry looks freshly fucked, and then she wonders if she looks the same. By the way Harry’s looking at her, she thinks it’s safe to say that she does.

“‘Lay all your love on me’.” They finish together, hungry eyes locked with each other while the wolf whistles and clapping gets louder as the final notes of the song trail off. This is where they should break apart, Y/N thinks, her chest moving rapidly with every ragged breath she takes. This is where she should climb off Harry’s lap, climb down from the bar, return the microphones to the DJ, and gather her things and go. This is the end of whatever the hell just happened during that song. This is where she says “Harry, we have to be up early tomorrow to drive, so we should go back to the motel.”

To her credit, Y/N tries. She swallows hard, her mouth as dry as it’s ever been, and sucks in another breath, almost whimpering at the taste of his cologne in the back of her throat. Don’t, she tells herself. She needs to say what she needs to say. Their game is done. It’s over.

“Harry—” She begins, and that’s all she manages to say before Harry is kissing her.

Her body reacts before her mind does, but between the overwhelming sensations all around her and the copious amounts of liquor that her brain is swimming in, Y/N can only register every third movement. The microphone falling from her hand onto the bar as she tangles her fingers back in Harry’s curls, twisting and pulling and receiving the most delightful gasps from him in return. Harry’s teeth catching her bottom lip, just barely tugging on the tender flesh. Ringed hands keeping a firm grip on Y/N’s sides as Harry helps her down from the bar, his lips still pressed firmly against her own. The lingering taste of tequila on Harry’s skin as Y/N kisses down his jaw, unable to completely pull away as Harry struggles to settle their tab with the bartender.

She’s never felt like this before; Y/N didn’t even know it could feel like this. She didn’t know that she could feel an ache so deep inside her, both painful and pleasurable at the same time, and be so completely aware that the only cure for it is the touch of another person. Y/N had been convinced that this rush was something that was fiction, made up by steamy romance novels to entice lonely housewives to dive beneath their pages. And yet here she is, stumbling out of a bar in Cleveland, Ohio, with Harry Styles, someone that she swore up and down that she hated five days ago. Here she is with Harry’s jacket draped over her heated shoulders, his hands slipped underneath, rubbing at her exposed skin as he guides her back to the motel. Here she is with his lips connected to her neck the moment their motel room door is closed, his fingers fumbling with the locks on the door as he refuses to pull away from her.

Yes, Y/N thinks, as she grinds her hips against Harry’s, relishing in the strangled moan that he breathes into her mouth: it’s never felt like this.

“Y/N—” Each pant of her name from his lips sounds like a song. “Fuck, Y/N—” Harry pulls back from her just enough to suck in a full breath, the first in what feels like hours. “I—we—”

“Shut up.” Y/N uses her grip on his hair to pull his head back, trailing open mouthed kisses over his jugular. “Just shut up, Harry, I need—I just need—”

“Need what?” Harry demands, eyes dark as he pushes himself away from her. An involuntary whine at the loss of contact escapes from Y/N’s throat, and Harry has to steel himself again before he can continue. “What do you need?” He asks, struggling to keep his voice controlled. “You—you have to tell me, so that—I need you to be clear.”

Y/N licks over her swollen lips, eyes blown wide with lust as she stares up at Harry, struggling to find the words. “I need…” She swallows once more, inhaling sharply as he grips her shoulders to steady her. “I need you, Harry. Just fuck me. I-I need you to—”

Before she can finish her request, Harry has scooped her up into his arms, tossing her on the creaking motel bed as if she were a rag doll. A gasp of shock leaves Y/N’s mouth, and she’s barely managed to sit up before Harry is caging his body over hers, forcing her back down as he kisses her hard.

Y/N’s hands go straight to the hem of his shirt, tugging roughly on the fabric, shoving it up Harry’s body before he gets the clue to half sit up and pull it off himself. After that, it’s a rush to remove clothes, each of them blindly pulling off shirts and bras and pants. Everything is rushed, and that’s what Y/N wants. She doesn’t want time to lay down and explore, and allow herself space to second guess her decision. All she wants is Harry to do something about the ache in her core, to fill her up so completely that she’ll be feeling him for days. It’s that need that makes Y/N tug on his hair to get his attention as he begins to kiss her thighs.

“No.” She shakes her head haphazardly, and the room spins slightly when she finishes the motion. “No, I just—I just need you to fuck me. I’m ready, Harry—”

“But—” His teeth tug roughly on his bottom lip, mimicking Y/N’s actions from moments ago. “I want to taste—”

“Please, Harry.” Y/N whines, throwing her head back on the motel pillow. “It’s been so long since I’ve been full…please…”

The lewd admission catches Harry off guard. “Fucking hell—” He spits out, his hands tugging on his hair as he sits up. “Yeah, I—okay.” He closes his eyes for a moment to steady himself, the struggle to have a coherent thought clear on his face. “Okay, I need…”

Harry’s eyes begin to search the room, and the moment they settle on his bag in the corner, he rushes towards it. Y/N watches the muscles in his back shift beneath his smooth skin as he unzips the bag, rummaging through it before pulling out a tiny foil square. He tucks the package between his teeth as his hands fumble with his belt, undoing it quickly and pulling it off to toss to the floor. He undoes his button and fly as he climbs back onto the bed, doing his best to waste no time as he situates himself between Y/N’s still spread legs.

“Y’look so hot like this, y’know that?” He can’t stop himself from muttering the words as he pulls his pants down just enough to free his cock. Y/N stares hungrily at how swollen he is, only half listening to Harry’s words as she watches his hand stroke himself, the other lifting the condom package to his teeth. He tears the foil open, spitting the little tag from his mouth as he removes the condom from the foil. That foil is soon tossed to the ground before Harry gives himself one last stroke, quickly but carefully rolling the condom down the length of his shaft.

Placing his hands on either knee, Harry spreads Y/N’s legs even wider, his eyes greedily taking in the sight of her bare core. “You’re dripping.” Harry says in a low voice, and before Y/N can reply with anything, he runs a ringed finger over her folds and slips it into his mouth.

“Ah—!” Y/N gasps at the unexpected sensation, the minimal contact enough to send her reeling. Harry grins at the response, loving how the pleasure from the small action is clearly written across her face.

“Sorry.” He says with a small shrug, lining himself up with her entrance. “Just wanted a little taste, tha’s all. Couldn’t resist.” Harry drags the tip of his cock along Y/N’s slick core, a look of concentration overtaking his features. “I’ll go slow—”

A sound of protest leaves Y/N’s mouth. “No. Go fast. I need it, Harry, please—” Her plea is cut off by Harry thrusting inside her with one sharp movement, and then Y/N stops talking completely.

There’s a slight feeling of pain, as she wasn’t lying when she said it’s been a while since she’s been with someone, but underneath that pain, pleasure is quickly building as Harry begins to snap his hips towards hers, finding a rhythm within a few thrusts. Y/N knows immediately that Harry is probably one of the largest men—if not the largest man—she’s ever been with, but that’s exactly what she needs right now. The moment he filled her for the first time, there was a feeling of completeness that she’s been missing in her life for a long time. She needed this, she thinks. She needed to be stretched, to be filled, to be fucked, and Harry is the only one that could have fulfilled those needs this well. She’s convinced of it.

It’s far from the most romantic sex Y/N’s ever had; it’s all teeth clacking, biting, scratching, tugging, and growling. And she knows that she should be concerned about how Harry’s teeth biting down on her shoulder is going to leave marks, especially when she has to wear a bridesmaid dress in less than 48 hours. But all of that is exactly what she needs. She doesn’t want Harry to whisper how much he loves her, how close he feels to her, how happy he is to be with her. She doesn’t want to hear him say anything, except—

“Feel so fucking good around my cock.” He growls, his fingertips digging deeper into the flesh of her hips. “So bloody tight, Y/N…”

A sharp gasp tumbles out of Y/N’s throat as Harry swivels his hips, finding the exact spot she needs him the most. “Oh God, Harry, I—” Y/N scratches her nails down his back, surely leaving a trail of angry red marks in her place, as her other hand twists the sheets within her grip. “Fuck, right there, right there, right there—”

“Feels good, yeah? You like it?” Harry manages to bring a hand to her hair, tangling it within her locks and pulling hard. “Tell me.” His voice is so much lower than she’s ever heard it, his accent so much thicker, and the combination sends Y/N’s eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Tell me how much you love my cock, and—fuck—how much you love me fucking you.”

Y/N’s mouth falls open, a strangled whine echoing from the back of her throat as the head of Harry’s cock presses against her G-spot again. “I-I love it, Harry, I—your cock fills me so well—don’t stop, please don’t stop—!”

Using her moans as fuel, Harry begins to thrust faster, tugging on Y/N’s hair one last time before grasping her hips between his hands to gain more control. If his flushed skin and the sweat covering his entire body is any indication, Y/N can tell that Harry is just as close as she is. Her breathing quickens just as the sound of the bed creaking does, and she brings one hand down to her clit to rub fast circles, desperate to reach her release.

“Harry—” She gasps for what seems the millionth time that night, her body shuddering as she pushes closer and closer to the edge. “I’m so fucking close, Harry, please—”

The growl that falls from Harry’s mouth almost doesn’t sound like him. It’s deeper, more animalistic, and so unlike the careful and slow voice that she’s gotten used to over the last five days. Releasing one hand from her hip, he pushes her hand out of the way, replacing her fingers with his own to rub circles over her clit. “Cum for me, Y/N. I know you need it, baby, so just—” Harry groans as her walls squeeze his length. “Just cum.”

The command combined with his motions is all it takes to push Y/N over the edge. A breathless gasp falls from her open mouth, and she screws her eyes shut as pleasure courses through her body. It’s so much more intense than anything she’s felt before, so much more pleasurable, so much more dizzying, and just so much more. Small whimpers and Harry’s name are the only things she can think to say as her orgasm makes her movements stutter before falling limply back onto the bed.

“Fuck—” Harry moans roughly as he kisses her one more time, his mouth falling open against hers as her orgasm triggers his own. Although the rhythm of his thrusts stutters, they don’t completely stop, and he continues to slam his hips against her own as he rides out his orgasm. “That’s it, baby—squeeze me tight—” Harry pants into Y/N’s mouth, barely registering anything he’s saying, let alone the pet name that’s begun to fall from his lips. “Christ…”

Things become a blur after that. After Harry pulls out, all Y/N can focus on is how empty she feels without his thick cock filling her to the brim, and she doesn’t even realize that he’s gotten off the bed until he returns, his weight causing the whole bed frame to creak once more. With both of them so sweaty, Harry only pulls the top sheet over their panting bodies, pressing his head into the crook of Y/N’s neck as his eyes close.

Neither of them says anything, and for multiple reasons. What exactly is there to say? And, more pressing, what exactly is Y/N capable of saying right now? There are no words running through her mind. All she can do is think in terms of physical contact and needs, and those two things tell her everything she knows in this moment. She knows that Harry is in just his boxers now because she can’t feel the rough fabric of his pants against her bare skin. She knows that she needs his hands on her, cupping her breasts the way he is. She knows that if he were to move away from her, she’d go chasing after him. She knows that she’s completely worn out—completely fucked out, really—and above all else, she knows that whatever needs to be discussed between them can be discussed the next morning.

Harry, however, seems to have a different approach. His face still pressed into her neck, he mumbles something against her sweat soaked skin, low and deep and completely inaudible. Y/N feels an open mouthed kiss pressed to her neck, and then hears another mumble, this one even quieter than the last.

“Hm?” Y/N barely manages to hum the syllable in her exhaustion.

There’s no response, no repeat of the quiet phrases, and it takes Y/N a few minutes of feeling Harry’s breathing even out to realize that he’s fallen asleep. If she were sober and had the mental capacity to examine things, Y/N would wonder what it was that Harry whispered into her skin. But her brain is swimming in exhaustion and endorphins and tequila, and the only thing she can do is close her eyes and allow her breathing to sync up with the rise and fall of Harry’s chest.

…

The first thing Y/N registers the next morning is the shrill ringing of her cell phone, which somehow made its way to the bedside table in her drunken fervour the night before. The second thing she registers is the pounding of her head, like she can feel each pump of blood to her brain, and the uncomfortably dry feeling in her mouth, as if it’s been stuffed full of cotton. The third thing Y/N registers is—

“Christ.” Harry groans into her neck, his voice raspy from sleep and laced with irritation. “God, who is calling right now?”

Right. The third thing she registers, probably the most complicated of all, Y/N thinks, is just how much of Harry’s taut and tattooed bare skin is pressed against her own. His strong arms are thrown over her waist, clutching her tight to his chest. In the back of her mind, she’s vaguely aware of the chain of Harry’s cross pressing into her breast, probably leaving a small red indentation along with the other marks he left on her last night.

Last night.

Y/N lets out a small whine as the previous evening comes rushing back to her. It’s a blur of alcohol, ABBA, and Harry. Harry is everywhere, in every blurred picture her hungover brain can conjure. Laughing at her from across the table. Smirking at her on stage. Staring at her with a hungry look in his eyes as he pulled her down on top of him on the bar, grinding his hips into hers. Kissing her. Kissing her multiple times. Coming back to their room with his hands leaving scorching imprints over every inch of her. And now, him laying next to her, clutching the two of them together like they’ve always done this. Like it’s natural.

The phone rings again, louder than the last time, and Harry curses under his breath, the short exhale of air leaving goosebumps along Y/N’s neck. He lifts his head just barely as he reaches across Y/N’s body, grabbing her phone from the bedside table and not bothering to check the caller ID as he answers.

“Hello?” He says, the rasp of sleep still clear his voice. Within three seconds, Harry’s entire body tenses against Y/N, his arm constricting around her waist enough to shift her on the bed.

Y/N lifts her head up when she feels the change, finally opening her eyes just enough to read the change in Harry’s body language. What she finds are dark and stormy green eyes, a swollen red mouth pressed into a thin line, and a deep crease between his furrowed brow, all of it such a contrast from the hazy memories of him the night before.

“I—yeah, she’s right here.” Harry mutters, his eyes snapping to Y/N’s face for just a moment. “I’ll—oh. Yeah, no, the trip’s been…good. Yeah. Not too much traffic.” His arm moves off her waist as he pulls away from her, rolling onto his back as the bed creaks beneath them. With his newly freed hand, Harry covers his eyes, rubbing them for a moment as the irritation on his face grows. “Yeah, it was nice of me to give her a ride. Yeah.” He sucks in a breath. “Well, she’s—she’s awake now. Here. I’ll let you two talk.”

Y/N props herself up on one elbow, careful to keep the sheet pressed to her chest so that she’s not exposed. She knows that Harry’s already seen everything, touched everything, and kissed everything, but the sudden change in his demeanor is telling her that she needs to be guarded, even if she has no idea what caused it.

Harry holds out her phone for her, his face stony as Y/N slowly accepts it. “Harry—?” She begins, but he just gives a rough jerk of his head, and offers no other explanation.

Eyes still glued to Harry’s face, Y/N brings the phone to her ear, clearing the sleep from her voice. “Hello?”

“Hi.” The familiar cadence of Brant’s voice crackles through the phone speaker, an indication of how far away he is from her. “It’s good to finally hear your voice; I haven’t been able to catch you the last few days.”

Y/N keeps her eyes on Harry as her body goes cold, pressing the sheet tighter to her chest. “Brant.” She whispers his name unintentionally; her body won’t allow her to say it any louder. “Hi.”

At the sound of Brant’s voice leaving her lips, Harry throws the covers off of himself, jerkily pulling himself off of the low motel room bed. He snatches his jeans off the floor, and doesn’t give Y/N another glance as he walks to the small bathroom, slamming the door behind himself.

“Hi.” Brant says again, completely unaware of what’s happening on the other end of the telephone line. “I’ve missed you. Where are you now?”

“Uh, Cleveland.” Y/N says weakly, stumbling her way out of the bed to her duffel bag. She grabs a new bra and t-shirt, along with her comfiest pair of pants. Without Harry beside her, she’s freezing. “Today’s our last day of driving.”

“Oh, well, that’s good.” Brant replies easily. “The wedding is tomorrow, then?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N’s eyes flicker to the bathroom as the sound of the shower starting travels through the wood of the door. “And tonight is the rehearsal dinner.”

Brant makes a sound of acknowledgement on the other end of the phone. “That’ll be nice! Do you know if you’re flying back?”

“Uh—” Y/N pauses her movements, her pants half pulled up her legs. That, honestly, is a good question, and one which seems as though the answer is changing with every passing moment. “I guess I’ll call the airline and…see if I can fly back. Maybe the storms will have passed.”

“You must have driven through them, right? In Utah, or wherever they were?” Brant asks curiously. “Did they seem that bad? Honestly, I’ve always found thunder to be relaxing. I think most people do.”

Y/N tugs her t-shirt over her head with one hand, accidentally bumping her chin as she does so. The motion causes her to bite down on her tongue, and she lets out a curse under her breath, not even bothering to correct Brant. It doesn’t matter, she thinks. He probably wouldn’t remember. “Yeah. Relaxing.”

The sound of the shower turning off catches her attention, distracting her from what Brant says next. “I—sorry—” She mutters in a distracted tone, raking her fingers through her sleep and sex mussed hair. “What was that?”

“I said let me know when you’re on your way back from New York, so I’ll make us a dinner reservation.” Brant repeats himself without suspicion of Y/N’s distracted tone. “We just got some new files at work that I think you’ll be very interested in.”

The bathroom door creaks open, and Harry emerges from the cloud of shower steam. He’s dressed in just his pants, his marked chest still damp from the shower. Although he catches Y/N’s eye for a moment, he quickly looks away, rubbing his towel through his wet curls as he turns to search for a shirt. The red marks of Y/N’s nails are prominent on his otherwise unmarked back.

“Dinner?” Y/N repeats slowly, chewing on her cuticle as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “Are you—you still want to get dinner?”

“Of course. I enjoy our weekly dinners, don’t you?” Brant asks, confusion finally slipping into his voice. “I’ve missed them.”

“I—” Y/N clears her throat, rubbing her thumb absentmindedly over her bottom lip. “Okay. Yeah. Dinner. I’ll, um, I’ll let you know when I book a flight home.”

“Sounds wonderful. Well, I’ll let you get on the road. Let me know when you’re available.” Brant’s voice already sounds more and more distant. “Goodbye.”

“Bye.” Y/N replies lamely, letting her phone drop to the crumpled bed sheets.

There’s a rustling behind her, the sound of a belt clicking, of the zipper on a duffel bag being pulled shut. Y/N waits for a moment, to give Harry the chance to say something to her, but nothing comes. Finally, she twists around on the bed, her nerves running on high.

Harry is completely dressed now, a black t-shirt covering his previously bare chest, and he’s tied his familiar green bandana into his damp chestnut locks. His sunglasses are hanging on the neck of his shirt, but even without them covering his emerald eyes, Y/N can’t decipher anything that’s swirling within them.

“That—that was Brant.” She says finally, scratching a nail over the palm of her hand.

Harry jerks his head in a nod as he shoulders his duffel bag. “Yeah. I heard.” Tapping his fingers against the leather strap, he finally spares a glance at Y/N. “He wants to take you to dinner, huh?”

Running her teeth along her bottom lip, Y/N takes a moment before she replies. “Harry, I—”

“I’ll be in the car.” He mutters, taking long strides to the door and unlocking it with a harsh turn of his hand. “Just hurry up, yeah? I want to get on the road soon, so we’re not late to the rehearsal dinner.”

When he slams the door behind him, Y/N breaks.

…

And just like that, it’s like they’re back at square one.

It really feels like the first day all over again, Y/N thinks, in every sense of the sentiment. From the way she and Harry sit in silence, each avoiding the other’s gaze, to how every single one of Harry’s movements is filled with a tight and tense irritation. Even the sound of Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” is familiar, echoing through the speakers of the car like a soundtrack to an old memory.

After four hours, the silence is finally getting to her. She can’t stop shifting in her seat, her muscles seizing from hours on end in the same position—although, frankly, her soreness may partially be a result of her and Harry’s activities from the night before—and with every short and hard breath Harry sighs, Y/N gets more and more antsy.

“Harry.” She says finally, risking a glance at him from the corner of her eye. He has one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the stick shift, both grips tight enough to stretch his skin over the bones of his knuckles until it goes white. At the sound of Y/N’s voice, his jaw flexes, but he shows no other evidence that he heard her.

A frustrated sigh falls past Y/N’s lips. “Harry.” She says again, firmer this time. “Are you going to ignore me all the way to the Catskills?”

Realizing that he can’t feign deafness, Harry lets his shoulders lift once and drop down again in a quick motion. “’M not ignoring you.” He mutters, keeping his eyes glued to the road.

“We’re not talking. At all.” Y/N taps her fingers against her knee, just slightly off the beat of the music. “Shouldn’t we talk about what happened?”

“Why?” Harry asks, his voice flatter than she’s ever heard it. “What’s there to talk about?”

Y/N twists her body in her seat, her seat belt nearly cutting into her throat with how quickly she moves. “What the hell do you mean, what’s there to talk about? There’s plenty! Last night—”

Harry cuts over her with a sharp tone, still refusing to look away from the road. “Last night we got drunk, and we made a mistake.” His grip tightens even more on the gear shift as he moves it to accelerate the car. “And it shouldn’t have happened.”

It takes a few moment for the words to register in her brain, and Y/N blinks slowly as the process unfolds. “You think it was a mistake?” She tries to ask the question as nonchalantly as possible.

“I do.” Harry nods tightly, and while Y/N thinks that she can detect something else underneath his tone, his dark sunglasses hide the truth of his thoughts from her. “We got caught up with trying to—to pretend we’re not who we are. But we know who we are.”

If Y/N’s brain couldn’t process Harry’s words a moment ago, it’s working in overdrive now as she draws a million different conclusions from the conversation. What the fuck does “we know who we are” mean? Wasn’t the whole point of this trip—the long lesson they’d learned together—that both of them were different than the other had thought? Hadn’t Harry proved to her, over and over, how he was so much more considerate and empathetic than she’d previously imagined? Hadn’t she shown him that she wasn’t the Ice Queen he thought she was, wasn’t as controlling, wasn’t as perfect? Hadn’t that been a good thing? Hadn’t they bonded at roadside fruit stands, small souvenir shacks, ghost town gas stations, and dingy motel rooms?

But maybe…maybe she had imagined all of that, because the way that Harry is actively avoiding her gaze is telling her that he isn’t thinking the same thing. Everything from his body language, to his tone of voice, to his attitude, is telling her that he’s just as stubborn and closed off as he was when they first met. He hasn’t changed. If he had, he wouldn’t be refusing to do something as simple as look at her.

Still, something about the interaction doesn’t sit right with Y/N. Although she turns to face the windshield again, she keeps Harry in the corner of her gaze. “Is this…” She swallows hard. “Does this have something to do with Brant calling?”

A harsh snort is all the response she gets. “Christ, no. Trust me, nothing that prick can do has that much of an affect on me.” Even from behind his sunglasses, Y/N can tell that Harry is rolling his eyes. “Although I suppose it is a reminder of where you belong.”

A flash of irritation rips up Y/N’s spine. “A reminder of what?” She repeats, eyes narrowing.

“You heard me, Y/N, don’t make me say it again.” Harry taps a finger to the song, perfectly on the beat. They’re out of sync, Y/N realizes. Had they ever been in sync?

No, she decides. They hadn’t. She’d just been fooling herself. Being in the car for five days with only Harry for company had deluded her, but soon she’d be with Jo, and a million other people, and when she’s not in stuck in Harry’s car, smelling Harry’s cologne, listening to Harry’s music, she’ll have a clear head. She’ll be able to think straight.

“Fine.” Y/N crosses her arms firmly over her chest, leaning her head against the cool glass of the passenger window. A sign welcoming them to the state of New York whizzes past. “I won’t make you say it again. You don’t have to say anything.”

…

“So? What do you think?”

Y/N steps over the threshold of the cozy cabin, analyzing every little detail of the room as quickly as she can. The interior seems to be one open concept room, cleverly split up with small architectural dividers. The living room and kitchen flowed into each other smoothly, with a kitchen island dividing the space. To the left of the living room is a small reading nook, holding a comfortable looking wicker swing chair and a half-size bookshelf that seems to be well stocked. Separating the reading nook from the rest of the cabin is the staircase, which Y/N presumes leads up to the master bedroom and bathroom that’s lofted above on the halved second floor. Between the wall of windows giving a beautiful view of the forest, the fire quietly cracking in the living room, and the potted plants scattered around the cabin, Y/N has to admit that she thinks she could live in this space for the rest of her life.

“It’s beautiful, Jo.” She finally replies, setting down her suitcase and duffel bag as she continues to look around. She walks to the living room first, brushing her fingers over the cable knit blanket that’s draped over the back of the comfortable looking couch. “Is this for you and Laure?”

“Nope. It’s for me and you.” Jo replies, walking to the kitchen and opening the fridge. She pulls out a bottle of rosé, motioning over her shoulder to the cupboard. “Grab a couple wine glasses, would you?”

Y/N crosses to the kitchen, searching through the cupboards until she finds the glasses. Setting them down on the island, she gives Jo a confused look. “Me and you?”

Jo gives her a familiar grin as she uncorks the wine, and the sight of it lights a warm fire in Y/N’s chest. It feels like home. “It’s tradition for the bride not to see the bride before the wedding, isn’t it? So after the rehearsal dinner, Laure and I will say goodbye until the ceremony tomorrow, and you and I—” She fills Y/N’s glass liberally. “Will have one last night of single girl fun. And then you can have the cabin to yourself tomorrow night, because I will be on my honeymoon, and, hopefully, getting laid.”

Y/N smiles back at her as she lifts her glass, clinking it against Jo’s. “Sounds like a plan.” After taking a long sip, Y/N leans her elbows on the counter, propping her head in her hands. “I can’t believe you’re getting married tomorrow. Married!”

“Yeah, well, that’s old news.” Jo waves her hand as she lowers her wine glass from her lips, her inquisitive eyes alight with mischief. “I’d rather know how the trip with Harry was. Are you two finally getting along? The last time I called, you actually sounded like you were enjoying yourself.”

Y/N pauses with her wine glass half lifted to her lips. Part of her wants to tell Jo everything, because she always tells Jo everything. It feels wrong to have a secret from her. But then again, she’s never had a reason to have a secret before. Right now, however…the last thing Jo and Laure need the night before their wedding—three hours before the rehearsal dinner—is to be stressed because the maid of honour and the best man had a drunken one night stand in Cleveland, Ohio.

“I wouldn’t say we’re getting along.” Y/N says diplomatically, taking a sip of wine between her words. “We’re…a bit better, I suppose. But we’re not that close.”

“Really?” When Jo raises an eyebrow, Y/N almost swears that she can detect a hint of disappointment in her voice. “But Harry said—”

“He said what?” Y/N asks quickly, the diplomatic tone disappearing immediately.

Jo tugs on her bottom lip as she gives a small shrug of her shoulders. “Nothing, I guess. I don’t know. I overheard him and Laure talking last night, but I couldn’t really make much of it out. It sounded like you two were at a bar.”

The new information makes Y/N pause. Harry had called Laure while they were at the bar last night. Harry had felt the need to call Laure while they were at the bar last night. What had been so urgent, so pressing, that he needed to speak to her right then and there?

“A bar, yeah.” Y/N finally replies after a moment. “It was alright. We just had a couple drinks to relax from being in the car.”

“Just drinks? That’s all? Nothing else?”

Y/N clears her throat, gulping down the rest of her wine before answering. “That’s it. Nothing else.”

…

“Here you go, Miss Bride.” Y/N grins at Jo as she tops off her mimosa, fixing the tie of her pink silk robe as she settles back down in her chair. “Something to relax you, yeah?”

Jo glances up at Y/N, her pen pausing over the page of her notebook. She’s careful when she moves her head, so as not to disturb the hairstylist that’s carefully curling her hair, but still manages to meet Y/N’s eye. “I’m relaxed.” She argues, but takes a sip of the drink nonetheless. “I just love mimosas. You can’t blame me for that.”

Y/N gives a slight shrug as she brushes a strand of her own carefully styled hair over her shoulder. Jo, being Jo, had insisted on sleeping in as much as she could that morning, so when the hair and makeup lady had arrived two hours ago, Y/N had been the first one to get made over. Which, honestly, she quite enjoyed, but the real feat would be remaining picture perfect until the ceremony, which is still two hours away.

“Will you do something for me?” Jo asks suddenly, her pen still scratching over her notebook. She finishes signing her name with a messy signature, waiting until the hairdresser has paused her movements to rip the page from the notebook and fold it up. She quickly writes Laure’s name on the front and extends the note to Y/N. “Will you bring this to Laure?”

Although Y/N accepts the note from her automatically, there’s a flicker of hesitation in her voice. “This isn’t an explanation of why you’re leaving her at the altar, is it?”

Jo flips Y/N off with an elegantly painted fingernail. “No, you jerk. We agreed to write letters to each other right before the wedding. As a little keepsake.”

A sudden lump develops in Y/N’s throat as she turns the note over in her hands, her mind flickering back to the last time she’d read something Jo wrote for Laure. How Harry’s voice had sounded reciting Laure’s words for Jo. “You two are sickeningly sweet, you know that?” Y/N finishes her mimosa before standing up, tightening her robe once again. “I’ll take it to her now. Where’s her cabin?”

“Just down the path towards the resort. Take a left when you reach the arrow sign.” Jo instructs her, setting her notebook down beside her before relaxing back into her chair. Her eyes close as the hairdresser continues styling her hair. “You’ll find it.”

Y/N nods, slipping on her scuffed up Vans before dashing outside. When the slight chill in the morning air hits her, she pulls her silk dressing gown around her tighter, and debates whether or not she should grab a proper jacket. She decides against it, however, and ignores the goosebumps popping up on her bare legs as she begins to walk down the path Jo mentioned.

It’s a quiet and calm morning, and Y/N can hear birds chirping and flittering through the pine trees around them. The trees themselves add a wonderful scent to the air, in addition to the faint smell that indicates it may rain later. Glancing up, Y/N can see that the sky is overcast, giving another indication of future weather patterns. A small sigh escapes her. A storm would be just the thing that’s needed today, she thinks wryly.

When Y/N reaches the arrow sign, which points towards the lake, the main resort building, and the cabins, she takes a sharp left. And practically slams into Harry’s chest.

On instinct, Harry’s strong hands grip her arms, steadying her as she stumbles back from him. Y/N’s eyes widen as she registers who she almost walked into, and she can tell Harry is just realizing it’s her. His grip on her tightens for just a moment before it releases, and he takes a step back from her, creating space between their bodies.

“Sorry.” Y/N says after a moment, clearing her throat. “I was just—”

“Yeah.” Harry holds up his hand, and for the first time Y/N realizes that he’s holding a note identical to hers. “You’re on messenger duty too, huh?”

Biting her lip, Y/N nods slowly, holding up her own note. “Mhmm.”

The two of them stare at each other for a moment, and Y/N doesn’t miss how Harry’s green irises pause during his scan of her bare legs. Crossing her ankles together, Y/N lets her eyes wander too, admiring for a moment how Harry’s grey sweatpants cling to his hips. But only for a moment.

“Well, here.” Y/N pushes the note towards him, taking the note that he trades her in return. “How’s Laure doing?”

Harry gives a half shrug, turning Jo’s note over and over in his fingers. “Pretty decent, except she won’t eat anything. Says she’s too nervous.”

Y/N cracks a small smile at the image of Laure, someone who is usually so self assured and confident, being too nervous about anything. “Tell her she can’t have a drink until she eats. That’s how I got some toast into Jo.”

“I’ll do that.” Harry says with a terse nod.

A beat of silence falls between the two of them, the only sounds audible being the chirping of birds and the wind in the trees. The latter sends a shiver through Y/N, and she wraps her arms around herself to rub her bare skin, trying to find a bit of warmth in the shade of the forest.

A crease appears between Harry’s brow as he registers the motion, and he quickly shrugs off his own jacket. Before Y/N can refuse, he’s draping the fabric around her shoulders, careful not to touch any bare skin.

Although Y/N fixes the drape of the jacket, her mouth opens to protest. “Harry—”

“I should go. I have to give this to Laure, and get her to eat something.” Harry’s voice is gruff as he takes a step back. “I suppose I’ll…see you at the wedding?”

Y/N nods slowly, her fingers still grazing over the hem of the jacket. “Yeah.” She should say more, she thinks. She should voice her anger, or her hurt, or whatever the hell it is that’s curdling like a hot ball of lead inside her stomach, but she can’t think of the words. “Yeah, I—” I’m sorry. I miss you. I wish I could take it back. I wish I could do things over. “I’ll see you at the wedding.”

…

“Uh, hello. Can everyone hear me?”

Y/N watches with expectant eyes as Harry leans forward over the podium, his pink lips brushing against the microphone for just a moment before he takes a step back. He looks so different than the last time she’d seen him with a microphone, she thinks. He’s dressed so much more formally, in a striking emerald suit that matches the colour palette of the wedding, along with Y/N’s dress. His cheeks are flushed from champagne, his eyes bright, but there’s a hint of nerves under his thick accent.

Harry raises his fist to his mouth, clearing his throat quietly as he unfolds a piece of paper and smooths it on the podium. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Harry Styles. I have had the honour of being Laure’s best man today, as well as her best friend since we were teenagers.” Harry pauses his speech to smile at Laure, the fondness for the bride apparent in his eyes. “We’ve been through a lot together—I’ve watched her go through a lot, too—and she’s always come out on the other side better than ever. An example of this is when she made the decision—after living in England her whole life, never leaving, living in the same small brownstone for eighteen years—to move to America for university.”

Y/N lifts her champagne to her lips, taking a small sip while keeping her eyes glued to Harry. The more he talks, the more relaxed he appears, as he naturally falls into the role of a performer again. Out of the corner of her eye, she can practically see him charming every woman in the room, and it takes all her concentration not to roll her eyes.

“She’d made the decision a bit impulsively, and—in true Laure fashion—stuck to it like the stubborn person she is.” Harry laughs lightly, shaking his head at the memory as Jo nods in agreement beside Y/N. “She was so certain that moving was what she wanted, so determined to do it—and then the night before her flight, she showed up at my house in tears, talking about how she couldn’t possibly go through with the move. She couldn’t leave behind everything she’d known.” Glancing down at his notes for a moment, Harry takes a deep breath before continuing. “It freaked me out a bit, I won’t lie. To see someone who’s usually so sure of themselves question such a big decision. But I assured her that everything would be fine, that moving forward was always scary, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing to do. Life always pushes us forward, whether we’re ready for it or not. So Laure left, and a month later, I decided to go visit her in America, expecting to find her incredibly homesick, in tears, a mess.” A small smile begins to play at the corner of Harry’s lip. “Instead, I arrived to find her adjusted, happy, and about to go on a date with a girl she had met named Jo.”

A laugh ripples through the wedding guests, and Y/N can’t help but smile in spite of herself.

“And I, uh…I was at a loss for words that day.” Harry’s eyes flicker to the head table, settling on the two brides with a happy smile, and yet…something in his eyes looks flatter, like he’s trapped in a deep thought. “I thought I was going to visit my friend, and comfort her, and instead I found her on a date, completely fine. She didn’t need me to comfort her. She was—and still is—so incredibly resilient. She always has been.”

Harry’s eyes travel again, but this time, they settle on Y/N. She shifts in her seat as he looks her over, his eyes phasing emotions again while his tongue swipes over his lips quickly. “So anyways—” Harry quickly looks away when he catches Y/N’s eye, turning his attention back to the audience of wedding guests. “I suppose I’m the one to thank for this marriage, because if I hadn’t pushed Laure to come to America, she would never have met Jo.” An easygoing smile pulls at his pink lips as the crowd laughs lightly. “And now, Laure…you’re at that same place again. A new beginning. Except this time, you’re not alone. You managed to find something that most of us…” Harry hesitates again. “Most of us spend our entire lives searching for, and when we find it, we manage to f—screw it up.” His eyes flicker to Laure’s grandmother when he catches the curse word, and Y/N hides a small laugh behind her champagne glass. “But you didn’t. You and Jo…you’re lucky. You figured out what you wanted, and you didn’t let anything—fear, anxiety, or your…your own pride—” Harry swallows hard, his eyes flickering to Y/N once more, and the glance makes her skin burn beneath her dress. “—stop you. You’re both an inspiration to all of us. I love you two. To Jo and Laure!”

Y/N murmurs the toast with the rest of the crowd, raising her glass of champagne and draining it as her head spins with Harry’s words. A waiter walks by and quickly refills the glass, grazing by Harry as he makes his way back to his seat on Laure’s right side. Y/N barely gives herself a moment to catch his unreadable emerald eyes before she stands, carefully picking up the hem of her dress as she walks to the podium. It’s her turn now.

Stepping up to the microphone, Y/N clears her throat, resting her free hand against the wood to steady herself. “Thank you, Harry, that was…lovely.” Y/N begins, allowing herself one more stolen look at him. His brow is furrowed, hands folded together over the cream tablecloth as his eyes focus on her.

“My name is Y/N, and I’m the maid of honour. Jo and I have been best friends since the first day of kindergarten, when she punched a boy in the nose for me, which, funnily enough, wasn’t the last time she’d have to do that.” A laugh rolls through the room, and Y/N gives an endeared look to Jo’s sheepish grin before turning to face the wedding guests again. “I’ve had the good fortune of having her on my side from day one, and…I know just how lucky that makes me. There’s so many times where I’d…I wouldn’t have been able to handle what life threw at me if I didn’t have Jo with me. She’s kind, and compassionate, and fiery, and just…the very best person I know. And if you know her, then I’m sure you’d agree.”

Y/N takes a moment to breathe, her parched tongue swiping quickly over her lips. “I’ve, um, I’ve never been a perfect person. I’ve never been very good at…articulating what I feel, or—or making a hard choice. I’ve always followed a safer path, out of…fear, I suppose.” Not for the first time since she began talking, Y/N’s eyes travel to Harry. He still has the same stoic expression over his features, but his eyes…she can tell he’s hanging on every word she’s saying, and is analyzing every syllable.

“But Jo has never done that.” Y/N continues, shaking her gaze from Harry to settle on her best friend. “Even when she’s been afraid, she’s pushed forward, usually dragging me along with her. And it’s a good thing she has, because I wouldn’t have half the stories I have now if not for her.” Y/N cracks a smile. “But she just—when Jo loves you, you know it. She never hesitates to tell anyone. She never worries about it being too much. She has the biggest heart, and if you’re lucky—really lucky—she’ll keep you inside it. And I used to worry about her, because in my mind, that was dangerous. Being so open was so terrifying to me, I was certain that it would backfire for Jo. And then she met Laure.”

Although it’s a struggle, Y/N manages to train her eyes on Laure without letting them travel to Harry. “Laure and Jo may seem different on the surface, but they both share giant hearts. And their differences balance each other out so perfectly. You two—I never really believed in soul mates until I saw the two of you together.” Y/N admits, biting down hard on her lip when she catches Harry shifting in his chair from the corner of her eye. “But the way you two know each other, and speak to each other, and love each other…anyone who sees it can’t help but know that you’re meant for each other. That you’ve been meant for each other since the beginning of time. Every choice you made, every path you took—all of it led you two to each other, because that’s what was destined to happen. You—” Y/N’s voice catches in her throat, and she takes a moment to compose herself before speaking again. “You’re going to be happy together, because you were meant to be. It’s as simple as that.”

Y/N knows that she can’t say anything else without beginning to unravel, so she simply raises her champagne glass in the air, deciding it’s best to leave it at that. “To Jo and Laure.”

Above the echoes of the wedding guests, Y/N can hear Harry’s unmistakable voice.

…

“‘She’s like the wind…through my tree’…”

With her champagne glass raised to her lips, Y/N pensively watches as Jo and Laure turn to the music in each other’s arms, holding one another close as the voice of Patrick Swayze drifts through the speakers. When the pair had originally told Y/N that they wanted to dance to a song from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack for their first dance, Y/N had laughed at the choice. Now, however, as she watches Laure brush back a strand of hair from Jo’s face, her lips drifting down to whisper something in her new wife’s ear, Y/N has to admit that the song is the perfect choice for them.

“They look happy, don’t they?”

Y/N recognizes Harry’s voice, not needing to turn her head away from the couple on the dance floor to know that he’s moved from his chair three seats down. Although the feeling of his warm breath on her neck is enough to make her shudder, as well as bring back memories of the nights they spent together, Y/N does her best to keep herself composed.

“They do.” She agrees after a moment, setting her fluted glass down on the table. She keeps her fingers around the base, gently gliding them over the smooth crystal absentmindedly as she finally turns her head just enough to catch a sight of Harry.

He’s moved himself to Jo’s chair, with one hand braced against the table and one hand lightly settled on the back of Y/N’s seat. He removed his suit jacket after his speech, but his waist coat is still buttoned properly, despite the sleeves of his dress shirt now being rolled to his elbows, exposing his tattoos. His face is just as pensive as it’s been all day, but there’s some sort of change that Y/N can’t quite put a finger on. There’s less of a guard in his emerald eyes, she thinks, before turning her attention back to the dance floor.

“Do you…” Harry licks his lips once, swiping a hand through his carefully styled curls before brushing over the back of his neck. “Would you like to dance? With me?”

Y/N’s movements against the crystal flute pause. That question was the last thing she expected him to ask. “I…” Clearing her throat, she keeps her eyes focused on the swaying of Jo and Laure. “I don’t know.”

A vibration on the back of Y/N’s chair lets her know that Harry’s tapping his fingers against it, the pattern familiar after watching him play the same rhythm on the steering wheel for five days. “You don’t have to, so—don’t feel like you have to say yes. But I just…I don’t know. I thought it would be nice.”

Yes, Y/N thinks wistfully, pursing her lips slightly at the nervous tone in Harry’s voice. It would be nice. To be wrapped in his arms again, his body close enough that she can feel the pounding of his heart beneath his formal clothing. To feel his calloused hands within her own again, and resting on her waist, pulling her closer to himself with every passing moment…

“It…” Y/N glances down for a moment, fixing a crease in her dress with careful attentiveness. “It would be nice, yeah. Until we try ripping each other’s throats out in the middle of the wedding.”

The joke is only half a joke, and Harry’s laugh is only half in amusement. “I didn’t really plan on that.”

“Well, it seems that things we don’t plan on keep happening, so…” As the music begins to fade out, Y/N finally turns her head to look at Harry straight on. “That’s not really a reassuring statement.”

A flicker of irritation flits through Harry’s eyes, a sight that’s become familiar in all her years of knowing him. “It was a simple question, Y/N. Do you want to dance or not?”

As Y/N’s own irritation escalates, she knows that she should say no. The best thing for her to do right now would be to distance herself from Harry, to get some space to clear her head, and to keep herself from making a scene. Whatever there is to talk about—if there even is something they need to talk about—can be done at a later date, preferably not in the middle of a wedding. And yet—

“Fine.” Y/N finished off her champagne glass, setting it back down on the table gingerly as a new song begins to drift through the speakers. “Let’s go.”

Harry stands from his seat first, extending a hand to Y/N to help her up. Although she’s wary, she takes it, the sensation of his cool rings against her own fingers growing more and more familiar with each moment she spends touching them.

A few more couples have joined Jo and Laure on the dance floor now, and Y/N and Harry fit right in as he leads her to the center, keeping her hand held firmly in his own as his free hand finds her waist. Y/N rests her own hand on his shoulder, gripping his sturdy frame carefully.

“‘Is love so fragile…and the heart so hollow’…”

The song, Y/N realizes, doing her best to focus on anything but the way Harry’s gaze is locked onto her with a frightening intensity, is one that she’s heard a few times over their road trip together. The beat of the song is as familiar as a memory as the two of them sway to it, their motions careful and controlled.

“‘You’re saying I’m fragile; I try not to be…I search only for something I can’t see’…”

Harry’s hand on her waist, Y/N can’t help but notice, is so much more unsure than it was a few nights ago, when he pulled her close on top of the bar. When he guided her movements in a way that was so much more frenzied than he’s doing now, and in a way that she misses. She’s missed it, that breathless feeling. The feeling of not knowing what’s coming next, and being enthralled by the unknown of it all.

“‘I need you to love me…I need you today…give to me your leather…take from me my lace’…”

The corner of Harry’s lips quirking up ever so slightly lets Y/N know that he’s listening just as intently to the lyrics as she is, and has the same events and memories floating through his head. His hand begins to get braver, tightening his grasp on her as his hand begins to rub gently over her hip.

“Harry…” His name slips from Y/N’s lips involuntarily as she meets his jade eyes in question. From the corner of her eye, she can see Laure and Jo watching the two of them as they dance, whispering into each other’s ears like girls gossiping in a school hallway. “What—?”

“Sh.” The sound is soft as it falls past Harry’s red lips, the crease between his brow slackening slightly as he sighs. “Just…don’t speak. Not right now.”

“‘You in the moonlight…with your sleepy eyes…could you ever love a man like me’…”

The request is easy enough, but Y/N can’t make herself listen to it as she cocks her head to the side, the furrow of her own brow matching Harry’s. “Why?”

“‘And you were right…when I walked into your house…I knew I’d never want to leave’…”

The breath that Harry sucks in is mostly taken through his teeth, his lips pursing immediately after as he contemplates his answer. “I just want to…remember this moment. Properly remember it, before tonight ends, and we…”

“‘Sometimes I’m a strong man…sometimes cold and scared’…”

“…We go our separate ways.” Harry finally finishes, his eyes shifting to the floor as he pulls Y/N even closer to his chest. Her elbow is completely bent to her body as her fingers drift further from his shoulder, moving closer to where the slope of his neck begins.

Although the explanation makes sense, the thought of going a separate way from Harry catches Y/N’s breath in her throat, so much so that she can barely choke out a reply. “Okay.” She manages, the lump in her throat growing with every passing second.

“‘Lovers forever face to face…my city your mountains…stay with me stay’…”

Eyes drifting closed of their own accord, Y/N leans her head forward, settling her cheek into the curve of Harry’s shoulder. The smell of his cologne lingers in the fabric of his emerald waistcoat, intoxicating her further with every breath she takes.

“‘I need you to love me…I need you today’…”

Something warm and soft presses against the top of Y/N’s head, and she knows that it’s Harry’s own cheek resting against her. A gentle sigh falls from his mouth, and Y/N feels every moment of it, from the rise and fall of his chest against hers to the breath of air that blows slowly from his lips. She memorizes the motions, something for her to play in her head again later when she’s alone on a plane back to L.A., where her regular life is waiting for her. Where Brant is waiting for her.

“‘Give to me your leather…take from me my lace’…”

Y/N quickly lifts a finger to her eye, wiping away the moisture that’s pooling on her lash line before returning her grip to Harry’s shoulder. “If I said…” She hesitates, taking the time to choose her words carefully. She needs to choose them carefully. “If I said that I loved every moment of the road trip…would you believe me?”

“‘Lovers forever face to face…my city your mountains…stay with me stay’…”

Harry squeezes her hand in his own, his entire body tightening in response to her words, and for a moment, Y/N fears that she’s overstepped. An apology is already forming in her mouth, about to spill from her tongue, when Harry’s response cuts her off, his voice hesitant and anxious and so quiet that she almost can’t make out the words.

“If I said that I loved every moment I’ve ever spent with you, and not just these last five days, would you believe me?”

“‘I need you to love me…I need you today’…”

Y/N’s eyes snap open, her head quickly lifting from Harry’s shoulder to look at him with wide and astonished eyes. Although the struggle is written clearly upon his face, he doesn’t shy his eyes away from hers, and instead holds her gaze as the voice of Stevie Nicks continues to croon over the speakers.

“‘Give to me your leather…take from me my lace’…”

As the music fades out, another song begins to fade in, increasing the tempo and causing the other couples around them to break apart and mill around the dance floor. Only Y/N and Harry stay pressed together, stuck in a bubble of all their own, frozen in a moment of change, and unable to move forward or back in the same way they once had.

Over the fabric of her dress, Y/N can feel Harry’s thumb brushing against her hip, sending electrifying pulses throughout her body. A loose curl has fallen from his styled hair into the path of his eyes, dusting over his eyelashes lightly as he blinks. Did she believe him, she wonders? Could she believe him?

“Can we…” Her mouth is dry when she tries to respond, and she licks her lips quickly, noticing how Harry’s eyes flicker to follow the motion. “Can we discuss this after the wedding? I just—I don’t want to take attention away from Jo and Laure—”

“Yeah.” Harry nods roughly, his hand squeezing hers one last time before he slowly drops it, stepping back from her with great care. Y/N has to bite her tongue to stop herself from whining in protest.

“Yeah.” Harry repeats the word as he fixes his hair, his eyes drifting from hers. “We can discuss it later.”

…

Later, after Jo and Laure cut the cake, after each of them danced with their parents; later, after the staff members began to clear the plates from every table, after everyone waved goodbye to Jo and Laure as their car drove off to the honeymoon cottage snuggled further up the mountain side; later, after guests began to depart in their own cars; later, after Harry snagged a bottle of merlot from the kitchen, after Y/N slipped off her heels during the walk back to her cabin, the feeling of the ground beneath her feet oddly comforting; later, after Y/N opened the door, allowing Harry to step in first before following…

Later is each of them standing in the kitchen, still in their formal clothes, more disheveled than they were at the start of the day, as Y/N opens the cupboard and reaches for the two largest wine glasses she can find.

“Here.” She sets them down on the counter, allowing Harry to fill them to the brim with the crimson liquid. He pushes a nearly full glass towards her before taking the other in his hand, each of them bringing the glasses to their lips for a long drink.

Harry is nervous, and Y/N can tell. She’s gotten a bit better at reading him over their journey together, and she can see the anxiety that’s running through him in his body language. However, although the tapping of his fingers, the rubbing of his lips, and the crease between his brow is a major indication, she knows the real reason she’s aware of Harry’s nerves is because she’s hyper aware of her own.

“You, uh—” Harry clears his throat quietly, the action half reflex, half habit. “You looked really pretty today. Beautiful, actually.”

A light flush heats Y/N’s cheeks, both from the wine and his compliment. “Thank you.” She murmurs, glancing down at her forest coloured dress. “I’m just glad the dress survived the car.”

A chuckle falls from Harry’s lips as he lifts his wine glass again. “Yeah. A real miracle, huh?”

Y/N taps her fingers anxiously against the kitchen island, the coolness of the countertop a nice contrast to her heated skin. “Well, considering all the things that didn’t survive…” She trails off, watching as Harry’s face falls when the meaning of her words washes over him.

Still, Harry steels his shoulders, resolve painting itself over his pained features. “You mean us, yeah?” His tone is blunt and to the point. “After we…?”

“I just—what the fuck was that, Harry?” Y/N asks, her voice every bit as exasperated and exhausted as she feels. “I thought we—and then you—and now, saying you—you’ve always…?”

“I know I’ve been—I know I fucked up.” Harry drops his head, shame clear in his voice as he twists a ring around one of his fingers. “I know that, Y/N. I’m so sorry—”

“I’m just so confused, Harry. Really, I—” The words spill out of her now, faster than they ever have. “I know we were drunk when we fucked, but I…I liked it. And the next morning felt so good, and so right, and then Brant called, and it was like…a switch flipped inside you. And you called us a mistake. So I just—I don’t understand how you could say that less than forty-eight hours ago, and then tell me you’ve always loved being around me tonight.”

Harry’s tongue swipes over his lips once before he inhales slowly, collecting and preparing himself for the conversation. “I’m sorry.” He says lowly, his accent thicker with remorse. “I didn’t want to—I felt like it was a mistake, but not because of anything you did. It was because I knew that I had feelings for you, and I knew that you didn’t have feelings for me.”

The admission of his feelings was clear in his speech before he actually spoke the words, but the verbal acknowledgement of them still leaves an ache in Y/N’s chest as she refutes the statement. “You didn’t know that!” She says hotly, her hand tightening around her glass with every breath. “You wouldn’t let us talk about it, so how could you know?”

“Because Brant called!” While Harry’s voice doesn’t raise in volume, it does in intensity. “Brant called, and asked you to dinner, and you said yes!”

“What, did you want me to break things off with him right then and there? Over the phone?” Y/N demands, an incredulous look on her face as she appraises Harry. “I’m not a bitch, Harry. That would be heartless, and I’m not—I don’t want to hurt anyone. And maybe, maybe, it would be different if I felt anything for Brant, anything that was even a fraction of what I’ve felt for you, the good and the bad, but I don’t!”

Y/N’s words hang heavy in the air between them, flickering through the room like the dim light of the light fixture above them. There’s just enough light, however, that she can watch as her words roll over Harry, sinking into every pore of his body until all the defiance rolls out of him.

“What—” His voice cracks with emotion, and he takes a moment to compose himself before he tries again. “What do you feel for me?”

Turning her eyes down to her wine, she raises the glass to her lips, draining more than half of it in one swift motion. When she speaks again, her voice is slick with the liquor. “What does it matter?” She asks softly. “If you couldn’t believe it enough to not try to push me away the moment I let myself be vulnerable?”

“It wasn’t—your vulnerability wasn’t apparent to me.” Harry lifts the wine bottle automatically, refilling Y/N’s glass with merlot. “It was mine that scared me. Brant called, and you spoke to him, and I felt like—it was like that first date all over again, when you gave your attention to that guy from your class. I felt…” Staring into his own wine, Harry mulls over his words as if the liquor can reveal the perfect thing to say. “I felt like a jealous teenager again, like a proper idiot. And I—you’ve always been so much more put together than me, and refined, and steady, and Brant clearly fits into your world neatly, so I—”

“Stop fucking doing that.” Y/N’s voice is as sharp as ice, as harsh as frostbite. “How many times can we prove to each other that we’re more than our projections of the last seven years? How many times until it sticks?”

Harry studies Y/N’s face, his emerald eyes scanning over every slope and curve of her expression before he replies. “I didn’t think you felt anything for me. I’m still not…sure…”

“Harry, I feel—I feel everything with you.” Y/N’s voice drops to a hushed whisper, as if what she’s admitting is top secret. “I feel like I can be myself. I can be as stupid or serious as I need to be, and you’ll just…accept it. The only person I’ve ever felt that with before is Jo. No one else. And it—it’s terrifying, but good, and then you pushed me away again, and that fucking hurt. You have the ability to hurt me now, and the moment you got it, you did.”

“I didn’t know.” Harry mumbles the words, rubbing his hand over his flushed cheeks slowly. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. If I’d known—”

“But you didn’t even ask. You can’t do that, okay?” When Y/N looks up at him, she can see the vulnerability on her face reflected in Harry’s eyes. “Please. I don’t care if you get jealous, or angry, or—or anything else that’s as irritating as I know you can be—” A soft snort echoes from Harry. “Just be honest with me. Tell me. Ask me.”

“What about…” Harry reaches across the kitchen island, taking Y/N’s hand in his own and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “What I said to you earlier? I told you how I felt. And I asked what you feel for me. Can you be honest with me about that?”

“I can.” Y/N says carefully, pursing her lips for a moment. “I…I’m not sure if I’m ready to say something as…decisive as you do. I’ve never really—I know that I feel…more intensely for you than I ever have for anyone else. I just don’t know…how intense, or…I can’t describe it.”

“Maybe I can help.” Harry tugs gently on Y/N’s arm, bringing her around the kitchen island to his side of the room. With his hand still holding hers, he leads her to the couch, sitting down and pulling her with him. He’s mindful of the skirt of her dress, fixing it carefully so that it doesn’t get caught beneath her. “To me, love is…wanting to be near the other person. Do you want to be near me?”

Y/N nods softly. “I do.” She whispers into the darkness, the cabin quiet save for their breathing and the chirping of crickets outside.

“And what about…” Harry lifts a hand to caress her face, his calloused fingers gentle against her warm skin as he brushes over her cheekbone. “This? Do you like being touched by me?”

Y/N’s skin burns beneath his touch. “I do. A lot, actually.”

“And even when we were arguing…when we weren’t speaking to each other, and wouldn’t look at each other…” Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth, the motion staining his lips an even darker pink than they were before. “Did you want me as badly as I wanted you?”

Harry’s other hand begins to rub Y/N’s thigh over her dress, still heating her skin even with the layers of fabric preventing actual contact. Y/N’s eyelids flutter at the sensation. “Yes.” She breathes, leaning her head against the back of the couch. “I did. I still do.”

“Obviously, I…I’d like it if you could know exactly how you feel, but…” Harry shrugs slightly, his hand drifting down to rest on the side of Y/N’s neck. “I know that it’s different for you. You’re not used to it. You don’t have to put a label on it, yeah? I just want you to be comfortable with me. As long as you’re mine, you can take as long as you need to express how you feel.”

Relief spreads through Y/N’s body at Harry’s words. The freedom to take her time, to feel like she doesn’t need to have all the answers right away, is something that none of her past partners have ever offered her, and a familiar sensation begins to curl itself around Y/N’s core as Harry caresses her neck. “Yours?” She repeats slowly, her senses feeling like they’re processing through molasses. “Am I yours?”

“I’d like you to be.” The corner of Harry’s pink lip pulls up, but there’s an air of anxiety in his words. “Are you?”

The fabric of her dress swishes beneath Y/N as she pulls herself into Harry’s, managing to settle one knee of either side of him beneath the layers of tulle. “I am.” She murmurs, her hands wrapping themselves around his sturdy shoulders. Their noses bump together as she moves closer, breath mingling in the small space between their lips. “I’ll be yours.”

Harry’s breath washes over her as he sighs gently, the fragrance of merlot and champagne settling on the back of her tongue. “Laure and Jo will be happy.”

A small laugh, mostly an exhale of breath more than anything else, sounds from Y/N as she twists the curls at the nape of Harry’s neck between her fingers. “Mmm. Probably because they won’t have to break up any more fights.”

“No, no, we’ll still fight. It keeps things interesting.” Harry’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk, his nose brushing over Y/N’s once more as he tilts his head to the side. “We’ll just have a lot more fun when we make up with each other.”

Harry’s fingers find the bare expanse of Y/N’s back between the straps of her dress, gliding his fingertips over her warm skin. The sensation of his cool touch against her sends a shiver up her spine, and she twists herself closer to him in return, but keeps the inch gap between their lips. There’s an anticipation between them, but also a stubbornness. A refusal to be the first one to break.

“A lot more fun?” Y/N questions, massaging the tips of her fingers into Harry’s scalp. She lets her painted nails scratch along him gently, just enough to make his eyelids flutter at the sensation. “What exactly do you mean?”

“I could tell you…” Harry purrs his words, pressing his head back into the palm of her hand. “Or I could show you. It’s up to you.”

His words offer Y/N a choice. Will she continue to push him? Or will she give in?

When her hands retreat from his hair, Harry whines quietly, his half lidded eyes staring up at her in confusion. Y/N braces herself against his shoulders as she carefully removes herself from his lap, picking up the fabric of her dress with one hand while grabbing the half empty bottle of wine with the other.

Harry watches as she takes a step backwards, her eyes glued to his as she appraises him. As comfortable—and as attractive—as he looks on the couch with his emerald slack covered legs spread, sleeves half rolled up, chest heaving from their close contact, Y/N needs him somewhere else.

Harry’s tongue glides slowly over his parted lips as Y/N raises the bottle of wine to her mouth, taking a small sip before turning on her heel and walking to the staircase that leads up to the master bedroom of the cabin. She only gets two steps up the stairs before she feels Harry’s hot breath on the back of her neck, his back and arms bracing against her as she climbs slowly. With one hand still holding her dress out of her way, Y/N steps over the summit of the stairs, not waiting for Harry before she makes her way to the bedroom.

The bedroom itself has been tidied by the hotel staff since Y/N last saw it, and she’s never been more thankful for it; she and Jo had left it in a mess in their efforts to get ready that morning. Instead, the staff have perfectly made the bed, complete with all the decorative pillows that Y/N had tossed onto the floor the night before, set fresh candles on the night tables and dresser, and left carefully rolled white towels on the edge of the bed.

A pair of tattooed arms wrap around Y/N’s waist, and a smile lights up her face as she falls back into Harry’s strong chest. “Your room is lovely. Much nicer than those motels.” He rasps in her ear, teeth just barely grazing her lobe as he speaks. “Do you have a lighter for the candles?”

“You want to light candles?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as she drops her dress from her hand in order to trail her fingers over Harry’s wrist. “That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

Pressing a light kiss to her neck, Harry shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.” He murmurs. “We were so rushed last time. I want to enjoy tonight.”

A smile creeps over Y/N’s face as she carefully unlaces Harry’s hands from her waist. “The lighter is in the bedside table, on the left.”

As Harry turns his attention to searching through the drawer, Y/N sets the wine down on the dresser, appraising her reflection in the mirror propped on top of it. She begins to unpin the hair that had been carefully styled that morning, her hair only a fraction as put together as it had been. Setting the pins down on the wood surface in front of her, she takes her time taking off her earrings and bracelets, her eyes following Harry’s movements in the mirror.

The broad expanse of his back is still covered by his green waistcoat, rumpled as it stretches over the slope of his body. With each movement, a new flicker of candlelight begins to glow in front of him, illuminating the silhouette of his body with soft flickers of orange and yellow.

“You’re a bit of a romantic, aren’t you?” The question slips from Y/N’s lips before she’s turned around completely to watch Harry’s actions without the aid of the mirror. “You like this sort of thing—the candles, the cabin in the forest, coming from a wedding…”

Harry’s body shakes as a laugh rolls through him, his side profile barely visible as he turns to light another candle next to the bed. “I suppose I am, yeah. Are you not?”

Y/N gives half a shrug, tucking her now loose hair behind her ears as best she can. “I don’t know. I’ve never really considered myself one…never saw the point in grand gestures. They’re not very realistic.”

“They don’t have to be realistic. That’s why it’s a grand gesture.” Harry says easily, sauntering towards her with a dimpled grin on his face. He reaches carefully behind Y/N, his thumb flicking the lighter to spark as he tilts the candle towards the flame. “And I’d hardly call candles a grand gesture. Haven’t you ever been properly romanced?”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she contemplates the question. “Not…really? I mean, there’s been a few things, but nothing…I don’t know. We were always busy—”

“You can always make time for someone if you want to.” Harry sets the lit candle back down on the dresser, repeating the motion with two more before setting the lighter down as well. “Hasn’t Brant ever—well, I know he hasn’t, actually—” A snort leaves Harry’s mouth as he begins to run his hands over Y/N’s bare shoulders, massaging the skin gently. “Haven’t any of your exes asked you what you wanted, or…done something spontaneous for you, like a surprise gift, or trip, or…?”

Harry trails off as he registers the expression on Y/N’s face, and feels the tensing of her shoulders beneath his hands. “Um, not really.” She says, doing her best to keep her tone light. “We were always very…scheduled. A surprise trip wasn’t really feasible.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth tugs down into a frown, his hands continuing to work over the knots in Y/N’s shoulders as he turns her around. He presses himself behind her, moving her hair to one side of her neck before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her spine. “The more we speak, the more I see why you’re so guarded, love.” He murmurs, his tone carefully controlled. “You don’t need to be like that with me. If you’re…afraid of what I’ll think, or…you know I tease you, but you’re always fine with me. We can be serious—”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head adamantly, glancing at Harry over the curve of her own shoulder as she rests one hand over his own. “I don’t want to be serious. I’m so sick of being serious.” She maneuvers Harry’s hand to her back as she speaks, guiding his fingers until they find the zipper of her dress. “I like that you tease me, and aren’t afraid to irritate me, and how you care enough to listen to what I say…”

The sound of her zipper slowly being tugged down pricks Y/N’s ears, and she watches Harry’s movement in the mirror. There’s a clear look of concentration painted onto his expression as he helps remove her dress, but the moment he catches her eye, he locks into her gaze. As he finishes pulling down the zipper, he keeps his emerald eyes glued to hers in the reflective surface, his stare becoming more and more hypnotic with every passing second.

“So what you’re saying is…” Harry’s lips brush against her ear as he leans closer to her, pressing a sensual kiss right over her pulse point. “You want me to romance you, but still annoy the shit out of you?”

Although it’s breathless, the sound that leaves Y/N’s mouth is unmistakably a laugh as Harry begins to trail kisses down her neck, slipping the strap of her dress down her shoulder. “Yes. It’s oddly endearing.”

“Oddly endearing is my middle name.” Harry’s laugh matches hers as his hands continue their task of removing her clothing. Once Y/N’s straps are free of her shoulders, Harry helps her step out of the hunter green dress, carefully maneuvering the full skirt to the corner chair without creasing it.

“Wouldn’t want to ruin your pretty dress, now would—” Harry freezes mid sentence as he turns back around, his mouth falling slack as if seeing Y/N for the first time.

Despite having been naked and underneath his body less than forty eight hours ago, Y/N crosses her arms over her body. The black teddy bodysuit she’d purchased to wear under her bridesmaid dress had, at the time of purchase, been more for practicality than anything. The underwire of the strapless bra supported by the corseted middle was comfortable enough to keep her properly situated in her dress without a wardrobe malfunction, as well as serving as a barrier between Y/N’s sensitive skin and the stitched seams of the gown. It’s not until this moment, with Harry staring at her with a hungry stupor in his eyes, does Y/N realize how racy the undergarment is.

“What?” She says after a moment, a note of uncertainty creeping into her voice. “I—it’s not like you haven’t seen me before.”

The nerves woven into her tone are enough to snap Harry from his thoughts. “This is…different.” He approaches her again, his steps slow and measured as he lays a hand on her lace covered side. “I was pissed last time I had you…didn’t get to properly take in the sight of you…” Harry scratches his nails over one of the mesh panels, his jade eyes darkening another shade once more.

“I didn’t get to enjoy you, either. And yet you’re still fully clothed.” Y/N begins to fiddle with the buttons of Harry’s emerald waistcoat, working them open one by one as she forces herself to steady her breathing. “That’s not very fair, is it?”

“I suppose it’s not. Not fair at all.” Harry allows her to pull his waistcoat from his body, and it’s not until Y/N reaches the third button of his button down shirt that she realizes how much he’s enjoying her undressing him.

Every breath that Harry takes is ragged and shallow, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself controlled as Y/N’s fingers trail down the exposed skin of his chest. The sight of Harry’s throat tightening as her nails scrape his skin is too much for her to resist, and she quickly attaches her lips to the base of his neck as she pulls the now unbuttoned shirt from his body.

Swiping her tongue over the new mark at the base of his throat, Y/N manages to pull a moan from Harry, and her lips pull back into a small smile against his hot skin at the sound. “You sound really nice when you do that.” She murmurs, her hand trailing down to his belt as she speaks.

She can feel Harry swallow again, and when he replies, his voice is as low as she’s ever heard it. “Then you’ll have to make me do it more, won’t you, pet?” His eyes are blown darker with lust as he grips Y/N’s hips tight, pressing the pads of his fingers into her flesh. “Are you going to give me moans that are just as pretty? Or am I going to have to pull them from your stubborn little mouth?”

Y/N’s breath hitches in her chest at his dominant tone, her mouth falling open in a gasp against Harry’s collar bones. She can feel the vibrations of his laugh in her lips, the tingle not unlike the burning she feels in her core, and Harry’s hand travels from her hips to her chin as the burning increases.

“Cat got your tongue, hm?” Harry grips Y/N’s chin between his thumb and forefinger as she fumbles with his belt, the action clumsier without her looking at her movements. “Don’t get all shy now, m’love. It’s just me. We’ve been here before.”

Pulling his belt from his dress pants, Y/N tosses it to the side, her fingers resting on the warm skin of Harry’s abdomen. “I know. It just feels different now, that’s all. After everything we said, and…” Her eyes are unable to hold his as she drifts off, and she drops her gaze to his swallow tattoos as her cheeks redden.

A gentle tap on her chin brings her eyes back to meet Harry’s intense gaze. “I know it feels different, but that’s not bad.” Harry’s voice softens as his thumb begins to stroke over her skin, the motion slow and gentle. “It can be really good, actually. I told you, I can properly enjoy you now. If you’ll let me, that is. It’s up to you.”

Y/N takes a deep breath, dragging her teeth over her bottom lip as she reaches behind her back. Her fingers quickly find the laces at the back of the garment, and she pulls the tie undone slowly, making sure to keep her eyes locked with Harry’s the entire time. “I want that. I want you, Harry. I want…all of you.”

She barely has her laces undone before Harry is grasping at her hips, pulling her body tight against his again for another desperate kiss. His lips glide between hers smoothly, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle before he lets his teeth nip at her bottom lip, tugging at the flesh in a hungry way. With her lingerie hanging loosely off her body, Harry easily yanks the material down her body, fully exposing Y/N’s breasts and stomach.

The sight of her exposed skin is enough to grab Harry’s attention from the removal of clothing, and he leaves the lace bodysuit hanging at her hips as his kisses begin to travel down her jaw, her neck, her collar bones, to her breasts. A breathless gasp falls from Y/N’s mouth as Harry’s open mouthed kisses become wetter and longer, until his hot mouth is wrapped around her stiff nipple.

“Harry—” Y/N tangles a hand in his already ruined curls, yanking hard at his hair as his teeth scrape against her sensitive skin. “God, be careful—”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Harry murmurs the phrase against her breast, barely pulling his mouth off enough to speak. His eyes, although half lidded with lust, flicker up to her with a playful look. “Y’really want me to be careful, pet? Or do you want me to devour you?”

His words send another flood of heat to her core, and it takes all of Y/N’s focus to keep herself standing upright. “Shut up.” She mutters, voice pitched higher than normal as she tugs on Harry’s hair again, half in need and half to solicit a groan from him.

The groan he emits, however, just adds more sensation to his teasing as the sound causes a vibration against her nipple, and Y/N barely manages to pull Harry away from her before her knees buckle.

Harry, however, wastes no time, and it’s only the moment after Y/N pulls him off of her that he’s kissing her again, teeth clacking against teeth as he backs her up towards the bed. When the back of her legs hits the mattress, Y/N stumbles back, but Harry catches her in time to lower her gently to the bed.

There’s an unmistakable tenderness in the movement, and the action catches Y/N right in the throat. “Thought you weren’t being careful?” Despite her ribbing tone, Y/N’s voice is breathless as she settles back into the soft sheets. “Isn’t that what you just said, pet?”

A growl rips from the back of Harry’s throat as he cages himself over her shaking body, his mouth already reattached to her chest to leave a fresh trail of bruises from her sternum to her abdomen. “You’re such a bloody minx, y’know that?”

Although she opens her mouth to reply, the only sound that leaves Y/N’s lips is a gasp as Harry quickly lifts her hips to pull her teddy completely off, tossing it to the side without so much as a glance. He leaves one last bite on her lower abdomen, just hard enough to leave an imprint of his mouth, before soothing the mark with a wet swipe of his tongue over the red skin.

“Knees up, minx.” Harry’s accent is thick, dripping from his voice like honey as his hands rub her lower calves, helping to push them up on the bed until Y/N’s legs are bent and spread open in a position he likes. The way that Harry’s tongue swipes over his lips tells Y/N of his intentions right away, and she braces herself on her elbows on the bed before pulling back.

Harry, who had been leaving open mouthed kisses along Y/N’s knees, makes a disgruntled sound at the loss of contact. “Where do y’think you’re going?” He asks in frustration, pulling himself onto the bed and crawling after her. Gripping one of her ankles, he spreads her open again, resuming the path his mouth had been making to her core a moment ago. “Trying to get away from me?”

A breathless laugh falls from Y/N’s mouth. “More like trying to get comfortable. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone…” Despite Harry’s position between her legs, Y/N can’t bring herself to say the words.

“Had someone what? Eat your cunt?” Harry asks crudely, raising an eyebrow as he kisses her inner thigh. His hot breath rolls over her core, causing Y/N to sigh as she relaxes back into the sheets. “That’s a tragedy, love. Especially when you taste so sweet. I remember from a few nights ago…I just barely got a taste when we…”

She should know better, Y/N thinks. She should know, now that she knows Harry well enough, that something like this is coming, especially since it’s exactly what he did last time he was between her legs. Still, when his ringed index finger runs quickly between her folds, becoming coated in her wetness just for Harry to pop it into his mouth like a satisfied and smug ass, Y/N half jumps off the bed.

“Sensitive, are you?” Harry laughs around his finger, taking great care to lick off every bit of her wetness. “Just as sensitive as you are sweet.”

Y/N struggles to prop herself up on her elbows, doing her best to give him a scathing look. “You could’ve warned me, you—”

Her complaint is cut off abruptly by Harry licking over her slit with the flat of his tongue, collecting every drop of arousal before suctioning his lips over her clit. “What was that?” He mutters between his actions, flicking his tongue over Y/N’s clit as she grasps the sheets between her fingers. “I didn’t quite catch it, love.”

Falling back onto the pillows, Y/N allows her eyes to close for just a moment as she twists the cotton sheets between her hands. “Shut—shut up.” She moans, one hand releasing the sheets to latch onto Harry’s curls. She tugs harshly, and the moan he releases sends shivers from her core into her spine.

Although Harry laughs against her, his smirk detectable against her folds as his tongue continues to work over her, a silence falls between them as he continues to eat her out. It shouldn’t be surprising, she manages to think as she tugs on his curly locks, that Harry is giving her the best oral she’s ever received. Everything he does to her, from irritating her, making her laugh, to pleasuring her, is so intense that it only makes sense.

Harry’s tongue dips inside Y/N’s entrance, proving that thought to be true for what seems to be the millionth time that night. Y/N can’t help but writhe on the sheets now, her body unable to contain the pleasure that’s building inside her core like never before.

When a gasping whine echoes from Y/N, a sound she’s never even heard herself make before, one of Harry’s hands moves from its position on her thigh, where he’s been holding her open so he can continue to work. It travels up her leg to her pelvis, pressing flat on her lower abdomen and keeping her hips secure to the bed.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you, pet?” Harry’s mouth is red, coated with her wetness when he glances at her. He begins to rub circles on her abdomen, both soothing her and creating an ache deep inside her that she knows can only be satisfied by his cock. “You’re going to be a good girl and cum on my mouth, yeah?”

Y/N whimpers in response, barely managing to keep her eyes open as she nods desperately. “I-I need—your fingers, or—”

“No, no, pet, you don’t need that.” Harry assures her between long licks over her clit. “I’ll fill you later, but you’re going to cum from my mouth. I know you can do it, love. I know you can.”

“I—” Harry’s hand pressed to her abdomen is the only thing keeping Y/N from rutting her hips into the air in desperation. “Please, Harry, I—”

“You can do it.” Breath hot against her entrance, Harry dips his tongue within her again, moving it in and out slowly as his nose brushes against her sensitive bundle of nerves. “You—fuck—you’re so ready, Y/N, I know you can do it…just relax, pet…let go…”

Let go. The command is so simple, and yet, isn’t that all Y/N’s ever wanted? Isn’t that exactly what Harry has managed to allow her to do this entire trip? No sooner does the thought cross her mind that Harry’s teeth graze over her clit, tweaking it ever so gently before pressing the flat of his tongue against it once more. He gives a harsh suck, mouthing something she can’t understand, and then Y/N is tugging on his chestnut curls with a renewed desperation as she falls over the brink of pleasure.

“Harry, Harry, Harry…” His name is the only thing Y/N can repeat as she orgasms, her head falling back against the pillows while the waves of her pleasure wash over her.

Harry untangles her hand from the sheets, weaving his fingers through her own to give her something solid to hold onto as she loses herself in the sensations. Although he keeps his mouth pressed to her, his actions are gentler, just licking the wetness that drips from her entrance as she rides out her orgasm.

It takes a few moment for the pleasure to recede enough that Y/N can become aware of her surroundings again. Chest heaving, she lolls her head to the side, her hand falling from Harry’s curls and onto the crumpled sheets.

Harry finally pulls away from her then, pulling himself from between her legs to the side of Y/N’s shaking body. He licks his wet lips, savouring the last drops of her arousal before pressing softer kisses to her stomach, her sternum, her collar bones, until he reaches her lips.

“You alright, love?” Harry asks, voice quiet in the hum of the night as he settles beside her. He brushes a sweaty strand of hair from her forehead, and the motion is so gentle that Y/N almost tears up. “Just take some deep breaths.”

“I—” Y/N sucks in another breath as Harry wraps an arm around her stomach. “I’m alright. Just…trying to catch my breath.” She laughs nervously as her cheeks redden in a post-orgasm haze. “You’re, uh, you’re really good at that.”

Harry’s laugh is much more amused than hers. “Thank you. I quite enjoy it, so it would be rather sad if I wasn’t good at it.”

“That’s true.” Y/N hums, rolling her head onto Harry’s shoulder. He rubs small circles on her waist, and the action gives her something to focus on as she evens her breathing.

Harry sighs in satisfaction. “You know, if you had shagged Brant, I doubt his cunnilingus skills would have been as good as mine.” He says thoughtfully, as if he’s been pondering the idea for a while.

Y/N groans, bracing her hand against is muscled chest to shove him away. “Do not mention Brant while I’m lying next to you naked! Christ, I shouldn’t have to say that!”

Harry laughs as he readjusts himself, pulling his body over hers while his lips work against her neck. “I’m sorry. I won’t bring him up again, I swear.”

Huffing slightly, Y/N settles herself back into the sheets. “Good.”

“But for the record—”

“If you keep speaking, I’m not giving you a blowjob.” Y/N warns, shooting Harry a warning glance. “Are you prepared to give that up?”

The speed at which Harry’s face falls is almost comical. His brow creases as his ruby lips pull down into a pout, his arms keeping himself suspended above Y/N as he relents. “Alright, I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I’ll stop.”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes focus on Harry’s shining green irises. “Good, because I really want to blow you.”

The crude admission catches Harry by surprise, his eyebrows jumping up in shock as he rolls to the side. Propping himself up on his elbow, he rakes a hand through his messy curls as he answers with a measured tone. “You do?”

Y/N nods slowly, pushing herself up to sit on her knees as one of her hands begins to trace over the muscles of Harry’s chest. “I do. Like you said…I didn’t get to last time. And I bet you taste good.”

Harry sucks in a breath through his teeth as he gives a sharp nod. “Yeah. Okay. If you want to—”

“I do.” Y/N presses on Harry’s chest to push him back again, but this time she does it carefully, settling him back into the sheets like he did for her. Moving so that she’s on her knees beside him, she gives him a quick kiss, only letting herself enjoy his slightly chapped lips against hers for a moment before she directs her attention to the bulge in his Calvin Klein boxers.

Y/N trails a finger over the line of hair leading to the waistband, feeling the muscles of Harry’s abdomen contract under her finger. “Sensitive, huh?” She asks quietly, mimicking what he had said to her before earlier.

Harry inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. “Yeah. So don’t tease me.”

“I’m not. I’m just…warming you up.” Y/N continues the motion for a moment before her fingers drift to the elastic of his boxers. She dips a finger beneath it, continuing to tease his abdomen before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his clothed bulge.

Harry’s hips jerk in reaction, his mouth falling open as he spits out a curse. “Bloody hell…”

“Feel good?” Y/N only lifts her mouth enough so that the soft murmur can be heard. She can feel Harry’s cock twitching as her lips move over it, and the thought that she’s turning him on enough for him to twitch in his boxers sends a flood of heat between her thighs.

“Feels really good, yeah.” Harry’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and the effort it takes to keep his voice controlled is apparent on his face. “Keep going.”

Y/N hums in response, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and slowly pulling them down his legs as Harry lifts his hips. She waits until his boxers are completely removed to turn her attention back to his cock, and the sight of it makes her mouth water.

It’s just as big as she remembers, with a slight curve along the length leading to the red and leaking head. Y/N can practically see the heat radiating off of it, she thinks, and when she wraps her hand around the base, her suspicions are confirmed.

The weak groan that falls from Harry’s cherry red lips is the only thing that keeps Y/N from getting completely distracted by admiring him. She pumps him slowly a few times, and his length throbs in her hand as more blood floods to his pelvis. Licking her lips once, Y/N leans down and gives a small kitten lick to the leaking tip, collecting the precum on her tongue.

A garbled moan sounds from Harry’s chest, and Y/N watches from the corner of her eye as one hand tucks into his own curls before the other gathers her hair within his fist. Although he’s holding her, he doesn’t force her down, or try to guide her motions. He wants to see what she’s going to do of her own accord.

Y/N takes her time, licking slowly from the head of Harry’s cock to one of the pulsing veins that runs down his shaft. She traces the line with the tip of her tongue, enjoying the sounds that the action pulls from Harry before taking the head of his cock between her lips. Mindful of her teeth, she sucks slowly, pushing herself further and further down his length until her nose is just touching his pelvis.

“That’s it, minx.” Harry moans his words, his voice breathless and strained as he cards his fingers through her hair. His flushed chest is rising and falling prominently as Harry takes deep breath after deep breath. “Doing so well, aren’t you?”

The praise sends a wave of delight through Y/N, and she begins to bob her head faster, working what she can’t fit into her mouth with her hand. Harry, she learns, is extremely vocal during sex, which isn’t exactly surprising now that she knows him better. Still, his moans and whimpers are all the encouragement Y/N needs to keep her pace, slowing down only to tease him. And she loves to tease him.

“Fuck—” A groan rips from Harry’s chest as Y/N slows her motions again, trailing her tongue up his length before focusing on his tip with great interest. “C’mon, darling, don’t be mean to me. I wasn’t mean to you.”

“I’m just enjoying myself, Harry.” Y/N says innocently, batting her eyes at him as she kisses the head of his cock. “Don’t you want me to enjoy myself?”

The question is simple enough, but the sinful context makes Harry buck his hips into her hand. “Y’know I do, pet, but you’re torturing me…”

Y/N lifts her mouth from his length with a quiet pop as her strokes slow down. “Am I?”

“Fucking hell—” Another moan forces its way through Harry’s clenched teeth. “You won’t be laughing when I’m fucking you at the same pace you’re teasing me right now.”

Y/N’s movements stutter for the first time since she began. “What?”

“Didn’t think of that, did you, minx? Thought you could tease me, and I wouldn’t get you back?” Although Harry’s words are domineering, he pants through them, throwing his head back against the pillow. “That—Christ—That’s not how it works.”

Speeding up her stroking of his length, Y/N leans over Harry’s body, sponging a kiss just at the corner of his lips. “You don’t mean that, Harry. You need to fuck me just as badly as I need it.”

“You need it, do you?” Harry’s eyes snap open, lust completely clouding the jade green of his irises. “How badly? Tell me.”

Y/N kisses him once more, pulling back the moment his tongue tries to pull her in for more. She returns her mouth to the tip of his cock, letting her tongue flick over his slit before sucking on him again. “So badly, Harry. I’ve never felt as full as I did with you in me…”

“Oh fuck…” Harry’s words slip into drawn out moans as he tugs on his own hair, his hips stuttering up into her hand again. “Stop.”

The sudden command makes Y/N pause, and she pulls her mouth off of Harry’s length to stare up at him with wide eyes. “What?” Her hand pauses its motions, but stays wrapped loosely around his base. “Is—is everything okay? Did I hurt you?”

The concern and fear in Y/N’s voice is enough to snap Harry out whatever headspace he had been slipping into. “No, pet, you didn’t hurt me. I just need to be inside your tight cunt. Can’t stand another moment without it, if I’m honest.”

The twitch of his cock in her hands confirms his words, and Y/N gives one last lick to its biggest vein before releasing him. She keeps her mouth in use, however, by sponging kisses up Harry’s already marked chest, stopping only once she reaches his lips.

The kiss they share is passionate, with a rhythm finally established between the two of them as Harry slots his plump lips neatly between hers. There’s no awkward turning of their heads, trying to find a way to slip a tongue into a mouth, and no teeth clicking together. Already, each of them knows the best way to fit together, as if they were meant to all along.

“How do you—” Harry mutters the words against Y/N’s lips, his breath flowing into her own panting mouth with every gasp. “How do you want me, love?”

Y/N takes a moment to think, but only a moment. “On top. I like…” Her cheeks flush with even more heat. “I like feeling you over me. And holding your hands…”

Harry raises a surprised brow at the confession she spills into his mouth. “My hands?”

Forehead still pressed against his, Y/N nods, picking up one of his hands and lacing his ringed fingers through her own. “Mhmm. They’re strong, and…and they fit in mine so nicely.” Y/N glances at Harry through her lashes, shy despite having his cock in her mouth less than a minute ago. It’s the intimacy, she realizes. A sexual act is nothing new to her, but putting emotion behind it…

“They do fit together well, don’t they?” Harry agrees, squeezing her hand as he leans forward, pressing puckered lips to her forehead. “Alright, then. Lie down for me.”

After Harry grabs a condom from Y/N’s bag and rolls it on, it takes a moment for the two of them to get positioned comfortably. Y/N leans back on the rumpled sheets, fixing one of the pillows behind her head with Harry’s help. Once he knows that she’s comfortable, Harry spreads Y/N’s legs again, situating himself between them with his arms propped up on either side of her body.

Although it’s the same position as the last time they had sex, Y/N can’t help but feel like it’s entirely different in every single aspect. While the drunken need that she felt for Harry had been exciting, and while he had satisfied her incredibly, there’s something different about knowing that she has feelings for the man who’s so interested in pleasuring her, and that he has feelings for her in return.

Harry moves one hand to his length, rubbing the tip of it between Y/N’s soaked folds as his other hand grasps her own. “Are you ready?” He murmurs, his lips hovering just over her own.

Y/N nods quickly, squeezing his hand tightly. “Please, H. I need it.”

The first thrust into her is slow. Painstakingly slow. Y/N knows that she should be appreciative of the restrain Harry has, and that she needs a moment to adjust to his size, but the way he stretches her makes her feel so complete that she can’t help but whine for more.

“Faster, Harry.” She pants, squeezing her eyes shut as he continues to enter her slick entrance. “I…”

“Sh, love. Just spreading you open first, yeah?” The effort to control himself shows through the strain in his voice, but Harry still manages to sponge a quick kiss over her lips. “Besides…I warned you, didn’t I? Said I’d tease you if you teased me…”

Y/N whines loudly as Harry finally bottoms out, his hips pressing flush to hers and bringing a kind of euphoric fullness that she’s never felt before. “Oh God…” She drags out her speech, her eyes barely managing to flutter open in time to catch the look on Harry’s face as he feels her walls squeeze him.

His brows are drawn together, an all too familiar crease appearing between them. It’s a look of concentration, but the pull of his mouth and the quiet pants leaving it tell Y/N that it’s so much more than that. His pupils are blown out, dilated so much that she can barely see the green that she loves so much, and every few moments, Harry’s eyelids flutter, times perfectly with the contraction of Y/N’s pussy around his length.

“Move, Harry.” Y/N begs, grasping his free hand and squeezing it along with his other hand. “Please.”

Her pleading sends a shiver down Harry’s spine, and he begins to thrust in and out of her slowly, letting her adjust to each pace before gradually increasing his movements. “Like that, pet?” He asks, voice low and thick with pleasure. “Is that what you wanted?”

A whine is all the answer he gets, as Y/N is so far gone past the point of being able to reply with a coherent sentence. The only thing she can think of is how good it feels to have Harry fill her. How the feeling of his cock inside her is simultaneously too much for her, the most content she’s ever felt, and not enough to satisfy the ache deep within her. Every one of her senses is consumed with Harry—the touch of his skin to hers, at her pelvis, over her abdomen, his hands squeezing hers with desperation as he thrusts inside of her repeatedly. The scent of his cologne mingled with his sweat, so hot and all consuming that the air feels thick with it. The taste of that scent on the back of her tongue, along with his Merlot flavoured kisses that linger in her mouth. The sight of him caged over her, his sweaty curls and flushed skin being all that she can see. The sound of his moans, hot and low in her ear.

Everything is Harry. Had there every been a time where it wasn’t?

When Harry pulls his hands from Y/N’s, a small whimper stumbles out of her mouth, growing louder when his thrusts begin to slow and the ball of tension in her core begins to uncoil. “What—?” She begins, the question still half formed on her tongue when Harry moves his grip to her knees.

In one swift motion, Harry has her left knee over his shoulder, quickly repeating the movement with her right leg as he sponges stuttered kisses over the newly available skin. “Need to be deeper.” He mutters, pressing a wet and breathless kiss to Y/N’s lips before sitting up for more leverage. Weaving his fingers back through hers, Harry begins to thrust again, the head of his cock rubbing against new areas with every motion.

And oh. It’s like an entirely new feeling. The moans and whimpers are leaving Y/N’s mouth in a steady stream now, with any ability she had to filter her volume gone the moment Harry’s cock presses against her G-spot.

“Fuck, Harry, right there, baby—” Y/N releases one of his hands to throw her arm around his shoulder, digging her nails into the muscled skin as the words of pleasure slip past her lips. “That’s it, that’s so fucking good—”

“Yeah?” Harry grunts, bracing himself against the bed so that he can increase the speed of his movements. “You like how my cock fills you?”

Y/N nods desperately, the movement stuttered as she shakes from both her pleasure and the force of Harry driving his hips into her own. “Yeah, I—fuck, you’re going to make me cum…”

Harry’s face twists in concentration as he removes his braced hand from the bed and trails it down Y/N’s body, pausing just enough so that he can tweak her nipple as he passes by. He continues on until he reaches his destination, and settles his large thumb over her clit to rub fast and concise circles on the bundle of nerves.

“Oh—” Y/N’s back arches off the bed as her nails dig into the skin of Harry’s shoulder, as well as the back of his hand. She barely manages to pant through her whimpered words. “Fuck, I’m going to cum—”

“Please, baby.” Harry pleads with her, his expression desperate as he stipples more kisses to Y/N’s knees, the only inches of skin that he can get his mouth on as he drives himself harder into her. “Need you to cum for me, I—fuck, minx, I need it more than you know.”

A sharp gasp falls from Y/N’s slick mouth as Harry hits her G-spot again, and the sharp repeated motion combined with his stimulation of her clit is enough to send her barrelling headfirst over the edge. A desperate sound leaves her mouth, half moan, half whine, as the coil in Y/N’s core snaps, sending shockwaves of pleasure through every inch of her body.

The reaction is almost instantaneous. As her body shakes with pleasure, abdomen contracting and releasing over and over, Y/N feels Harry’s hips begin to stutter, his movement growing sloppier as the constriction of her core works Harry to an orgasm.

“Y/N—that’s it, pet, just—yes—” Harry’s words are more coherent than hers, but still just form a string of half put together phrases as he presses himself deep inside her, his eyes snapping shut as he spills inside the condom. A choked sound works its way out of his throat, pulling from deep within his chest, and the pads of his rough fingers dig into her thighs as he grounds himself throughout his orgasm.

Y/N’s shuddering climax finishes before Harry’s does, and all she can do is collapse back in the sheets, enjoying the feeling of his cock throbbing inside her one last time before he pulls out slowly to clean himself and throw away the condom. An involuntary whine, quiet but audible, falls from her lips at the empty feeling that’s left behind, but it’s soon satiated after Harry returns to the bed, wrapping his shaking arms around her and pulling her tight into his chest.

His chest, like her own, is soaked in sweat, covered in dark bruises, and heaving from the aftermath of the orgasm he’s just finished, but it’s the only place Y/N wants to be. She presses her ear into his skin, his racing heartbeat thumping beneath her head, and she focuses on the pounding pattern as she attempts to catch her breath.

Harry speaks first, clearing his throat before his wrecked voice fills her senses. “That was…that was so fucking good. I was worried that it wouldn’t be as good as the last time, because we were more sober, but…”

“It was better, yeah. I know.” Y/N agrees, her voice filled with exhaustion and contentment as she kisses over a purple bruise forming on Harry’s collar bone. “I think…I think knowing how we feel made it better.”

“I agree.” Harry’s hands move over her back, his fingertips tracing invisible patterns onto her sweaty skin. “Passionate sex with someone you care for with candles lit…all after the wedding of your best friend…was that romantic enough for you?” There’s a teasing edge to his voice, just barely audible beneath the rasp.

A tired smile lifts the corners of Y/N’s swollen lips. “I suppose so. But it’s not hard to be, in comparison to others…”

“Well, from now on, you’re going to be comparing to me, yeah?” Harry shifts his arms around her, tightening his grip before reaching for the crumpled sheet to pull it over their bodies. “This’ll be the marker, I suppose. And I’ll have to work on raising the bar with everything I do for you.”

“What about what I’ll do for you?” Y/N just barely manages to raise her head off Harry’s chest enough to look at him. “This is a two way street, you know. I have to romance you, too.”

“Mm. True.” Harry hums as he resumes tracing patterns on Y/N’s skin. “How about you stop making fun of my taste in romantic movies? I’d like to watch The Notebook without you poking fun at it. If you’re laughing at all the emotional scenes, it makes me feel pathetic when I cry at them.”

Y/N laughs quietly as she rakes her fingers through Harry’s sweaty curls. “That’s asking too much from me. How about…I can still make fun of your taste in romantic movies, but I’ll hold you and comfort you when you cry at the really dumb scenes?”

An exhausted snort rolls through Harry’s chest, but there’s a degree of tenderness hidden in the sound. “I suppose that’s the best offer I’ll get, isn’t it?”

“You suppose right.” Y/N sighs contently, her eyes drifting shut as she settles herself into Harry’s chest. The feeling of the subtle rise and fall of his muscles is enough to soothe her to sleep, and she’s just settling in for what she thinks may be the best sleep of her life when her head suddenly drops as Harry abruptly pulls away from her.

“Harry—” Y/N’s eyes snap open as she pulls herself into an upright position, any feeling of calm that she had a moment ago gone out the window. “What the fuck?”

A sheepish Harry smiles at her from the dresser. “We left the candles lit, love.” He says, blowing out the three lit candles on the wooden surface before walking to one of the bedside tables, where four more candles are lit. “It’s not safe.”

“No, you know what’s no safe? Jerking your girlfriend from her sleep when she’s exhausted, and has to be up early tomorrow.” Y/N rolls her eyes as she flops back into the pillows.

Harry blows out the last candle before sliding back into the bed. “Would you rather I let the cabin burn down? That wouldn’t be very romantic of me, now would it?”

Turning over on her side, Y/N faces the wall away from Harry. “You’re an asshole.”

“Don’t be mean.” Harry’s pout is tangible in the press of his lips to her bare shoulder. “We were having a moment!”

“Not anymore.”

“You don’t mean that.” Harry laughs as he wraps his arms around Y/N, pulling her to spoon into his chest. “Just go to sleep. You’ll be less grumpy in the morning.”

“Fuck off.” Y/N mutters, but she allows herself to be held against Harry as his breathing once again soothes her to sleep.

…

“Are you sure I can’t drive?”

Harry laughs as he shuts the loaded trunk of the Impala, the sound echoing off the trees around them and scaring a few birds that had settled in the branches. “After that disaster in Nebraska? No way.”

“Did you let her drive Stevie?” Laure asks, shock woven through her voice as her eyes flicker between Y/N and Harry. “Really?”

“No, I let her try to drive Stevie. And then she stalled her, and lost all driving privileges forever.” Harry replies with a snort, shrugging his jacket onto his shoulders as his keys jangle in his hands. “So I’ll be driving the forty-two hours back to L.A.”

Y/N crosses her arms with an irritated sigh. “Whatever. Don’t complain to me when you get stiff from being in one position for eight hours a day.”

As Harry rounds the back of the car, he shoots Y/N a smug grin, walking up behind her to wrap his warm arms around her waist. “But you’ll give me massages, won’t you, baby? I’d really appreciate them…”

“Okay, this is still weird for me.” Jo says slowly, shaking her head as her eyes flicker between their intertwined pose and Laure, who looks equally as bemused. “A week ago, we had to practically beg Harry to drive you, Y/N, and now you’re…?”

“It was bound to happen, wasn’t it?” Harry asks, resting his chin on Y/N’s shoulder with a smirk. “No woman could last five days with me while resisting the Styles charm…”

Y/N shrugs his chin off her shoulder with a snort. “Right.” She scoffs as she unravels his hands from her waist. “The Styles charm. We’ll pretend that’s a thing.”

Harry pouts as Y/N pulls away from him, his arms still outreached and trailing after her. “It is a thing!”

With a roll of her eyes, Y/N walks over to Jo, wrapping her arms around the girl tightly as the crisp morning air sends a shiver down her spine. “Congratulations, Jo. Have fun on your honeymoon.”

Although Jo hugs her back with a smile, there’s something lingering under the sweet expression. “Thank you.” She speaks in her normal tone, but waits until her lips are right by Y/N’s ear to lower her voice. “The moment you arrive back in L.A., I expect a three hour phone call explaining how all of this happened. Is that understood?”

“You’re so demanding. I would have thought you’d be more mature now that you’re married.” Y/N laughs as she pulls out of the hug, turning to Laure and giving her a tight squeeze before walking to the car. She leans against the cool metal of the passenger side as Harry rounds around to the driver’s side, having said his goodbyes right after she did.

“I’m serious! The last time we talked about Harry, you threatened to cut off his—”

Laure takes Jo’s hand, squeezing it hard as she bites her lip to keep from laughing. “Okay, darling, that’s enough. Just be thankful they’re not arguing anymore, yeah? Maybe we’ll finally be able to have a wine night that doesn’t end with someone flipping a charcuterie board.”

The memory of Laure and Jo’s four year anniversary party brings a sheepish smile to Y/N’s face, and she watches as the realization hits Jo, who gives a satisfied nod to Laure before the latter presses her lips to her cheek.

Harry, however, is less amused, and shoots a questioning glance at Y/N over the hood of the car. “Wait, when did you threaten to cut something of mine off?”

“Oh, it was just a joke, Harry.” Y/N waves off his concern as she opens the passenger door with a click. “It’s nothing you have to worry about, as long as you don’t piss me off too much.”

“Right.” Harry says slowly, climbing inside the car as Y/N does the same. “I’ll do my best.”

Harry starts the car with an easy and practiced motion, shifting it into reverse and pulling away from the mountainside resort as the two of them give one last wave to Jo and Laure through the passenger window. Once they’re back on the winding mountain road, Y/N grabs Harry’s phone from its usual spot in his cup holder, scrolling through his music library with interest.

“What do you feel like listening to?” She asks curiously, her eyes scanning over the now familiar titles indecisively. “Something fast? Something mellow?”

Harry shifts the car into second gear before grabbing Y/N’s free hand, brushing his pink lips over the back of her knuckles in a gentle motion. “I don’t really care.” He says with a shrug, winding his fingers through her own before lowering their hands between their seats. “Anything you want.”

The comment of free reign causes Y/N’s eyes to widen in disbelief. “Really?” She asks incredulously, and when Harry gives a confirming nod, she quickly settles on “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” leaning back in her seat as the familiar guitar riff fills the car.

From the corner of her eye, she watches Harry’s nose wrinkle as his eyebrows crease beneath his sunglasses. “Actually, I changed my mind.” He says lowly, swiping his thumb over her knuckles in a motion of apology. “Not this song.”

Y/N lets out a groan as she presses her head back into the head rest. “For fuck’s sake, H—”

“I’m not feeling it! It just doesn’t suit this time of day, or this scenery—”

“We have forty-two hours left in this trip, and you’re already pissing me off. Do you want something to get cut off?” Yanking her hand from his own, she grabs his phone again and opens it with a harsh sigh. “Okay, what do you want to listen to?”

“I told you.” Harry taps his fingers against the steering wheel as he risks a glance at her, gauging if the irritation in her voice matches the irritation on her face. “Whatever you want to listen to.”

Y/N allows herself a quiet snort, but makes no other comment on the contradictory statement. “Fine.” She says shortly, scrolling through his songs for another moment before clicking on “Strangers”. “How’s that?”

Harry raises his now empty hand defensively before finding her own again, squeezing it gently. “Good, love. It’s good.”

“Good.” Y/N gives a short sigh of relief, settling back into her seat again as a new guitar riff begins to sound through the car speakers.

The first verse of the song has barely finished when Harry clears his throat thickly, the corner of his lip just barely twitching up. “You know, actually—”

“Stop the car.”

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rocorambles · 4 years

Note

I'm am an utter Seijoh w h o r e thank you for asking 😌

I've always loved the idea of the Seijoh Third years au during the purge, going out into it as a unit to track down their darling (either manager or just someone they collectively have their eyes on) and bringing her back to their place for the worst best night of her life. Mattsun's horse cock, cockwarming in her throat while Makki and Iwaizumi make use of the rest of her. (I am wildly into double vaginal penetration)

And oikawa is manning the camera so they can remember this night for years to come. He can be patient, they waited all year right? He could wait an hour or two more. They have all night with her after all

YULI THE WAY THIS ASK HAD ME SCREAMING!!!! I needed to let it marinate in my inbox so I could do it justice and hopefully this lives up to your expectations~

Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Rape/Non-Con, Non-Con Video Recording, Degradation, Humiliation

Graduation is quickly approaching and it should be a time of excitement, celebration, maybe a tinge of sadness as the third-years prepare to move on with their lives and go on a new adventure. But all Iwaizumi, Oikawa, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki feel is frustration. They had all jokingly taken bets on which of them you’d end up dating, although there’s nothing funny about how much each one of them cares for you and wishes more than anything else that it’s them that holds a special place in your heart. But they had been so sure that you must love one of them, no one else even in contention in their minds. So imagine their surprise when you reject all of them.

You’d rather be alone than with any of them?

That’s not an option and quite insulting as far as Oikawa is concerned and they panic, heatedly whispering and seething to each other as graduation draws nearer and nearer, as the end of their time with you threateningly approaches.

But they have one saving grace and they impatiently wait, nonstop planning and scheming as they work out your special night, hopefully the first of many as the yearly purge also draws near, thankfully just before graduation. Really, they couldn’t have asked for better timing and it’s almost like even God is on their side.

The purge isn’t something you’ve ever worried about much, not something that a normal person like you has much to fear and you plan on quietly spending it safely locked away at home as usual, knowing no one has it in for you, that there’s no reason for anyone to be actively trying to hunt you down. So terror lances through you when there’s pounding on your front door, when the locked doorknob rattles and shakes as someone attempts to twist it open, when the wood of your door creaks and shudders under the force of the person trying to break in.

But suddenly there’s strangely familiar shouting and the noises stop and you stare with hopeful teary eyes, practically sprinting to fling open the door when you place the voice in your mind that’s softly urging you to open up and throwing yourself into the arms of the handsome captain.

Maybe in hindsight you’ll wonder why you didn’t question what Oikawa and Iwaizumi were doing at your front door, but in the moment, shaken by what had just transpired, you obediently lace your fingers with Oikawa’s and let him tug you to his house, closely trailed by Iwaizumi who scans your surroundings, before letting Hanamaki and Matsukawa pull you into a group hug when the three of you safely return to Oikawa’s residence where the five of you will ride out the rest of the purge together.

It should be comforting knowing that you’ll be with four of the strongest men you know and you do feel safe, at first, but you feel uneasy the longer the four of them unabashedly stare at you, hungrily looking at you as if you’re a piece of meat, tensing at the question Oikawa asks.

“Why aren’t we good enough for you?”

To be honest, you had thought it was a joke when one by one, all four men had asked you out privately and it wasn’t until afterwards when you saw the genuine hurt on their faces when you turned them down that you realized all of them had been serious. It’s flattering. It really is. They’re handsome and athletic and you know most of the female population at Aoba Johsai would kill to be with any of them, let alone have all four interested in them. But you aren’t most of the female population and dating just wasn’t in your current plans.

You flinch at the harsh scoff Matsukawa directs at you.

“You’re not like most women? So this doesn’t make you feel anything?”

You screech as he abruptly slips a hand down the front of his pants and pulls out his cock in broad view for everyone to look, your hands trying to cover your face, but Iwaizumi’s hands grab your wrists from behind and Hanamaki’s hand on your face forces you to really take in the view in front of you.

And what a view it is.

You had heard rumors about just how massive Matsukawa is and you can now attest to the fact they aren’t just rumors and despite the blaring alarms in your head, you can’t look away, mouth going dry at the sight, which doesn’t go unnoticed by the tall blocker who mockingly laughs at you.

“I thought you weren’t like most women? If you want it that much, I’ll give it to you.”

You don’t have time to register what’s happening until you’re being shoved down to your knees by Hanamaki, face forcefully being squished against the cock, nose having no choice but to inhale Matsukawa’s musky scent, upper body splayed across Matsukawa’s lap while your ass is raised high in the air behind you. Your hands desperately try to scramble for purchase, trying to lift yourself up and away from your humiliating position, but they’re pulled back behind you once again by Iwaizumi and tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes as Matsukawa mockingly rubs and smears his shaft all over you, beads of pre-cum being rubbed all over your face.

“Now open up and don’t bite, otherwise you really won’t like what we do to you.”

And you believe him, already terrified of what they have in store for you, hopelessness and helplessness flooding through you and keeping you docile when you register just how little you can do against all four of them, when sinking realization that even if you did miraculously escape them, there’d be no hope for you out alone during the purge.

What choice do you have?

So you listen, hoping that if you play along with their sick and twisted game, they’ll let you off the hook more easily, that you can just toughen up and get through this one night and flee far far far away from these monsters once the morning arrives. And you open your mouth, nausea roiling through you as Matsukawa’s tip slides past your pursed lips, his girth achingly stretching your mouth, his length bringing a new wave of tears to your eyes as your throat is completely violated, breathing becoming shallow as you desperately inhale as much as you can through your nose as your head is continuously shoved down, throat and eyes fluttering at how agonizing the feeling is when he finally bottoms out inside of you.

Matsukawa laughs at the way your body wildly flails for oxygen, groaning at the way your mouth vibrates with your screams and your throat convulses when he cruelly pinches your nose shut with his fingers and it becomes an awful game of push and pull as he alternates between releasing and pinching, enjoying how much control he has over your body and your life.

But you have more to worry about than just the man in front of you and you’re rudely reminded of that as a body slips underneath you from behind, hands holding your thighs in place as bodies move behind you. And you incoherently scream, unintelligible babble and gargles from around Matsukawa’s cock indicating just how stressed and panicked you feel as two objects grind and rub against your pussy.

They’re not going to fit. They’re not going to fit. They’re not going to-

Your eyes go impossibly wide, body going rigid in shock and despair, mind trying to cope with the excruciating pain as two cocks insistently press against your tight opening, slowly, but surely bullying their way in, and a high-pitched keening scream pierces the room as your walls are brutally stretched wide, body feeling broken just from the two well-endowed men bottoming out inside of you.

But your mind completely shatters when they begin to move, Iwaizumi painfully pulling your arms almost of their socket as he pistons in and out of you at a feral pace, Hanamaki forcing you to bounce up and down on his cock, jeeringly slapping your ass as your globes jiggle in front of him. And you don’t even know who or what you are anymore as your pussy and mouth are ravaged, used as little more than two convenient holes, pain and humiliation blinding you, and something far more terrifying beginning to bubble just below the surface as Hanamaki’s hand slides between your legs to play with your clit.

You don’t like this. There’s no way you like this. You can’t feel good.

But Hanamaki is insistent on making sure growing pleasure entangles you in its grasp, smirking at the way your pussy undeniably begins to clench, the way your hips begin to move on their own, the way arousal begins to drench both their cocks, the way beautiful wanton moans begin to fill the air.

They love you after all. What fun would it be if they didn’t make sure you felt good too? And sure, maybe it’ll hurt a bit in the beginning, but you were made for this, made for them, and your body will get used to it, adjust for them.

Oikawa watches in fascination, hand palming his own raging erection as he observes everything from the video camera filming, unknown to you. And it takes every bit of self-control not to join the fray, not to make use of that tight puckered hole of yours that’s so lonely and unused. But his time will come. The time will come when you’ll know what it feels like for every single hole to be stuffed full. The time will come when he’ll know every inch and crevice of all your holes personally.

But for now he can sit back and watch as his peers break you in, as he secures the footage that will tie you to them forever. Because even when the purge ends, this video will still exist and he’ll have no qualms about sending it to any university you hope to run away to after graduation if you don’t forget about your far fetched thoughts and stay by their side where you belong.

Did you really think they didn’t know about your silly selfish plans to stray as far from Miyagi as possible, as far from them as possible?

It’s almost enough to make him completely lose his temper, the thought of you escaping them. But he reminds himself that it didn’t happen, that it won’t happen. And with that comforting piece of knowledge, he carefully adjusts the camera, zooming in on your tear and drool stained face and the way your pussy gapes wide as the two cocks relentlessly drill in and out of you.

#haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa #yandere iwaizumi #yandere hanamaki #yandere matsukawa #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #hanamaki x reader #matsukawa x reader #tw: noncon #tw: rape #tw: yandere #tw: blackmail

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chocosvt · 4 years

Text

⚬ pairing: prince!seokmin x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 12,690 ⚬ warnings: none. ⚬ genre: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, angst, teasing, some slowburn romance, superfluff toward the end.

✧✎ synopsis: the time has come for prince seokmin to meet his arranged marriage, which forces you to confront a strange predicament: if you truly hate the prince, then why does the thought of him being with someone else hurt this badly?

✧✎ a/n: yeah... i’ve wanted to write some prince!lsm since his excalibur pictures. evidently, i am very late! i hope u enjoy nonetheless :-)

Hiking up the long, heavy layers of your dress, pale and coloured like lilacs, you retrieved a small carving knife that had been clandestinely strapped against your outer thigh. Buried a few feet away from you in the grass was a smooth, palm-sized piece of beech wood, which you quickly picked up before walking back to the bench. You sat down horizontally, stretching out your legs and taking up as much space as possible whilst you started carving down the edges of the beech wood, flicking away the occasional shavings.

It was only to kill time as you waited for the royal gates to open. That night, the King and Queen were hosting an annual, celebratory dinner to commemorate the newest anointment of pages, otherwise known as the fresh grouping of students who would serve the knights and learn about their duties, specifically how they protected and served the kingdom. It was a true honour: you had been requested to cook in the royal kitchen, and the younger apprentice your mother hired at the bakery, Chan, was going with you.

He was notably excited and couldn’t sit down, instead pacing in front of the tall, wooden gateway into the castle grounds. This would be his first time seeing the royal family’s abode from the inside, and if he was particularly lucky, he might get to meet the Prince. To him it was a big deal, but you couldn’t care less. At even just thinking about the Prince, you started pressing your knife harder against the beech wood, gritting your teeth as a larger piece curled off and fell into your lap. Lee Seokmin, he was the Prince.

You absolutely hated him.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing, child?”

The sunlight that glinted against your face was interrupted by your mother, who had her hands sternly placed on her hips, glaring down at you in sheer disapproval.

“Give me that.” She quipped whilst scowling at the blade. “This instant.”

Rolling your eyes, you sat up properly on the bench and dusted the cream-coloured shavings off your lap. She never let you do anything, and when you were in close proximity to the castle, she became even more rigid and hawk-eyed. You gave her the knife which she hastily folded up, watching her pocket it inside a pouch on the front of her white dress.

You still held onto the beech wood.

“There is no reason to bring a weapon into the King and Queen’s home. I should not have to reprimand you like this once more. Behave in the way I have taught you.”

Suddenly, there was a loud command you heard echo from the turret, and the tall, wooden gateway into the castle grounds began pulling apart. You heard the clink belonging to the iron chains and the cracks in the elderly oak. Chan stumbled backward, leaving sufficient room for the gate to open. Unlike the apprentice whose eyes were glimmering in awe, you had to swallow the bitter taste in your mouth and put on your fakest, most convincing expression of content. It was going to be the longest night of your life – even longer if you had to eat supper with the Prince.

Just before you were guided into the royal family’s abode by the caterers, you swiftly pulled up the side of your dress and tucked the piece of beech wood between the garter belt at your thigh. Then, you rushed to stand beside Chan.

“Excited, are you?” You asked him.

He tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind his ear, practically bouncing in his place. “It is my biggest wish to sit down with the Prince! To cook for him is already a sure pleasure.”

You couldn’t help but huff at the apprentice’s enthusiasm. He should consider himself lucky he didn’t know Seokmin the way you did.

Time passed quickly, and it was almost two hours into preparing the onslaught of fruit, meat, vegetables, and grain required to make the celebratory supper. The royal kitchen was much larger than the small, quaint space you operated back at the bakery, where everything was tightly shoved together and you knew each crevice like the back of your hand. You were working up a sweat as you kneaded a large, thickening dough. Once you were satisfied, you floured a wooden roller and began flattening it out, using a tin can to cut perfect circles.

You told Chan to put the tray in the clay furnace and keep an eye on the rising bread.

“Where are you going?” He immediately inquired upon watching you untie your apron, hanging the splattered fabric on a hook jutting from the stone wall.

“It’s quite hot. I’m stepping outside for a few minutes. No more than that.”

The young boy nodded and proceeded to follow your orders, keeping a watchful eye on the dough that would soon become crispy, warm pieces of bread. You slipped into the long corridor that led outside. There was still a noticeable heat in the evening air, though it was much less overwhelming compared to the kitchen, packed with fires and bodies and steam. A soft, glowing pink tinted the sky, and you were surprised at how little clouds there were.

Just to be certain, you felt underneath your dress for the piece of beech wood, relieved to brush it against your skin.

A distant sound captured your attention, somewhat like the noise of steel slashing against steel. Walking along the side of pillaring cobblestone, the noise grew louder, accompanied by indiscernible, muffled shouting. You stepped around the small wildflowers sprouting from the grass, keeping as silent as possible upon approaching the corner that ended at an iron gate.

Sparing a cautious glance between the bars, you looked into a large courtyard covered with sand. There were two young men sparring against each other, competitive but lighthearted in their expressions and the nature of how they operated their swords.

It was none other than the Prince himself, Seokmin, against his lifelong accomplice, Jeonghan.

You plucked your head back and inhaled delicately. The unique airiness of Jeonghan’s laughter reverberated into the evening, summer air, joining hymn with the sharp steel. You peaked through the iron bars again. Seokmin was still buried in his hefty silver armor, a layer of chainmail hanging from his shoulders. Expertly, he caught the underside of Jeonghan’s sword with his own and twisted the weapon from his friend’s hands, which dropped against the sand with a soft thud. Jeonghan stumbled backward, panting heavily.

“For God’s sake, I surrender!” He laughed, dusting off his shiny armor.

Seokmin slid his sword back into the sheath at his waist, smiling triumphantly.

“You squander each attempt at defeating me. Have you just lost another bet with my blacksmith?”

Jeonghan bent down to pick up his sword and huffed, “it could be so.”

“You are inclined to become a beggar,” the Prince teased, “thankfully, tonight’s feast shall leave you with plentiful portions to take to the streets.”

There was a small, stone fountain bubbling beneath an overhang in the courtyard. Seokmin allowed a generous cup of water to form in his hands before splashing it along his face, the droplets streaming down his amber skin that had been caked with dust. Once he cleared away the grit, he ran a hand through his hair, pushing back the long, black curls.

He smirked at Jeonghan and uttered something to him you couldn’t decipher as they removed their chainmail. You studied him intently, feeling the warmth in your chest welt into disdain and anger.

“What are you doing all the way down there?!”

You jumped, sensing your flesh bristle. Turning around, you saw Chan standing at the doorway with his brow furrowed, probably wondering why you never returned to the kitchen. Not wanting to draw attention to yourself, you hurried toward him and away from the courtyard, praying that neither the Prince nor his friend heard Chan’s shouting.

“Was there somebody out there? Who was it?” Chan immediately pestered you with questions.

“There was no one.” You told him whilst entering the kitchen, heaving a great sigh of relief upon seeing your bread removed from the clay furnace, the bread perfectly golden and risen in small domes.

Chan seemed skeptical, but he knew you were infamously defensive, so he didn’t investigate.

“Have you started the pastry for the cherry pie?” You asked him after setting the grain aside.

“No,” Chan replied, “I heard it is a favourite of the Prince. We must prepare it attentively.”

“Of course. Now, ask that lady over there if we can use her pie pan. We will start immediately.”

In complete honestly, you’d rather prepare any other dessert – even the chocolate soufflés, which were arguably difficult to perfect. However, you yet again bit your tongue and helped the eager apprentice remove the pits from the ruby red cherries, which landed in a wicker basket just at your feet. Every moment or so, you were tempted to leave behind a pit, entertaining the tiny thought that it could be inside the slice served to the Prince. You knew if that happened, neither you or Chan would be allowed to return to the castle.

It wasn’t so much skin off your nose, but Chan would definitely be disheartened.

You made sure to thoroughly clean all the cherries.

The dining hall was absolutely packed. There were rows of young pages standing at the table, hardly able to contain themselves as they stared glossy-eyed into the fresh cooked meals and desserts. No one had sat down yet, not until the King and Queen took their seats.

The Queen, swathed in the long, shimmering silk of her violet robe, observed the hungry crowd gathered before her. She was an alluring beacon, just like a porcelain doll, and the sapphire gems embossed in her crown glinted against the central chandelier. As you were specifically requested by the royal family to cook, you were granted a seat at the table, in between your mother and an anxious Chan who kept stealing glances at the Prince, standing next to his father. You refused to look at Seokmin, even when you felt his gaze trace the side of your face.

Suddenly, the Queen grabbed onto a sumptuous chalice and lifted it high in the air. She began making a toast to the newly appointed pages, congratulating the start of their journey. You copied your mother and reached for a silver goblet next to your plate, which had been prefilled with cold, dark purple wine. Everyone applauded her speech. Then, the King took over.

It was hard to pay attention, until you heard a particular name leave his mouth.

“As we continue the great customs of our ancestors who built this impenetrable kingdom, a new fate has arrived for Prince Seokmin.”

You flicked your gaze toward Seokmin, your heart hammering in your chest. His father set a hand on his shoulder, covered by a velvet, royal blue robe.

“Our son is at the rightful age to marry. After ample negotiation with the neighbouring and prosperous village of Markarth, their Lord has granted permission to his daughter, Lady Adelaide, as a possible contender. She will visit us on the summer solstice. I am prideful, and honoured, to announce this marvellous news alongside the blessed anointment of our pages.”

Instantly, you felt lightheaded, and you had to place the goblet back down on the table in order to avoid spilling the expensive wine. You knew this day would come eventually, but to hear that an arranged marriage was already brewing left a horrible taste in your mouth. The King shook his son’s shoulder with an honest pride, though Seokmin simply pressed his lips together and dipped his head slightly, acknowledging the announcement. You felt sick to your stomach. The thought of eating your beef wellington rendered you unable to even look at its outer pastry.

“Let us not dismiss the efforts of our valuable cooks, who prepared this rustic meal.” The King continued, staring in your direction.

He then praised the name of your mother, you, and Chan in specific. Everyone’s goblet remained in the air. Their gazes smeared across your flesh like wet ash.

“Is there anything you would like to say before we commence our feast?”

Your mother was ready to speak, though you managed to cut in before her.

“P-Pardon me, your Majesty, I am unbelievably humbled to cook for you tonight, but at this time I wish to be excused from the dining hall. May I part?”

Chan turned to look at you as though your hair were entangled in flames, and your mother grew notably tense. The atmosphere in the room was awfully palpable, like a thick balm that made it difficult to breathe. You could feel the pulse in your fingertips. The King then lowered his head to the Queen, and they briefly exchanged a whisper, seemingly coming to a verdict they both agreed on. Asking to be excused from a royal supper seldom occurred, if ever.

“If that is your wish,” the King said, his voice stern, “then you may part.”

You stepped away from your chair, making sure to bow toward the royal family. Seokmin was staring directly at you, his face looking hardened, cold.

“Thank you,” came your tiny response, “I hope you are delighted by the food.”

In the centre of the royal garden was a magnificent water fountain that came alive at nighttime, small, paper lanterns floating in its pool and glowing a solacing orange. You lay on your back, atop the fountain’s wide stone ledge, listening to the gushing water and staring up at the crescent moon. Everyone was still eating inside the dining hall. When you listened very intently, you could hear the faint notes of the live music. You didn’t regret leaving the supper, but you did regret not stealing a tiny bread loaf or even some fresh blackberries from the fruit baskets.

Your stomach was aching, hungry.

Reaching down to tug up the side of your dress, you pulled out the beech wood you spotted in the grass that afternoon. You had wanted to carve something into its surface with your knife, though you weren’t sure what, and it definitely wouldn’t be possible until your mother returned the blade to you. As you held the smooth nature above your face and pressed your thumbs into its cream face, you were overcome by a new, frothing wave of anger. Seokmin was preparing to get married. The beech wood nearly split in two from your iron grip.

You hated thinking that at one point in your childhood, you genuinely liked the Prince, and harboured this flat-out embarrassing crush on him. So did everyone else, but Seokmin certainly didn’t help your malleable heart in pretending that he liked you back. You remembered it clear as day: Jeonghan, who was much smaller at the time, came bounding up to you, teeming with excitement and using his squeaky voice to tell you that Seokmin wanted to kiss you, and that you needed to meet the Prince by Peace River in the forest.

Of course, you obliged without even having to think, and your friends spent the whole morning twisting small bluebells and buttercups in your hair. When you arrived at Peace River, Seokmin was waiting for you, standing in a patch of sunlight that cut through the trees, wearing a long, silk red robe in addition to his silver crown. It was the most nervous you had ever felt in your entire life, and you remembered feeling dizzy as Seokmin gazed down at you with a sweet look in his honey eyes. The two of you leaned in closer, closer, closer…

And right when you felt his lips ghost yours, Seokmin took a step back and you heard a huge fit of laughter erupt from the thick brush in the background.

Seokmin’s friends came stumbling from their hiding spots, some holding their stomachs with how hard they were cackling, others wiping a tear from their eye, all whilst you experienced a shock bottom out in your gut. The realization that everything had been a ruse gave you a tough, metaphorical slap across the face. Jeonghan had to lean against a tree trunk as he gripped his stomach, and a familiar burn stung your cheeks upon remembering the words he coughed out, something along the lines of, “you truly thought the Prince liked you?!”

The worst part was that Seokmin didn’t say anything, he just looked at you sadly. Since then, your contempt for Seokmin blossomed, and he didn’t hesitate to bite back.

Not wanting to break the beech wood, you lowered it from your face and slid it back between the lace garter hidden beneath your dress. When you glanced at the moon, you noticed that a small, orange ball was floating above you. Sitting up, your eyes widened at the sight of numerous orange dots, glimmering all throughout the garden. You recognized them as fireflies, which had always been one of your favourite things about the night. Occasionally, you and Chan would catch the small bugs in mason jars and release them by Peace River.

One fluttered close to your face, so you stuck out your finger hoping it would land. But, out of nowhere, you heard someone walking in the grass and immediately plucked your finger away, instead peering through the moonlight where you spotted a silhouette. Once the figure came into the aurora of the water fountain, you felt your stomach drop. It was none other than the Prince himself. He was no longer wearing his royal robe, just a white poet shirt with the deep, v-shaped collar left unbuttoned, and some black capris. He wasn’t even sporting any jewelry apart from a silver bulb through his right earlobe.

“Why must you act with such blatant disrespect?” He was quick to scold you for leaving the dinner. “Could you have not sat down? Stayed out of honour and given your untouched portions to the beggars?”

You scoffed. “Do not ridicule me like one of your pages. I was asked to cook, and so I did. No more, no less.”

Seokmin huffed, blowing the black curls away from his eyes. “You were invited to eat as well.”

“I fulfilled my principal duty. There was no reason to stay.”

“You could have at least eaten something. A wedge of pie, a peach clove. For heaven’s sake, there was bread at the entryway.”

Unwilling to stay seated and argue, you stood up from the fountain and brushed off your dress, no longer paying attention to the fireflies that illuminated the garden. Of course you wished you took some food; your stomach was collapsing in on itself, though you would not admit it.

“Why are you so concerned with my meals?” You snapped. “Should you not return to your private quarters and get well rested for the summer solstice?”

After mocking his arranged marriage, you couldn’t bear to look Seokmin in the eye. For some reason, a lump got caught in your throat and you felt a hot surge push against your tear ducts.

“Judging by your poor temper, it is you who needs more rest than I.” The Prince shot back.

You couldn’t stand there any longer. Biting harshly into your bottom lip, you attempted to brush by Seokmin and exit the garden. Instead you would find the gateway and wait until your mother and Chan arrived before leaving the castle grounds. There was food back at the house anyway, you assumed maybe some milk pudding, or sunflower seeds. It wouldn’t satiate you, but at least quell the hunger pangs until morning. However, when Seokmin grabbed your elbow you immediately flared, releasing a sharp yelp as he held you in place.

“And where do you think you’re off to?” Seokmin growled, lessening his grip on your arm and leaning in close to your face. “Come with me. I must give you something.”

Peering into the Prince’s dark brown eyes, you snarled, “what?”

He was close enough that you could see the tiny scar on the bridge of his nose from when he and Jeonghan had chased each other with fireplace pokers. You thought about looking at his lips, pretty and pink, but refused to break eye contact. The Prince didn’t say anything, just tugged you through the garden, between the thorny rosebushes, the intricate strings of bleeding hearts, and huge pots of pastel, cotton hydrangeas. To your surprise, Seokmin guided you back into the kitchen you had occupied just a few hours ago.

Then, he opened a wood cupboard and pulled out a polished, bright silver tin, which he thrusted into your arms. You peeled the lid open and saw that the tin was filled with raspberry glazed Danishes, to which the fragrant smell of flaky pastry and berries caused your mouth to water.

“S-Seokmin, I—,” you were going to reject him.

“I am not doing charity work for you. It is the custom of our celebratory suppers to not let any guest leave unfed, or pained by hunger.”

He looked at you with a cold expression, and his tone deepened. “Now, you may wait at the front gate for your companion and mother. It is not your place to wander around my castle. I could have you arrested.”

You welcomed his threat. “I anticipate such a drastic measure if it ensures I’ll never have to see your face again.”

Seokmin didn’t look half as amused. He moved in close to your ear, his breath hitting your skin as he uttered inimically, “leave.”

During the walk home to your village quarters, Chan had already shoved an entire pastry into his mouth, licking the raspberry jam off his fingers. Your mother was eager to know who gifted you such an expensive tin alongside the Danishes. Not wanting to admit your confrontation with Seokmin, you churned up a white lie about how they were a present from another cook.

“Certainly?” She seemed quite surprised. “That is a rare gift. To my knowledge, tins with that level of embroidery are only seen inside the castle. Perhaps that cook quite liked you.”

At the early stretch of dawn, you felt someone grasp your shoulder and shake it roughly, until your eyes pulled open, groggy and blurred. You were sitting up in bed, looking bitter. Chan was next to you, and whilst he wore an apologetic expression, you could sense there was a degree of urgency to his actions.

“What’s the matter?” You hummed, digging the heel of your palm into your eye.

Just outside the windowpane, you could see the calm sunrise and feel the morning, serene warmth through the glass.

“Your mother told me to wake you, that we should head to the bakery immediately.”

As you stumbled around your bedroom, fitting on a pair of degrading, sandalwood slippers before patting your face down with cold water from the well, you were wondering why it was so important that you attend the bakery, that your mother would need to send Chan to fetch you. Still dressed in your nightgown, you left the house alongside the young apprentice and hurried down the quiet road, passing all the tiny markets and apparel shops. As soon as the bakery came into view, you gasped, for a pearl blue carriage was stationed outside, paired to a stallion with silk, white hair. It grazed at a patch of grass and honeysuckle.

There seemed to be a crowd gathered inside the bakery, which only further piqued your curiosity. Chan couldn’t help but stroke the horse’s brilliant fur, which glowed like an amber pool due to the sunlight. You had only taken a measly step or two inside the bakery until jamming to a halt. Right before your eyes, speaking to your mother across the counter was perhaps one of the most pristinely-dressed, elegant girls to ever grace your kingdom. Her dress was long and flowing, a dark green forest jade, accented with gold lacing and a slim pair of gloves that stretched high up her arms.

Chan appeared equally stunned, for he thudded into your backside and stood staring at the girl like she was a rare type of crystal. Almost immediately, you noted the petit, twinkling tiara sitting on her head. Before she could even introduce herself, you knew exactly who she was.

“Lady Adelaide.” You heard Chan whisper to himself.

It immediately dawned on you that the summer solstice had finally arrived. The second she noted your presence at the door, her congregation of guards stepped back, allowing her to approach you. Without a second thought you bowed your head politely. She smelled like fresh clusters of jasmine and her voice was harmonious.

“I apologize, it wasn’t my intention to startle you or your apprentice,” (Chan’s face flushed a shy pink) “I heard from a guardsman of mine that your mother’s bakery is nothing short of wondrous, and I knew I had to stop here before I meet with your kingdom’s Prince.”

You stuttered straight through your teeth, “t-that’s wonderful. P-Pleased, we’re absolutely pleased to serve you, Lady Adelaide. We will prepare anything you desire.”

“Certainly.” Chan agreed.

“I’ll have to spend some time looking over the pastries,” she said jovially, “right now, I am truly awed by how delicious everything appears. My decision will come shortly.”

“Of course.” You responded, rubbing your clammy palms against your dress.

Whilst Lady Adelaide carefully inspected each pastry through the glass, your mother had pulled you and Chan into the kitchen, where she made sure it was clear you show your utmost respect toward the kingdom’s potential princess. Chan still wore a sticky blush on his cheeks, and you could tell he would be about as useful in the kitchen that day as a rock.

“No matter what she requests, we shall honour her needs and prepare it.” Your mother said. “Remember, this could be Prince Seokmin’s wife.”

You felt a streak of envy and wanted to slap yourself.

Once Lady Adelaide made up her mind, your mother re-entered the front shop with a wide smile. Chan started washing his hands in the pail of fresh water.

“Why was I not born the Prince?” He huffed petulantly. “She is truly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Does everyone in Markarth have such a face?”

“Oh, cool it, would you?” Came your sharp response. “Our duty is to operate a bakery, not fall in love.”

You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, and you tried desperately to bite your tongue as you fastened on your apron and pulled up the sleeves of your nightgown. The young apprentice wasn’t lying, she was a true and glorious spectacle, one that would surely appease the King and Queen once they saw her next to their son. However, you weren’t keen on entertaining such a sight, and you dismissed it from your head whilst Chan went to the house front and helped your mother collect Adelaide’s dessert.

A week after Lady Adelaide’s arrival at the kingdom, you happened to find your pocket-sized carving knife inside a bakery drawer. You were absolutely relieved to discover it, and took advantage of your mother’s recent departure to slide it back against the garter belt wrapped around your thigh. For the time being, she was occupied at a different village, visiting her sister.

Chan worked on kneading a mound of sourdough, his sleeves rolled high up to his elbows and a cloth tied around his head, pushing back his growing brown hair. You decided to take a break from the kitchen heat, patting him on his shoulder just before you disappeared.

“Huh?” He mumbled, not bothering to look up from the dough, “where will you be?”

“Peace River.” You told him. “I will be taking a short swim.”

The piece of beech wood was already slipped inside your sleeve. Ever since Seokmin gave you that silver, embroidered tin, you placed it on your bedside table and stored the wood inside.

“Shall I fetch some extra help in the mean time?” Chan asked, lobbing the dough onto a wooden serving board.

“Sure. Why not ask your companion from the academy? Seungkwan is it?”

“Yes.” Chan nodded.

You picked your way through town until you arrived at the pathway that lead into the forest. The dirt was padded down by a century of footsteps, animal paws and wagon wheels, though the soft grass that grew next to it tickled up past your ankles and bloomed with small, purple flowers. You loved walking through the forest, hearing the noises of the village become increasingly muted, replaced by tree branches that gently rocked against each other in the breeze as well as the sweet songbirds.

Upon reaching the river, you sat down on a rock just in front of the grassy bank and pulled out your carving knife. The river created a bubbling waterfall, and whilst you took hold of the beech wood, deciding what to carve, you listened to the trickling sounds. Still unsure of what to scratch in the wood, you continued shaving down its edges until the piece lost its rectangular shape and became more oval. Once you were satisfied with its rounder appearance, you brushed the wispy flakes from your lap, deciding it was time to test the river.

You removed the layers of your dress until you were in nothing but your undergarments, the sunshine that rained between the leaves warm against your skin. After wrapping the beech wood into your clothing, you set the fabric behind a strawberry bush, though left your carving knife folded and sitting on the rock. The river water was cold, but not freezing, and for a few moments you stood knee deep with your eyes closed, allowing the quiet breeze and sunrays to mellow your heartbeat. Then you proceeded to wade in further, until the water lapped up against your chin.

As much as you longed to enjoy the cool river, there was one problem that arose after a few minutes of swimming.

You heard distant galloping becoming closer and closer, accompanied by the rattling of metallic armour and conversation. Not wanting to make your presence known, you paddled beneath the overhanging rock that created the waterfall, the downpour completely soaking your hair whilst the heavy scent of moss stuck to the stone. You were curious as to who could be arriving at the river. Carefully, you peeked around corner of the overhang.

You felt your blood turn to ice.

It was Seokmin and Adelaide. Her arms were wrapped around the Prince’s waist as he held onto the reins of his beautiful, caramel horse named Apple. You remembered the mare’s name because you were the one who suggested it as kids. Seokmin shook the reins once more, and Apple walked closer to the river, already beginning to graze at the sweet grass lining the bank. Seokmin seemed to be educating Adelaide about the river, though you really had to strain to hear what he was saying. He hopped down cleanly from the horse before assisting the Lord’s lady.

She was no longer wearing her jade dress, but a white gown with many ruffles at the skirt. Her eyes were wide and sparkling whilst she examined the forest. Seokmin set a hand on her waist, gesturing to something in the trees you couldn’t see. The Prince was standing in a patch of sunlight just like he did on that summer day when you were children, waiting to kiss you—well, more like humiliate you, but his amber skin still shone the same, and the way the light reflected off his broad, silver armour depicted just how much he’d grown since then.

Closing your eyes, you listened intently for his words.

“Everyone who visits this river is known to experience a beautiful sense of peace, and calm, hence, why it is known as Peace River.”

Adelaide pressed a kiss to Seokmin’s jaw. “I have never seen such a tranquil sight. Oh, Prince Seokmin, it’s beautiful!”

Whilst Apple continued nipping at the grass, Adelaide squatted down next to the river and let the water gush between her fingers, covered in opal and amethyst rings. She was crooning about how pretty the gems looked beneath the current to Seokmin, though you noted the young Prince wasn’t exactly listening. Something caught his attention – your carving knife, which you left sitting on the goddamn rock. Gulping heavily, you watched as Seokmin picked up the blade and inspected it closely. Immediately, you swam away from the corner when he began squinting around the clearing, as though he were attempting to spot the knife’s owner.

The worst part: Seokmin knew who that carving knife belonged to. He knew it was yours, for he offered it to you, a gift from his blacksmith, a few days before the horrible kissing incident.

When you gathered the courage to peer around the corner again, you saw Seokmin help Lady Adelaide back onto Apple’s saddle. He still had your blade in his hand, to which you watched in complete shock as the Prince ordered his horse onward, deeper into the forest. You cursed him relentlessly under your breath. That bastard, he just took your carving knife! When you only discovered its whereabouts no less than half an hour ago! Boiling with fury, you left the river, threw on the clothes over your wet skin, and marched back into town with your beech wood.

The next time you saw the Prince, you weren’t going to let him off easy.

It was the night of the Super Moon Festival.

Raised high amongst the depths of the vast, black sky was the crater itself, bright, shining, and larger than ever. A chilly wind had turned the air quite nippy, and whilst Chan sat next to you, tentatively sipping a warm jar of gold, apple cider, you were simmering in complete bitterness. You had always embraced each festival, especially the Super Moon Festivals, which promised ample fortune unto the kingdom in addition to a prosperous summer; however, that night you couldn’t force even the slightest elation.

Prince Seokmin still had your carving knife.

A great deal of folk had concentrated to the village square, where the celebration was most vibrant. Certain people had linked arms, dancing to the live music, whilst others were releasing paper lanterns of different colours and shapes into the night sky. There were plenty of drinking games, festive food, and buzzing conversations entangled throughout the square. You were shaking your leg, watching intensely as the Prince and his friends were gathered by an old wagon in the far corner, drinking tall tins of frothy ale, laughing loudly into the crisp, cool air.

Suddenly, Chan nudged your shoulder.

“Is everything alright?” He asked. “Why do you continue staring at the Prince?”

You peeled your gaze from Seokmin, though the contort of your features remained. Lady Adelaide was nowhere to be spotted. There were rumours that she would be arriving later, that the band would play a special slow song, just so she could share a dance with the Prince.

“I must speak with him.” You replied.

Chan wrapped his cold hands tighter around the apple cider, casting you a peculiar glance.

“Why is that? Has he done something?”

You knew you couldn’t wait forever. Seokmin’s tightknit ensemble didn’t look like it was going to thin anytime soon, and if you allowed the night to end, you would have missed your chance.

“Be right back.” You uttered sharply to the young apprentice as you rose from your chair, leaving Chan to sit alone with his drink.

He could only gaze after you in a thick confusion. It was definitely nerve-wracking to approach the Prince so boldly, especially when he was swathed by his closest friends, all whom lived inside the castle or carried high profiles in the upper scale village. You almost walked straight through a dancing couple on your march across the large square, though you tried not to let any crumb of doubt or intimidation thwart you from retrieving your carving blade. Without a word, you shoved your way between the muscular bodies, ignoring their surprised scoffs.

Seokmin’s eyes were almost as wide as the moon when you stood before him. He stopped leaning against the wagon’s tall wheel and left his half-finished ale on the ledge.

“Return it to me.” You stated simply, holding out your palm.

“Who the hell is that?” One of his friends chided, clearly not amused that you just pushed through their private celebration only to speak rudely at the Prince.

Seokmin’s brow furrowed. “Return what?” He responded.

His acting utterly irritated you.

“Do not behave so obliviously,” you barked, “come with me, now.”

Wrapping your fingers through the collar of his shirt, you attempted to pull Seokmin away from his companions. Understandably, they were not willing to lose their royal member so easily, which prompted Jeonghan to grab your arm. It came as a slight surprise to you when Seokmin snapped, “do not touch her,” causing him to withdraw his grip, his expression paling. The Prince ensured his companions that he would return soon, only to follow you down a quiet alley, away from the colourful celebration and boasting music.

Folding your arms over your chest, you glared at the boy.

“I want my knife returned.”

Straightening out his collar that you had noticeably crumbled, the Prince scoffed, a smirk trudging across mouth.

“You should not leave any personal property out where it could be discovered.”

“You knew it was mine and yet you still took it.”

“So you were watching me, is that it?” He had the audacity to smile.

In order to contain your fulgurant anger, you clenched your fists tightly at your sides.

“Indeed I watched you take it! Now give it back!”

“Do not get so ahead of yourself.” Seokmin flashed a devious smile, one you wanted to wipe clean from his snide expression.

He reached into his pocket, and beneath the frosted moonlight, you saw him reveal your precious carving knife. You traced his fingers as he unfolded the silver blade and admired the mahogany handle, etched with the smallest, intricate embellishment. If you were swift enough, you could snatch the knife from his hand, but you weren’t sure if the risk was calculated. The Prince gently pressed the pad of his finger to the point, hardly issuing any pressure.

“This did not always belong to you.” He stated simply.

“I know that,” you quipped, “but you decided to gift it to me. So it no longer falls under your property.”

Seokmin blatantly ignored your rebuttal. Instead, he folded up the blade and dared pocket it right before your eyes. You gaped at him.

“Why were you at Peace River?”

“What?!” Feeling completely bewildered, you couldn’t help the loud air of your gasp.

He asked again, “why were you at Peace River? Were you hiding somewhere?”

“That is not your business!” You barked.

Seokmin seemed to adapt your hue of disproportionate awe.

“It is not my business?” He took a step forward, though you didn’t shy from his advance. “I am your Prince. You shall answer what I ask of you.”

“Why do you care why I was there? Should you not focus on the wonderful time you had showing around your dear lady?”

The young Prince’s face didn’t exactly soften upon your reference to Adelaide, rather there was a subtle shift in the nuance of his gaze, where something murky tinted the surface. It was difficult to pinpoint, but you almost swore that mentioning Adelaide had made Seokmin unhappy. To make the matter more confusing, he was clearly examining your features, from the curve of your lips to the arch above each cheek, you were like a memory he could never lose.

Your heart started beating faster, and you felt dearly flustered.

“I-I was only swimming,” you answered him, “that’s all you must know.”

You hated your body for betraying you, for submitting, for twirling itself in a moonstruck loop at the mere thought of Seokmin needing to commit your face to memory. Wanting to feel angry again, you tightened your voice.

“Now, I answered your question. I have pulled you away for one thing and one thing only: my knife. I do not care that your blacksmith crafted it for you, that it was once yours before it was mine. You gave it to me. I want it back.”

“Mind your manners,” the Prince scolded, his eyes turning icy, less forgiving, “I cannot oblige when you create such a fuss.”

Digging your nails in deep to the fabric of your dress, you exhaled shakily.

”I am going to lose my temper, Prince Seokmin. I want my blade, now.”

He took a step toward you, so close you could smell the rich ale on his clothing. His voice had lowered an octave, to which you swallowed coarsely and had trouble locking eyes with him.

“First, you rudely interrupt my friends and I. Second, you speak to me informally, with no respect, not even bothered to fake it. Third, you drag me to this alley and refuse the command of your Prince to summon an ounce of manner. Clean your mouth, or forget the knife.”

Your jaw clenched, and you started to grit your teeth. Seokmin was not exactly fond of the fact that you wouldn’t make eye contact, therefore he placed a light hold on your chin with his index finger and thumb, tilting your head toward him.

“Look at me when I speak to you.” He growled.

A concerning heat infiltrated your body; however, gulping back the rage that burned against your throat, you pulled down his hand, looked straight into his eyes and hissed, “you do not deserve my manners, but for the sake of the situation, may I please have my knife returned, Prince Seokmin?”

He reached into his pocket.

“I am shocked someone so ill-mannered is permitted to live in this kingdom.”

Cocking your head to the side, you watched the boy reveal your carving knife.

“I could effortlessly say the same for you.”

Seokmin handed you the blade, studying you intently whilst you picked up the side of your dress in order to return your prized possession between the thigh garter. Even in the darkness, his cheeks had noticeably pinkened.

“Enjoy the remainder of your night.” You gave him an exaggerated, distasteful bow before walking down the alley, away from the village square. “Do not keep Lady Adelaide waiting.”

The young Prince didn’t bother responding, only chewed into his bottom lip as you disappeared from his sight, his heart beating uncharacteristically fast.

Somehow, you and Chan had ended up back in the royal kitchen.

It was in light of a specific request pitted by the King and Queen, in which they desired you to cook a delicious dinner for Prince Seokmin and Lady Adelaide as they enjoyed their umpteenth date together. You attempted to avoid the situation last minute by faking a dry cough and sore throat, though your mother was far too intelligent to let any elementary performances fool her, resulting in yet another attendance award at the castle. Chan was excited as usual, evident in the small curl to his lips whilst he cleaned his hands in a bucket of well water.

“I never understand you,” Chan said, “why are you never content to visit the castle?”

Tying an apron at your lower back, you simply huffed in response to the young apprentice, not willing to reiterate the whole spiel about your childhood mishap as well as the years of hatred that nurtured it. You knew you seemed ungrateful, stuck-up, but it wasn’t anyone’s business.

“It is not something to concern yourself with,” you told Chan, taking his place at the bucket of cold water, “I am going to cook their meal, and that is all. No more, no less.”

“When do you think we will receive their menu?” Chan asked.

“Whenever it is given to us.”

The royal kitchen was indubitably stocked with produce that could cater to any dish, it was just a matter of awaiting the particular meals Lady Adelaide and Seokmin were keen on eating. Still, you had to agree with Chan, there was an anxious density to the room whilst you prepared your stations, hoping that at least some form of authority would enter the kitchen to update you.

Chan opened a cupboard and found a burlap sack of cherries. He grinned, “do you think Prince Seokmin will want to eat cherry pie again?”

“Beats me,” you shrugged, “maybe he’ll desire a pineapple upside down cake.”

“That sounds complicated.” Chan admitted with a frown.

You chuckled, “he’s complicated.”

“Who’s complicated?”

Suddenly, the Prince appeared in the entryway to the kitchen, dressed in a long, garnet cape that draped around his shoulders, embroidered with a dazzling gold thread. His hair, usually left in its black ringlets, had been groomed neatly from his forehead. His crown looked heavy, precious and incomprehensibly expensive. Both you and Chan were stunned by his abrupt appearance, to which the apprentice dropped a pile of tins he’d been removing from a cupboard. They clattered across the stone floor, and his cheeks turned red.

Whilst the young boy quickly picked up each tin, you cleared your throat.

“N-No one. We were speaking about no one.”

Chan hurried to stand beside you, and he bowed immediately.

“Greetings, Prince Seokmin. Must I say it is a complete honour to cook for you and Lady Adelaide tonight. I shall put forth my best effort.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” Seokmin said, commending the boy’s display of respect, “I have arrived to deliver the menu Lady Adelaide and I would like to eat.”

The Prince then handed Chan a scroll, which had been tied shut with a tasseled, red string. As Chan busied himself in opening the paper to glean its request, Seokmin glanced you over from top to bottom. You shot him a transient glare.

Folding your arms over your chest and titling your head to the side, you announced, “we will bring your food as soon as possible.”

“Is everything well with you?” Seokmin inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Chan looked up from the unwound scroll nervously, clearly noting the palpable tension.

“Yes, Prince Seokmin. I feel brilliant.” Your tone was drier than chalk.

Some twisted part of you hoped that the Prince would pull you into the corridor, scold you for behaving so blatantly disrespectful, lean in close to your face with a fire that turned to glistering copper in his eyes. You wanted him to grip your chin like he did in the alleyway and demand you meet his gaze. In a bizarre sense, you craved to argue with him. However, Seokmin didn’t engage in anything of the sort, and a vacant feeling encompassed you whole.

“I must return to Lady Adelaide. We will be seated on the outdoor terrace, second level.”

“Yes, of course,” Chan chirped, “I will bring your appetizer shortly.”

“May it also be known that the furnace next to you Chan has not been properly cleaned from a previous service. Do not try to light any fire, or the residue could burn you.”

Chan glanced at the stove warily whilst you released an impatient sigh.

“You should really get going, sire. It’s never polite to make your lady wait.”

The Prince chuckled, and a bold smirk illuminated his face.

“Have you ever been left to wait, darling?” He asked, biting his bottom lip.

After blowing a tuft of hair from your eyes, you folded your arms over your chest and caught the young Prince in a piercing stare.

“Why must you know? I don’t kiss and tell.”

Chan had not a clue as to what sort of exchange was unpacking before him, he only knew that his presence seemed unbelievably trivial, like a dust mite. You couldn’t deny how satisfactory it felt to wind Seokmin tighter than a wire spool, attempting to snap him somehow, hoping he’d bite back brazenly.

His professional composure was teetering, you could see it. And yet, the Prince was able to sweep away his desires to bicker with you.

“Aren’t you such a well-behaved little girl?” He dug slyly, the backhanded compliment imbuing a strange rush in your blood. “I have no further business here. As I said, we are seated on the second level terrace.”

The second Seokmin parted, his beautiful cloak fluttering behind him, Chan nudged your shoulder with a big pout on his lips.

“Are you trying to get us banned from the castle? If so, you might just succeed.”

Stealing the scroll from his hands, you urged him to relax.

“Trust me,” you sighed, “I would get banned before any other soul here. Even before the cook who caused a fire hazard.”

You had great trouble focusing in the kitchen, and it seemed like your brain contained no interest in cooperating with the rest of your body. Chan noted your lack of composure and intervened on multiple occasions, a concerned expression covering his face.

It was stupid, shameful, but for an unbeknownst reason you could not stop envisioning Seokmin and Adelaide enjoying their supper together on the pretty terrace. You imagined his soft, attentive eyes tracing her lips whilst she spoke, his hand reaching across the table to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear’s cusp, the evening sun dappling the sky golden and peach-rose. It lit a terrible feeling within your lower gut, a feeling that upset you beyond belief, made you want to run from the kitchen and bury yourself beneath mounds of bedsheets.

The thought of Seokmin marrying Adelaide, sliding that white diamond ring upon her finger, having to watch them parade around the kingdom completely and utterly in love; you hated it, and you kept losing your concentration as that bitterness consumed you.

“They seem to be enjoying everything.” Chan confirmed with a satisfied smile toward the end of service. He just returned after collecting their dishes. “At last, we can begin dessert!”

However, the boy quickly picked up on your temperate, distracted face.

“What’s the matter?” Chan grabbed your shoulder gently. “You look so upset.”

“I’m fine,” you dismissed him with an apathetic air, brushing his touch away, “will they be eating the cherry pie as you assumed? I have already prepared the crust.”

“Yes…” Chan leaned in rather close to examine your face whilst he hummed in response.

“For heaven’s sake, child—what are you doing?”

“S-Sorry,” he immediately backed away, “I-I thought—your eyes just looked so glassy.”

“I have already stated my wellbeing. Now, please get to making the filling so we may get this pie in the furnace.”

Chan grabbed the burlap sack of cherries from the cupboard and dumped them into an apple basket. He then submerged the basket in a water pail, making sure to clean the fruit until they were glistening and shiny. Together, you removed the cherry pits in order to create the sweet, sticky filling which smelled exactly like summer. Chan let you tend to setting the furnace flame whilst he leveled out the pies; however, you’d forgotten about the unusable furnace.

As you got down on your knee and reached into the underbelly of the oven with the starter flint, it was too late for Chan to make a reminder. Once the bright spark touched that mysterious residue, a gigantic flame bloomed forth and licked up the furnace walls. The second your hand felt such an incredible singe of heat, you released a loud cry and crawled away from the glowing oven, your chest heaving at the intense, searing pain that sizzled deep into your flesh. Chan was gobsmacked. He dropped the small butter knife in the pie filling and bent down whilst you tossed your head back, cursing at the pain.

“Oh God!” Chan looked paler than a snowflake. “Y-You have been burned! O-Oh no… this- this is awful! What should we do? H-Here—”

The boy helped you to your feet and brought you close to the water pail.

“Submerge your hand in this,” he offered anxiously, wiping away a bead of sweat from his forehead, “I need to alert someone of this. Are you okay? Do you believe you might faint?”

“N-No…” you gritted between your teeth whilst heavy tears streamed down your cheeks, “just get somebody – anybody. I-It hurts terribly…”

The boy rubbed your back as a sweet gesture before he left the kitchen.

“I shall return as quickly as possible! I promise!”

Unfortunately, Chan had sparse luck encountering anyone from the castle. The sole person he could think of alerting was Prince Seokmin. Whilst he was not eager to interrupt his dinner with the kingdom’s potential princess, Chan was far too concerned with your agonizing pain as well as the poor condition of your hand. He knew you needed medical assistance immediately, therefore he burst through the doors in a panic and stumbled onto the terrace, where Prince Seokmin and Lady Adelaide gave him a puzzled, somewhat undesirable look.

The young apprentice steadied his breath. Once he began informing them of the situation, he couldn’t help but note the overwhelming concern that engulfed the Prince’s face.

“I must know where the nearest nurse is located. She needs assistance and I promised I would return quickly!”

Lady Adelaide wiped the corners of her mouth with a cloth, and looked to Seokmin. Her eyes, brushed with a shimmering, metallic gold, widened beneath the evening light as the Prince stood from his chair and threw down his cutlery.

“You have left her alone? Where is she?” He questioned the apprentice.

Chan licked his dry lips. “P-Please, stay with Lady Adelaide. I-I just need to know wh—”

“Does she remain in the kitchen?” Seokmin interrupted him.

He stepped fairly close to Chan, the young boy tilting his head back in order to meet the serious gaze of the Prince. Admittedly, he felt rather intimidated.

“Yes, she is. But you mustn’t abandon Lady Adelaide. I can—”

“I will take care of her,” Seokmin replied sternly, “stay with the Lady if you wish.”

Without another word, the Prince pushed Chan aside and disappeared quickly through the terrace doors, leaving him alone on the beautiful terrace with Adelaide. She didn’t appear entirely thrilled to be abandoned in the midst of a romantic dinner, indicated by the uncomfortable expression that coloured her face. Instead, she tucked the hair behind her ears and pressed her smooth lips together tightly, staring out into the flossy, pink clouds, a calm breeze blowing through the air. Chan swallowed the rock in his throat, squeezing his hands nervously.

“I-I’m sure the Prince will return in due time.” He stuttered.

Lady Adelaide nodded, stiffened, unamused.

“I guess I will just have to wait.”

Standing at the pail whilst your marred flesh scorched beneath the water was a sensation unlike any other. Your bottom lip kept quivering, and your whole body trembled in an attempt to digest such an intense pain. Footsteps reverberated outside the kitchen, to which a hope flourished that a medical professional would be arriving alongside Chan – yet, the person who entered the room was completely disproportionate to what you’d been expecting. It wasn’t that you didn’t want his help, it was just going to be difficult to accept it.

Seokmin left his crown behind on a countertop and stood next to you.

“Let me see it.” He urged as your hand twitched in the water.

Rubbing your tears off on your shoulder, you rasped, “w-why are you here?”

“Because you’re hurt,” Seokmin replied firmly, “and whether you like it or not, I am going to look after this. You should have your hand beneath running water.”

“W-Where is Chan? I w-want him here t-too.”

“He remained with Adelaide.” The Prince sounded impatient.

“W-Why did you not stay with her? Why did you even come when you cannot stand me?”

Choosing to ignore your questions, Seokmin grabbed your wrist, pulling you to the back of the kitchen where he knew there was a well. Suckling back the thick tears and runniness in your nose, you let Seokmin guide your injured hand beneath the cold water he started pumping from the ground. It splashed onto the stone floor, trickling in all directions.

“S-Seokmin—,”

“Just keep quiet for one minute,” the Prince snapped, “I know that is strenuous for someone as verbose as you, but right now, allow me to take care of you, alright?”

For an unprecedented time in your life, you legitimately heeded Seokmin’s words and kept your mouth shut, deciding it was not worth the energy to act so bitter. Whilst the running water succeeded in cleaning any sediment from the wound, the sensitive flesh stung and flared to a degree that was impossible to ignore, leaving you unable to suppress any small sobs and whimpers. If not for Seokmin holding your hand beneath the water, you would have withdrawn it immediately.

You pushed your face into his chest, your tears wetting his clothing. Seokmin shushed you softly, attempting to keep you calm.

“I know it hurts, but you’re doing so well, okay? A minute longer darling, I promise.”

You felt Seokmin’s chin sit on top of your head, and you only pushed your cheek in further against his strong chest, smelling the faint concoction of a luxurious perfume on his amber skin. Somehow, the pain became more bearable when his honeyed voice touched your ears.

“H-Has it been a minute now?” You sniffled.

The cold stream of water that once gushed from the spout diminished. Whilst the floor was rippling with a wide, wet circle, your hand felt less seared, less like a piece of charred meat.

“Mmhm, it’s been a minute,” Seokmin said, “how badly does it still hurt?”

Glancing at the wound imbued an intense cloud of nausea.

“I-It’s throbbing, a-and stings. Should we not wrap it?” You blubbered.

Seokmin brushed his fingers along your warm cheek, removing the new tears.

“Not immediately, angel. If the flesh is too fragile, the cloth might pull up more layers of tissue when it is removed. There should be an ointment station, over here—,” the Prince placed his hand against the small of your back, and you followed him toward a counter, “if the correct gel is in here, my hope is that it soothes your skin. Afterward, we will wrap it cautiously.”

Your injured hand was shaking too much, so you had to grasp your wrist tightly in order to centre it to one place. Seokmin opened a drawer filled with small, glass ampules. He picked between them carefully until coming across the correct ointment, a clear gel that had a strong, plant-like scent when he pulled out the tiny cork. Smearing the glistening gel onto his fingertips, the Prince then asked to see your hand. Knowing it would sting, you clenched your teeth.

“I’m not being too rough, am I?” Seokmin asked, concentrating on softly massaging in the vital ointment.

Exhaling stiltedly, you shook your head. “It’s getting better, I believe.”

“This is quite deep,” he remarked, scooping up more of the gel, “why on earth did you use the furnace upon my instruction not to?”

“I was not thinking about the furnace.” You admitted, biting down into your cheek.

Seokmin couldn’t help but chuckle.

He had just finished applying the cool gel, which gleamed on your skin and sunk into the damaged tissue. Additionally, stuffed somewhere in the drawer was a compact spool of bandage that the Prince started unraveling, until he tore a perfect strip to delicately wrap around your hand. Your heart began racing and heat stippled your face as the boy finally looked up from the injury. His eyes were so unbelievably gentle, his lips the colour of roses. It reflected a painstakingly familiar memory, in which you could almost hear the river running in the background and feel the pleasant sunlight warm your arms.

“Then what was on your mind?” Seokmin questioned.

His voice was low, and he stared unabashedly at your mouth.

You didn’t think – you didn’t want to.

Instead, you pushed to the very back of your skull every malevolent thought you once harboured toward the Prince and shut your eyes, envisioning yourself within a dream. You pressed a short, soft kiss against his mouth.

There was a moment’s pause where Seokmin realized the situation.

Suddenly, he cupped the sides of your face in his tender hands, urging you forward again, his lips brushing yours in such a gentle manner that a shiver tingled down your spine. It was far from a single, fleeting kiss. Each time your lips pressed together, you would linger for a moment longer and fall deeper into the other, losing all sense of the world around you. A molten warmth expanded in your chest as you felt Seokmin’s tongue make a soft prod at your bottom lip, encouraging you to sigh blissfully into the kiss. He smiled at your quiet noises.

What was happening to you? You struggled to control your own functions. Seokmin was eliciting a powerful feeling that yearned for you to continue kissing. His slender fingers drifted from your face to your hips, and he pulled you tighter against his body, each kiss revealing the other’s burning want and secret desires. As you suckled slowly on Seokmin’s tongue, listening to him purr, there was a rich, unique taste of cider. It prompted you to think about dinner, about Chan who’d gone looking for a nurse, about Lady Adelaide.

As soon as her face entered your mind, something switched off inside you and your blood transformed into cold liquid.

“S-Seokmin,” you murmured, disconnecting the sweet pressure of your mouth to his, “I-I... I don’t think we’re in our right minds.”

Your eyes began filling with water whilst you gazed at his pink cheeks and the pretty swell to his lips. The boy grabbed both your hands with a concerned expression, holding them against his chest where you felt his heart beat.

“What do you mean, angel?” Seokmin whispered. He then planted a kiss much too affectionate against your forehead, in which your eyes only grew more watery. “I haven’t anything to drink if that’s what you’re implying.”

“N-No.” You shook your head and looked into his eyes, swallowing back the dreadful taste of pain, of a relationship you could never have, of a boy you could never have. “We cannot do this... t-this is not just...”

“Wait—” Seokmin stuttered when you pulled away from him, “where are you going? We can talk about this.” His voice trembled slightly, heavy with sorrow.

“Stay with me, please.”

But there was nothing he could say or do that would cement you to your spot.

An overwhelming wave of emotion surged through your body, and you knew you had to leave the castle grounds unless you wanted the royal family to see you explode into a mess of hot tears and incoherency. Whilst you slipped through the kitchen door, you bumped into Chan who just returned from the second level terrace, his eyes growing wide when he noted the dreadful shadow that hollowed your countenance. The boy swallowed thickly, for the next person to enter the hallway was Lady Adelaide herself, who did not look pleased at the wait.

“A-Are you o—”

“I cannot stay here,” you told Chan in a quick jumble, “I am going to the house. Please, take care of the dessert if you can manage.”

Lady Adelaide stepped aside, allowing you to escape the corridor.

Everything felt like it was collapsing around you.

It was nighttime as you sat in your bed, a candle flickering on the windowsill whilst you examined the neat bandages that enveloped your hand. You couldn’t sleep. Chan was sent home early from the castle by Prince Seokmin, and he attempted to check on you with plentiful knocks to the front door; however, you didn’t possess the right spirit to answer him and instead covered your teary face with the bedsheets until he left. You were infuriated at yourself for kissing the Prince. Inside, your heart felt mercilessly torn up and shredded.

Continuing to look out the window, you were intrigued by a fluttering, orange orb that eventually paused on the leaves of a tall sunflower. It was a firefly.

Quickly, you reached for the silver Danish tin on your bedside table and pulled out the carving knife in addition to the small, smooth disc of beech wood. It was difficult to make incisions in the wood with an injured hand, though you simply bit your lip and didn’t allow the pain to phase you. Making tiny scratches with the fine, sharp tip of the blade, you spent the next hour, maybe more, carving a tiny firefly into the beech wood. When you looked back into your drawer, you spotted a silver-beaded chain, and an idea instantly shaped in your head.

You decided to make the wooden emblem into a necklace.

From the kitchen, you could hear Chan speaking with a new ensemble of customers who entered the bakery, the sound of their abundant coins rattling across the countertop and the apprentice’s cheerful tone as he wrapped their food in wax parchment. You hadn’t spent much time behind the counter that day, for your mood was no better than a cat who’d just been stuck in a thunderstorm. Chan advised you to stay in the kitchen instead. Since that morning, you’d either been making loaves of banana bread or staring into space.

There seemed to be an unsettled atmosphere about the kingdom. Most if not always, it indicated there was a problem at the castle, some sort of dispute amongst the royal family.

Whilst you waited for the loaves in the furnace to rise, you put your head down on the work bench and gazed at the stone floor. You had never felt so off-kilter. The fact you couldn’t do much more than mush bananas and whisk together a batter only added to your melancholy. After burning your hand, you were rather useless in the kitchen, though Chan had a much politer way of wording it whenever you attempted to help him with anything the least bit complex. You wouldn’t be surprised if he replaced you with Seungkwan in the near future.

Once the aromatic, sweet scent of the banana bread thoroughly encompassed the kitchen, you checked on the tin and decided it was time to remove it. Letting the bread sit next to an open window, you heard more muffled conversation through the door.

Suddenly, Chan had slipped into the kitchen. His expression was awfully nervous, to which an unpleasant feeling began brewing your lower gut.

“Your presence is needed at the counter.” Chan said flatly.

“Why is that?” You smiled. “I thought you preferred me locked up back here until closing.”

When the apprentice didn’t return your warmth, you knew there was something wrong.

“You are really needed at the counter.” He urged. “I will cut the bread, okay?”

“O-Okay…” You responded in a puzzled manner, allowing Chan to slip around you and grab a butter knife from the drawer.

Walking out from the kitchen was equivalent to getting a slap in the face, a splinter between your toes, a hard poke in the eye – basically anything undesirable constituted the situation you just introduced yourself to. Prince Seokmin stood on the opposite side of the counter. It appeared as though he recently returned from a valley trip with a congregation of other knights, for he was dressed in his heavyset armour and Apple was tied to a post outside shop.

Seokmin brushed his hair back and smiled at you.

“I know you are surprised to see me, but—,”

“No no no,” you shook your head and gripped the counter tightly, your legs feeling like thin jelly, “you cannot be here, y-you cannot—”

“I have to speak with you.” Seokmin said.

Your eyes flitted toward a metal bucket sitting in the corner.

“Not right now,” you spluttered quickly, “I have to refill the water, for our kitchen.”

The Prince frowned. You were surprised he wasn’t swathed in his usual entourage, that his closest companion, Jeonghan, was nowhere to be seen. Whilst you scooped the bucket from the floor and rushed toward the bakery doorway, Seokmin knew you were only using it as an excuse to avoid him. What else could you do? Your heart was far too fragile.

“This is just as much an inconvenience to myself as well as you,” the Prince announced very staidly, “you know this conversation must happen. Why bother avoiding it?”

Seokmin followed you through the doorway, where Apple was grazing at a patch of honeysuckle in the grass. You refused to look back at him.

“Exactly! It is an inconvenience that can easily be avoided if you return to the castle.”

Marching behind the bakery, you threw the metal bucket on the ground and kicked it under the well, pumping it full of cold water. .

“I refuse to return. Not until we talk about what happened!”

“Maybe I do not want to entertain that idea!” You let go of the handle, instead whipping around, facing the persistent Prince. “It was a mistake! That’s it!”

Seokmin shook his head. “Why are you so hostile? Why can you never discuss anything without starting an argument?”

You didn’t bother suppressing your scoff. “Have you ever noticed the only person I treat with such hostility, is you? Has that ever crossed your mind, Prince Seokmin?”

“Of course I know!” He quipped whilst frustratedly dragging a hand through his curls. “It has always been that way! That is why I always have to scorn you, since you behave so bitterly!”

“There is no one but yourself to blame.” You hissed, sensing the water prickle at your eyes.

The Prince looked stunned, for his mouth dropped open. “You still hold onto that memory so vehemently?”

At even the slightest reference to that humiliating, summer day forever engrained in your past, the heat flooded your eyes and you were completely helpless to stop the first tear from rolling down your cheek. There was no doubt, since that incident your hatred for Seokmin had completely blossomed, and in response to your poorly controlled anger, the Prince was left no choice but to respond with just as much belligerence. The ground between you grew terribly thick brambles and spikes, until it was impossible to even be in the same space without getting hurt.

Yet, if your hatred was exactly what you claimed it was, then your kiss with Seokmin should have never happened. Hatred was merely a dark, sinister form of passion, and no matter what circumstance, passion always lived inside your heart.

Wiping the tears away with the sleeve of your dress, you shook your head. “You humiliated me in front of half the royal’s children! How could I ever dismiss that?”

The Prince furrowed his brow. “That was ages ago. We were exactly that: children. Children can be stupid and say stupid and do stupid things!”

“I just don’t understand why you pretended for so long,” you whimpered to Seokmin, tightly clenching your fists, “if you never even liked me from the start…”

“I-I wasn’t pretending… I just couldn’t… I-I…” The Prince struggled to elaborate.

Suddenly, he could no longer look you in the eye, and a raspberry tint flooded his cheeks. You gulped, a dizzying sensation infiltrating your head as you willed your heart to stop beating so vivaciously.

Seokmin took a step closer toward you, an anxious colour to his face.

“If you just let me explain what I came here to tell you,” he murmured, “then perhaps we wouldn’t be at each other’s throats so adamantly.”

You folded your arms over your chest and pressed your lips shut. The silence was daunting, but at the same time you realized the bickering would lead to endless circles.

The Prince summoned a breath of courage and met your wet stare.

“I refused the marriage to Lady Adelaide. She will return to Markarth before the sunset. I only told my mother and father this morning.”

Slowly uncrossing your arms, you blinked at Seokmin in complete shock.

“S-Seriously?” You stammered, sweat tainting your palms.

“I had to,” Seokmin sighed, his eyes trailing the grass, “because of what happened with u—”

“I did not ask you to refuse her as a bride!” You hiccupped, salt glimmering at your tear ducts. To be the reason the kingdom’s next marriage crumpled apart, you couldn’t bear it.

“I know you didn’t!” The Prince retaliated, his voice booming. “Do you not think I am already aware of the great misfortune and trouble my decision brings to our kingdom? I did not refuse Lady Adelaide because we kissed – I refused the marriage because I do not love her, and it would be an utter disservice to both of us if we cannot reciprocate our own hearts.”

You bit down strictly on your bottom lip. It absolutely boggled your mind that Seokmin felt no love toward Lady Adelaide, when everyone who saw her fell head over heels. Whether it was her beauty, wealth, or the perfect sweetness of her character, everyone in the kingdom had something positive to say in regards to their potential princess. Maybe you had not gelled with her in the same manner as everyone else, but you knew this marriage had been anticipated since the day Seokmin was born, and the fact such a monumental celebration would have to be pushed back created a recipe for tension.

The Prince set his hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly.

“That is what I had to tell you,” he spoke in a much gentler tone, “it was not my intention to anger you, or make you this upset. But I have to remain honest with myself…”

“W-What are you saying?” Sounded your trembling, unsteady breath.

The sunlight splashed into Seokmin’s eyes, igniting them in a blazing copper. You felt swelteringly hot as the boy brushed against your cheek with his fingers before he leaned in close to your face, still damp with tears. You couldn’t concentrate on anything apart from the low velvet of his voice and how sincerely he admired you.

“I’m saying that I’m in love with you.”

Just before you entered the cool balm of the river, you spent a few moments stroking Apple’s caramel mane and picking berries from the nearest thicket to feed her. For such a strong, firmly-built horse, she was delicate in nature, just as you remembered her from your childhood. You ran your palm along the coarse side of Apple’s fur, scratching lightly so her ears would twitch, before hearing Prince Seokmin lilt your name. When you looked to the river, you saw him grinning at you, his black hair soaking wet and pushed back from his forehead.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to stand there for an eternity?”

“No,” you replied, “I was just looking after your horse.”

“Trust me, Apple gets pampered more than I do.”

Rolling your eyes, you finally grabbed the pale lilac hem of your dress, peeling the material over your head and letting it fall into a ball on the grass. In nothing but your undergarments, Seokmin gazed at you fondly, watching how you carefully waded deeper and deeper into the river until your toes could hardly scrape the smooth pebbles. Afternoon sunlight spun between the canopy of leaves overhead, which dappled the calm peaks in the water, making them sparkle. Seokmin swam closer to you. He was truly breathtaking as the rays caressed his amber skin and danced in his eyes like a honey fire.

The boy’s fingers brushed your thighs, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist and drape your arms over his wide shoulders. He held you tightly, his lips forming a lovestruck smile.

“Will your anxious mother not worry as to why her son has been out for so long?” You couldn’t help but tease him.

“I told her I would not be back for supper. At worst, she’ll send Jeonghan as my scout.”

“Do you think he could keep his mouth shut if he saw us together?”

Seokmin titled his head back with laughter, and you could see his perfect rows of teeth. “I have little certainty,” he admitted, “but Jeonghan would keep a secret if I forced him to.”

“That is reassuring to hear.” You replied with a smirk.

It was best to give the kingdom ample time to recover after the displeasing news of Seokmin’s cancelled marriage with Adelaide rapidly spread. She was supposed to be his first choice, his destiny as the King and Queen preached with every ounce of their souls. Furthermore, the royal family would definitely not be mirthful to discover that Seokmin had rejected Adelaide because his heart beat for a childhood crush from the lower village. That was unheard of, unfathomable, and rather unorthodox, which caused you and Seokmin to keep your relationship a secret.

At times there was pressure, there was great difficulty and frustration, but neither you or him could keep away from each other. You didn’t have to be married, or live in his sumptuous castle where everything was either expensive silk or encrusted with some sort of precious gem. It was quite simple: you just wanted to be with him – the environment wasn’t important. When you began seeing each other, you realized that on the summer day of your childhood where the Prince had humiliated you was a shtick orchestrated by his friends.

In actuality, Seokmin always had a crush on you, though at the time, the tender strings of his heart were easily pulled by them, and what could have been the start of a relationship ended up in years of bickering, unnecessary hatred, and repressed emotion. Cupping a hand against Seokmin’s damp cheek, you leaned in to kiss him softly. You smiled against his mouth upon feeling his hands squeeze your thighs.

“Can I give you something?” You then asked in a quiet voice.

The Prince nodded, allowing your feet to touch the pebbles again.

“Of course, angel.” He complied.

Together, you left the river. Whilst Seokmin started petting Apple’s shimmering coat, you picked up the dress on the forest floor and reached into one of its pockets, brushing the beaded chain with your fingers. When Seokmin turned around and saw you holding a necklace, his eyes lit up in a marvelous fashion and an endearing smile beamed from one corner of his mouth to the other. It was the beech wood necklace, in which you had carved a small firefly in order to complete the pendant.

“I carved this from a piece of wood I discovered outside your castle, on the day Chan and I had to cook for the pages. At first, I had no idea what to make of it, but then I decided on a firefly.”

Seokmin admired the pendant up close. It felt wonderful to see him examining it with such an appreciative light in his gaze. The Prince connected the chain around his neck, to which the wooden oval sat between his prominent collarbone.

“I-I thought I should gift it to you. And, whenever we must be apart, you can just think of this necklace, and the comfort that comes from a firefly’s glow.”

Suddenly, the boy’s hands were atop your hips. He pulled you in close against his body, still gleaming with water droplets, and pressed a deep kiss to your lips. You could sense just how much ardour and warmth was laced into the contact, and a dense heat scattered beneath your cheeks. He tasted like the sugar powder and strawberries you ate before visiting the river.

“It’s beautiful.” Seokmin whispered.

He pecked your mouth again sweetly whilst you felt a gentle breeze blow throughout the forest, causing the tiny hairs on your damp skin to stand sharp. You cozied yourself closer into Seokmin’s chest, smiling like a foolish romantic at his words.

“Thank you, my love. I will hold onto it forever.”

✧✎ a/n: okay when i started writing this i THOUGHT it was going to be so short, like at most 4-6k, but then i was at the 6k mark, only halfway done, and i realized it was going to be another ‘wish’ situation lol. i’ve never written a royalty!au before so i felt like i was reaching into the dark a little bit jsefhwef but i hope it was still pleasant! as always i treasure all ur guys feedback so pls don’t hesitate to leave ur th0ts!! i haven’t written for seok in ages and it felt super nice to give him a lengthy fic! contrary to nobody’s belief - this was not inspired by owl city lol.

#seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #seventeen seokmin #seokmin scenarios #lee seokmin #seokmin angst #seokmin fluff #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #svt x reader #enemies to lovers

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stevesharrlngtons · 4 years

Note

“I was hoping for a little sympathy, maybe.” with Roman please :)

sorry for the delay )): and sorry if this kinda sucks!!

You knew his moping was justified. That his pain was warranted and expected. Having your DNA picked apart and ripped from your body was no doubt excruciating and exhausting. You just wished there was something you or anyone could do to alleviate some of the agony he was in. You were doing your best, but you still felt like you were lacking at this problem that was far out of your element.

Roman was never one to keep his grievances to himself, or to let anyone live in peace while he was uncomfortable. But ever since Pryce’s procedures began to rid him of his upirism, Roman had been a nightmare. He was angry and whining and tired and brittle and sad and needy. He wanted you attached to his side until his skin felt like it was rippling around on his bones, in which case he wouldn’t let you in the same room as him, as to not feel more claustrophobic than he already felt.

On the days that Roman would go under Pryce’s needles for another treatments, you would spend the entire morning ordering Anna and Conway around to make sure there wasn’t anything that could possibly make Roman uncomfortable or irate. You were a dictator, barking orders and anxiously pacing while you waited for a call from The Tower informing you it was time to retrieve Roman.

After his first treatment, Roman had driven himself home and almost wrapped his Jaguar around a tree. He had left the keys in the ignition and the door wide open before he mindlessly walked to the house in a daze. You had thrown enough of a fit when he was finally home safe that Roman agreed to let you drive him after he had finished with a new treatment.

After you had him safely packaged in your car, Roman would usually sleep the entire way home, his cheek pressed against the cool window as you darted your eyes between him and the road. Terrified that if you didn’t look over to him every few moments, his breath would stop fogging the glass or his thin pale skin would split and crumble from the abuse it had taken.

Two days ago you had finished your new macabre routine of readying the house for Roman’s return and driving him home in a worried stupor. You had put him to bed under satin sheets and mink blankets and a large glass of water and saltines on the nightstand. You had monitored him and stroked his sweat matted hair as he trembled and cried. You had snuggled close to him and kissed his frail skin and spoon fed him soup until his body collapsed from trauma and exhaustion.

Now, 48 hours later, Roman was almost back to his old self. He still complained and griped and swore and was mostly unpleasant to everyone except you, but that was on par for normal Roman behavior. What wasn’t normal Roman behavior was to be out of bed on a Saturday before eleven A.M., which was why you felt a pang of worry when you rolled over and were greeted by a flurry of cold covers instead of the warm weight of your boyfriend.

You sprang up from the pillows and searched for your phone to check the time, and sure enough, it was just after nine. Anxiety filled your gut as you pushed away your blankets in search for Roman. Sure, he had seemed to have recovered from the latest treatment as he usually did, but your mind couldn’t stop spinning with what if’s.

What if he had been hiding symptoms from you? What if he woke up this morning, and felt fatally wrong? What if he was slowly taking his dying breaths somewhere in the house while you slept soundly? What if? What if? What if?

You called his name, went from room to room in search of him, when you suddenly heard his voice coming from downstairs.

You gripped the handrail tightly as you went down the staircase in search of him. You found him sitting in an armchair in the living room, a cloth pressed to one ear and his cell pressed to the other. His back is to you and you can see how rigid his shoulders are through the thin cotton of his shirt.

“Roman,” You say, trying to gain his attention.

He turns to you for a moment and unwraps one finger from his hold on his phone to wave at you, telling you to wait.

“What happened? Who are you talking to?” You continue, blatantly ignoring his previous gesture.

You walk closer to him as Roman once again holds up his finger for you.

“Put me on fucking hold one more time Pyrce and I swear to God, you’ll regret it!” He barks.

You round the chair to stand in front of him. You can now see the prominent dark circles that haloed his eyes and his colorless lips and cheeks. He was alive, but clearly not well.

Your heart broke as a small tut came from your lips. You sink to the floor in front of the arm chair and take to giving his calves and thighs a lazy massage.

“No, you fucking listen to me -- no, I shouldn’t have to! You’re the doctor here. Fucking fix me!” Roman shouts into the receiver and you press a chaste kiss to his pajama covered knee.

From your position on the floor, you watch as Roman listens to something Pryce says and scoffs loudly, “Green oozing goo is normal? Because it sure as shit doesn’t feel normal! -- I don’t care if this has never been done before, find a way to stop the weird puss and bile that is coming out of me.”

And he hangs up. Roman gives a heady sigh as he tosses his phone onto the couch and collapses deeper into the chair. You glance up at the cloth that is still pressed against Roman’s ear and cringe as you see it is tinged with light green wetness.

You continue your massage up his thighs until you settle your hands on either side of his hips and rest your chin on his lap, “What’s going on, baby?”

“Just in fucking pain while gross green liquid comes out of me. Nothin’ new, apparently.” He says, sarcastic and dejected.

“And there’s nothing Pryce can do?” You ask, but you are pretty sure you already know the answer.

“Nope. The bastard keeps telling me it’s normal and there is nothing he can do...fucker.”

You hold back a chuckle and kiss his belly instead, “At least it seems like it’s working, right? That’s a positive?”

“I guess, just, fuck! I hate this, I hate the treatments and Pryce. I don’t know why I called him in the first place,” Roman replies, moving his free hand to fiddle with the ends of your hair.

“It’s good you called, I’m glad you did. I want you to call your doctor when you think something is wrong.”

Roman’s face screws up in disgust, “Don’t call him my doctor, it makes our relationship sound far more amicable and intimate than it is.”

“Fine. Your mad scientist? The Dr. Frankenstein to your monster?” You joke and Roman glares down at you.

“I’m not in the mood for jokes.” Roman tugs a little at a strand of your hair he was busying himself playing with.

“What are you in the mood for, then?”

“I don’t know, I was hoping for a little sympathy, maybe. If not from Pyrce, then from you.” He grumbles petulantly.

“Hey, I am an outpouring sympathy machine for you, baby. I know this process is weird and tough and painful, all I want to do is help. So, tell me what you want and I’ll do it.” You thumbs sneak beneath his sleep shirt to find his hip bones to gently stroke.

“I don’t know what I want,” Roman pouts, his voice a borderline whine.

“Want some options?” You ask, perking up slightly from his lap.

He just nods. The treatments were incredibly draining for Roman, both physically and emotionally. While his body physically recovered within a few days, the emotional wounds would linger and refuse to blister for upwards of a week. So, during the period following his procedure, he needed all the emotional support he could garner from you. That included letting him scream and vent to you, or sob and shake in your embrace, or just have you decide exactly what he wanted because his brain just couldn’t surmise what he truly wanted.

“A: We go back to bed and just watch TV for a while. B: We stay down here and order some breakfast from that diner on 3rd. C: I call Troy and see if he has an Vicodin to help with your pain.”

Roman mulls over your list of multiple choice before he speaks, “Can I choose that we go back upstairs, order breakfast from the diner on 3rd and I call Troy about Vicodin and pot for us?”

You grin up at him, “Ah, yes. Secret option D, that sounds good.”

Roman gives you a soft smile before you push up from the ground.

“Let’s get back to bed, handsome.” You wiggle your outstretched fingers for him to take, which he does easily.

You pull him up from the chair and Roman moves to wrap his arm around your shoulders, your fingers still clasped together. He presses a long kiss to the crown of your head, one that takes several moments to complete, one where he inhales your scent and relishes in your feeling, one where he whispers I love you.

With his lips against your hair, you felt a rush of contentment knowing that even your small gestures could work to make this strange time for Roman a little better. That’s all you really wanted, even if you knew you couldn’t find the magic saulve to fix everything. Maybe you would one day, but for now, snuggles, pancakes and painkillers would have to do.

“I love you, too.” You reply as you help your ailing love up the stairs to start your relaxed day.

does this even make sense??? i don’t know!! i just wanted to write and post this request bc i felt bad that i had let it sit so long lol sorry if it seems scattered or weird??????? but idk, if you did like it, i’d love to hear from you <3 (:

#roman godfrey x reader #roman godfrey imagine #roman godfrey imagines #roman godfrey x you #roman godfrey reader insert #roman godfrey fanfic #roman godfrey fanfiction #sorry this sucks ):#stevesharrlngtonswrites

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smutsonian · 5 years

Text

Liability - What You Don’t Know Series (1/6)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: he breaks things off with you

Warning/s: ANGST, age gap, smut, dubcon, asshole Steve, excessive use of the word ‘babe’

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: This is inspired by Lorde’s ‘Liability’. That song messes with my heart every time I listen to it. Y’all should listen to it! This is the first part of a series I’m making.

Series Masterlist

~ Present Time ~

How could this happen? The day started out just fine. What went wrong? Was it something you did? Something you said?

You sniffled at the thought.

The driver looks at you through the rearview mirror with concern. He’d seen everything that happened. He saw how your boyfriend dumped you after a fight. A fight that came out of nowhere. A fight that was filled with screaming, crying, and shoving. He drove the two of you to the restaurant and everything seemed well. Actually, everything seemed fantastic.

~ 3 hours ago ~

“Come on, baby. We still have time.” Steve whispers against your neck as his hands find their way towards your breasts, fondling them hungrily. You were busy fixing your hair in front of the mirror, getting ready for the date that he begged you to go to.

“I’m getting ready for later, babe. What’s making you so excited, huh?” You let out a quiet chuckle as you put on a scarlet red lipstick, standing up to fix the short red dress that he bought you. He bit his lip to mask a groan as he took in your appearance through the mirror. “You’re making me excited, baby.” He presses himself against your back, grinding his hard-on against your ass while he runs his hands through your shoulders, dipping his head on the crook of your neck to press wet kisses.

You bit your lips as he bites on that perfect spot on your neck, silently whimpering against his hold. Your hands absentmindedly reaches back to his hair, pulling on it slightly and making him moan against your neck. One of his hands finds their way down your dress, pulling it up just a little only to be stopped by your hands.

“Can’t this wait after dinner?” You turn around to face him, placing a hand on his broad chest and smiling softly up at him. He covers your wrists with his huge hands and pulls you closer to him. Leaning down to inhale the scent from your neck, he groans and shakes his head from side to side. “I need you now, baby.” He moves your hands from his chest towards his crotch area and made you palm him through his suit pants. He groans loudly as he presses your palms harder against his hard cock and pulls away from your neck to place his forehead against yours. “Can you help me out, baby? Please?” He gives you a pouty face that earns an eye roll from you.

“That’s unfair! You can’t always give me that look whenever you want something…” You complain but you’re already going on your knees and undoing his pants. He smirked down at you but the guilt that was present on his eyes remains unnoticed by you.

Watching his cock as it sprang up, you look up at him with a smile. He groans as he watches you look up at him with your faux innocent look. “Baby…” His mouth falls open and his head falls back when you took ahold of his cock, enclosing his tip with your lips. His jaw clenches when your tongue swirled around his tip in a teasing manner.

“Please, baby!” He whines desperately. He forces himself to look at you with a pleading look. You nodded and moved your head down, swallowing more of him until his tip hit the back of your throat. He bit his lower lip when he felt the vibrations around his cock as you gagged around him. “That’s it, baby” His hands made their way to your head, entangling his fingers with your hair and forcefully pulling them back. He thrusts his hips up at the same time he pushes your head down his cock, forcing you to take him all in and making you gag around him again and again as he repeated the action.

Tears started to form in your eyes as he continues to fuck your mouth. Your palms find its way to his thighs, trying to push him away but he was too into it that he didn’t even notice your struggle. He continues to rut in your mouth until his cock twitches, signaling you that he’s about to cum.

“FUUUUCKK” He shoves your head down his cock until his tip was down your throat and spills every drop of his cum down your pipe. After swallowing every drop, you pushed yourself away from him and this time, he let go. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and look towards him with a small frown. “You happy?”

He smirked tiredly and shook his head no. “Not yet, baby.” He grabs you under your arms, making you stand up and drag you towards the bed. He pushes on your back until your upper half is laying on the bed while your knees are on the floor. He slides your dress up until it was bunched around your waist and wasted no time in entering you. You whimpered at the size of him and he smirks proudly at the noise he’s able to elicit from you.

“Mmhmm” your cries were muffled by the mattress under you as he has one of his huge palms pushing your head down. The other hand was on your hips, pulling it against him every time he would thrust in you to add force into it.

“Fuck you’re so tight, baby…” Focusing on his second climax, he starts to ram in and out of you at a rapid pace as he lets out loud and wanton groans. He bucks his hips hard into you one last time before twitching and emptying inside you, coating your walls with his hot jizz. “OHH GOD!” He stays inside you for a while before pulling out and tucking himself back into his suit pants. “Baby, you’re so fucking hot.” He watches you as you rearrange your dress and pulls you against his chest to press a long lecherous kiss against your lips.

“Now we’re ready to leave.” He takes your hand and guides you out of the house and into the black SUV.

“There you go. Watch your head…” Steve opens the door for you and helps you enter the car. The driver smiles at the two of you, telling Steve how adorable of a couple you two are. Steve thanks him and goes around the car to enter and sit beside you.

The driver enters the car and proceeds to drive the both of you to the designated restaurant. He would watch both of you through the rearview mirror from time to time as you exchange little banters and giggle at each other like teenagers in love.

He drops the two of you off and parks somewhere down the parking lot.

~ Present Time ~

Remembering what happened, the driver wonders what went wrong. Seeing you cry at the backseat alone now was a complete contrast from the scene he saw earlier. He thought everything was going fine with the two of you. With how you were together before he drove you to the restaurant.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” He asks, his voice laced with concern as he hears you let out another sob.

“Please… Can you drive me home? My home…”

Whatever happened in that restaurant?

~ 1 hour ago ~

“What’s wrong, babe?” You ask Steve as he’s been quiet ever since the both of you were sat down. The restaurant looks really expensive. It’s beautiful indeed but it wasn’t necessary to have dinner here. As long as it was with Steve, you’re contented.

“Babe?” You gently grab his hand from across the table, watching him frown at his phone.

“Is there something wrong at the tower? We can put a rain check for tonight…” You give him an understanding smile. He snaps his head towards yours and pulls his hand away, making you frown but you were quick to hide it with a faux smile.

“No! Everything’s fine. I was just… thinking.” He mutters quietly.

“Thinking? About what?” You raise an eyebrow as you tilt your head to the side, thanking the waiter for serving two glasses of champagne.

Steve takes a sip on his glass before sighing. “About us…”

You swallowed hard before taking a sip on your champagne as well. His tone was giving you an uneasy feeling. “What about us, babe?”

“I think we need to end this.” He motions an index finger between the two of you. “Us… I think we need to end us.”

“WHAT?” You drop your glass down the table, earning a few looks from the other guests nearby.

“Please, baby. Keep it down…” He tries to grab your hand but you pulled yours away.

“Don’t you dare call me baby, Steve.” Your jaw involuntarily clenches as your nose flared in anger.

“Why the sudden change, Steve? Have I done something wrong?” Your feelings turned from anger to sadness. Even guilt.

“No, Y/N… Well… Kind of.” He bites on his lower lip as he sees your eyes tear up.

“W-hy? What d-did I do?” Your voice was shaky from trying to stop the sobs threatening to leave your mouth.

“It’s mostly because of me, bab- Y/N… My job… It’s dangerous, you know that. If my enemies find out about you… I don’t know what they’ll do.” He tries to grab your hand again and this time, you let him.

“Think about it… You’re way too young for me and I’m way too old for you… I’m trying to keep a low profile but you’re too… distracting. Think about it, Y/N… We’re not meant to be.” He rubs your knuckles softly as he gives you a sad and guilty smile.

“It’s just… You’re a liability.”

You gasp at his words. A liability… The familiar line hits you again and it hits you like a truck. You pull your hand away from him as you purse your lips, trying so hard not to make a scene.

You nod at him, ignoring the tears that started to fall down your cheeks. You stand up from the table, ignoring Steve as you start to walk for the exits.

“Baby- Y/N, wait! Where are you going? Fuck!” He curses as he stands up from his seat to follow you, leaving a genuine amount of cash on the table and apologizing to a nearby waiter.

You continue to walk away from him, finding the SUV in the parking lot when a hand stopped you. The driver was about to open the door for you but Steve motioned for him to wait up for a bit.

“Please, let’s talk about this.” Steve tries to caress your face but you slapped his hands away.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Steve!” You shout at him, ignoring him when he tells you to quiet down a little because there were people around.

“You’ve made it pretty clear that I have no use for you anymore!” You hissed at him, shaking your head.

“It’s not like that, Baby-”

“It’s exactly like that! You want to know what I think, Stevie?” You spit his name like a curse and he can’t help but flinch at it.

“I think you planned on this dinner date a long time ago. I think you planned on disposing of me and that’s the reason why you can’t fucking wait to fuck me until after our dinner. It’s because we won’t be together anymore after that. I think you fucking used me to warm your fucking cock whenever you want to. I think you just used me to get off. I think you fucking used me just like everyone fucking did.” You were shouting and jabbing a finger on his chest by the end of your cries. Steve let you but as your words started again, his jaw starts to clench in anger and he finds it hard to control his anger as well.

“I think you’re just a fucking lonely old pervert that uses women for their own pleasure. Am I right?” Another finger jabs at Steve’s chest.

“Am. I. Fucking. Right?!” A jab per word and Steve’s patience snaps. He grabs your wrist with his strong hand and stops you. He glares down at you, his nose flaring in fury. “You really want to know?!” He hisses at you and continues when you just stare back at him with surprised eyes.

“You think I use women for my own pleasure? Do you think of yourself as a woman? You’re just a fucking girl, Y/N. At first, you were fun, youthful and all that. Yeah, you were fun to fuck, filled with energy and all that. I had the adrenaline I was looking for. I had fun with your wildness but then it got too much to handle. YOU got too much to handle. That made me realize that you’re just a girl. You can’t be controlled. You do things you want without thinking of the consequences. You’re not a woman, Y/N. You are just a little girl trying to act like a grown woman. Do you know what you are? A fucking liability.” By the end of his speech, Steve was the one jabbing a finger at you. He jabs a finger down your head like one does to a child and it adds more to your humiliation. All you can do is stare at Steve with shaking breaths and trembling lower lip. Your eyes were filled with tears that your vision got blurry.

Steve knew he had crossed a line. He had crossed thousands of lines just because he couldn’t control his anger. He knew that he fucked up when he saw the look in your face. He knew he fucked up when you frowned at him before hissing a “Fuck you.” All he could do was watch as you made it to the car as fast as you can, blocking Steve out of your vision, your mind, and later on, your life.

---

Next Chapter

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers angst #dark!steve #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #angst #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #captain america angst #liability imagine

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livesincerely · 4 years

Text

you render me in a thousand details

Also on Ao3

00000

“Hey, Davey, can you grab me another can of paint outta the closet?”

Davey looks up at the sound of Jack’s voice. The man in question is perched precariously on top of a ladder, the latest backdrop for Ms. Medda’s new show set up in front of him

He places the book he’d been reading while Jack worked to the side. “What is it I’m looking for?” Davey asks, clambering to his feet.

Jack’s head turns in his direction but he doesn’t take his eyes off his painting, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he carefully adds a series of fluffy white clouds to a cheerful skyline. “The extras should be just inside the closet on the right⁠—I need the dented can with the red stripe on the lid.”

Davey makes his way over to the tiny supply cupboard that Jack has claimed as his art closet. It’s a floor-to-ceiling collection of paint cans, canvases, brushes, and other supplies, and it never fails to amuse Davey how Jack can take one look at the mess and immediately unearth whatever item he needs for a particular project. Most of it belongs to the theater⁠—requested by Jack but paid for by Ms. Medda⁠—but Davey knows that Jack sometimes stores his personal pieces and supplies in there as well, if only to keep them safe from the daily mayhem of the Lodging House.

He reaches for the pull chain and a lone light bulb flickers to life. Davey takes a couple of tentative steps, squinting his eyes against the dust in the air as he scans the shelves for the can Jack had asked for, then lets out a squawk as he immediately trips over an unopened box of paint thinner.

His elbow knocks against something as he fumbles for balance and there’s a loud thunk and the flutter of paper as he sends a sketchbook full of drawings careening to the floor. Davey lets out a quiet curse, crouching down to pick up the scattered pages and tuck them back into place.

His movements slow as he suddenly understands what he’s looking at⁠—what he’s discovered. Because this is one of Jack’s sketchbooks, but it’s not one that Davey’s ever seen before. And the drawings inside...

Dazed, Davey wanders back into the larger room.

Jack glances back at him, one eyebrow raised. “What, did ya get lost in there? What took so long?”

Davey swallows. When he finds his voice, it comes out tremulous. “Jack, what is this?”

“What is what?” Jack wipes his hands on a spare rag, then comes over for a closer look. He gets within a couple feet of Davey, then staggers to a stop, his face going alarmingly pale. “Where did you get that?”

“I, uh, I knocked it off the shelf by accident,” Davey says. “Why do you have⁠⁠— What is this?”

Jack lurches forward as if to snatch the sketchbook away from him, but stops himself mid reach—like he can’t bring himself to actually tear the pages out of Davey’s hands. He paces in place for a moment, then takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What, that?” Jack says, and it’d be a passable attempt at nonchalance if not for the nervous waiver in his voice. “That’s nothing, really. Just practice sketches, and, uh, doodles and stuff.”

Davey looks at him. Then he carefully opens the sketchbook to the first page. There’s an inhaled breath, the tiniest twitch of the hand, but Jack makes no move to stop him and Davey takes that as permission.

He’s quiet as he flips through the assortment of pages. Or maybe it’s that he’s stunned into silence.

There are all types of drawings. Some are only outlines, vague sketches with just enough detail to be identifiable. Others are fully-worked—entire pages of careful shading and texture and blending. He’d caught a few glimpses in the dim light of the closet, and this closer look only confirms his suspicion: these are all drawings of Davey.

There’s one of him from the other day, where he’d gotten caught in a storm and came back to the Lodging House sopping wet, his clothes dripping and his hair curling up at the ends from the rain. There’s another of him on his building’s fire escape, hands curled around the railing and head tilted towards the stars. There’s a series of drawings that are just of his eyes, all done in various shades of blue and in a couple of different mediums, which are the only bursts of color in any of the drawings so far. Davey asleep at the table in the mess hall with his head pillowed in his arms, a pencil starting to slip from his fingers. Davey sitting on the corner of Jack’s desk at Pulitzer’s, studying his latest political cartoon. Davey with the other Newsies, their bodies drawn in hazy silhouette, Davey standing at various street corners, hawking newspapers to faceless passersby.

A few of the scenes depicted are things Davey recognizes, distinct instances that he can place in his memory. Others are more nebulous, ordinary moments in an ordinary life. He turns to a new page, this time finding a sketch of him reading an unlabeled novel, curled up in the corner of one of the dorm beds. Davey frowns, a little perplexed. Although it’s beautiful, as all of Jack’s artwork is, he can’t begin to imagine what inspired Jack to draw this particular scene. He’s not even really doing anything in it⁠—it’s just Davey being Davey.

He turns to another page and his breath catches in his throat.

It’s a drawing of him⁠ caught mid-laugh with his head thrown back⁠, the morning sun shining brightly behind him and a slew of crisscrossing lines in the background⁠. Davey recognizes it as a moment from a couple weeks ago, when he and Jack had made the trek across the Brooklyn Bridge for a meeting with Spot.

Davey traces a finger gently along the broad strokes of charcoal. Jack had remembered this moment, had kept the image in his mind until he’d had a chance to commit it to paper, then rendered it in astounding detail. And Davey’s no artist, but even he can tell that this drawing must have taken Jack hours. Days even.

“This is what you think of me?” The question falls out of his mouth, so unexpected that not even Davey had realized he was about to ask it. “This is how you see me?”

“Whaddya mean?” Jack responds, shifting uneasily, his voice a little gruff in his discomfort. “‘S how you look.”

“Jack…” Davey trails off helplessly, unable to elaborate, unable to explain the fragile hope that’s blooming in his chest. He starts flipping through the pages again.

It’s a wash of ink and charcoal and lead, the occasional flash of blue, but all of him. Davey pauses on one particular page, which features a drawing of him from the shoulders up with his eyes rendered in vivid color.

Colored pencils are expensive. Paint even more so. Davey imagines Jack in an art shop, imagines him hunting through the rows of supplies for just the right shade of blue with the same determination that made him start up a strike, deciding that this color is worth handing over some precious amount of his hard-earned paycheck… Davey’s heart starts beating frantically in his ears.

“These are beautiful,” Davey whispers hoarsely. “The way you’ve drawn me… you’ve made me look beautiful.”

Jack’s eyes dart here and there. Davey gets the sense that he’s looking for the ‘right’ way to respond to this statement.

“...I don’t hafta make you look beautiful, Davey,” Jack eventually says, scrubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “You already are⁠—I just draw what I see.”

Davey calmly sets the sketchbook down on the nearest bit of clean, flat surface. Then he steps forward, grabs Jack by the straps of his paint smock, and kisses him.

There’s a split-second where Jack freezes, startled. Then he groans somewhere deep in his chest, wrapping his arms around Davey’s waist to draw him even closer, and the press of his lips against Davey’s is deep and soft and wonderful.

It’s Jack who pulls away first, moving back all of a hair’s breadth, his eyes flitting across Davey’s face like he’s savoring every detail of his expression⁠⁠—like he’s perfectly content to just look at him.

It’s only now that Davey realizes the significance of that gaze: Jack looks at him like he can’t believe his eyes, like he’s something out of his wildest dreams, and he cups Davey’s face between his hands with aching tenderness, like he’s something to be cherished. Davey can only press up into that embrace, can only hold Jack close and hope that he understands, that Jack sees the emotion in his eyes the way he sees so much of Davey’s everything.

But there’s one question he needs answered. “Why?”

Jack leans in and presses a kiss to Davey’s temple. “It’s just… you have so much to you, Davey. No drawin’ could ever be all of you. But that didn’t stop me from tryin’.”

A kiss on the high point of his cheek. “And once I got started, I couldn’t stop. I would see you sittin’ somewhere, anywhere, laughing or sleeping or shouting and⁠— and you just buzz behind my eyes and I can’t get it to stop unless I grab a pen and some paper and sketch out whatever picture of you I got in my head.”

A kiss right at the corner of Davey’s mouth. “And I couldn’t never show ‘em to nobody, couldn’t risk anyone seeing ‘cause there’s too much of my heart in ‘em and I couldn’t⁠—”

Davey lifts up and kisses him again: slowly, reverently. He whispers into the seam of Jack’s lips, “I love you too.”

#newsies #javid #Jack Kelly #davey jacobs #*the writing desk #*editor's note #*final cut #this is so soft y’all #self-indulgent fluff for the win #(and now back to the smut...)#;)

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

Text

June Contest Submission #11: Chances

Words: ca. 5,000 Setting: Modern AU Lemon: No CW: Brief mention of blood

“Sarge, where are you?” Anna shouted as she ducked beneath a low-hanging tree branch. She cursed beneath her breath when one of her braids caught on the branch As she pulled herself free from the offending limb, another clap of thunder echoed from the ominous clouds that painted the afternoon sky. Her ears strained to catch any signs of the large canine bounding through the forest. The only sounds Anna was met with were the rustling of the trees as heavy currents blew through them.

This weather wasn’t supposed to be a possibility. Anna had triple checked the forecasts before they had left this morning. It was supposed to be a simple nature get-away. She had planned the trip for her and Sarge to get away from the city for a while. The two had been inseparable since Anna had adopted the retired Saint Bernard from one of the local shelters. She knew the congested city life was something that Sarge wasn’t used to and when she had mentioned this to her Uncle Kai, he offered to let them use his hunting cabin for the weekend.

The cabin had more than enough space for Anna and Sarge. It was only a few hours from Anna’s house with a scenic drive. Sarge’s tail wagged nonstop during the drive and as soon as they had arrived, he leapt out from Anna’s jeep and eagerly explored his new surroundings. After Anna had finished unloading the vehicle and threw on a proper hiking outfit, they had set off on a lengthy hike.

Sarge was ecstatic as he raced down the trail ahead of the freckled woman, sniffing here and there. It was around 4 in the afternoon when Anna noticed the brightness and various sounds of the forest were both dimming. They paused in a clearing for a quick break. As Anna drank steadily from her canteen, she realized that dark clouds were moving in. They were full of rain and quickly covering the peaceful blue sky. With a deep frown, she had replaced her canteen and lowered her gaze to call Sarge back to her side, but discovered she stood alone in the clearing.

After that, the wind had suddenly picked up as Anna began to frantically search for her four-legged friend. Now, here she was, stumbling through the brush with her heart racing and panic settling deep within her chest as the thunder grew and lightning accompanied it. Anna groaned as a light rain began and she grabbed her hood, pulling it up over her red hair before shouting for Sarge.

A new sound caused her to freeze as she cupped a hand around her ear, desperately hoping it would repeat. There it was; Sarge’s signature low bark reverberating throughout the trees. Anna bolted in the direction she assumed it was coming from. A grin split her freckled face as the barking grew louder. She avoided another branch and pushed through a particularly thick cluster of trees, wincing as the branches added a few more cuts to the steadily growing number that now resided on her limbs. Anna wiped the moisture from her face before peering out into the area she now stood in.

It was another clearing but smaller. Sarge was pacing back and forth on the other side, whimpering. Anna breathed a sigh of relief, even as a cloud of confusion settled above her head.

“What’s wrong, Sarge?” she asked, as she began to cross the clearing. The canine whined in response with a slight wag of his tail. Anna neared Sarge and saw that he was standing on the edge of a ravine. The rain fell steadily now as she stopped next to Sarge. She ran a hand through his wet fur, not caring in the slightest that a good chunk of it would adhere to her palm.

“What riled you-” Anna cut herself off while peering over the edge of the ravine. A flash of lightning lit up their surroundings and revealed a muddy human shape at the bottom. Anna slipped off her pack and rummaged through it, retrieving a flashlight and shining it down. The circle of soft light revealed an unconscious woman with striking platinum hair. Anna chewed her lip while a million thoughts raced through her head. Another large gust of wind nearly knocked Anna over the edge but Sarge braced his large body against her knees. She steadied herself, knowing she had to act quickly.

“Alright, buddy,” Anna said, as she delved into her pack once more. “We’ll get her, don’t worry.” She slid a coiled rope from her bag and rose to her feet. The employees at the shelter had thoroughly explained Sarge’s training from his previous life. He had been a search and rescue pup, and an amazing one at that. In the month Anna had had him in her life, she had tested out various commands that her research revealed are common when training search and rescue dogs. Even though he was an older dog, he was in great shape and showed no signs of slowing down. Anna didn’t see any harm in refreshing his training because who knew if there’d ever be a time to rely on it? And here we are.

Mud splashed beneath her boots, splattering across her toned legs as she trudged toward the nearest tree. Uncoiling the rope, she secured one end around the trunk and the other around her slender waist. Another drawn out whine from Sarge as she made her way back to the ledge of the ravine. Another glance proved her previous theory that it wasn’t all that deep. She scratched Sarge’s head lovingly and placed a gentle kiss on his furry forehead.

“Okay, big guy, I’m going down to grab her. Best case, I’ll be able to rouse her so it’ll be a bit easier. If not… I’ll get creative. I’ve got more rope in the pack.” The young woman took a few deep breaths while Sarge stood off to the side. Another clap of thunder shook the trees as Anna gripped the coarse rope tightly and spun around with her back to the pit below. Remember your climbing techniques.

Another deep breath and Anna began the journey down the ravine. Slow, but steadily, she climbed down. Her foot slipped on a soft spot in the wall and she cried out. A loud, worried bark came from Sarge in response while Anna quickly regained her footing and attempted to slow her racing heart.

“I’m good, buddy,” she called up, before continuing downward. After what felt like ages, Anna’s feet finally planted on the firm, although extremely muddy, floor of the ravine. She sputtered when the rain began to pour, and she swiped her face before pulling out her flashlight and flicking it on. She swept the light across the woman, revealing an extremely pale, mostly mud-covered face. Anna clicked her tongue with the light shined on a large gash in the woman’s forehead. The lean 25 year-old squatted while reaching out to gently shake the woman. Anna’s hand had barely clasped around the woman’s bare, dirty shoulder when the figure stirred, and eyelids fluttered. Thunder continued to roar above their heads, so Anna leaned closer, placing her mouth inches from the woman’s ear.

“Ma’am? Can you hear me? My name’s Anna. You’re hurt and at the bott-” She was cut off as the woman’s eyes suddenly flew open, revealing the most striking sapphire-esque irises that Anna had ever seen. Anna found herself paralyzed as the woman blinked. She began to stir and slowly sat up. She groaned and lifted a pale hand to her head, wincing as she felt the gash there. Anna observed the many emotions that crossed the woman’s face: confusion, pain, fear. The muddy woman spun around suddenly, as if registering that Anna was with her. She shrieked, and began to scoot away from Anna as fast as she could. It was effective, though odd, and Anna found herself having to suppress a giggle at the sight before her.

“W-who are you?” The woman croaked out, her voice hoarse and raspy, as if it hadn’t been used in a while. Anna blinked, attempting to formulate a coherent thought.

“My name is Anna, and I’m here to help you out of this ravine,” she spat out, and was finally ripped from her stupor as lightning slashed the sky and a howl rang from Sarge above. The woman began shaking at the sound of the dog, her eyes darting to the top of the ravine.

“W-what was that?” she cried out, curling in on herself and hugging her knees to her chest. Anna could tell that she wasn’t just shaking from Sarge; the woman had to be freezing. She was so caked in mud that Anna wasn’t even sure if she had clothing. The hiker had to force this thought from her mind before it averted her from the task at hand.

“That’s just my dog. Listen, I’m very sorry, but we really don’t have time to do full introductions here. The storm hasn’t even fully hit. I need to get you out of here. You’re wounded and we should find shelter. Can you stand?” Anna shouted to make herself heard over the rain. The pale woman’s jaw dropped, as if to protest, but the next clap of thunder halted her. With a grimace, she unfolded herself, and rose shakily to her feet. Anna could see that the wound was still bleeding as red mixed with brown. She thrust out her hand, offering it to the other woman, who stared at it with a dead-pan expression.

“Please, let me help you,” Anna insisted, wiggling her fingers. The woman met her gaze, sapphire eyes dancing with teal, before nodding and grabbing Anna’s hand. Anna inhaled sharply when the cool touch of the woman’s hand ignited a new sensation within Anna, but dismissed it as she pulled the woman toward her. Anna didn’t fail to notice the way the woman was shivering. She shuffled through the contents of her pack once and thrust a poncho out toward the woman, who stared at it blankly.

“Here, wear this. You’re probably in shock, and don’t feel the cold,” Anna insisted, pressing the poncho against the woman’s chest. Gingerly, the stranger accepted the poncho, slipping it around her shoulders.

“T-thank you,” she told Anna as her pale lips curled slightly with the ghost of a smile. Anna felt her face heat up and waved her hand nonchalantly as she stepped up to the wall of the ravine. Weighing the pack in her hands, she eyed the ledge, and made a quick assessment before tossing the container into the air. She wasn’t expecting Sarge to jump up and snatch it out of the air, but it brought an enormous grin to her face. She rubbed her hands together.

“Okay, here’s how we’ll do this. Climb onto my back,” Anna instructed while squatting. When there was no sound of responding movement, Anna straightened and turned to face the damsel once more. The stranger’s posture was rigid, as if standing with defiance. Anna cocked her head and wondered if the woman had issues with trust. Would I willingly trust some random person in the middle of a forest, though? Anna thought.

“Hey, I know this is a lot at once, but it’ll be okay. I’ll keep you safe. You can trust me…” Anna’s pep talk faltered when she realized she didn’t know the woman’s name. There was a deep breath and then one of those cool hands was squeezing her own.

“Elsa. My name is Elsa,” was the reply, as she motioned for Anna to take the position again. The name reverberated in Anna’s head, with that hoarse, yet pleasing voice causing her pulse to race. The woman’s -Elsa’s- weight settled on her back as cold arms fell on her shoulders. Long legs wrapped around Anna’s hips as she stood. Warm breath skittered along her neck as Elsa’s face rested against her warmth. Anna suppressed the fluttering in her chest.

“Hold on tight, okay? It will feel like forever, but I promise you the climb isn’t long. And once we reach the top, we’ll head straight toward my cabin. It isn’t far from here,” Anna told Elsa, who nodded against Anna’s neck. The pale limbs tightened around her torso as Anna held the rope taut and began to slowly scale the wall. For a few moments, the sky was free of the lightning and thunder that had been plaguing it, and the two women listened to the heavy rain. A breath that Anna hadn’t realized she’d been holding escaped as Sarge came into view. He was barking and running around excitedly. She couldn’t help the grin that crossed her face. It quickly disappeared though, as lightning struck the tree in which the rope was secured to, slicing the trunk in half. Anna’s eyes widened when she registered what had occurred, and she cried out as the rope grew slack and she felt herself tip backward.

She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing herself for the imminent crashing that was about to happen. Seconds that felt like years passed until she came to her senses and realized she wasn’t moving at all. Her eyes snapped open to find that Sarge was gripping the rope in his mouth and jerking back his head, desperate to pull his owner up. Before she allowed herself to revel in this moment, Anna snatched the rope and hauled them up the rest of the way, collapsing on the ledge. Her chest heaved as Sarge’s large nose nudged her everywhere in an attempt to get Anna up. Adrenaline coursed through her, though she was still as a statue as she tried to comprehend how close to death she just was.

A cool hand curled around her wrist, bringing Anna back to earth. She opened her eyes and once more was struck with the beauty of those sapphires that lived within Elsa’s head. Anna couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering. Rain chipped away at the mud that covered a majority of Elsa, revealing more of her body. The poncho Anna had lent her was see-through, and Anna could just barely make out the light fabric of a tank top that clung to the woman’s slender torso. Swallowing heavily, Anna shook her head and brought her attention back to Elsa’s face. She couldn’t help but briefly admire the symmetrical planes of Elsa’s face. From the dainty button-like nose, to the high risen cheekbones, and finally onto the lush, yet pale lips. Lips that were moving, forming words that Anna couldn’t hear over the rush of blood through her veins. She honed her focus and tried instead to read the words.

“We should find shelter now, right?” That brought Anna back down and she sprang to her feet, gathering her senses. Anna found it odd that she couldn’t dismiss the fact that the damsel she’d rescued was a few inches taller in height. Snatching her pack, she grabbed Elsa’s hand and pulled her into the brush so she could gather her bearings. The hiker shielded her eyes from the rain and attempted to locate shelter. There was a loud bark from Sarge and Anna glanced over. His tail was wagging and he was jumping around, signaling for Anna to follow. She couldn’t help the pride that swelled within her chest.

“Okay, Sarge. We’re gonna follow Sarge, okay, Elsa? Are you able to walk, or would you like my help?” Anna offered, earning a look of concern from Elsa, who was currently attempting to release her hair from the band that held together the destroyed braid on her head. Anna’s eyes flickered to the wound, knowing that she needed to attend to it ASAP, but couldn’t properly perform the task in the eye of a storm.

“We’re going to follow your…dog?” Elsa asked, not sounding particularly amused. Anna nodded.

“He used to be a search and rescue pup. He knows what he’s doing,” Anna replied, and Sarge barked in agreement. Elsa sighed, fingertips gingerly brushing her head. She winced, and Anna figured the shock was wearing off and the pain was beginning.

“I can walk,” Elsa said, almost with a huff. Anna quizzically raised a brow, but didn’t comment as she turned to Sarge.

“Lead the way, buddy,” Anna said, and Sarge took off. They stomped through the wet earth and piles of leaves, circled around fallen trees, and ducked beneath reaching limbs. For a bit, it was silent, save for the rain, until a particularly loud rumble of thunder disrupted the silence. Anna nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt Elsa’s cool hand slip over her own. Anna cast a sideways glance at the woman, but she was staring straight ahead with a clenched jaw. Anna squeezed the hand reassuringly, and watched as Elsa’s face softened.

Moments later they arrived at a cave and the trio ducked inside. Luckily the cave had enough scattered twigs for Anna to collect and get a small fire started while Sarge stayed near Elsa. Finally satisfied, Anna left the fire to warm up the small area and walked over to Elsa, who was absently petting Sarge. Anna grabbed her First Aid kit and knelt before Elsa.

“Can… Can I clean your wound?” Anna asked quietly as she brushed her hand against Elsa’s arm. The other woman started, blinking rapidly before meeting Anna’s worried gaze. Anna didn’t like the way Elsa’s eyes were darkening and glassy. Hopefully she doesn’t have a concussion. Elsa nodded. Anna opened her kit and set out everything she’d need to take care of it.

Anna wasn’t all that surprised that Elsa wasn’t open about her pain. The stoic stranger didn’t even flinch when Anna gently cleaned the gash with alcohol. Anna secretly admired that ability; she was so obvious with her pain, and emotions, and, well, everything about herself.

“So… what were you doing in the forest by yourself?” Anna asked, trying to make light conversation. If the woman did have a concussion, Anna knew it wouldn’t be best for her to sleep for a bit. Elsa shrugged, her eyes glued to the orange and yellow glow of the fire. Anna clicked her teeth together.

“Well, Sarge and I are here on a weekend get-away. See, I adopted him about a month ago, but I know the city isn’t something he really loves. He loves being in nature, and so do I. So, my uncle offered his cabin for the weekend. We went on all these really neat scenic trails today. Was hoping to get a pic of Sarge and I at this one spot, but we didn’t make it there. Which is totally fine because there’s always tomorrow,“ Anna rambled, unaware she was doing so as she finished cleaning Elsa’s forehead. She turned away to search for the proper bandage.

“My friend Kristoff really wanted to come. But I had to convince him we could go another weekend, because I wanted to spend time with Sarge.” The dog barked at the sound of his name. “He pouted quite a bit, but I bought him some pizza and he was fine,” Anna finished with a giggle as she situated herself in front of Elsa again.

“You’re quite an optimistic person, aren’t you?” Elsa murmured, so quiet that Anna had to pause her task and glance at the pale woman below her to make sure she had actually said something. Anna’s face grew warm when she realized Elsa was staring intently at the smaller woman.

“Y-yeah. I mean, there’s always something to look forward to. Even in this situation,” Anna responded, placing the bandage. Elsa laughed dryly.

“I fell down a ravine and bashed my head open. My supplies are gone. My car is nowhere near here. All because I was startled by an animal. God, I just came out here to get away from… everything… everyone…” Elsa said with a tired voice. Anna pondered this as she finished doctoring Elsa’s wound, knowing much couldn’t be done about the swelling until they could go back to the cabin.

“City life suffocating you as well?” Anna asked as she scooted back. Sarge heaved a sigh as he rested his head in Elsa’s lap. For some reason, Anna didn’t think Elsa was much of an animal person, but that didn’t seem to matter now as those pale hands ran through thick, white fur.

“Something like that,” Elsa responded.

“Were you planning on spending the weekend in the forest?” Elsa shook her head.

“I just wanted to take a day off and try a nature thing. You know, you always hear people talking about how relaxing and soothing hiking is. No one ever mentions freak storms or ravines or deer scaring the shit out of you,” Elsa grumbled, nearly pouting. Anna couldn’t hold back the giggle and Elsa’s eyes fell on her, studying. Anna’s giggle turned into a cough as she quickly turned to face the fire.

“Well, if you actually let yourself relax, it definitely is. Try taking in the sounds, the smells, the sights. It’s usually so peaceful,” Anna said with a sigh. Elsa huffed.

“That has always been one of my weaknesses: relaxation,” Elsa said. Anna wasn’t all that shocked. Ever since they had arrived at the cave, Elsa’s posture had been stiff and her face composed. Sarge groaned, rolling over onto his back, not-so-subtly hinting for belly rubs. Elsa cocked a brow, but obliged, unable to deny the cute canine.

“Well… it seems like you could use more help. I can take you back to your car in the morning, if you’d like. The storm doesn’t appear to be letting up and we should rest soon,” Anna said. As if in response, clouds crashed together above them. Elsa chewed the inside of her cheek as she contemplated.

“Yes, I would appreciate that,” she finally said. Wind leaked into the cave, swirling around them and causing both women to shiver. Anna searched through her pack once more, and removed a sleeping bag and dry clothes. She smirked, mentally patting herself on the back coming, for once, overprepared. Anna tossed clothes over to Elsa, who just stared at them.

“Won’t do you any good to sleep in wet clothes. Change into those,” Anna instructed, as she took her own set and wandered to the back of the cave. She could feel Elsa’s eyes on her, and heard a choking sound as she began to peel off her soaked clothes.

“H-how can you just strip in front of a stranger?” Elsa managed to say. Anna shrugged, stepping out of her shorts and into the sweats.

“We’re both adults aren’t we?” she replied. There was silence, except for the sound of rustling clothes. Anna finished sliding the dry t-shirt over her head with a sigh and spun around, expecting Elsa to have finished. Her jaw nearly hit the floor when her eyes caught flashes of pale, flawless skin and the flexing of toned back muscles before her brain reconnected to her body and she quickly faced the wall. Her heart thudded and she squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to erase the images that seemed to be seared into her eyelids.

“You can turn around now, Anna,” Elsa said, seemingly unaware of Anna’s mistake. Anna took a deep breath and returned to the fire. She glanced at her watch, and couldn’t believe it was already nearing midnight. She tossed Elsa a protein bar and ripped open one for Sarge as well. Elsa observed it a moment, before delicately opening the packaging.

“So, I’ve only got one sleeping bag, because, well, obviously I’m only one person. And you know, I didn’t really think I’d need two. So uhm,” Anna’s face flushed but her heart skipped a beat when Elsa’s melodic laughter flowed through her ears. Oh, man, I want to hear more of that.

“Do you always ramble?” Elsa questioned, her eyes lidded as a yawn tumbled out from between her lips, which had grown darker as she warmed up. Anna grumbled beneath her breath as she began to busy herself with taking apart her braids.

“Yeah, I tend to do it because I don’t like silence. And, well, when I’m ner- anyway,” Anna quickly caught herself as she raked her fingers through her thick red locks. “You take the sleeping bag and I’ll just cuddle Sarge. He gives off enough heat to warm an RV,” Anna commented. Another ripple of laughter from Elsa and Anna watched as a brilliant smile stuck on the pale woman’s face. Elsa ran a hand through her tangled platinum hair, wincing as it caught on some snarls. She sighed.

“I must look like an absolute wreck right now,” Elsa said. Anna scoffed, earning a puzzled look. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I obviously don’t know you, but I doubt there’s any way you could look terrible. Even covered in mud, you still have the appearance of royalty,” Anna blurted and mentally slapped herself. She felt the blush spread down her entire neck as she avoided meeting Elsa’s gaze. Anna rose to her feet and tossed the sleeping bag over to the other woman. She snapped her fingers and Sarge trotted over.

“Anyway, we should get some rest. It’s been quite the day,” Anna said, settling against her beloved companion. She could feel Elsa’s eyes on her as she buried her face in Sarge’s fur.

“Goodnight, Anna,” Elsa’s voice floated across the small space. Anna’s mind took quite a while to shut off as it was playing the day’s events on a running loop. When she finally toppled off the cliff of consciousness, she didn’t move for hours.

Anna was unsure of what had dragged her from the depths of sleep as she stirred, rolling over onto her back and prying her eyes open. She blinked a few times, trying to remember where she was as she stared at the dull colored roof above her that shone with the reflection of early morning sun. She spotted a few stalactites and her memories of the previous night flooded back. With a groan she sat up, wincing from a spike of pain in her lower back. A soft weight settled in her lap and she glanced down, noticing the sleeping bag that covered her thighs. She stood, rolling up the bag and stuffing it in her pack. As she straightened and stretched her limbs, she took a gander around the cave. Anna was a bit surprised to see Elsa and Sarge huddled near the entrance. Elsa’s head turned, catching Anna’s eye.

“Morning,” she said, flashing Anna a heart-stopping smile. Anna’s lips twitched and she gave a small wave as she walked toward her. Sarge turned around as well and leapt at Anna as she approached. She laughed, nearly toppling over. She gave the dog a hug as she settled down beside Elsa.

“Morning, you two. You seem to be getting along with Sarge,” Anna commented, as the Saint Bernard flopped down on the other side of Elsa, who hummed, scratching beneath his chin.

“I’ve never really been much of an animal person,” she said. Called it. “But this guy has a calming aura.” Anna grinned at her.

“Yeah, that’s why I brought him home with me. He’s my rock.” A comfortable silence fell over the trio as they both turned to gaze out into the dawn filled forest. The ground was still wet from the storm and there was evidence everywhere; from the broken tree branches to the puddles of water that were scattered along the forest floor. Sun shone through the trees, flushing the forest with hues of orange, yellow, and a soft blue tint.

“Alright, let’s head toward my cabin so we can get cleaned up. Then I’ll take you to your vehicle,” Anna said, climbing to her feet and extending a hand toward Elsa. With a quick tug at the snarled mess of her blonde locks, Elsa nodded in agreement and accepted Anna’s hand.

_____________________________

A few hours later, the three were piled in Anna’s jeep as they headed to where Elsa had left her own vehicle. They were both freshly showered and sated with a breakfast that Anna had insisted on making. As they rounded a corner and pulled into the lot where Elsa’s car sat, they got out and Sarge ran circles around them, barking excitedly.

The two women watched him in silence for a few moments. Anna’s mind ran rampant with thoughts until finally Elsa turned to face the shorter woman.

“I’d like to thank you once again for helping me. I’d probably still be stuck at the bottom of that ravine had you not come along,” she said, flashing Anna a dazzling smile. Anna felt her face warm as she nervously ran a hand through her red hair, which currently rested against her chest.

“Y-yeah no problem! I-I mean it wasn’t any trouble at all!” Anna stammered out. She could feel her palms sweating as she paused, trying to work up the courage to ask the question on her mind. Sarge came bounding up, running into the back of Anna’s knees, causing her to stumble forward. She squeaked as she fell, only to be caught by Elsa’s surprisingly strong arms. Anna felt her heart pummel her ribcage as she stared into those sapphire eyes. There was another nudge in her side from Sarge’s muzzle, as if sending her encouragement. Anna swallowed, casting her gaze downward as she stepped back a bit.

“So, I was wondering. You know how you said you’d like to learn to appreciate nature and try to relax, but you just couldn’t seem to get it right?” Anna said quietly, rubbing an arm. Elsa tilted her head as she peered at Anna curiously.

“Yes. I couldn’t crack that code,” she replied. Anna nodded.

“Well, I was thinking that maybe we could hang out and, you know, get to know each other a bit? And, maybe, the next time I come out here I’d invite you and… I could show you some things that work for me and…” Anna’s voice trailed off.

“Hmmm. Well, I suppose I never properly thanked you for coming to my rescue. So, how about I buy you dinner and we’ll see where that leads us?” Elsa offered with a grin. Anna’s eyes shot up to meet Elsa’s once more. She felt her own lips curled upward in a returning smile.

“I’d like that,” Anna said. A bark sounded from Sarge, as if agreeing with them. The women laughed as they kneeled to pet the large canine. A single thought ran through Anna’s mind as she buried her hands in Sarge’s thick fur: What are the chances?

#elsanna #submission #June 2021 contest #prompt: storm #cw: mentions of blood

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konlyfans · 4 years

Text

Gunshot

pairing: idol!Lucas & reader

genre: angst that ends in fluff with the tiny smudge of smut at the beginning

summary: during some playtime in the bedroom Lucas breaks one of your boundaries and your heart.

“.... Cherry.”

It came out before you could think anything of it, making Lucas freeze in light of hearing your safe word. He was still deep inside you, his cock throbbing, but as he looked down and into your eyes he felt terror chill him to the bone. Tears were brimming in your eyes and seconds away from spilling down your cheeks. Did he hurt you? He didn’t think he was being that rough. Was it something he... Said? It was, and the second he realized it he pulled out completely.

“Baby-”

“Move,” you demanded, inhaling shakily as you rushed off the bed and ignored the jelly feeling in your legs. You were crying before you could make it to the bathroom and he could only sit there and wonder how he could be so stupid. You didn’t have very many rules for Lucas, you loved being in your sub-space with him, but he had still managed to break one of them tonight and it was by far the worst one.

Don’t bring other women into it. It’s just you and me, okay?

He dropped his head into his hands, sighing deeply and his heart drummed in his chest and those words of warning played over in his mind. Yes, you were being punish for disobeying his rules and getting bratty over his interaction with a female idol on a variety show, but he had taken it too far. The sound of your sobs from the bathroom were ripping his heart into bits as he kicked himself for being so careless. For saying what he knew would get in your head.

Maybe I should fuck her instead, hm? I bet she’d be a good girl for me.

It was almost an hour before you came out of the bathroom, having opted for a shower while you were in there just to try and calm down a bit. His aftercare was the last thing on your mind. Lucas hadn’t tried to coax you out, he simply got dressed and waited for you to return. You had to come back to your bedroom eventually, be it for clothes or to yell at him.

When the soft creak of the bathroom door opening floated up the hall, Lucas froze where he paced beside the bed and braced for you to rip him a new one. What he got was far worse. You slipped into the room without even looking at him, making a beeline straight for your closet. Not even a sniffle passed as you began getting dressed, but not dressed for bed. Dressed to leave.

“Can we talk?” His voice was small and cautious, like he was afraid to scare you away. You heart ached at the sound but you did your best to ignore him still, though your lip began to quiver again. “Please, baby... I’m so sorry. You know I would never-“

“Never what,” you asked softly, cutting him off. “Never fuck her? Never intentionally hurt me with your words? Never fuck with my head like that while you’re inside me?” The more you said the louder you got as tears filled your eyes again. “Never make me feel so insecure about myself?”

“Baby-“

“Four rules, Lucas!” All efforts to get dressed came to a screeching halt as you turned to shout at your boyfriend, now standing in just yoga pants and a bra. “Don’t make me bleed, don’t tie my hands behind my back, ask before anal and don’t fucking bring other women into this.” He could only nod knowingly as more hot tears spilled down you splotchy cheeks, causing him to physically feel ill. Something about finally looking at him and knowing what he said made you unravel all over again. You though you’d gotten it all out, but as you stood with your face hidden by your hands you were quickly proven wrong. “You know how I get,” you whimpered into your palms, giving in to how broken your heart really was. Suddenly he was right in front of you, having silently crossed the space to carefully curl his fingers around your wrist.

“I know. I know and I’m so sorry.” You could hear the strain in his voice as he spoke, fighting his own tears as he looked at the damage he’d caused. “Y/n, I’m sorry.” You were gasping for short, rapid breaths as you sobbed and he rubbed soft circles on your wrists with his thumbs. “Look at me, please?”

In one motion you let him pull your hands from your face right as you balled them to fists and halfheartedly hit him in the chest. He wished you’d hit him harder. “Was that your subtle way of telling me you want her?!”

“No! Baby, no...” He sighed, a glint of tears sparking in his eyes as he admitted, “I just wanted to get to you but I didn’t think about what I said until you used your safe word. I didn’t think at all.” Gently, and ever so slowly, he pulled you against his broad chest and wrapped you in an apologetic embrace. You were already to tired from the sex and crying to fight him. The total 180 in your mood left you drained. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“I literally don’t even want to talk to you,” you choked out against his hot tanned skin, pushing aside the urge to find comfort against him. You lifted your head, wiping furiously at your cheeks as you took a step back. “I won’t leave, to be honest I don’t even know where I was going to go... But I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“Don’t be crazy,” he stated, his own heart breaking just a little as he quickly wiped a tear away. For the first time he was worried he’d dug himself into a hole he wouldn’t climb out of. “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch. I’m an asshole but I’m still a gentleman.”

“Whatever,” you shrugged, pushing past him and crawling into bed just as you were. Lucas took one last look at you before grabbing a blanket and leaving the room quietly. With every step he took to the couch he said a soft prayer that you’d still be there when he woke the next day.

The empty expanse of sheets surrounding you when you opened your eyes startled you, as you’d become so accustom to waking next to Lucas. Surely you woke because you became cold without his natural warmth wrapped heavily around you. You sighed, dropping your head to the pillow as you remembered why he wasn’t in your bed right now. Despite the sharp pain in your heart that was a direct result of his actions, there was a deeper ache from not having him next to you. Autopilot kicked in and you were sleepily padding your way up the hall to find him.

Lucas was sprawled out on his back, seemingly haven fallen asleep while on his phone as it lay still on his toned chest. One long arm hung off the couch, letting his fingers rest on the hardwood floor, and the other was tucked behind his head. You pouted knowing how uncomfortable he must have been, the couch looked too small under him.

Like a child that had been burned, you approached him like you were afraid he’d wake up and do something unexpected. When he showed no signs of coming to, you nudged the hand that was resting one the hardwood floor with your toes, pressing softly to his palm. You watched his brow furrow for a moment before he realized what he was holding and caressed his long fingers along your sole. A shiver crept up your spine at the tickle.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He voice was that familiar low it always was when he was tired and you only wanted to cuddle up to him, but anxiety reared it’s ugly head before you could give in to your desire. The rational part of you knew Lucas hadn’t meant anything by what he said, it’d been a mistake, but your insecurities as an idol’s girlfriend had something else to say about it.

“Xuxi... You mean it, right?” You glued your eyes to the way he lazily held your ankle like he thought you’d run if he didn’t.

“Mean what, my love?” He opened one eye as he was blinded by the glare of the muted TV.

“You don’t want her. You still want to be with me.” The words passing your lips were so small and soft he almost couldn’t hear you, but he did. He sat up immediately, throwing apprehension to the wind as he took you by the hips and pulled you down to straddle his lap. You went easily, craving the reassurance of his touch.

“Of course I mean it,” he said sternly. You sunk into him and buried your face in the crook of his neck, letting your lugs be filled with the comforting scent of your man. He rocked you side to side to an imaginary song as his hands traveled up and down your back. “I would give anything to take back what I said, but I can’t.” He’d never forgive himself. “But I’ll do anything in my power to make it up to you, Y/n. Anything.”

“Is... My punishment over? Even thought we didn’t finish?”

“Yes,” he couldn’t help but chuckle, having been far from concerned about punishing you. “For the foreseeable future you’ll be getting nothing but praise and care from me. I’m going to spoil you rotten, day in and day out.” You sighed against the warm flush of his neck, content to just stay there for the rest of the night, letting him love you gently.

#wong yukhei #nct lucas #wayv lucas #nct #wayv #lucas angst #lucas fluff

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lorei-writes · 4 years

Text

And what if I...?

Masamune x MC Smut Modern AU

I shamelessly return with smut again. Don’t blame (just) me, for I have two utterly encouraging souls to thank: @cailann & @cheese-ception . Double shout-out to @cheese-ception for beta-reading, I know for a fact I would have never thought of some things she brought up <3

Word estimate: 2k

Contents/Content Warnings: oral sex, vaginal sex, clothed sex

Mai stepped out of the shower, damp hair falling over her back. She combed it with her fingers, soon reaching for a towel and getting dressed. Her hands propped on the edge of the washbasin, she sighed, staring at her reflection. Was a skirt and a blouse too much? She shook her head – why was she even thinking about that? It was just a meeting with friends. Surely, it would be nice, especially after the monstrous week she had… Surely, she wouldn’t have had anything else planned nor would have… Mai groaned, her mind reviving the memory of the dream she had that night.

Door to the bathroom closed behind her, her feet carrying her down the corridor. She glanced at her phone, hairs on her forearms standing up upon realising how late it was. She ran to their bedroom, snatching her bag on her way there. “ Masamune, we’re going to be…” she trailed off, her lover sitting by the desk and browsing the internet instead of being ready to leave. She walked up to him, perhaps a little too fast. “ Weren’t we going together? Have something come up? If we don’t –“ His arm snuck around her waist, pulling her into his lap. As if to silence her racing thoughts, he kissed her forehead, a surprised “oh” escaping her lungs as tension left her shoulders. “ Slow down, kitten, slow down. I’ve got a call, they got stuck in a traffic jam. Car accident on the highway, they’ll be at least half an hour late,” he explained immediately, before she even got a chance to talk. Somewhat confused, she blinked – so they still had some time? Mai tried to turn around, a glimpse of a shopping site getting caught in the corner of her eye – and yet, she couldn’t get a better look, his lips pressing to the top of her nose, travelling up to her eyelids, temples, cheeks, tracing the line of her jaw… An audible clap – laptop lid closed behind her back. “ Are you hiding something from me?” she laughed, their foreheads touching. “ No.” “ Then can I take a look?” “ Nope.” She could have sworn she saw the night sky in his eye. “ And what if I kiss you?” she tested, caring more about the game than the prize. “ Try it,” he hummed.

She thought it’d be brief – yet somehow, she didn’t have it in her to pull back, her lips parting as his hand moved down her side. She wanted – needed – more, she felt herself ignite… And it was over so soon, much to her dismay. Masamune grinned at her, as if he knew what was going through her mind, although he couldn’t possibly have. “ You look very well-kissed,” he said. Mai faked a pout in reply. “ You want to know that bad? Well then. You’re birthday is coming soon, but the rest is a surprise.” Her eyes narrowed – and he couldn’t help but laugh. She let her head rest on his shoulder. “ You’re getting old, tiger, to be caught red-handed like that…” she murmured, poking him. “ I couldn’t let my kitten be lost for long, though.” “ Oh? So it would take you that long?” she feigned surprise, her teeth grazing his neck. Her voice reduced to low whisper, her lips brushed against his ear. “ I’m afraid I’m being rather distracting today. But you don’t mind, do you?” “ No.” “ And what if I were to give you a head while you tried to look for this thing, whatever it is? Would you stop me?” “ Never.”

Of course, he wouldn’t decline – after all, how could he, when his lover looked at him with those eyes and he craved her so much. Mai moved away from him, her form sinking to the ground as he pulled his pants down a bit. He watched her give his cock a few pumps, her lips getting closer to the tip of it. Her hand holding it at the base, she touched it to the corner of her mouth, her gaze meeting his. “ Weren’t you supposed to be doing something else in the meantime?” she asked – how cruel, to bring his attention to matters of lesser importance just like that. Yet he had to oblige. Masamune opened the laptop, her hair tickling his skin.

Oh fuck.

He inhaled sharply, her tongue travelling up the underside of his cock and licking its head. He felt her breath – and then it was her warmth, surrounding it from all sides. Mai sucked at it, her tongue caressing him over all the places that would make him moan, had he not held those back as of now. His fingers trembled over the keyboard as he tried to type. Malicious, aren’tcha, kitten?, Masamune thought as she stroked his balls

How could he ever focus on anything but her and her touch? Shivers ran through his body, spilling into gasps. He looked at the screen – to no avail, his mind being occupied by matters of far more pleasurable nature. He clicked one link, sentences unravelling before his eye, strings of signs losing any meaning they had ever had. It was only him and her in that moment – and although he enjoyed this little game, he began to have enough. Defeated, he closed the laptop and pushed it to the side, not minding it much.

Masamune looked at Mai, her head moving rhythmically up and down. A strand of hair having escaped from behind her ear, he tucked it back where it belonged, his lover raising her gaze to look at him. Never once breaking the eye contact, she decreased her pace, almost letting his cock out of her mouth. She gave it a few pumps with the hand she kept at its base – and then she took it as deep as she could, instantly speeding up. “ Fuck, Mai,” he groaned, pulling lightly at her arm to ask her to get up. She did, even if somewhat reluctantly, licking the tip of his cock one last time – and he’d be damned had he ever lost this image in his mind.

His lips found hers and he kissed the breath out of her. Mai straddled him, his hand sliding down her thigh, coming to a stop at her knee… She shivered under his touch as they parted, red blush spreading over her face. His fingers brushed against her cheek, travelling over to her neck as to press against her pulse, the gesture being driven more by a habit than an actual need. “ Lie on the desk,” Masamune rasped, blood rushing through her veins.

She was intoxicating, more so than any alcohol he had ever tasted, almost addictive in the little ways she coaxed him to love her more. Goosebumps appeared over her skin in the wake of his touch, trailing a trace up her inner-thigh. Masamune hiked up her skirt, revealing black panties hugging her form. His cheek resting against her knee, he pressed a kiss just above the joint – she gasped in reply. “ Aren’t you impatient today, kitten?” he hummed. “ I –“ A kiss to the middle of her thigh. How could he not pay her back? “ You?” he asked. “ I want you so bad.” He grinned as his lips caressed every patch of skin in their path. She could almost feel his breath where she wanted him most then… Yet almost was simply too little. “ Masamune…” she pleaded, the rest of the words escaping her thoughts as he kissed the edge of her panties, anticipation building up inside of her. He flicked her clit through the fabric with his tongue, Mai squirming underneath him. She couldn’t wait? Too bad, as he had already set his mind to draw it out until he was the only thing left on her mind. Her chest heaving from need, he teased her, each of the feather-like touches earning him a gasp. She moved her hips, searching for any bit of friction she could find… Masamune kissed her through the fabric – and he was gone, his warmth disappearing just like that, his hands reaching to pull the garment off of her.

She shuddered, cool air contrasting with how hot her skin felt. Her underwear being thrown aside, Mai looked up, his head sinking between her legs. Her thigh resting over his shoulder, a shiver ran up her spine. “ Mmm…” she couldn’t stop herself, the lightest of his touches eliciting a cry. He sucked on her clit delicately, then switching to broad licks and entering a steady rhythm, gradually increasing the pressure and carefully observing her body in search of any cues he could find.

“ Please, please, don’t stop.”

As if he ever could, when she sounded so drunken with pleasure like that… Mai reached to hold his head, her fingers trembling in his hair. Kitten, you don’t have to make me stay, he’d say out loud if it didn’t risk ruining her time. Her toes curling up, her breathing become uneven until she finally held the air in, tension escaping her the very next moment. He slowed down, pulling back and kissing her inner thigh.

Her vision still being hazy, she looked around, Masamune walking away. Where to..? Her body was breaking into a protest, not ready to let go of his touch… He returned to her promptly, a chuckle spilling from his lips as she tried to press against him. Masamune took his shirt off, tossing it behind him. A rustle of plastic – hurriedly, he put the condom on, spreading a generous amount of lube over his cock. She thrust her hips forward, biting onto her lower lip. How could she wait any longer? Of course, she couldn’t. Her shin over his shoulder, his thumb massaged her clit as he pushed deep inside her. A gasp – how she needed that sensation... She closed her eyes, pleasurable shivers running through her whenever he hit that one precise spot.

A hand stroking her cheek got her attention back. “ No looking away, kitten. You wanted this,” Masamune rasped, letting his fingers slide down her neck. Her shirt opened, his fingers making quick work of the buttons. Mai pushed it slightly off her shoulders, white bralette straps following suit as she lay there in a state of utter disarray, exposed before him. He toyed with her nipples, a sudden jerk from her side causing him to stop. She got her leg free, stretching it as much as she could. “ A cramp,” she groaned in discontent, trying to hide the embarrassed blush conquering her face behind her arms. His laughter reached her ears, dyeing the tips of them pink. She propped herself on her elbows, promptly sitting up, a pout gracing her face. “ Don’t you dare laugh at me.” “ You’re too cute not to.” She turned red. Seeing her expression, Masamune tried to contain his amusement, kissing any sourness away. He moved inside of her, reminding her of the situation, and she moaned into his lips, encouraging him to continue. Her hands travelling down his body, she reached to pull him closer and squeezed his butt, her legs hooking behind his back. His pace increasing, she hid her face in the crook of his neck, her teeth grazing it… She granted him a couple more kisses, her body relaxing as familiar heat began to overtake her. In hopes of releasing it, she reached to touch herself, letting her back fall back onto the desk. Her lips pressed in a thin line, his grip on her tightened, his thrusts becoming faster. He leaned forward and sucked on her collarbone – and somehow, that was enough, her walls clenching around his cock. Could he slow down? No, not when she seemed to glow, her skin glistening with sweat, flushed from desire, her eyes misty from pleasure. His movements turned erratic, his mind soon evaporating.

Having pulled out of her, he took care of the used condom, tying it off and wrapping it in a tissue. He looked at her, her legs trembling and her chest heaving. Dishevelled, disorganized – and yet, she appeared so lovely in his mind. He stoked her cheek and she leaned into his touch. “ Meow.” “ Be right back, kitten,” he chuckled, walking away.

Masamune stood in front of the bathroom mirror, notification diode on her phone flashing up. Mai left it there? She must have forgotten to take it… He reached for it, her arms wrapping around him from behind. “ What is it?” she asked softly. “ Nothing much,” he hummed, glancing at their reflection. “ I’ll tell them we’ll be late.”

Tag list: @nad-zeta , @cheese-ception Notes: I am keeping a separate tag list for smut. If you want to be tagged for it, let me know (if you want to be tagged for all of my works, please, specify that). ^^

#masamune date #ikesen masamune #ikemen sengoku masamune #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen series #my ff #my writing

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reeeyachi · 4 years

Note

Killua and Gon plan a surprise for Mito?

OMG YES YES YES!!! okay let’s try this. idk if it’s too long for a tumblr prompt but...!!! THANK YOU FOR THIS <3 imsosorryifitsucks

Treat

“What do you think?” Gon asked in an excited whisper, immediately cupping his mouth when he realized that his pitch stepped an octave higher at the end of his sentence. He snapped his gaze at his bedroom door and paused to wait for footsteps. Two seconds. Three. Four. Five. Hearing nothing but the soft hums of the morning wind and the choir of birds chirping from outside his window, he shifted to face his best friend again, beaming.

“Hmm…” Killua hummed, crossing his legs as he sat on the floor with Gon, narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows examining the piece of paper in his hand. His other hand slowly stroked his chin, elbow on one knee—a stance that exhibited internal deliberation. Again he hummed, thoughtful, then he sniffed when he couldn’t think anymore. “Well,” he quietly said, careful not to disturb the silence that engulfed the break of dawn, “I’m not really good at this. But I think the list looks okay.”

Gon leaned forward, planting his palms on the cool timber floor, to try and take a peek at the list again. He mimicked Killua’s hum as he scanned it with his eyes. “Should we add cherries?”

Killua paused, confused. “Do we need cherries?”

“Not really. She just likes to put a cherry in her drink.”

“Why?”

“She says she likes the bittersweet taste.” Gon shrugged and lifted his eyes at Killua, meeting his puzzled stare. He blinked. Killua blinked. Then he grinned when Killua began nodding slowly of understanding, lips forming a small letter ‘o’. Gon released muffled snickers and briskly whispered, “Let’s just add it.”

Adjusting the lamp that hovered over it, they stared at the paper once again after the click of the pen, skimming through the long list with their wide eyes, making sure that they never missed a single item. That was the first rule they set when they started to plot their strategy: Do not forget anything. The market was a little far from Gon’s home and they couldn’t afford their time wasted on foot travel, because they were certain that it would take them hours to accomplish what they intend to do. It was, after all, a grueling task.

“Are you sure about this?” Killua asked, for the fifth time that dawn alone, when he was reminded of their little plan. Sure, he would go with whatever Gon wanted to do, yet this disconcerted him—it’s something that he was just not trained for. He expected Gon to have done it before, but to his surprise and disbelief, it was the opposite. He tried to reason out at first, suggesting possible in-task scenarios like poisoning and burning the house down. But it wasn’t Gon’s stubbornness that won him over; he simply wanted to try it too.

Sitting up straight, Gon gave him a stern nod and a raised fist. “Let’s do this.”

Killua grinned and stood up, eyes scanning the dark room for the clock. “What time do we leave?” It was half past five o’clock in the morning.

Gon hopped on his feet, relieved to finally speak in his normal tone of voice—or louder. “Now!”

---

A sigh escaped Mito’s lungs as she stared out at the green and blue opulence of her backyard from their kitchen window, sluggishly rinsing the last plate from her pile of dishes, thinking of the two boys who sprinted past her and out of the house the moment she exited her bedroom. Well, she tried calling after the smaller boy—even shouting his name at the top of her lungs and asking where they were going so early in the morning—but he just waved a hand and said, “We’ll be back!” She sighed again and dried her hands with a towel when she glanced at her watch. It was almost nine o’clock. Time for her to go to the market.

“Grandma, do you need anything?” she asked the elderly woman sipping tea at the kitchen table before turning a heel towards the door, wallet in hand and pouch around her waist.

Lowering the cup with her trembling, wrinkled hands, Grandma took a note out of her skirt pocket and handed it to Mito.

The latter’s eyes grew wide when she read the content of her shopping list. On a normal day, Grandma would only request for replenishment spices that she liked adding to her food that Mito cooked, oh and tea. On a special day, she would give Mito a list of herbal plants and medicines, and sometimes even ask her to buy her something sweet. But the list she gave Mito that morning was a mix of those—and more. To add to how strange it was, some of the items in the list were new to her eyes. She looked at Grandma who was peacefully enjoying her cup of tea again. “What do you need these for?”

“Let’s stock up,” the elder woman calmly said. “We will be cooking a feast before Gon leaves again, right?”

Mito raised an eyebrow, ignoring how her heart ached a little when she was reminded of that fact. “Are these even available at the market?”

Another sip, and a nod. “Oh, and please get the actual Brahmi and Ashwagandha plants. I’ve been wanting to have them in my garden.”

A stare of disbelief. Those plants were rare. “Are you really sure that I can find these at the market?”

Grandma, finally finishing her tea, stood up and walked to the kitchen counter saying, “Just look with your eyes and not with your mouth.”

Mito huffed and shoved the list inside her pouch. “I will look for these but don’t expect that I’ll find everything, ne!” When Grandma responded with subtle laughter, she said goodbye and stomped her way out of the house.

---

“Look, it’s Mito-san!” Gon pointed ahead as they jogged, securing the basket in his arms to keep it from slipping.

Killua looked at where Gon pointed and saw Mito from afar walking to their direction. He grinned and glanced at Gon. The latter did so as well, and after sharing a quick playful look, they sprinted. Mito’s appearance signaled that they were close to Gon’s home and the start of a race.

They slowed down when they neared Mito, who stopped in her tracks the minute she saw them, to give her big smiles and a swift greeting. She was about to say something but Gon beat her to it to tell her, “Take your time, Mito-san!” before waving a hand and dashing towards the house.

Grandma observed the two boys do a quick inventory check of the things that they bought. When they were done, she let herself in the kitchen, meeting the fully occupied table and Gon and Killua’s wide grins. She smiled back, informing them about the success of her contribution to their little shenanigan. Gon laughed and thanked her, estimating with his tiny fingers how long his Mito-san would be able to complete her shopping list. He guessed about three hours. All the items in the list were available at the market after all, and they made sure of this the day before—even asking the people at port as to when the ship carrying the island’s resources would arrive. They were lucky; it was that day.

“Do you need help with that?” Grandma asked, scanning the load of ingredients on the long kitchen table with her eyes.

“We’re okay, Grandma! We can do this!” Gon raised a fist in air and turned to Killua who gave a solid nod before running up the stairs.

Half a minute later, he came back bringing with him Gon’s laptop. Killua pulled a chair a good distance away from the stove and set the laptop on it, clicking on the link to the recipes they had bookmarked three days ago. “Okay,” he started, standing up and flexing his fingers, “first we need to cut.” He turned to Gon, who was already beaming and presenting him with two knives he held on both hands. Killua snorted and paced towards him, cheekily saying, “Let’s try which one’s sharper, my fingernails or your knives!” while the other boy laughed.

Gon and Killua had never, not once in their life, religiously followed a recipe of a dish that they would cook for someone else. Perhaps the only time they did cook for another person was when they roasted that huge pig for Menchi and Buhara during the Hunter Exam—at which they failed. However, this time, they were determined to do well.

Grandma checked on them from time to time, her eyes disappearing into thin lines as she smiled at the view of Gon and Killua busily cutting vegetables and frying meat. Periodically, Gon would come to her to ask her where some of the spices were, how much of those they should put in the pot, and if a pinch of salt was really enough for food to taste alright. Killua was assigned to double check the recipe, and if what they were doing was correct. They made a few mistakes, though, caused mostly by Gon’s excited hands. But they guessed it was fine because the food was looking like the ones in the pictures and, for them, that was just about right.

After more than three hours of scrambling around inside the kitchen, they finished with triumphant grins, one big high-five and a messy kitchen. They decided to clean up later because they had to set the table right away.

---

The baskets were heavy. It was a good thing a friend of hers was there to help her get home with a straight back. When Mito reached her front door, she looked up, hovering a hand over her eyes to act as shade from the noon sun’s intense rays. “Gon?” she called loud, hoping that the boy was already home for she needed help carrying the baskets inside. She was tired, incredibly tired, and sweaty. Retreating to her room to take a cold shower and sleep on her bed would be nice. But the thought was instantly dissolved when she was reminded of lunch. It was already half past twelve o’clock. She still had to prepare their food.

Seconds later, the doorknob was turning and there appeared Gon with a wide smile plastered on his face, Killua, smiling too, on his side. “Hi, Mito-san!”

The instant Gon opened the door, a savory smell fumed in the air Mito breathed in. She inhaled it in again after two seconds, making sure that it came from where she thought it did. She looked at Gon. “Grandma cooked?” Her stomach grumbled and she realized that she was famished. It smelled delicious.

Gon smiled even more, taking one of Mito’s baskets in his arms and ushering Killua to take the other. They carried them in, and she followed, feet leading her to where her nose was telling her to go.

There.

The dining area.

The corners of Mito’s lips slowly curled into a smile as she neared it, feeling a little excited about what Grandma may have prepared, and because it was uncommon for her to be coming home to freshly cooked food. It was usually her who did all the work in the house after all.

Her smile grew wider as the appetizing fumes intensified. When she stepped into the dining area, she stopped, eyes gaping wide of surprise. Her dining table transformed into a full, colorful banquet—salads, steamed and fried fish, roasted chicken, hot soup, buttered shrimp, scrambled eggs, sauced pork. What’s the big event? Was it Killua’s birthday? Her glistening eyes scanned the room to look for an elderly woman, but she found two beaming boys instead, standing behind the table facing her.

“Surprise!” They said in unison, throwing their little arms in the air.

Mito was taken aback, unsure of what was happening. Still, her chest swelled of awe. It made her smile more. “What is all this?”

“Gon and Killua prepared this just for you, Mito,” Grandma interposed from behind her. Mito turned. “They have been planning this for days.”

Shifting her wide-eyed gaze back to the two boys, she blinked, unable to utter a word.

Gon laughed sheepishly. “We wanted to do something for you while we’re here, Mito-san, to thank you for taking care of us. We hope you like it!”

Was she just too tired? Or was it because she found the gesture incredibly sweet and thoughtful that her limbs suddenly felt weak? She had to take a breath, one deep breath, so that she could say the words, “Thank you, Gon, Killua,” without letting tears that had already built up in her eyes stream down her face.

“Let’s eat, Mito-san!”

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh fic #hunter x hunter fanfiction #it's a long tumblr oneshot i know #i've been doing chaptered fics for 2 years and no one shots im sad #i wanted to make it longer but im afraid that it might turn into a 10k word fic #thank u for this prompt #hisoillusandwich #ily #hxh headcanon #hxh prompt #killugon #killua #gon #i havent been writing oneshots #i havent written a oneshot in nearly seven years #i hope this is fine

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kaiparker-avengerssmut · 4 years

Text

CURSED: THIRTEEN

“I tried to scream”

Kai Parker x OC!Mack Grace

Series synopsis: "We're both cursed, in a way."

We all know the story of Kai Parker, but he once lived in a very different life. Do you ever wonder what that life looked like?

Chapter summary: jo finds out

Warnings: smut, violence (child abuse although technically victim is over 18)

Masterlist | series Masterlist

JO awoke the thunderous, pained grunts echoing below her. The sound made her instantly grimace, eyes clenched shut in order to try and block out the sound of her brother being beaten. Jo hated when Kai was beaten, it was one of the few things that she hated about her father; he could not control his temperamental anger.

The young witch turned over in her bed, facing the black white wall the stared back at her and letting a soft smile grace her lips at the small dent marking it. When they were nine, Kai and Jo had an argument about who had the best aim. In order to decide who was best, Kai suggested they both throw a ball at a target they put up on her wall and whoever hit it square on first won. When Kai lost he got so angry that he threw a nearby bottle into the wall, causing a small dent to form in the surface. But the smile quickly diminished when another one of her brothers grunts of pain reminded Jo of what ensued for him after their father found out the true cause of the damage.

Kai refused to scream or cry when Joshua hit him. Jo didn't know why, but she suspected it was a thing of pride. That if Kai didn't show how much it truly hurt, Joshua hadn't won. In his own twisted was the method seemed to work for Kai, as Jo had very rarely seen her twin break under Joshua's thumb.

The girl closed her eyes, pulling her covers over her head and stealing her breathing, sighing out a breath of relief when she realised the grunting had stopped. She slowly drifted back into sleep, but that didn't mean she got a break.

...

"Fuck, Kai, will you stop moaning and stay still." Mack wined, rolling her eyes about how Kai flinched away and groaned in pain every time she attempted to clean the bloody cuts criss-crossing over old scars across his beaten back

"That's not what you usually tell me." Kai smirked, turning his head to look over his shoulder and throw a wink at Mack, who merely scoffed. "And besides - do I see your father stood over you menacingly holding a belt every time you screw up? No. So shut it." Kai's tone remained light but Mack had learnt to read between the lines with him, quickly shutting up as she registered how much hurt this matter held for the teenager.

Mack silently wiped his cuts clean, quickly apologising with every sharp intake of breath that Kai took. After she'd finished cleaning the now-dried blood, she quickly applied a healing salve before she begun dressing his wounds - double check with Kai that the bandages were tight enough which he was quick to correct for her.

"All done." Mack smiled as she finished, popping the left over salve and bandages into the little first aid kit that was sat open on the bed and turned back to Kai, who was now sat facing her in his bed.

Kai had called Mack this afternoon, the second Joshua's car had been out of sight and broken into tears over the phone, when Mack had to stop him from hurting himself further as a punishment for caving into Joshua again. Jo had left the house too - taking their younger siblings to the babysitter's before heading off to do some errands.

Almost three hours later and here Kai and Mack were, sat face to face on his bed - an open medical kit shrew beside them as they stared deeply into each others eyes. Kai picked up Mack's hands in his, fiddling with the small ring on her finger as he stared down at it.

"Thank you." He mumbled, almost turning shy.

"I'm always here to help you, Kai. You don't need to thank me." Mack assured, leaning in to place a kiss to Kai's fore head. The boy looked up at this, a playful smirk gracing his lips.

"So you don't want me to thank you?" Kai asked, brow raised with implications of more than just a simple muttered 'thank you'. Mack smirked back, biting her lower lip in anticipation.

"Well, I didn't know there's be more to this thank you." She admitted and Kai's smirk grew even wider, if that was possible. He leaned in, lips giving over hers and eyes trained on them.

"Oh, did you think that was it? I thought by now you'd learnt that I know how to thank a lady like a gentleman." Kai whispered and Mack inhaled sharply, breathing laboured as she suddenly began to feel her cheeks get hot.

"You're no gentle man." She murmured and Kai breathed out a little laugh.

"And you're no lady." Was all he commented, lips crashing to hers in a bruising kiss that could only be described as lustful. The kiss was searing, making Mack's head spin as she desperately tried to keep up with Kai's eager pace. He licked over her bottom lip, begging for entrance which she was quick to grant before his tongue snaked its way into her mouth, wrestling her own for dominance.

Kai quickly won, tongue sliding over hers in languid strokes as a hand moved to grab her waist in a vice-like grip. His lips left hers, his teeth pulling back on her lower lips as he left before letting it ping back into place. Kai's lips descended on Mack's jaw, leaving wet kisses over her soft skin before venturing to her neck, kissing down the column of her neck and back up behind her ear. He nibbled her lobe gently, Mack's hands travelling up to hold Kai's head into her body as he started to suck a hickey into the sensitive flesh behind her left ear.

"Oh Kai." She moaned, Kai smirking against her lips.

"What the fuck." The sound of Jo's shocked voice made the two teenagers jump apart, trying to distance themselves as much as they could. "Mack?" Jo queried, astounded at the sight of her best friend - sat on her twin brothers bed, lips swollen, neck littered with hickeys and baggy shirt falling off her shoulder. Mack quickly wiped a hand over her lips, tugging her shirt back up as she stood up.

"Jo, it's not what it looks like-"

"So I'm not seeing my best friend about to fuck my brother? That's what you're telling me?" Jo asked, brow raised and hands resting on her hips expectantly. Mack's face blushed a deep shade of crimson, her mouth opening but no words coming out. "So that is what this is? Great." Was all Jo said, before hastily spinning on her heel and storming out - not even bothering with the dramatics of slamming Kai's door.

"Josette!" Kai called before sharing a wary glance with Mack, who gave him an apologetic glance before darting out the room, racing down the stairs after her friend.

"Jo, wait." Mack demanded but jo kept walking, only stopping and facing Mack when the latter placed a cautious hand on her best friend's shoulder. "Please, just let me explain." Mack pleaded and Jo crossed her arms over her chest, a displeased look draw on her face.

"Go on then, l'm waiting." She sassed and Mack took a deal breath.

"Kai and I...it's complicated." Mack sighed.

"You're friends with benefits." Jo corrected and Mack's brows shot up.

"How did you-"

"If you two were secretly dated, you would have led with that. I know you - both of you - remember?"

"Yeah. Well, okay, we're friends with benefits but I really, really like him Jo." Mack admitted shyly and Jo nodded slowly.

"How long had it been going on?" Jo swallowed thickly as she got the words out.

"S-since Halloween." Mack admitted and Jo's eyes widened.

"Two months? You've been ducking my brother for two months and you didn't tell me? God and to think I was your friend!" Jo nearly shouted and Mack cringed.

"Was? Am I not your friend anymore?" Mack asked, the words sour in her mouth.

"Friends don't keep secrets from friends." Jo said bitterly and Mack's heart shattered - knowing full-well she was keeping an even bigger secret from Jo. "Until I can trust you to be honest with me, we can't be friends anymore. I'm sorry." Jo said, almost softly before turning to walk out. "Enjoy banging my brother!" She called as she walked out the front door, this time letting the wood slam noisily behind her.

A single tear slipped from Mack's eye, trickling down her cheek - alone, just like how Mack felt in that moment. Mack buried her hand in her hair, pulling harshly.

"Fuck!" She shouted, the tears now cascading, Mack remaining the only thing that was alone. She barely registered Kai running down the stairs, his arms engulfing her in a warm hug, his lips at her ear whispering that it's be okay, a soft kiss pressed to her hair. Not until those three words were murmured from Kai's sinful lips.

"I love you, Kenz."

At that moment her heart seemed to reboot, senses on over drive as she processed the words.

"W-what?" She stuttered and Kai smiled brightly.

"I said I love y-" her lips crashed to his before he could finish. But unlike before it was slow, sensual, intimate. Kai scooped Mack into his arms, making the girl squeal as he hastily carried her up the stairs. He dropped Mack into the sheets, taking a momentum truly admire how beautiful she was - laying there with a content smile on her lips, giggling as he climbed over her and reconnected their lips in a passionate kiss.

...

Kai panted as he rolled off her, a grin spreading over his lips as he settled into the pillows beside Mack. The grin only grew when he felt Mack move closer to him again, head resting on his shoulder as her hand lay on his chest, leg strewn over his waist as she cuddled into him.

"That was.."

"I know." He finished for her, hand firm on her waist as Kai slowly felt Mack drift off into sleep, the steady rise and fall of her chest more comforting than any words could ever be to him. Kai lay there, staring up at his ceiling, wide awake.

Normally after sex he was the first asleep, the exertion of energy turning him out like a light. But not tonight.

He couldn't stop thinking about one tiny, tiny thing. It was small, but it bothered him to the ends of the earth.

She never said it back.

He had plucked up the courage, tried to tell her more than once and when he finally had, she'd kissed him - which was great. But she never said it back. It bugged him, although he knew it was small.

Maybe she was scared. Scared that when she admitted it she'd lose him. That if she gave in he'd leave her, that the dream would end and that he was lying. The possibilities circled Kai's mind, but none of them made him feel any better.

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detectivedreameater · 4 years

Text

This Is Our Get Along Shirt || Kaden and Marley

TIMING: Sometime before Christmas PARTIES: @chasseurdeloup and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: In which two fully grown officers have separate meltdowns while locked in a room together. CONTENT: Head Trauma mentions, Family Death mentions (parental)

Marley had decided she just wanted things to go back to normal. But the doctor wouldn’t approve her for work, and work wouldn’t approve her without the doctor. And so she was stuck. Between doing nothing and doing something that she didn’t want to. And didn’t need to. She was fine, she was doing fine. She didn’t need therapy or check-ups or supervision, or any of that shit. She just needed more time to heal and then she could go back to herself. She just needed time to find herself. And that started with getting back to work, whether anyone actually let her do it legally. She’d heard about some suspicious activity at the local escape room, and by the sounds of it, it seemed right up her alley. Some strange sort of supernatural being had to be behind this. And so she had taken her meds, made sure she had a weapon (they wouldn’t give her back her gun, yet, obviously, until she was cleared for work), and made her way down to the building. She enjoyed the idea of escape rooms, but during the day, when her abilities didn’t work, the claustrophobia of the places often got to her. But she was prepared, this time, for what was waiting inside. Hopefully. What she wasn’t prepared for was Kaden Langley to be inside. Frowning, she paused in the doorway. “Someone lose a puppy inside or something?” she grumbled, pretending to be interested in the pamphlets by the doorway.

The reports coming from the escape room place sounded nothing short of fae bullshit to him. What kind, Kaden couldn’t say. Neither could the owners but they had called about a weird animal showing up in some of the rooms when people were trying to complete the puzzles. Apparently they’d lied to patrons and told them it was all part of the experience. Guess he couldn’t blame them too much, he’d likely do the same. He debated grabbing the iron knives before heading out but he didn’t feel much like digging them out of the back of the closet. It wasn’t like Regan was going to be over anytime soon, a thought that made his heart sink, but he still couldn’t stop lying to himself that she might. He wasn’t ready to unravel any of the small stupid hopes that held him together at the moment. Didn’t mean he didn’t come at all prepared. He had plenty of knives and his gun, of course. He was prepared for whatever was there, brownie or leprechaun or whatever it may be. He was not, however, prepared for the voice he heard behind him. “Stryder?” he said, turning to see her just standing there, flipping through the brochures like she planned on actually participating or something. “Not exactly. What, are you planning your next event here? Celebrating the death of your bear or something?” The jab sent guilt shooting through him like a rod through his side. Pretty sure he hadn’t talked to her since just after all that. But he’d heard about her injuries. “Surprised to see you here and not chained to your desk.”

Marley wasn’t about to go into the details of her leave with Kaden Langley of all people, but the jab at being chained to her desk made her broil. She only wished that were an option, but without medical clearance, they weren’t even going to let her back into the office. No badge, no gun, no nothing. She bristled, breezing by him and up towards the desk. “I already celebrated that. Lots of champagne, some tequila, and a roaring fire,” she said with a roll of her eyes. Really, the only celebration they’d gotten was cutting the damn bear’s head off and dropping it on Roy’s doorstep, and while that used to be enough for her, the damage that he’d caused after made the victory seem pointless. In fact, everything seemed pointless now. Even arguing with Langley. She rang the little bell again but no one answered. “Isn’t there usually someone here? I even called ahead,” she grumbled, more so talking to herself than Kaden. She pushed away from the desk and wandered towards the back. “Hello?” she called out, “Anyone here?” But there was still no answer. She cast one glance back to Kaden before prodding the slightly ajar door in front of her. It said it led to one of the game rooms, but when she opened it, it looked just like an ordinary office. “It’s a weekday, right?” she asked, going over the days in her head as best she could. “Where the hell is everyone…”

Kaden rolled his eyes at Stryder’s comments. Honestly, though, it felt almost nice. This was standard. This made sense. Them bickering? That was normal. And it was very nice to have some small sense of fucking normal right now. Even if she was irritating. But she was also correct. There was no one here. “No fucking clue.” He stood and tried to listen for any sounds, any heartbeats other than theirs. Nothing in the immediate area, but there was a crash. Didn’t need hunter hearing for that one. “Follow or don’t, Stryder. Doesn’t matter to me.” Kaden didn’t look behind him to check on her choice, just walked past the reception desk towards the escape rooms. He wound down the hallway, following the direction of the sounds. Seemed like it was coming from one of the rooms. All the doors were open, there was no one operating the place, should be safe enough to walk in. He took a step inside and tried to pinpoint the source of the crash. It was hard to tell, there were plenty of odd items strewn about, likely puzzles to be solved. None of it made much sense to him. He could tell Stryder was behind him without even glancing back. The footsteps and heartbeat alone would have given it away. “So why are you here anyway? I know why I was called in but I didn’t think--” Kaden didn’t get to finish any sort of explanation. Because the door shut tight behind them. “Putain.”

Marley rolled her eyes at the annoyed sound in Kaden’s voice. She really wasn’t in the mood for dealing with his stupid grumbles and his tendency to mumble. She’d had enough trouble hearing normal speech lately, what with the tinnitus. She chose to follow him, because why not? What else had she come here for? And he led her down a winding hallway into a backroom. Nothing immediately jumped out at her as strange. Not until he was turning to ask her a question and then the door was slamming shut on both of them. “What the--” she started, but was immediately interrupted again when the big timer on the wall churned on and started counting down from one hour. “Did you do that?” she asked incredulously, whirling back to the door and yanking at it. “Oh, fuck this. Fuck this. I am not dealing with this bullshit today,” she growled, lifting her hand to turn herself intangible and-- finding that nothing happened. “What the…?” she blinked, unsure of what this feeling was. Her head pounded and she winced. A note was slid under the door and hit her boot. She stared down at it. Slowly, she picked it up and opened it, holding it out to Kaden after a moment. All it said was: Escape the room.

“I didn’t do shit!” Kaden shouted back as he watched her rattle the door. The room was never very big, but the longer the door didn’t open, the smaller it felt. He ran over to the other side, to the exit door and tried the handle. Nothing. He slammed into it. It didn’t fucking budge. Fuck. Fucking fuck. It felt like the walls were creeping closer in on them the longer they were stuck in a room together with doors that didn’t fucking open. “There was no one there, right? No one was here to run this. How did we get stuck here? How did this--” He inhaled deep and held his breath, trying to slow his racing heartbeat. He looked over and noticed a note in her hand. “What does it say? What is it? What do we fucking do?” He leaned over her shoulder to get a look. “Escape the fucking room? Are you serious?” Kaden groaned and tried the doors again. “I’m trying to escape the fucking room! Let us out!” The last thing he wanted to do was solve a bunch of shitty puzzles when there was a perfectly functioning door. Two, even. This was bullshit. But nothing changed despite his protests. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to focus on anything other than the fact he was stuck in a room, glancing around to try and take it in. All he saw was how small it was. “Where do we start?”

“Are you done throwing your tantrum?” Marley asked, as she waited for him to finish asking a million and seven questions that she didn’t have the answers to. Finally, he stopped banging on the doors and pacing the room, and she silently thanked the universe for that, because it was making her head spin and her eyes hurt. She pressed the butts of her palms into her eyes for a moment before blinking and looking back up at him. “We start by looking for the first clue. It’ll probably be something that looks strangely out of place.” She glanced around the room they were in-- it was a simulation of a bomb bunker, complete with the fifties get up of retro furniture, canned goods, and a bunny antenna tv. “Maybe like a small decoration that doesn’t fit the style of the furniture, or a picture on the wall that doesn't match.” She started sifting through the magazines on the table, checking under and around it and in the couch cushions, looking at him from the side of her eye. “If you start feeling like it’s getting hard to breathe, just close your eyes and count to ten.”

Kaden felt his hand ball into a fist by his side. A fucking tantrum? Really? “Sorry for trying to figure out how to get the fuck out of here.” He kicked the door one last time in anger before sighing and looking around the room. Somehow the room looked even smaller than it had a second ago. He was about to shut his eyes when Stryder made a comment that somehow wasn’t even snide. Almost helpful, even. “Right. Uh, thanks.” Kaden wondered if he should try that right off the bat. His heartbeat picked up pace, but not yet. He just had to focus. The problem was he didn’t know what he was supposed to be focusing on. Okay something out of place. Fuck. The room itself was already weird, he didn’t know what was considered in place. His eyes narrowed as he settled his sight on the bookshelf. There were some books pushed in, and some pulled out. “Uh, is this a clue?” he said, pointing it out to her. “That’s weird, right?” He didn’t know what it meant, but it had to be something, right?

Marley shuffled around the room, picking up trinkets and set decorations to try and decipher if any of them held any significance, but the pounding in her head was only increasing the more she tried to concentrate. She rubbed her palms into her eyes, trying to drown it out or apply enough pressure to make it stop, but it proved mostly pointless. Langley’s voice cut through the ringing in her head and she set down the clock she’d picked up and came over to the bookshelf. “That’s definitely weird,” she said, taking note of which books were pulled out. “They’re labeled oddly, right? That’s not, like...normal for books, to be blank,” she said, plucking one out, squinting at the spine. It had a roman numeral V on it, and nothing else. No title, no author, no nothing. She flipped it open and found that even the pages were empty. “It’s gotta be a numbers puzzle.” But what sort? That was the real question. God, Marley really wished Erin was here with her, and not Langley. Did he even know math? Did hunter school include basic maths? She rubbed her head again, removing her sunglasses to do so, red eyes illuminating against her hand. “What other numbers are on the spines?”

She pulled out the first book that was set forward on the shelf and Kaden looked over her shoulder as she examined it. Empty. Alright. “Guess there’s no hint inside.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to piece together any of the puzzle. The spine had a V. Was it a letter? Kaden looked back at the shelf to see what the other books were. The book next to the empty space was pushed back. The three next to it were forward. The spines to each were more letters. X, I, and V. His head tilted to look at the next set of pulled out books next to it. M, C, M, L, V. Shit. They were definitely roman numerals. Which, alright, she said that. But he didn’t want to trust her right off the bat. But fine, she was right. “Uh not sure what exact numbers but it looks like…” Kaden pulled up his sleeve, looked at the tattoo on his inner forearm. Yeah. Sure looked familiar. “This is a date. I’m pretty fucking sure.” He looked closer at the letters again, started to convert them. “Five, fourteen. Nineteen, uhh, hold on.” He closed his eyes to try and sus it out. “Fifty-five. So that’s May 14th, 1955. Okay. Uh, what now?” He looked around the room for something that could need a date. “There’s a calendar over there. Might be something, right?”

Marley stayed quiet as he began to decipher the code of the books, grateful in that moment that he wasn’t a complete waste of space. Her head was pounding and concentrating on anything longer than a few seconds only made things worse. “A date?” she asked, looking over at him. But he was right. The numbers could easily be a date. When he peered at his arm, she tried to get a look, wondering just what it was. From the sound of his deduction, it, too, was a date for something. She opted to let it sit for now, heading over to the calendar he pointed out after setting the book back on the shelf. She flipped through the calendar and found the date. “Look,: she said, motioning him over, “there’s a note on the day. ‘Channel 3. 14:00’. That’s…” she glanced back at the television in the middle of the room. “Turn on the TV,” she instructed, moving away from the calendar.

“Channel 3?” Kaden repeated. “Uh, alright.” He saw the television, that much was easy to find. But there was no remote sitting by it. “Putain de merde,” he grumbled once more. “We’ll have to figure out how to turn it on, I guess.” Sighing, he started to fumble along the monitor, looking for any knobs or buttons to turn on the monitor. There were buttons. He pressed them. And nothing happened. The knobs on the front seemed like set dressing. They didn’t move or do anything at all. Which made sense. What was the likelihood of them finding a working authentic television from the 50s that didn’t require a shitton of maintenance? “Yeah, nothing,” he said, turning to Stryder. “Looks like we have to find the remote.” Glancing around, it felt like the walls were closing in again, like the space had gotten smaller since the last time he checked. His fingers curled around the edge of the table as he tried to stabilize himself and take slower, deeper breaths. What had Stryder said before? Right. He closed his eyes and started counting. The room didn’t look any bigger when he opened his eyes, but at least it didn’t look any smaller. He started checking under the table for anything taped there or something. Nothing. Under the pillow? Well, he found a weird coin and a slip of paper, but no remote. Under the mattress? Nope. This seemed wrong, but he figured why not and checked in the fridge. Some bottles and fake food sat there. At least he hoped it was fake. But no remote. The freezer, however, proved different. “Well. Found it. I guess. Let’s see what happens.” He turned and faced the television and powered it on and then hit the 3 button. “What now?” he asked.

Marley was growing more weary by the second. First they needed to find a code, now they needed a remote, but the remote was missing. And now the channel had nothing on it except static. She sunk down onto the prop couch that was in the middle of the room and put her head in her hands. “Just give me a minute,” she muttered, scrubbing her face with her palms as she listened to the static. It almost seemed rhythmic, like a beat. Or-- “Morse code,” she said, sitting up after a second. She looked over at Kaden. “Hand me a pen and some paper,” she waved, glancing around her spot to see if there was anything to write on in front of her. Just some old magazines. Well, they’d do well enough. When she was handed a pen, she began writing down the code she thought she recognized. And after a moment, it circled back. She filled in the letters and looked back up at him. “Guess we gotta make a word outta this now. We’ve got...Y, L, S, L, O, E, C, D, O, W, N.” Paused, contorting her face as she looked at the words. “Down lose yell? No… Slow dec-- no. Loss soc-- fuck!” She slammed her fist on the table before grabbing her head again. It was pounding and she couldn’t concentrate. She took her glasses off and rubbed her palms into her eyes again, trying to make the throbbing stop. “This is so fucking stupid. Can’t you just break the door down? Put that superstrength of yours to use or something! I’m sick of being here!”

Kaden was ready to give up. The whole thing just felt never fucking ending. And there was no clue to be-- Shit. Stryder was better than he gave her credit for. He nodded and found a pen and threw it into her hand. His arms folded across his chest, he planned to wait for her to figure out the rest of the message. She got the letters no problem, but she appeared to be struggling and the creases in his forehead grew deeper as he watched her flounder. “I’m not destroying private property after we technically fucking snuck in here!” he snapped back at her. “The fuck is wrong with you, Stryder? I thought you were supposed to be smarter than me.” He sighed and pulled the paper closer, looking down at the scribbled letters. Putain. Without any context, the letters came together in strange ways. Three languages overlapped in his mind, trying to fight for attention. Alright, English, it was definitely going to be in English given where they were. Pretty quickly, he saw the word “yell” and wrote that below. He tried “yell down” and that wasn’t right. He scrunched up his face and tried again. After another pause, he tried “yellow.” Hmm, maybe that wasn’t-- “Yellow second?” he said out loud. “Or ‘second yellow,’ maybe.”

Kaden tried to look around the room for anything that it might apply to. Interesting. Near the door was a panel of buttons laid out in a grid. There were colors down the column and numbers across the row. Four numbers and four colors, a button on each grid. One of those colors was yellow. “Second yellow?” he repeated. “Alright, worth a shot.” He hit the button in the yellow row and the second column from the right. Only… nothing happened. “Putain.” What the fuck else did the note mean then? “This has to be it. No.” He wanted to punch the button panel but thought better of it and dropped his balled fist to his side. Second yellow. Fucking hell. What did that mean if it wasn’t the second column? Then he saw the colon in between the second and third number. Wait a sec-- “Putain!” he shouted, excited this time, and hit the buttons in the yellow row and the third and fourth columns. The door creaked open. “Got it! I got i--” His excitement dissipated as he stepped through the door only to see… more fucking puzzles. Kaden groaned and leaned his back against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor, head in his hands. Fuck. This.

Marley stayed where she was while Langley parsed through the clue. She felt a rather large wave of annoyance, too, when he actually figured out the clue. She opted to not respond to his questions, they weren't relevant. There was a lot wrong with her, and she didn’t feel like spilling her guts out to Paw Patrol the Hunter. He’d probably just say that everyone’s lives would’ve just been better off if she were dead, anyway, and she didn’t need anyone else telling her that. Her own admission was enough. The change of tone in his voice got her to look up, however, and she jumped to her feet fast enough to cause the world to tilt sideways, stumbling as she headed over. The door swung open, they were almost free--

But beyond it stretched another room. With more puzzles. Marley was frozen in her spot for a moment, staring wide-eyed into the room. This couldn’t be possible. Escape rooms were just one room, usually. This wasn’t possible. This shouldn’t be here. Hadn’t this been the door they’d walked in? Wasn’t there a hallway beyond this? Marley turned back around, shutting the door, then reopening it. It was still the other room. She tried again, holding it closed for longer this time. Still the same. One more time and a click! Sounded and surely that meant that whatever was behind the door had changed, but this time the knob would not turn. She rattled it harder and harder until she felt her hand pulsing with pain and she kicked the door with the heel of her boot before storming off. “God dammit!” she howled, kicking something else. “What the fuck is wrong with this place?” She looked up at the ceiling. “Let us OUT YOU ASSHOLE!” But when no answer came and nothing changed again, she collapsed to the floor next to what looked like an incubator and put her head in her hands as well. “Fuck this,” she muttered. “Now what?”

Kaden sat there, kept his head held in his hands, pressed his fingers into his temples as he tried to push away the harsh clanging ringing in his ears as Marley kicked and trashed around the room. Loud, it was all too loud. And they were stuck and he could feel the walls closing in and he just wanted to curl up into a ball and wait this out, wait until he had space to move and breathe again. “Now who’s throwing a fucking tantrum?” he grumbled. He waited there a moment longer, not wanting to face another round of puzzles. This wasn’t his strong suit, not at all what he was suited to. There was a damn good reason he had no ambitions to be a detective. And of fucking course Stryder wasn’t on her A-game right now. Just their fucking luck. “We should look around or something. Or you should. Be a fucking detective or some shit.” He rubbed his face with his palms. They hadn’t been there that long, had they? It felt like it had been hours. He was tempted to curl up and just sleep, wait until someone let them out. Someone had to come here, right? “Unless there’s some fucking reason you forgot how to do that and want to announce Paw Patrol is the smartest person in the room right now. Which I fucking hope isn’t true for our sakes.”

“I’m allowed to be angry!” Marley shouted back at him, resisting the very present urge to grab whatever was in front of her and throw it at him. But she knew that wouldn’t do anything except piss him off and she was sure if he got angry enough, felt threatened enough, he would probably just stab her with one of his seven-hundred knives he kept on himself at all times. “I’m not on desk duty at work because I like it, Langley! Some stupid fucking asshole took something important away from me and now I can’t even think straight! So I’m allowed to be angry! What’s your excuse?” But somewhere deep down, she knew he was right. Through the splitting headache and speckled vision, she knew he was right. So she got up and she started digging around the room. She wasn’t even sure what half of this stuff was until she came upon a navigation console. “We’re in a submarine bridge,” she said stiffly, hand brushing over the compass. “The compass isn’t pointing North.” That had to mean something. It was pointing at-- “The porthole.” She went over and glanced through but...nothing. She stepped back, looked from the telescope to the compass. Maybe...She unlocked the hinge and moved it to point the direction the compass was and-- “A number. Memorize these numbers. 32. 24. 137.”

Her anger did nothing but fuel his, like gasoline to the fire. “I’m stuck here with you! That’s why I’m angry! I should just kill you and be done and be a fucking hunter but instead we’re solving fucking puzzles in a cursed escape room!” The words left Kaden’s lips before he could give them a second fucking thought. They hung in the air a moment, the silence ringing through the room. He wasn’t sure where the shame stinging at him was coming from, his failed sense of duty or whatever bullshit morals he was wrestling with. He sat with his head in his hands a while longer after she stood up. Let her figure out something for once. Thankfully, she did. He sighed and tried to commit the numbers to memory. “32. 24. 137. Great.” What the fuck did that mean? He stood and half heartedly looked around the room. There were a lot of buttons and levers. Some colorful flags on the wall. He looked at the station that seemed like the navigation area and there was a book. He flipped through it a bit and didn’t see anything in particular. It looked like some kind of emergency manual. But there were page numbers. “There’s a book or something over here. I don’t know. Emergency manual or something.”

Then do it, she wanted to shout at him. Then fucking do it. But she held her tongue and went back about her business. Marley didn’t know what was bothering him, but he didn’t owe her an answer and she didn’t owe him one. They owed each other nothing. Finally, he got up and started doing something, and she shifted, watching him from the corner of her eye, trying to not let the fear tangle her up too much. But it was always there around him, and it always would be. He was a hunter, and he’d said it himself-- he would kill her, should kill her, if given the opportunity. When he declared he’d found a book, Marley cautiously walked towards him, keeping a short distance. “Lemme see it,” she held out her hand, and waited for him to hand it over, before flipping through the pages slowly. After a long moment, she muttered, “Why haven’t you yet?” Looked up over the book at him, red eyes aflame in the dark bunker. “Tried to kill me.”

Kaden could practically feel the space between them like it was a third party in the room as Stryder sood off to his side, a step farther back than most might. There was no reason for it to be anything other than expected. So why did the tension he created make him want to throw something? He was a hunter. He was supposed to be the thing monsters feared at night. He used to be damn proud of that fact, too. In the spot once filled with pride was a dull thud of nothing. “Fine,” he said, handing her the book. He crossed his arms, watching as she found her way through the book. He expected her to bark off some order to him and his brows knit together when she posed a question instead. “I don’t know,” he spat back, far too fast. He bit the inside of his mouth and avoided contact with her red eyes. Even if they had been human, he was sure there would have been full of fire in their own right. “Can’t. Too messy. Killing a detective.” Right. That sounded like bullshit even to his ears as it left his lips. He reached up to rub the back of his neck and acted like he was looking around for clues and not trying to escape the question even more than the room they were in. His stomach churned at the question in a way he didn’t anticipate. It wasn’t that he liked Stryder, far from it. But there was certainly benefit to having a detective on staff in know of the supernatural. Was she good, though? Had she killed? He didn’t know and he didn’t ask. She’d been disgusted by Lydia but that was a low bar, right? Well, not for the supernatural. According to the codes he grew up with, at least. “Look, I just haven’t alright. Don’t give me a fucking reason to want to. Find the stupid answer to this stupid puzzle so we can get out of here.”

Marley watched him closely-- the way he snapped back too quickly, the way he rubbed his head, the way he turned away from her, pretending to look for clues. Even in her state, she could recognize those signs. Suddenly, getting out of this room didn’t seem like the most important thing. She’d already put together the book page pattern but set the notes aside for now and squinted at him. “You’re having second thoughts, aren’t you?” she asked, taking a step closer now, suddenly not so afraid of him. Still kept a tentative distance, one she was sure she could stop him from with her gaze if he did decide to try something. “Oh, c’mon,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes, “I’ve given you plenty of fucking reasons to kill me. And believe me when I say I remember all those times you fucking sign off on me once the hard questions start. You ever figure any of those out? Or are you still pretending you have some moral high ground on us because you got lucky and were born human with superpowers?” She threw the book back at him. “The code is page numbers, dumbass. Figure it out yourself.” And she stormed to the other side of the room, where the only seat was, and plopped down, arms folded across her chest.

“Second thoughts?” Kaden started, rolling the words off his tongue to find time to figure out a comeback. “You’re right. I am having second thoughts. About stepping into this fucking building. I should have turned around and left the second I saw your fucking face!” He hated her. He hated her weird need to dig right under his skin. What was she even hoping to drag out? What the fuck did she want from him? He planned to stay stoic and avoid her questioning. But he couldn’t. “Lucky?” Kaden said, fingers digging into the book as he caught it. “You think I’m fucking lucky?” He had half a mind to throw it back at her with all his fucking strength. “Right. I’m lucky. I was born with a guaranteed short fucking life that’s nothing but pain. I’m lucky I didn’t get a childhood. I’m fucking lucky that monsters killed my parents. Really a goddamn fountain of luck.” His knuckles were white and he was so close to chucking that fucking book. Instead, he slammed it onto the counter with a thud that wasn’t satisfying enough. Not even close. “I don’t get to be fucking normal, either,” he hissed as he turned his back to her and started flipping through the pages. His fingers fumbled with anger and he kept going past the pages he needed. He wanted to fucking scream. Eventually he found pages 32, 24, and 137. Each one had a few letters. “T O R,” he read out from one page. “P E.” The next. “D O.” Kaden slammed the book shut. He had no idea what to do next, but he knew the word in question was “Torpedo.”

“Oh, woe is the hunter,” Marley spat, grimacing, “who lost his childhood and life because his family was a bunch of murderers. Were they killed by monsters or people just trying to defend themselves? Because you hunters think we’re all just fucking monsters, no matter what we do. We could be goddam nobel peace prize winners who haven’t harmed a single fucking person in our lives and you’d still call us monsters and justify slitting our throats. What? Are you seeing the other side of it, finally? Is that it? Is your girlfriend showing you that maybe-- just maybe-- we’re people, too? Weird how that works, huh?” She stayed sitting, wondering if the book was coming back her direction. She knew she could easily avoid it if she wanted to, even if her powers weren’t working quite right she knew she could turn invisible long enough to avoid a book to the face. But it never did. She flinched when the book slammed down. “We all have fucking sob stories, Kaden,” she said, her voice low now, “that’s just this fucked up world we live in. How many people do you think tell stories about how some hunter killed their parents? Or their family? Or their friends? Monsters may have killed you parents, but what about the parents of monsters you’ve killed? What do you think they call you when they talk about it?”

“Shut up!” Kaden shouted, spinning on his heel to face her. “Just shut up! Don’t fucking talk about my parents like that. They were fucking slaughtered so fuck you I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for any of it and you are the last person on the goddamn planet I want to talk about this with.” His voice raised in volume and he found himself stepping closer and closer to her. “Don’t fucking talk about me or Regan or my fucking parents. You don’t know me or anything about me so shut. Up.” His breathing was heavy through his nose as he clenched his jaw, hands balled into fists as he loomed over her, seething and full of rage and stuck in this goddamn place. He didn’t know what he thought anymore or where he stood but he knew he didn’t want to agree with Stryder and he didn’t want her goddamn superiority. Not for a single fucking second. And yet, he didn’t reach out to hit her nor did he reach for his knife to cut her. He was trapped in a room with a monster and all he could fucking do was shout at her to shut up. He thought about at least kicking the stool out from under her. Instead he he turned and kicked the fucking door one more time. No change. “‘Torpedo.’ Figure out what to do with that.”

“And you think I asked to be like this? You think any of us did?” Marley countered, throwing her arms out now. “We don’t get a choice, just like you didn’t! I get that some of us are shitty, and they prey on humans and other weaker species-- but we’re not all like that! And why the hell do you even think I’m a fucking detective!? I can do something about the cases that would normally go cold. The precinct at large might not be able to arrest supernaturals, but I can do something about them. Christ, do you really think you’re the only person that’s ever suffered? At least you got fucking parents.” Her voice was nearly a snarl as she looked up at him. Would he hit her? She would let him, maybe it would prove something to him, or to her, or to someone. But he didn’t. He kicked the door instead. Torpedo. Marley lifted herself from her chair and went over to the console. She pushed the button for the Torpedo and behind them, a keypad dropped down, labeled only with maritime flags. Groaning, Marley went over to the panel. “You ever consider the idea that this shit isn’t black and white, Langely?” she grumbled, too tired to yell anymore. Her head was pounding and she couldn’t quite see straight anymore. “That maybe not all supernaturals deserve to die?”

Kaden kept his back turned as he took in what she’d said. He really wanted to ignore it. Let it go in one ear and out the other but it settled in his mind in a way that made his skin crawl. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think it was a werewolf in the room with him and not a mara. A mara. Still a monster. Even she said as much. Was it fucked up to wish he could go back to who he used to be? The person who would have just turned around and killed her long ago? Probably. He hated that it even occurred to him that it was fucked up at all. It made things hard. And complicated. This shouldn’t be complicated. “Why do you care what I think or don’t think?” he grumbled back. A stupid question. He knew it the second it left his lips. She cared because it was her life. The same reason he cared who was a monster. It was his life. Maybe others’ lives, too. But he didn’t give a shit about their morals before. It didn’t matter. A monster was a monster. He figured that was how they saw hunters, too. As wrong as that was. As much as he didn’t want to be wrong. It meant too much to be wrong. Hell, it cost too much. And this stupid fucking escape room that he was stuck in with Stryder of all people was not the place where he was about to admit he was wrong. “Well, detective,” he said, the word laced with bitterness, “if you come up with a better solution to deal with the supernatural have the fuck at it. Can’t wait. Because all of you like to preach just kill the ‘bad ones’ or some shit but what the fuck does that even mean? You want to draw that line in the fucking sand, be my goddamn guest.” He ground his teeth together a moment before looking at the flags closer. He squinted and tried to figure out what they were, what they were supposed to do with them. “These are letters or some shit, right? That’s what they represent? I think.”

“The line, Paw patrol,” Marley snarled back, “is maybe ask questions first, stab later. It’s really not that hard. Humans get a chance to defend their innocence, why the fuck don’t we? Do you know how many times hunters looked me in the eyes and decided I should be dead without so much as a word edgewise? Did you know I was twelve the first time I met a hunter and he looked at me and saw I was a child and still tried to kill me? Do you know how fucked up that is? Do you know what that does to a fucking child? The difference here is that I didn’t seek out that danger. You people purposefully hunt us down and kill us and then point and say we’re the monsters. Well, pot meet kettle-- maybe we’re all just fucking monsters. Maybe we all just deserve to die.” This really was a two-sided battle that had no answer. She understood that somewhere, but her disdain for what hunters had done to her left her sour. She looked at the flags-- maritime code was not something she knew off the top of her head, but her phone had no service in this dingey building. She went back over to find the manual and picked it back up, flipping to the code sheet in the back. Dropped it in front of him at the code console. “Plug in the fucking letters so we can get the fuck out of here finally.” And she really did hope with all hope that when the door opened, there wouldn’t be another room behind it. She was sure that if there was, the two would simply kill each other.

“Oh right, I’ll keep that in mind next time a werewolf is trying to tear my head off. Plenty of time for an investigation then, of course. I’ll just sit idly by, make sure he does in fact plan to kill the closest humans and then act.” Kaden knew damn well it wasn’t what she was arguing. He also knew damn well that had he been in Celeste’s position with Ariana all those years ago, he could never bring himself to kill a child. That was one line, at least. “Sorry,” he mumbled, still not meeting her eyes. “Not that I-- I just mean-- when you were a kid…” This was stupid. He didn’t give a shit about Stryder the same way she didn’t give a shit about him. And the sooner this conversation was over, the better. The sooner they fucking got out of here, the better. He nodded and looked at the page and typed in the code scribbled in the bottom of the page, matching the letters to the corresponding flags. “A B O R T.” Of fucking course it was that simple when it was laid out like that. He sighed and hit the “T” flag and heard a click behind them. He spun to face the door and saw it subtly swing open. “Thank god,” he said as he practically threw himself out of the room.

“You ever think about how maybe you wouldn’t be in that situation if you just fucking didn’t go looking for it!?” Marley snapped back. “Weird how that works!” Threw her arms up. “Oh, you’re sorry. Well I’m glad one fucking hunter is.” But honestly, she was. No one had ever apologized for that to her. She could still remember the look in the hunter’s eyes and she didn’t even know why. She hadn't known what she was back then. She turned away from him and waited for the door to open with bated breath. And when it did, it led out into a hallway. Freedom. She stepped out behind him and slammed the door shut, stomping to the front. But there was no one to yell at and she didn’t exactly feel like waiting around this place, lest they get trapped again. But as she went to head for the door, something gave her pause. She stopped just shy of it and turned to look back at Kaden. “You could be a good person, you know,” she said, “It’s obvious you care about some supernaturals. And maybe I don’t know hunter law or whatever, but I think having a fucking heart ought to be an okay thing to do.” Before she pushed her way out into the fresh air and left all of that-- well, most of it-- behind.

#chatzy #chatzy: kaden #wickedswriting #this is our get along shirt #kaden #tw head trauma mention

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