vrittivsanghavi

[vrittivsanghavi]

You’re Anorexic

*Trigger warning 

A/N: This was a very difficult piece for me to write. Please keep in mind that I am no professional and, by any means, mean no offense to anybody with eating disorders. If any part of this imagine is offensive or taken personally, please message me.

If you are suffering through something this fatal, please contact help as soon as possible. 

- masterlist linked in bio

Time.

It’s a funny concept for Y/n. Between every hour and every minute of the day, there lays a purpose. Every second counts, whether it determines the rest of your life or destroys what’s left of it. For those, time goes quickly or barely passes at all- has no beginning nor end.

It’s relied heavily on, because we all die one day or another, unexpectedly or anticipated, and if a second of time is wasted, it haunts us until our dying days.

Time is the one true consistency in everyone’s life.

When Y/n was younger, time meant everything. She counted the days till her birthday, counted down the seconds to the new year, and dated every special event she could think of. She believed that every second of her life mattered so greatly, that everything she had once known could change in a blink of an eye. Days were filled with bliss, anticipation for what the future held for her. Because she wasn’t getting any younger, and all she could think about how she was one second- a millisecond, even- away from her life giving her a new purpose.

It wasn’t until summer of 2012 when all of her greatest expectations were destroyed in a blink of an eye.

Y/n lost her father.

It happened so suddenly, an unexpected collision during the early hours of the morning. Y/n was home at the time, locked away in her room because she had an argument with him earlier on that night. Because the money situation was tight, it was impossible for Y/n to attend her top choice university. She insisted that she’d take out loans from the bank and pay every bit of tuition herself, but he refused.

She felt as if all her time and effort has been wasted. Of course, there were other schools, but Y/n was too stubborn and so set on attending this university that they didn’t matter half as much as the one she worked for.

She spewed out words she didn’t mean, anger and frustration boiling up inside of her. She had worked so hard for this moment- had worked so hard to make her parents and herself proud, but it all blew up in her face. She had never been so upset before, and it was the first time in a while she started to raise her voice and cry to try and get her way. She would have done anything, even if it meant insulting her father.

He pleaded for her to settle down, because no matter where she ended up, she’d always make him proud. But she wasn’t having it.

“I never want to talk to you again.”

Of course she didn’t mean it, but she just felt so betrayed. And because of how sensitive she was, she knew the grudge she was holding against him was going to last a while.

Already late for his meeting, he sighed and placed a delicate kiss on her forehead, the way he always did whenever they were in an argument. It was to show that he still loved her, that he’ll always love her, even when times seemed rough.

“I’m so sorry, love bug. We’ll discuss this with your mother once I get back from my meeting.“

It wasn’t until a couple hours later her mom called her.

She was sobbing, her words jumbled and breath so harsh Y/n could barely understand a word she was saying. All she managed to hear was “your father” and “car accident,” and it was all she needed to understand that her father hadn’t made it. He was never going to come back home.

Y/n spent the next couple of months trying to cope with his loss. She didn’t understand what it meant to lose somebody forever, she never experienced that kind of pain before. It was too much for her, living without her father and watching her mother slowly turn into a lifeless woman.

The only way to cope with all of the pain was to stop eating.

She didn’t know exactly how it helped, but it did. She saw it as a punishment against herself, for saying such horrible things to her father and having him believe she truly never wanted to speak to him again. She didn’t blame herself for his loss, but she carried a horrendous amount of guilt upon herself. So, she began to skip meals, which wasn’t hard because she could barely stomach the thought of food while she was as depressed as she was. And what started off as a coping mechanism turned into something much more fatal.

Now, time means nothing to her, filled with an empty void. Every minute is another minute of being alone- another minute closer to her end. She sits, stares at the wall clock hung perfectly in Ms. Carter’s office, and watches as it passes with every breath she takes.

“Y/n..” Ms. Carter mumbles, looking down at her watch to calculate just how much time has been wasted since their session began.

“Are you ever going to speak?” she questions with an exasperated sigh, long past her patience because all of their recent sessions have consisted of unanswered questions and the same dismal look displayed on Y/n’s face.

Y/n makes no effort to answer her. Her legs stay crossed indian-style in front of her, picking at a hangnail that’s been bothering her the past couple of days. She hasn’t moved since the appointment started, staying in the same position as Ms. Carter asked her questions Y/n was hardly paying attention to.

She’s well aware she’s wasting Ms. Carter’s time. She could be guiding other clients toward the help they need, or simply listening to someone’s troubles other than the horns honking outside and the agonizing sound of the clock ticking further toward the next hour.

Hell, she’s even convinced that she’d be wasting her own time, as well, if it weren’t for the emptiness in her heart. This is the only place Y/n has somebody. Everyone in her life left her, unable to deal with the constant struggle of her eating disorder. Her family, friends, boyfriends; all of them had left her. What was once an attempt to help Y/n recover from her disorder turned into a part time job for them; a constant occupation in their lives to deal with her.

If it was their choice, they probably would have left sooner than they did. But they all gave her pity, only remaining in her life because they felt another person leaving her would push her to the edge- would push her into something far more fatal. Some left without a word, others left with a rehearsed speech about how they didn’t want to see her suffer, that they couldn’t bare the sight of her bones sticking from her body. They couldn’t help her anymore, because they didn’t understand, and they barely have their own lives figured out, so how could they figure out hers? They finished their speeches with a sympathetic apology, saying that they’d still be there for her if she needed them. But they didn’t mean it. She knew they didn’t mean it.

A year and a half into her disorder, with nobody by her side, with not a soul left to help her recover, someone saved her.

Harry.

When he started to get to know her- to listen to her story- he had never felt more remorse for somebody the way he had with her. Such a beautiful and sweet woman has been torturing herself for years all because of the amount of guilt she had at such a young age. He couldn’t begin to imagine what she’s been through, all the pain and hardship she’s endured throughout er life.

She was so lovely, as well, he fell in love with her the moment she started opening up to him. It was easy for the both of them, to talk to one another, simply because there was instant connection none of them could deny. They fit into each other’s lives perfectly, as if filling up the emptiness they both had.

Harry dedicated every part of his life to her, with not a single complaint hanging from his lips. He loved her in ways nobody else had loved her before. He showed it by staying with her, through all the horrible battles she faced. He was patient with her, putting up with her fight against food and reassuring her when she wanted to throw it all up. He was there every step toward her recovery and every step toward her relapses.

It took a long while for her to finally recover. She was eating again; she was healthy again. Her skin glowed with an olive undertone, hair so soft Harry found it irresistible not to touch. Her once twisted thoughts altered to an optimistic mindset. The once beautiful girl he once known developed into an ethereal woman, convinced he was going to spend the rest of his faithful life with her.

If it weren’t for Harry, she wouldn’t have recovered. When he came into her life, she made every promise to herself and to Harry that she would overcome this. She’d continue her battle for them, because she now had a reason to fight. Her love for Harry pushed her to be the woman she became. He changed her- he saved her.

But a year into her recovery, something changed between them.

Something changed in him.

She never felt his love like she used to. He was barley there for her. When he’d come home from work, he wouldn’t call out for her anymore. Even though they were together, she began to feel lonely again. Y/n was convinced he had stopped loving her. She stayed up countless nights, without him, wondering what she did wrong. He didn’t hold her anymore, not like he used to. Before, he’d always hold her, because his arms were her sanctuary and his chest was a bed made specially for her head. His lips only lingered on her cheek or forehead, not in the way they used to. Before, he’d always kiss her lips, because he said he swore his lips were compelled to love hers and said he was always hungry for her love. She fell asleep feeling empty, not in the way she had before. Before, amongst falling asleep, he’d be inside of her, hips colliding with hers because he praised her, and said he’d never love the way he loved her.

But it all ended so suddenly, there was no warning.

She began to feel what she felt with everyone else- neglected.

She felt it was because she recovered. When she was battling her disorder, he loved her because he felt he had to. She had nobody else. Her family had given up on her, her friends left her, and she was left with absolutely nothing. He came at a time she needed someone most. At that point, she was prepared to die, there was no helping it. He was her lifeline, her only dependency, and that’s why he had stopped loving her. He didn’t need to love her anymore.

“I- I don’t quite know what to say.” Y/n mumbles.

She wishes she could tell Ms. Carter everything about it. She wishes she could talk to her like she was supposed to; trust her and open up to her to help her with her recovery. But if she does, she knows Ms. Carter would have to take her to a rehabilitation center. And Y/n wanted absolutely nothing to do with that.

Ms. Carter nods, lips pursing as she places her notebook down of her wooden coffee table. She crosses her legs and arms, back moving to rest upon the black velvet seat she always sits in during her sessions.

“Then why do you come to me, Y/n?” she asks softly, watching as Y/n moves her eyes slowly to her. “If you don’t know what to say, why are you here?”

She shrugs, arms moving to hug her knees to her chest. She rests her chin gently on her knee cap, eyes trained on the window directly in front of her. She watches as cars move during the rush hour, people walking on the sidewalks with a premeditated destination. She envies those who thrive, for she lacks motivation to accomplish her ambitions.

“This is all I have.”

Ms. Carter blinks at her confession, interlocking her fingers together while nodding her head.

She knows Y/n has been different the past couple months. Normally, Y/n talks about her relationship with Harry, how he’s been her biggest step toward her recovery. She talked about how great she’d feel, but was, nonetheless, worried she’ll eventually relapse and disappoint him.

Ms. Carter has had suspicions that Y/n is going through another relapse. However, she knew that if she was, that Harry was by her side at home. It was one of the many reasons she hadn’t taken major actions to help her through it. She knew Harry would do her more help than her, but Y/n kept scheduling appointments that she couldn’t deny.

“And what about Harry?” She asks timidly, “Is he helping you through this time, Y/n?”

Y/n’s eyes flutter shut at his name. Her hands shake as her fingers pull down the sleeves of her sweatshirt, tugging them all the way so that her hands are completely covered by the material.

“Not anymore.” She whispers.

Y/n’s eyes divert to Ms. Carter’s cautious gaze. Her mouth is slightly parted, almost shocked at the confession she made. Ms. Carter knows the only thing that guided her was Harry. He was her rock and support through her entire fight, and with the possibility of his departure comes the possibility of Y/n going back to where it all began.

“Are you- are you still eating, Y/n?”

Her eyes go back to the window.

Another question left unanswered.

The weather outside is making Harry miserable. So miserable, in fact, he’s refused to move from his spot on the couch for the past four hours.

The house is dark for the mid-afternoon, the gloomy weather making it nearly feel like a funeral home. With no motivation to go outside and finding it oddly comfortable to wallow, he can’t help but to keep his eyes trained on the television show playing in front of him. It’s Y/n’s favorite show- one they watched nearly every Saturday afternoon because that’s when CW aired the marathon.

He still watches it every Saturday. A part of him can’t let the tradition go. He’s somehow convinced himself that maybe, just maybe, she couldn’t, either, and they are some how both watching it at the same time in two different places. Gemma tells him that she probably does the same, as well, but he should try to move on from her; that staying in the house and only doing things that remind him of her is going to edge him to insanity. But oddly, consuming his days with things that remind him of her keep him as sane as he can possibly be.

He sighs, clammy fingers tugging at the roots of his hair as he looks down at his phone for what must have been the twentieth time today. His thumb hovers over her contact number, twitching as he begins to contemplate whether to call her or not. It’s been months since he’s seen her, let alone talked to her. Every second without knowing how she’s doing kills him more and more each time.

To say Harry’s been worried is an understatement. He’s completely petrified.

For the past couple of years, Harry has been through it all with Y/n. He’s seen her at her worst, was there to witness her greatest and most disastrous downfalls and stood by her side during her most amazing recoveries. He’s seen her in all her forms of terrible glory, with bones sticking from her skin and bruises covering her arms and legs. He’s watched her as people began to leave her one by one- a bystander of a broken girl being neglected by her loved ones. He’s seen her fantasize about her end and watched as pain settled in her eyes.

And he just can’t shake the feeling that everything Y/n has built up to her recovery has been knocked down again.

He can’t stomach the thought of her looking the way she did when they first met. He doesn’t even want to think about what she’s been putting herself up against since his departure.

For the first month after their breakup, Harry had called Y/n everyday to make sure she was eating properly. He’d call her before bed, asking numerous questions about her diet and her therapy sessions. What did you eat today? How much did you eat? Was Ms. Carter nice? How are you feeling? It was a routine that was able to keep both of them sane during their separation.

It didn’t last long, however, when Y/n started to finally realize she wasn’t able to move on. Between the constant reminder that she didn’t have anybody there for her anymore and his constant phone calls, she found it impossible to move on from him.

Y/n also began to feel upset that Harry had broke things off with her but still had the audacity to call her. She understood what he was doing. She understood that he was showing her that he still cared and worried for her, but the fact that the only effort he had put into taking care of her was through a phone call made Y/n feel like a charity case.

“I just can’t do this anymore, Harry” she muttered softly to the phone, her fingers halfheartedly fiddling with the corner of the duvet, “You can’t keep calling me when we aren’t dating.”

His heart fell to the pit of his stomach. Calling her before bed was a routine to him now. Talking to her was able to keep him sane, because he was getting the reassurance he needed to know she was doing okay.

In all honesty, he didn’t know if he could go a day without talking to her. Without her updating him, he knows he’d spend every second of his day worrying about her health and how she’d be keeping up with herself.

The phone calls were also the bit of her he had left. If he were to stop calling her, all he’d have left is her empty side of the bed, and he needed more than that. He needed more of her.

“But you need to see that I still care for you, Y/n” he whispers brokenly, “that I’ll always be here to make sure you’re alright.”

“But how do you think that makes me feel?!”

Her voice was higher than usual, a tone she very rarely used with him because he never gave her a reason to be angry. But now, after him calling off their relationship but still having the audacity to call her made her sick to her stomach.

“If you still cared, if you still wanted me, you’d be with me right now! You’re not making any effort to care for me, Harry! Calling me doesn’t mean anything because you’re not here!”

He shut his eyes at her words, a pang of guilt hitting him like a ton of bricks. He would be there with her if he had a choice, but their relationship wasn’t working out in both of their favors. In the midst of her getting her life back and him settling in a new job, it was very hard for them to keep up with each other. It was especially hard for him to keep up with her because she seemed to be so content in her new life that he almost felt unwanted.

He still loved her, but he felt like she didn’t want him anymore. She had recovered because of him, and because she didn’t have to rely on him in the way he was used to, he felt useless in her life. And no matter how much he tried to convince himself that it wasn’t true, that she still wanted and needed him, it still broke him apart.

“You know our relationship wasn’t working out for us and-“

“No,” she cut him off, teeth clenching out of frustration, “our relationship wasn’t working out for you. You felt no need to love me anymore, so you left me just like everybody else.”

Harry’s jaw clenches as she speaks, head thrashing wildly side to side, because it’s not true. Everything she thinks, everything he’s made her come to believe isn’t true, and he wants nothing more than to try to make her understand that he’ll always be in love with her. That he’ll always be there for her because he can’t image a day without loving her the way she deserves.

“Y/n, baby, how could you say tha-“

“You need to stop calling me,” she cries, “you’re either a part of my life or you aren’t. There’s no middle ground for you to be in. That’s not fair to me. It’s either you care for me and love me or you don’t.”

Harry’s breath was harsh against the speaker, fists clenched together as he tries to wrap his head around the situation he’s put in.

The hesitation in his answer was enough for her heart to break. The silence between her words and his answer spoke louder than anything he could possibly say to her.

She couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t surprised this is how their story ended. Everyone has already gave up on her, it was only a certain amount of time before Harry realizes how easy a life would be without her. She just didn’t want to believe it.

“I get it, Harry” she whispers, sniffling as she runs her wrist along the tip of her nose. “Goodbye.“

He’s been doing this everyday, worrying and contemplating on what he should do. He wishes more than anything to be with her the way she deserved, and wishes even more that he had never left her in the first place. He knows calling her would make her angry because she’s made it clear she felt hurt every time she did so, but he also knows not calling her isn’t fair, either.

He understands how wrong it sounds to leave his anorexic girlfriend of three years, but he felt it was best for the both of them at the time. But now, after months of her out of his life with no other connections to hear from her, he realized how stupid he was to convince himself that.

He’s completely devastated without her.

Living without Y/n wasn’t living at all. The life he experienced with her was incomparable to the one he’s been experiencing without her. She’s the love of his life, she’s the woman who showed him what it truly meant to love and care for someone so much. Of course, being with her wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, but loving her was. That’s what made them so real. Their relationship was filled with struggles, messes, and tears, but they were still in love with each other regardless. It was their ability to fight together that pulled them through their most difficult times.

“Jesus, Y/n.” He whispers to himself, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Harry’s thumb presses on the cancel button, letting out a shaky breath as he does so. He feels a tear slowly fall down his cheek, which he’s quick to wipe away with the back of his hand when he hears the front door swing open.

“Afternoon, H!” Gemma greets, hands filled with grocery bags as she stumbles through the front door.

“Bought us some sandwiches. Turkey chipotle sandwiches, to be exact. Figured we could just watch some shows today? The weather is a fucking disaster, it’s making me moody.”

Harry nods speechlessly, his fingers toying with his upper lip. His eyes divert to Gemma’s struggling figure for just a couple seconds before his attention is back on Y/n’s contact.

“Yeah, yeah sounds fine.” He mutters distractedly.

Gemma’s eyebrows furrow in concern over his melancholy tone, placing the grocery bags lazily on the kitchen counter before making her way toward Harry’s slumped figure.

She bites her lower lip at the look of her distraught brother, who’s clearly shown no improvement since his breakup with Y/n. She’s aware that he blames himself for their breakup and that he spends every waking hour of his day worrying about her. No matter how hard she tries to help him through this struggle in his life, there’s always a part of him that will always feel a sense of protection over her.

He’s a wreck, and no matter how many times he tries to deny it, there were numerous nights Gemma would find Harry staring at her contact during the earliest hours in the morning with helpless tears building in his eyes. She’d even hear him mutter apologies to himself, as if rehearsing a speech to say if he ever found the strength to call her.

Who could really blame him, though?

“You okay?” she asks timidly, already knowing his answer but still finding it in her heart to ask.

She would do anything for him- anything to help him. Hell, she’s tried everything. She’s tried to talk to him alone whenever she found him in his darkest hour, even made him cups of tea to help settle his brain. She bought him a journal, in hopes that writing down his feelings will help him recover in the slightest. She even scheduled him for an in-home therapy session, but every bit of her attempts never budged him. He was still the same mess of a man he has been since the day he left Y/n.

Harry looks up at her, nodding his head feverishly when he sees the concerned look on her face.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” he coughs, looking back down at his phone, “Just haven’t checked up on her in a while. Kinda worried.“

Gemma raises her eyebrows at him, unconvinced.

“Kind of worried?” she questions, occupying the space on the couch next to him. Her hand reaches up to his forehead to wipe the beads of sweat off his forehead, which slowly moves to his back in attempt to relieve his tense muscles.

“You’re sweating.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, his hand reaching to the back of his neck. He nods his head, lips pursing together as he tries to hold back the emotions he’s feeling.

“I feel like she stopped eating and it’s just- it’s just something I can’t stop thinking about, you know? I can’t live in peace when it’s all my head wanders off to.”

Gemma nods her head, her fingers squeezing the skin of his shoulder as a way to reassure that she’s here for him.

She feels awful about how much blame Harry’s been putting on himself the past couple of months. It’s beginning to take a major toll on him, he can barely include himself in day-to-day activities without getting lost in his thoughts. His once well-put-together form has seemed to turn effortless, not cared for in the way it once was. He’s become so disconnected,, she can’t deny the overwhelming concern she’s had for him for the past couple of months.

“I’m sure she’s okay, Harry. I’m sure she’s still checking in with Ms. Carter and working on herself. She’s a strong woman, you and I both know that. Strongest woman we’ve ever met. She’ll be okay.”

She leans over to press a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“And if she isn’t doing well, she would have called you by now.”

But Harry is having none of it. He knows that if she’s relapsing, she wouldn’t have called him. She wouldn’t have called anyone. He knows she feels like he doesn’t care about her anymore- feels like she’s the last thing on his mind. If she were to call him, she’d feel like she was a burden on his life, and that was the last thing she’d want. He knows that.

But if only she knew. If only she knew he can’t sleep at night because all he can think about is betraying the woman he loves, leaving her to fight by herself. Hell, if only she knew he can’t touch his phone without constantly going back to her contact trying to muster up the strength to call her and ask her how she’s doing.

“I was her reason to eat. If she stopped eating, it’s because of me.”

“No,” Gemma shakes her head, reaching her hands up to grab his face to ensure she was looking at him in the eyes, “You can’t put that much responsibility on yourself like that, she had plenty of reasons to recover. None of this would be your fault.”

He shakes his head, gripping the sides of his head as if trying to remain as calm as he possibly can. He wouldn’t be shocked if he lost all of his remaining sanity in his moment.

“I was literally all she had, Gem.” he spits, all the anger and frustration he’s held against himself now unleashing. All the contained emotions he’s been feeling, all the loathing he’s been trying to ignore, is all unraveling inside of him to the point where he feel like he can’t breathe.

“My existence, our future, that’s what she recovered for. Not a second of her recovery was for anybody or anything else.” He rants, breathing harsh as the thoughts rush through his brain. “She had nobody except for me. She didn’t have any friends, any family. She wasn’t fighting when I met her. She was waiting to die..”

“Harry…”

“And I did what I promised her I wouldn’t do and…and now I-”

“You shouldn’t feel obligated to be with her, Harry.” Gemma blinks, shaking her head softly as she reaches to remove his hands from his head, “If you didn’t love her anymore, you didn’t have a choice.“

“But I do love her” he defends, shaking his head, “I’ve always loved her. We had to break up because our relationship wasn’t easy at that time, but hell, Gem, that doesn’t mean I ever stopped loving her.”

He sighs, rubbing his sweaty hands over his face.

Tears fall slowly down his face, soaking his cheeks as he inhales sharply. God, how much he fucking loves her, is what kills him the most.

“Me, helping her recover, of course that was a plus. I helped her get out of her anorexia, Gem. I never gave up on her, but I did once she recovered. That’s not fair, I still love her so much. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Gemma frowns, slowly leaning toward him so that she can softly wrap her arms around his shoulders. She buries her cheek against his shoulder, thumb rubbing delicate circles on his back.

“I think you know what to do, H.”

Once Y/n’s appointment ended, she found herself curled up in her bed as the sounds of Harry’s mixtape played quietly throughout the room. It was a tape he made for her when they first started dating, something sentimental for her to hold onto whenever he wasn’t able to be there.

She’s been listening to it almost everyday since the breakup. She’d listen to it mindlessly, whether she was staring at wall or she was listening to it on her way to therapy. It was the only thing in her life that made her feel something; the pure value of it holding so much meaning. The music was the closest she’s been to Harry in a while, so it was her sanctuary.

She sighs, her fingers lightly grazing the window that drips with rain. In her loneliest hours, Y/n wants nothing more than to make her way over to him. She doesn’t quite know how she’s made it so long without him. In all honesty, she expected her to have given up and walk up to his door and beg him for his help. She knows she’s suffering, her body weak and starving the more she refuses to eat. But, to her, she has no reason to. Every bit of love she had for herself and every purpose she had to continue living has all dissolved into nothing.

She shakes her head, unwrapping herself from the blankets she raveled herself in before her bare feet made contact with the cold floor. She decides to go for a walk, or maybe just go out on her front porch to get some fresh air. She thinks it’ll be good for her, after all, she doesn’t have anything else to do besides stay cooped up in her four walls and listen to disgusting love songs.

The second she stood up from the bed, she nearly fell onto the floor. Her head spins and feels obnoxiously light when she begins to stand up properly. It wasn’t rare for her to feel lightheaded whenever she moved too quickly, however, this was the most intense it has been. Holding herself onto the wall, she waits until she feels back to her normal self before making her way down toward her living room.

Her fingers immediately press against her temples when she makes it to her foyer. Her head spins wildly with every step she takes, making her lose her balance once she reaches the last step. Her head hits against the floor, a groan leaving her chapped lips as her body begins to tremble. Her eyes cloud with darkness for a few moments at a time before she regains her consciousness, her sight fogged and lightheaded as she tries to pick herself up off the floor.

“No” she mumbles, coughing as she rushes to reach for her phone.

“No, no, no.”

This has happened to her before. It happened years ago, though, when she hasn’t consumed anything for weeks. The only difference is that she had someone there to save her before. Thankfully, her mom was there at the time and rushed to her rescue. When she made it to the hospital, they said she was near her end. If she had went a couple more hours without consumption, she wouldn’t have been able to make it.

But now, she has nobody.

Her breathing becomes harsh as her body keeps losing consciousness. There’s only a certain amount of time she has before she fades out entirely, and no matter how much she’s tried to convince herself that she’s been ready for this moment, she has never been more scared for her life.

Her shaking fingers reach for her phone in her back pocket. She has to do something and has to do it quick. If she dies like this, nobody would be out looking for her, nobody would find her body. She’d be stuck in this house as her body decays into nothing but bone.

She decides that this isn’t how she’s going to die, because if this is the day her end finally nears, she’d want to spend her last dying breaths with the one person she feels something for.

Harry.

She whimpers, weak fingers punching in his phone number. Every part of her wants him to answer- needs him to answer, because he’s her last bit of hope and she doesn’t plan on leaving it all behind. But a part of her wouldn’t blame him for not answering. After all, she was the one who dropped him from her life completely, which was, quite honestly, the stupidest thing she’s ever done in her life. She practically pushed him away entirely, even when he was still there for her. Even when he still held onto her and cared for her like nobody else has.

And she can’t die knowing that.

“Y/n?”

Y/n swears hearing his voice is everything she needs in this moment.

Seeing her name light up on his phone makes Harry spring out of bed, his hands gripping the phone closer to his ear, as if trying to get closer to her. It’s been too long since he’s talked to her, and he’s convinced he can’t allow himself to waste another minute without hearing her voice again.

But no matter how much he wishes she was calling because she missed him, too, he just can’t seem to shake the feeling that the only reason she called is because she’s in trouble.

“Harry” she heaves groggily.

Her eyes are clouded, the room spinning around her. She can barely move, only the ghostly movements of her lips and the subtle rise and fall of her chest. She’s lightheaded, feeling cold and utterly weightless as her body lays faint on the carpeted floor beneath her.

“Y/n” Harry breathes out, slightly confused and partially in awe at the sound of her voice, “are you okay? I was gonna come by later. Been worried about you.”

“I keep fading out” she whimpers, her eyes closing longly each passing second, “I’m gonna die.”

Harry’s face pales the second he hears the struggling in her voice.

Nothing could have prepared him for this moment. It’s as if the world has stopped revolving around him, his only concern being Y/n and her safety. With her shaking voice filled with fear; it feels as if every one of Harry’s greatest fears are all coming to haunt him all at once. Y/n’s in a great amount of danger, all because of him, and he might not be able to save her in time.

In a matter of a second, working so quickly Harry doesn’t seem to fully keep up with his actions, he’s stumbling down his stairs and at his front door, holding his car keys shakingly in his hands. He doesn’t even bother putting on a pair of shoes or a jacket before he’s rushing toward his car.

“Y/n…Y/n, you have listen to me very carefully.” he pants, slightly tripping over his own two feet before regaining balance. “You have to hang up the phone and dial the police before i-”

“I- I can’t, Harry” she chokes out, interrupting him because she doesn’t know how much longer she can make it. “I’m so weak. I can’t move.”

Harry’s moving wildly once he sits down in the car. His hands are shaking so harshly it takes him a couple seconds to push the keys in the ignition, causing frantic mumbles of c’mon, c’mon, c’mon to leave his quivering lips.

“Fucking shit!” he spits, putting the car in reverse and stepping on the pedal so hard he’s convinced his car will be wrecked by the time he gets to her. But he doesn’t care, not at all.

He puts his car in drive and swerves onto the road, breaking the speed limit by an extra 30 miles an hour. His teeth clench together as his hand wraps tightly around the stirring wheel, causing his knuckles to turn white as he steps down on the pedal harder.

No matter what speed he goes, he has this inevitable fear that he isn’t going to make it to her on time. He feels he has no time- that she has no time- and no matter how badly he wishes he can stay talking to her to ensure that she’ll be okay by the time he reaches her, he knows it isn’t her safest option. He has to risk it, he doesn’t have much of a choice.

“You gotta give me two minutes, love. I’m putting you on hold for two minutes so that I can send someone over to you. Do not hang up on me, you hear me? You stay with me. Gimme two minutes.”

He doesn’t give her any time to reply before he puts her on hold. His fingers are rapid as he calls the police, the fingers that are gripping onto the steering wheel tapping along the leather as he waits for the operator to answer.

“What’s your-”

“My girlfriend, please,” he rushes out before the woman can finish, “she’s home alone and she keeps fading in and out of consciousness. I need you to bring someone over to her house please.”

He doesn’t notice how fast he’s speaking until the operator begins to ask him to calm down and repeat himself.

“Do you know any information in regards to her unconsciousness?”

“Yes,” he swallows thickly, “she’s anorexic.”

“What’s the address, sir?”

“168 Williamson Drive.”

“The police are on their way.”

He hangs up with the operator before switching back to Y/n’s contact.

“Y/n, baby, you still there?”

Her body jolts when she hears his voice from the speaker, breath hitching in her throat as she grips onto her phone tighter. She swears, if it isn’t for Harry being on the other line, she would have given up by now. Knowing he’s coming back to her keeps her fighting against her body, which is on the brink of blacking out for God knows how long.

“How much-“ she whimpers as she speaks, eyes slowly closing, “how much longer?”

His eyes wander wildly to the roads ahead of him. He isn’t far from her now, just a couple more turns until he’s in her neighborhood. Working quickly, his foot absentmindedly presses harder against the gas pedal, switching lanes to avoid the cars that are getting in his way.

“Shit, baby, you gotta give me five more minutes. I just need a bit more time and I’ll be there with you.”

The five minutes feels like forever.

Between Y/n’s soft crying and Harry’s continuously worried questions, Y/n had already fallen out of consciousness three times. She isn’t positive on how she is able to wake up each time, but she is. Every time she wakes up, Harry is calling her name desperately through the phone, reassuring her that he was going to be there as soon as he possibly can and help make sure she stays safe. However, Y/n is almost completely positive she is going to die. She had put her body through so much for far too long, she doesn’t know how many times her body can keep recovering just to relapse again. Her health was constantly fluctuating between the most drastic lows and highs, there is no possible way it has any more strength to push her through this last fight. There is just no way.

Harry doesn’t have time to turn off his car before he’s rushing toward her front door. His sweating hands slip off the doorknob on his first attempt to open her door, but is quick to rebuttal when he storms inside her house. It’s dark, only a small amount of light illuminating the foyer as his eyes wildly search for her.

She’s collapsed onto the floor. Her skin as pale as he’s ever seen it, her fragile body shivering and shaking against the hardwood floor. Her body looks broken, in a way. It looks lifeless as she helplessly tries to muster any atom in her body to keep fighting for her survival. Her loose clothes didn’t hide how weak her body has become within the past couple of months. There’s still a drastic, evident change in her body frame since he’s last seen her. And if he has to be honest, it makes him feel sick to his stomach, to see the love of his life like this.

And the only thing he can think about is how this is all his fault. He caused all of this, not any of this would be happening if he hadn’t left her the way he did. Instead, they could be getting married, living in their dream home together, cooking on the kitchen stove and listening to their favorite music together. They could be happy together.

But everything is because of him. There is nobody else to blame besides him and his selfishness. He left her, alone, in her most disastrous condition and nothing about what he did is okay, not when she’s like this.

“Baby” he cries, falling to his knees beside her.

He begins to sob as he lifts her up from the floor. He cradles her against him, her head laying perfectly on his chest as his arms wrap security around her waist. He nuzzles his face into her hair, his strong cries raking through him as he holds her tighter against him.

She feels cold, much different than her usual warm touch. She feels so light, too, and so weak as he grabs onto her like she’s his life line.

It’s been too long- way too long since he’s held her so close. It feels as if this is the first time he’s finally able to breathe, to not feel so suffocated in his heartbreak over losing the love of his life. He’s with her now, and maybe not in the best way possible, but he’s with her and it’s the biggest step to help them overcome this. Together.

Her fingers brush against his neck, her cheek rubbing against his chest as she whimpers against him.

Her head spins and her eyes fog as he holds her to him, making it nearly impossible for her to keep up with her consciousness. All she can think is how good it feels, to be with him in her weakest moment. She feels the most alive, even in her time closest to death, being wrapped in his arms and being peppered by his kisses. She feels the safest she’s ever been, and in this moment, for the first time in a while, she truly feels like everything is going to be okay.

“Don’t leave me, please” she whispers, “please don’t leave again.”

His heart breaks when he feels her tears soak through his t-shirt as the words she speaks crack in her voice.

He’d never leave her, never in his wildest dreams would he think about leaving her again. He can’t live another day without her, and he’ll stop at nothing to make sure she gets the ending she deserves.

“Oh, my love” he whimpers, placing a delicate kiss upon her forehead, “I’m so sorry, my love. Help is on its way, okay? You’re with me now, you’re safe. I’ve got you.“

He leans down to kiss her shaking lips, running his hands through her hair as he lets out another broken sob.

“You’re safe now.”

[vrittivsanghavi]

Broken Promises

- The one where Harry misses the most important night of Y/n’s life. 

Masterlist

-

“Hey, pretty girl.”

Y/n turns her head to the voice whispered delicately beside her, a fond smile stretching on her lips as her boyfriend presses a chaste kiss to her temple. He’s holding a mug of her favorite tea with the softest look in his eyes, observing her in her most natural territory.

She’s in their study room, her bare legs crossed beneath her and her hair tied lazily on the top of her head. She’s got papers and various assortments of writing utensils laid out in front of her, some of the pieces crumbled and a majority of the pencils used to almost nothing.

She’s glad Harry came in because she was starting to lose track of time. In all honesty, she even started to forget what the hell she was even trying to accomplish. Overworking herself never did her any good, especially when she forgets to look after herself while she does so.

“Hmm..” Y/n hums in contentment at the feel of his lips. “Hello, handsome.“

She reaches her hand to his over her shoulder, loosely intertwining his fingers with her own as she presses the side of her head deeper against his mouth.

“I know you’re working hard on writing your speech so I figured you needed something to keep you focused. Brought you some chai tea and a few vanilla wafers.”

He sets everything down beside her, his mouth still grazing her temple with each passing word. “And also came to remind you that it’s almost our bedtime. Don’t know if I could sleep knowing you’re down here and not with me.”

Her cheeks flush and she giggles quietly, nodding her head to reassure him that she’ll be there. But when silence falls between them and Y/n is finally able to take a breather from the stress, a sudden type fear settles in her bones.

She just found out two days ago that her poetry book Yours, Truly has won one of the biggest literary awards in London. It came as a shock considering this was her debut publish and was competing against hundreds of well-known authors.

Keep reading

[vrittivsanghavi]

7 Missed Calls (pt. II)

you get into a car accident when harry’s in the middle of a concert (part i)

trigger warning: hospital, loss, unconscious/coma

thank you so much for all the positive feedback, honestly, you guys are the reason why i’m still alive to be honest. im so thankful for the love and support.

“I just don’t understand.”

You were unreceptive. 

“Why hasn’t she woken up yet?”

It has been three weeks since your accident. The cuts have more-or-less healed on your body, and all that’s left are faint scars. But other than that, you looked fine.

Absolutely fine to the point where it drove Harry crazy. After all, you looked as if you were just sleeping. As if you were just caught in a long, deep sleep that could be interrupted if he just willed it hard enough.

“Harry, you have to be patient. Don’t rush her. She’ll wake when she wakes.”

“No, Gemma, you don’t get it. She’s supposed to have woken up by now. I know her. She’s strong.”

At this point in time, Harry had already informed himself of all the details pertaining to your accident. You were driving. Recklessly. It wasn’t raining, contrary to popular belief. It was a perfectly clear day. 

Which breaks Harry’s heart even more, because it meant your bloody body was sprawled out in the middle of the highway to the world. 

“Cut her some slack. She’s trying her best right now.”

“I know she is. But you just don’t get it. She’s not supposed to be fighting or trying her best, because she isn’t supposed to be in an accident at all.”

The world tour had stopped for you. 

Of course, the fans were spiraling, as well as the tabloids. All the rumors forced Harry to betray that it was an internal family matter. #PrayForGemmaandAnne started trending on Twitter the next day.

Nobody even suspected anything about you.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s all my fault, Gem. I told her that she could make it if she rushed it. It was m-me who s-said that s-she s-should–”

Harry had managed to keep up his appearances. It was easy to tweet. It was harder to be seen entering or leaving the hospital, or even leaving your room because there were prying eyes everywhere.

Everyone was dying to know who exactly was responsible for Harry Styles’ sudden early retirement. The other half of the world was waiting for him. But it didn’t mean anything to him.

Harry would’ve turned over all the wealth and stardom that he had gained over the last seven years for even a slight flicker of your eyelids.

Nobody was in your room when you woke up. 

That you knew of, of course. Your head was tiled at a weird angle, and it made your neck impossibly stiff. It was in the movements that you made to readjust your position that you saw him.

Harry was scrunched over in a cold, metal chair in the corner of the room. His eyes were pressed shut as if he was sleeping, but the crease between his eyebrows and how his lips occasionally moved in an undecipherable way made you beg to differ. 

“Harry,” you whisper. Your throat was dry and your mouth was like sandpaper. He didn’t hear you. You try to sit up, and it is your struggling that alerts him. 

The first thing you notice are his eyes–his red-rimmed, dark-circled eyes that don’t even look green anymore. The second thing you notice are his hands–his shaky, ring-less hands that he immediately cups your face with as he sprints over to kneel by your bedside.

“My angel,” he murmurs, tears spilling down his cheeks. You frown at his sadness, trying to lift a hand to wipe away his tears. But all of a sudden, you are struck with an incredible amount of pain.

A sharp inhale escapes your lips and Harry immediately lets go of you. Your chest starts heaving up and down as your eyes frantically darted around the small room. The fluorescent lights are making your head spin. 

You didn’t understand what was going on.

“Harry–” you wheeze, trying to reach out for him, but your boyfriend seemed miles and miles away. “What–Wh-Where am I–?”

Your eyes find all the machines you are hooked up to as Harry cries, “You were in a car accident, sweetheart. But it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

His words stuck out to you. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.

Suddenly, your mind is taken back to one cloudless, sunny day. You were in a rush–your overwhelming adrenaline had told you that. The highway was a barren road. Harry’s voice coming out of your phone: It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.

As if reading your mind, Harry buries his head in his hands and cries. “It’s all my fault, love.” You can barely hear his muffled words, but his shoulders are shaking enough that it breaks your heart. “I shouldn’t ‘ave…I should’ve ‘ave t-told you to r-r-rush. It’s a-all my f-fault…”

It takes a great deal of strength, as well as pain, to raise your left hand, and when he feels your fingers threading through his hair, he lifts his head. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you murmur quietly, but he still hears you. “Don’t tell me you’ve been hung up over that for–for–”

“Four weeks.”

Your lips part silently. Harry continues, “After they…after they found your b-body, they called me and I flew from Manchester to your side. ‘aven’t left since, as you can probably tell by my disgusting appearance. The doctors said that…that you were hit pretty badly….would take you a couple of days to wake up…he never–he never said w-weeks…”

Harry turns away from you again, your bedsheets now stained with his tears. Your head was spinning furiously, and you didn’t know what to say, except, “You’re wearing Gucci.”

The statement was so random, and so obvious, that Harry has no choice other than to look back at you and laugh. “Yeah. Told you I haven’t left you. I’m still in my bloody concert clothes from four weeks ago.”

You frown, and Harry, sensing your need to feel him, interlaces his fingers with yours. “You must have left the room to eat,” you say, “or take a shower. Or something.”

Harry shakes his head. “I never left you. Never would’ve.”

“Your fans,” you whisper, concerned. “Oh, God, what about your fans?”

“What about them?”

“Harry!” This is the first time you’ve raisen your voice since you’ve woken up, and it brings a smile to your boyfriend’s face. He has missed your voice so much. “They–They must all be so upset with you! Tell me you at least kept up with performances.”

“And how would I have done that, angel, without you by my side?”

Slumping back against the pillows, you sigh. Harry grabs a chair and drags it to your bedside so you can have a better view of him. Harry lets go of your hands when he does this, and you take the opportunity to caress his cheek when he comes back into view. 

You are tracing the underlines of his eye bags, and the prominent stubble that has now grown. “I…” you start, “You know if I could’ve told you, I would’ve said to leave me here and go to your fans.”

Harry sniffles, “I know.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Your boyfriend tilts his head to the side a little and you feel him press a feathery-light kiss to your palm. “You’re my entire life, angel. How could I have carried on with my life if you weren’t there to keep me sane?”

Tears start to brew in your eyes, and Harry frantically continues, “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I–”

You interrupt, “What if…What if I hadn’t woken up, Harry?” 

“Don’t.”

“No, Haz, what if I hadn’t woken up today? You…You can’t just let your life stop for me.”

“Yes, I can.”

“No, you can’t.” Your head was spinning again. The room was too small. You’ve been unconscious for four weeks. Is that enough for the world to turn on Harry Styles? “Harry–you are loved and cherished by so many people. You can’t let me get in the way of that.”

“Darling,” Harry holds your hand in both of his. “If you hadn’t…if you hadn’t woken up t-today, I would’ve stayed here, by your side, exhausting every single possibility until you woke up. I would’ve thrown all of my savings down the drain if it meant I could see you smile at me again. I would’ve given you my heart if it meant that you could have another day in the sun again.”

Tears are running down your cheeks. “Harry,” you cry, and he takes this as his cue to embrace you. He’s gentle with you as if you were made out of porcelain, but you squeeze him as hard as you can. “You know I love you, don’t you? So, so much.”

“I know,” Harry murmurs against your neck. “And you know much I love you. Just don’t..just don’t ever scare me like that again, alright? Can you do me that one thing?”

You smile against your tears. “I’ll never leave you again. I couldn’t. You’d be a wreck without me, and you’d be a pain to everybody else.”

Harry chuckles deeply. “I’ve missed you so much.”

You don’t know how long he has held you silently until Gemma practically kicks own the door and exclaims, “Harry, you son of a bitch, why didn’t you tell us all she woke up? Nurse!”

[vrittivsanghavi]

7 Missed Calls

you get into a car accident when harry’s in the middle of a concert.

You had just gotten off the phone with Harry thirty minutes ago. You had called him in a panic, explaining how you had less than ten minutes to get from one side of the city to the other for an extremely important job interview. 

Harry had reassured you in that deep, soothing voice of his that you were going to be fine. That everything was going to be fine. And you believed him. Hell, nobody–not even a psychic–could’ve predicted the events that would transpire.

Your boyfriend of 2 years was currently in Manchester for four nights. You two had last seen each other in person about a few weeks back when you surprised him in London. 

“I missed you so much,” Harry had murmured against your lips, “and I still miss you now, because after a few days you’re just going to turn around and leave me again.”

“I’m never going to leave you. I promise.”

It was in the middle of Woman when it happened. That is–Harry’s phone ringing backstage. It was on silent, and it was locked up in his dressing room.

Thus, the first call went unanswered.

Keep reading

[vrittivsanghavi]

Pro Bono

mafia boss!Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max Verstappen could never be called a bleeding heart, he’s head of the mafia for crying out loud, but when his sister begs him to help her friend escape from an abusive marriage, he can’t help but be drawn to you … and do whatever’s necessary to keep you safe

Warnings: domestic violence, murder, and mentions of Jos Verstappen

The restaurant is loud, filled with the hum of conversations, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter from nearby tables. You sit across from Victoria, watching her tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she stirs her drink with the thin straw. The monthly dinner — the one you never miss — has always been a comfort. It’s the one place you can pretend, even if for just an hour or two, that everything in your life is … normal.

But tonight, Victoria’s eyes narrow as she looks at you. She sets the drink down, barely touched. “What’s that on your arm?”

You glance down quickly, tugging your sleeve further down. “What?” You say, trying to sound casual. Too casual. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t do that.” She leans forward, her voice lowering. “I saw it earlier when you were reaching for the breadbasket. Bruises.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest. You reach for the glass of water, but your hand trembles. You pull it back, trying to hide the shake. “V, I told you. It’s nothing. I-I’m just clumsy, you know?”

Her eyes lock onto yours, and the silence stretches between you both. The noise of the restaurant fades into the background, muffled by the blood rushing in your ears. She’s not buying it. She never has.

“You’re not clumsy,” Victoria says quietly, her voice cutting through the noise. She doesn’t blink, doesn’t break eye contact. “You’ve never been clumsy. Not like that.”

You swallow hard, feeling the lump form in your throat, the one you’ve been pushing down for months, years, who knows how long now. You try to smile, but it falters. “It’s really-”

“Don’t lie to me,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “Please don’t lie to me.”

And that’s when it happens. The floodgates open. Your chest tightens, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek. You don’t even have the strength to wipe it away. You just sit there, trembling, while Victoria watches, her expression filled with concern and something like anger. But it’s not at you.

“He-” Your voice cracks, and you look down at your hands, twisting them together in your lap. “He hits me, Victoria.”

The words hang there, suspended in the air between you, before they drop like stones into the pit of your stomach. You regret saying them the moment they leave your mouth, but there’s no taking them back now.

Victoria’s breath hitches. “Oh my God.”

You shake your head quickly, regretting it all, wishing you could pull it all back, pretend you never said anything. “No, no. It’s not — it’s not like that all the time. It’s just — sometimes he gets angry. You know how things can get.”

Victoria’s face hardens. “No, I don’t know. And don’t do that. Don’t downplay it.”

You bite your lip, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free from your chest. You can’t look at her. Not when her eyes are filled with that mixture of pity and anger. It makes you feel small, weak. But you can’t stop now. It’s all coming out, spilling over like a dam that’s cracked.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “I can’t leave him, Victoria. I have nothing. I don’t have my own money. I don’t even have my own credit card. Everything is in his name. Everything.”

Victoria’s hand reaches across the table, grabbing yours. Her grip is firm, warm, grounding. “You don’t need money to leave him. You just need to get out.”

You blink away the tears, shaking your head, your throat tight. “I don’t even have enough for a lawyer. He’s smart, Vic. He’s careful. He makes sure I can’t-”

“I know a lawyer.” Victoria’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, steady and calm. “And he’ll take you on for free. Pro bono. No questions asked.”

You stare at her, your brain struggling to catch up with her words. For a moment, it feels like the world shifts, tilting on its axis. “A lawyer?” Your voice sounds foreign, like it’s coming from someone else. “For free?”

Victoria squeezes your hand tighter, her eyes sharp, determined. “Yes. For free. You don’t have to pay a dime. You just have to let me help you.”

“I-” You shake your head again, overwhelmed, the weight of everything pressing down on you. “I can’t. I can’t just leave. What if-”

“What if what?” Victoria’s voice rises slightly, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “What if he kills you? What if next time, it’s worse? You don’t have to live like this. You shouldn’t live like this.”

You pull your hand back, pressing it against your forehead, trying to stop the panic building inside you. “You don’t understand, Vic. It’s not that simple. He’ll know I’m planning something. He’s always watching, always checking up on me. And if I mess up, if I try to leave-”

Victoria interrupts, her voice fierce. “Then we’ll get you somewhere safe. You don’t have to do this alone.”

The tears come harder now, faster, as you sit there, your body shaking with the force of them. “I don’t know how I got here,” you manage between sobs. “I don’t know how it got this bad.”

Victoria gets up, sliding into the seat next to you, her arm wrapping around your shoulders. She pulls you close, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel something other than fear. You feel the warmth of her friendship, the safety of her presence.

“You don’t have to stay, you hear me?” She whispers, her voice soft but firm. “We’ll figure it out. You’re not alone in this.”

You shake your head, still clinging to that last thread of fear, of doubt. “He’ll come after me. He’ll find me.”

“No, he won’t.” Her voice is firm, stronger than you’ve ever heard it. “You’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

There’s a long silence between you, the weight of her words sinking in. You wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand, sniffling, trying to catch your breath.

“I don’t know what to do,” you finally admit, your voice small, exhausted.

Victoria pulls back slightly, looking at you with those fierce eyes of hers. “You don’t have to know what to do right now. You just have to let me help you. One step at a time.”

You nod, but it’s more out of exhaustion than agreement. Your body feels heavy, weighed down by everything — by the bruises, the fear, the hopelessness. But there’s something else there too. Something small but growing. Hope.

Victoria squeezes your hand again, as if reading your thoughts. “We’ll get you out. I promise.”

You don’t say anything, because you’re not sure you believe her. But in this moment, sitting here in this crowded restaurant with your best friend by your side, it’s the first time in a long time you feel like maybe, just maybe, you have a way out.

***

Victoria doesn’t waste a second after dinner. The moment you part ways outside the restaurant, her mind is already racing, fingers scrolling through her phone for a contact she hasn’t dialed in months.

Max.

She knows exactly where he’ll be. He’s always at the penthouse late into the night — never sleeping until the early hours, always up to something. It’s been that way since their father passed. Even now, years after he took control of everything.

Her heels click sharply on the marble floors as she walks into the sleek, modern lobby of his building. The doorman gives her a polite nod — he knows who she is — but doesn’t stop her from heading straight for the private elevator.

The ride up is quick, the air tense. Victoria’s fingers twitch with nerves. She’s not scared of Max, not really, but talking to him about this — about you — feels different. She hasn’t brought him anything this personal in years. Ever since he took over their father’s operation, Max has become a closed book. Hard. Calculated. Cold, even.

The elevator doors open with a soft chime, and she steps into the hallway, making her way to the penthouse door. She doesn’t bother knocking. Max expects her by now.

The penthouse is a reflection of him — clean, sharp lines, monochrome tones, everything in its place. Expensive. Impenetrable. Just like him.

Max stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his back to her. The city lights cast shadows over his broad frame. He’s in a tailored suit, as always. Even at home, he’s never out of uniform, always dressed for business.

“Vic,” he says without turning around. He doesn’t need to see her to know it’s her. He always knows. “What brings you here at this hour? You usually text before showing up.”

Victoria exhales, trying to steady her nerves. “I need a favor.”

That gets his attention. Max turns, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as they meet hers. He doesn’t say anything, just waits. That’s the thing about him — he never rushes, never speaks before thinking. It’s why he’s so dangerous. And effective.

“It’s not for me,” she adds quickly, stepping further into the room. “It’s for a friend.”

Max raises an eyebrow, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “A friend?”

She nods, hesitating for a moment. “It’s … complicated.”

He walks over to the bar, refilling his glass, then gestures toward it with a tilt of his head. “Drink?”

Victoria shakes her head. “No. I need you to listen.”

Max leans back against the bar, his eyes fixed on her. “I’m listening.”

She takes a deep breath, plunging in. “You remember Y/N? My friend from university?”

There’s the slightest flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he doesn’t comment. He just waits for her to continue.

“She’s in trouble,” Victoria says, her voice lower now, as if speaking the words makes it more real. “Her husband — he hits her. She’s … she’s trapped. She can’t leave. He controls everything. All the money, the house, everything. She doesn’t have a way out.”

Max doesn’t react immediately, his face unreadable as always. But Victoria can tell he’s listening closely. He’s always been good at that, hearing what isn’t said.

“I told her you could help,” Victoria says, biting her lip. “I told her you’d represent her. Pro bono.”

Max raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a humorless smile. “Pro bono?”

“You’re a lawyer, Max. And you’re the best I know.”

He lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “I haven’t practiced law in years, Vic. You know that.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Victoria steps forward, her voice firm. “You’re still licensed, and you still know more than anyone else. She doesn’t have time to find another lawyer. She needs someone who can handle her husband — and he’s not just some random guy. He’s smart, careful. He knows exactly how to keep her under control.”

Max takes a slow sip of his whiskey, eyes flickering to the window before settling back on her. “And why should I get involved in this?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.” Her voice hardens. “And because … you know what it’s like.”

Max’s jaw tightens, the first crack in his stoic exterior. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” Victoria crosses her arms, stepping closer. “Dad used to beat the hell out of Mom. And you saw it, just like I did. You know what that does to someone. You know how trapped she must feel.”

Max’s eyes darken, but he stays silent, his grip tightening around the glass.

“She can’t do this alone, Max,” Victoria presses. “And I know you — if you get involved, you can get her out. You have the resources, the power. Hell, you’ve been running the goddamn mafia for the last six years. I’m pretty sure you can handle one abusive husband.”

Max’s expression hardens at the mention of the mafia. It’s a subject Victoria rarely brings up. But tonight, there’s no avoiding it.

Their father was a force of nature, larger than life, ruthless. A man who ruled with an iron fist both at home and in the underworld. But for all his power, for all his control, he had one weakness — his temper. And when he lost it, their mother bore the brunt of it. It’s a memory that neither Victoria nor Max can erase, no matter how many years have passed.

Their father insisted on education, though. “A smart leader is a dangerous leader,” he used to say. He forced both Max and Victoria to get degrees — real ones. Victoria went into business. Max chose law, not because he ever wanted to practice, but because he knew the value of understanding the system from the inside. It was a tool, a weapon he could wield in both worlds — the legitimate and the illegitimate.

When their father died, Max took over. It wasn’t a choice. It was an obligation. And he’s been running the empire ever since, using his legal expertise as just one more weapon in his arsenal.

But now, Victoria is asking him to use it for something different.

Max sets the glass down with a soft clink, walking over to the window. He looks out over the city, his hands in his pockets, the silence stretching between them.

“She’s scared, Max,” Victoria says quietly, her voice softer now. “She’s terrified, and she doesn’t know how to get out. I can’t just sit by and watch her go through this. And I know you won’t either.”

Max doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze is distant, like he’s seeing something far beyond the city lights. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he turns back to her.

“What’s the husband’s name?” He asks, his voice low but sharp.

Victoria exhales, relief flooding her chest. She knew he wouldn’t turn her away. He never does. “Jonathan Harper.”

Max nods once, his expression unreadable. “I’ll look into him.”

“Thank you,” Victoria says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Max walks over to her, his eyes meeting hers with that intensity that always unnerves people. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yes,” she says without hesitation.

“Good,” he says, turning away again, already moving toward his desk. “Tell her I’ll take the case. But she needs to be ready. Once this starts, there’s no going back.”

Victoria nods, even though he’s not looking at her. “I’ll tell her.”

“And, Vic,” Max adds, his voice colder now, sharper, “you know what happens if this goes sideways. He’s not just some guy. I’m not going to pull punches if things get messy.”

Victoria swallows hard, but she doesn’t flinch. “I know.”

Max’s eyes flicker back to hers, and for the first time tonight, his expression softens, just slightly. “I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

Victoria smiles, though it’s a sad smile. “I know you will.”

She turns to leave, her heart still racing, but lighter now. Max is involved. You’ll be safe. She’s sure of it.

Just as she reaches the elevator, Max’s voice stops her. “You’re a good friend, Vic.”

She turns, meeting his gaze. There’s something in his eyes that she can’t quite place — something softer than usual.

“So are you,” she says quietly.

The elevator doors close behind her, and for the first time that night, she allows herself to breathe.

***

It’s a quiet evening when you walk into Victoria’s house, your hands trembling slightly as you push the door open. The warm air from inside greets you, the faint scent of vanilla candles lingering in the air. But you can’t take any comfort in it. Your nerves are shot, and your heart hammers against your ribs with every step you take.

Victoria’s house is familiar, but tonight, it feels like foreign territory. You haven’t been here in months — haven’t been anywhere that felt safe in what feels like years. Your lips are swollen, your eye still tender to the touch, though the worst of the bruising has started to fade into ugly shades of green and yellow. You can feel the pulse of it beneath your skin with every beat of your heart, a constant reminder of what happened.

You don’t want to be here. You don’t want anyone to see you like this, especially not Victoria. And especially not her brother.

Victoria meets you at the door, her expression soft but concerned, her eyes immediately darting to your face. She’s trying not to show how horrified she is, but you can see it in the way her lips press together, in the tightening of her shoulders.

“Hey,” she says gently, pulling you into a hug before you can protest. Her arms are warm, firm around you, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into her.

“I’m fine,” you whisper, even though you know she doesn’t believe it.

She pulls back just slightly, looking at your face with a quiet sadness. “You don’t have to say that. Not with me.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Is … is he here?”

“Max?” She asks, glancing over her shoulder toward the living room. “Yeah. He’s waiting inside. Don’t worry, he’s — he’s good at this kind of thing.”

Your stomach twists. You’ve never met Max properly. You’ve heard about him, of course. Victoria used to mention him all the time in university, back when he was in law school, back before he took over everything. But you’ve never been in the same room with him. And now? Now, it feels overwhelming.

You can’t stop thinking about how you look. How awful you must seem. A mess of bruises and broken pieces.

Victoria must sense your hesitation because she touches your arm lightly. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. But Max … he’ll help you. I swear.”

“I know,” you say, but your voice is small. “I just — I don’t want to waste his time. I can’t even pay him. I don’t have-”

“He knows,” Victoria interrupts, her voice firm. “I told him everything. He doesn’t care about the money, trust me.”

You glance toward the living room, anxiety tightening in your chest. “Okay.”

Victoria leads you inside, and you feel every step like it’s too heavy, like your body is made of stone. When you finally step into the living room, you see him — Max — sitting on the couch, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp, assessing. He’s dressed in a black suit, the jacket hanging open, his tie loosened just slightly at the collar. His hair is slicked back, and his features are sharp, chiseled in a way that makes him look both intimidating and somehow … calm.

He stands when he sees you, but the moment his eyes land on your face, something changes in his expression. The cold calculation that had been there melts away, replaced by something much darker — something that looks a lot like fury.

For a moment, you think he’s angry at you, but then you realize it’s not you. It’s what’s been done to you.

“Jesus Christ,” Max mutters under his breath, his voice low, dangerous. He steps forward, but then stops himself, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “He did this to you?”

You don’t answer at first. You can’t. Your throat is too tight, the shame curling around your chest, making it hard to breathe.

Max looks at Victoria, and then back at you. His voice softens, though it’s still edged with that same cold anger. “Sit down. Please.”

You nod, moving to the couch opposite him, your body stiff, awkward. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want anyone looking at you. But there’s no going back now.

Victoria sits beside you, her hand resting on your knee, offering silent support.

Max doesn’t sit back down. Instead, he stays standing, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze never leaving you. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice gruff. “I didn’t realize it was this bad.”

You try to smile, but it’s weak, and your lip twinges with pain. “It’s … it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Max says, his voice sharper now, cutting through the air like a knife. “And it’s not going to happen again.”

You blink, your eyes stinging with the threat of tears. “I can’t — I can’t pay you, Max. I-I don’t have anything. Everything’s in his name. The house, the accounts … everything. I don’t even have a credit card.”

Max shakes his head, stepping closer. “You don’t need to pay me. That’s not why I’m doing this.”

Your throat tightens. “But I don’t want to-”

“Don’t,” he cuts in, his tone softer but still firm. “Don’t apologize. You don’t owe me anything. I’m going to help you, and I don’t need your money to do it.”

“But-”

“Listen to me,” Max says, sitting down across from you, his elbows resting on his knees as he leans in. His eyes lock onto yours, intense and unwavering. “I’ve seen this before. I know what it’s like to feel trapped. My father … he was the same way. He beat my mother for years, and she stayed because she thought she didn’t have a choice. But you do. You have a choice.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words settling over you. “I just don’t know how to — how to leave. He controls everything. He’ll find me if I try to go. He always finds me.”

Max’s expression darkens, his jaw tightening. “Not this time. I promise you, once we start this, he won’t get near you again. We’ll make sure of it.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the hope you’ve tried to bury for so long flickering faintly in the back of your mind. “But how? He’s … he’s smart. He’s careful. He’ll know if I try to leave.”

Max’s gaze sharpens, his voice low and deliberate. “He might be smart, but he’s not smarter than me. I’ll make sure we take him for everything he’s worth. You’ll get what’s yours, and he’ll have nothing.”

You stare at him, trying to process the weight of what he’s saying. It doesn’t feel real. The idea of being free, of having something — anything — of your own seems impossible. But the way Max says it, the confidence in his voice, makes it seem … possible.

Victoria squeezes your knee gently, her voice soft but steady. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. We’ll take it one step at a time. But Max … he’s got this.”

You nod, your throat too tight to speak. The tears you’ve been holding back slip down your cheeks, and you wipe them away quickly, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Max leans back, his expression softening for the first time since you walked in. “You don’t have to be sorry. You don’t have to be anything but ready to fight back. And I’ll be right there with you.”

There’s a long silence in the room, the weight of everything pressing down on you. But for the first time in years, it doesn’t feel like you’re carrying it alone. Max’s presence is steady, strong, and somehow … comforting. You’re not sure how or why, but you feel like you can trust him. Like he’ll keep his word.

You look up at him, meeting his gaze, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you can get out of this.

***

The city lights flicker below, casting shadows on the polished floors of Max’s penthouse as he stands at the window, phone in hand. He’s never been the type to hesitate, but this call — it’s personal now. His jaw tightens as he stares out over the skyline, the weight of what he’s about to do settling in his chest.

You’re staying at Victoria’s tonight, safe for now. It’s been hours since Max left you there, but your face — the bruises, the haunted look in your eyes — still lingers in his mind. He can't shake it. The rage he felt earlier, seeing you like that, bubbles back up to the surface, but he channels it into cold calculation.

He dials the number Victoria had given him, the one listed under your husband’s name, Jonathan Harper. Max’s fingers are steady, even though his blood simmers beneath the surface. He presses the phone to his ear, waiting.

One ring.

Two rings.

On the third ring, the line clicks open, and a voice comes through, sharp and annoyed.

“Who the hell is this?” Jonathan’s voice is biting, laced with impatience. “It’s late. What do you want?”

Max takes a slow breath, his voice low, smooth as steel. “This is Max Verstappen. Y/N’s lawyer.”

There’s a pause, a brief one, and then Jonathan lets out a derisive snort. “Lawyer? She’s got a lawyer now? You’re joking, right? She can’t even afford to pay for groceries, let alone a lawyer.”

Max’s grip on the phone tightens. “She doesn’t need to worry about that. I’m representing her pro bono.”

Jonathan scoffs, the sound thick with disdain. “Pro bono? Let me guess, you’re one of those bleeding-heart types, huh? Think you’re gonna save the poor damsel in distress? She doesn’t need saving, you idiot. She knows her place.”

Max’s chest tightens, but his voice remains eerily calm. “Her place? The only place she’ll be is as far away from you as possible.”

Jonathan laughs, cold and condescending. “You think you can just take her away from me? She’s nothing without me. She doesn’t have a dime. She’s got no friends, no family that gives a damn. She’s worthless. The only reason she’s got a roof over her head is because of me.”

Max’s jaw clenches. “She’s filing for divorce.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, followed by a harsh, barking laugh. “Divorce? Is that what she told you? You must be even dumber than you sound. She can’t divorce me. She doesn’t have the guts. Besides, what’s she gonna get in the divorce? The clothes on her back? I own everything. And trust me, I’ll make sure she leaves with nothing.”

“You’re mistaken,” Max says, voice hardening. “She’s not walking away with nothing. You’re going to pay, and you’re going to pay big.”

“Pay?” Jonathan’s voice rises, anger seeping through now. “For what? For putting a roof over her head? For putting food in her mouth? I’ve been supporting her pathetic ass for years, and now she’s pulling this stunt? She’s nothing but an ungrateful little-”

Max cuts him off, his voice like ice. “Watch your mouth.”

The venom in Jonathan’s voice deepens. “I’ll say whatever the hell I want about her. She’s mine. She’ll always be mine. And you can’t change that, no matter what you do. You think a lawyer’s gonna scare me? I’ve seen your type before. You show up, throw around a few legal threats, and then crawl back under your rock when it doesn’t work out. But guess what? I’ve got a lawyer, too. And he’s ten times better than whatever pro bono hack you are.”

Max doesn’t flinch, doesn’t rise to the bait. He’s heard men like Jonathan before. Hell, he’s dealt with men far worse. But something about this — about the way Jonathan talks about you — makes his blood boil in a way it hasn’t in years.

“You’re going to bring your lawyer,” Max says, his tone calm but laced with menace. “And you’re going to meet me. We’ll settle this properly. Or I’ll take you to court, and I’ll make sure you lose everything.”

Jonathan spits another laugh. “You’re bluffing. You can’t take me to court. I’ll bury you, and I’ll bury her, too. You’ve got no case.”

Max’s eyes narrow, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “You’d be surprised what I can do. I’m not just some lawyer. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

Jonathan’s tone shifts, unease creeping in for the first time. “Yeah? And who the hell are you?”

Max doesn’t answer right away. He lets the silence stretch, lets the weight of the question hang in the air. Then, quietly, but with the full force of his reputation behind it, he says, “I’m the man who’s going to destroy you.”

There’s a pause. Max can almost hear the gears turning in Jonathan’s head, the realization dawning. Jonathan doesn’t know the full story yet, but he’s starting to understand that Max isn’t just some random lawyer off the street.

“You think you’re tough?” Jonathan spits, but his voice falters, just slightly. “You think you can intimidate me? You’ve got no idea what I’m capable of. I’ve got connections, money-”

“I don’t care about your money,” Max interrupts, his voice deadly calm. “And your connections? They mean nothing. Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to meet me in person. Tomorrow. Noon. I’ll send you the location. Bring your lawyer. This isn’t a negotiation. It’s a formality.”

Jonathan is silent for a long moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is colder, more calculated. “You think you can push me around? Fine. I’ll meet you. But don’t think for a second this is over. When I’m done, she’ll be crawling back to me, and you? You’ll wish you’d never gotten involved.”

Max’s lips curl into a grim smile, but there’s no humor in it. “We’ll see.”

With that, Max hangs up, the sound of the call ending echoing in the quiet room. He stares at the phone in his hand, his mind already working through the next steps, the strategies. But the rage — cold and burning at the same time — still simmers just beneath the surface.

He walks over to the bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. The burn of the alcohol does little to dull the edge of his anger, but it sharpens his focus. He thinks of you, your bruised face, the way you flinched when you talked about Jonathan.

Max doesn’t care about the money or the case. This isn’t about winning a legal battle. This is about something much bigger. Jonathan Harper is the kind of man Max despises — the kind of man who thinks he can take what he wants, hurt who he wants, without consequence.

Max has dealt with men like Jonathan his whole life. His father was one of them. He remembers the nights his mother spent hiding in their bedroom, her face swollen, her eyes red from crying. He remembers standing outside the door, helpless, listening to the sound of his father’s rage. He swore, even as a boy, that he would never be like his father. And now, he’s making sure men like him pay.

He takes another sip of whiskey, his thoughts hardening into resolve. Jonathan Harper has no idea what’s coming for him.

Max pulls out his phone again, sending a quick message with the meeting details: the time, the place. It’s an upscale restaurant, neutral ground. He doesn’t need to lure Jonathan into a dark alley. No, Max is going to do this the right way — through the law. And if the law isn’t enough, he has other means at his disposal.

He glances at the clock. It’s late, but he knows sleep won’t come tonight. Not with everything spinning in his head.

Max looks out at the city again, the skyline glittering like a sea of possibilities. Tomorrow, Jonathan Harper will realize just how outmatched he is. And by the time Max is done, he’ll make sure you’re safe. Completely safe.

And Jonathan Harper? He won’t have a damn thing left.

***

The restaurant is quiet, the low hum of conversation mixing with the clinking of silverware against plates. You sit next to Max at a polished wooden table in a private room, tucked away from the rest of the patrons. It’s fancy — more than you’re used to — but everything feels off. Like you don’t belong here. You’ve been fidgeting with your hands for the past half hour, unable to sit still, as the minutes tick by.

Jonathan isn’t here yet.

His lawyer arrived on time, a sharp-looking man in a suit so clean it practically sparkles, sitting across from you and Max. He’s polite, overly so, but you can tell there’s no kindness behind his carefully measured smiles. The way he eyes you — it’s like you’re something beneath him, something he’s already decided isn’t worth much.

But it’s not the lawyer that’s making your stomach twist into knots. It’s Jonathan.

The lawyer checks his watch again, sighing lightly as if to signal his own annoyance. “I apologize for Jonathan’s delay. He’s … a busy man.”

Max doesn’t even glance at the lawyer. He’s been staring at the door for the last forty-five minutes, jaw clenched so tightly you think he might crack a tooth. His hand rests on the table in front of him, fingers drumming a slow, tense rhythm against the wood. Every second that passes, you can feel his anger growing — radiating off him like a storm about to break.

“It’s been forty-five minutes,” Max mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. “He thinks he can just waltz in whenever he wants.”

The lawyer opens his mouth, but Max cuts him off without even turning his head. “He’s late. That’s disrespectful. To me. To her.” His voice is low, controlled, but the edge is unmistakable.

You lower your eyes to your lap, where your fingers twist nervously in the fabric of your dress. You hadn’t wanted to come to this meeting in the first place. Being here, waiting for Jonathan — it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing you’re about to fall. The anxiety is suffocating.

“Hey,” Max’s voice softens, pulling you from your thoughts. You look up, meeting his gaze. “You’re doing fine. He’s the one who should be nervous.”

You try to smile, but it’s weak, and Max sees through it immediately. His expression hardens, but not at you — at the situation. At Jonathan.

“I won’t let him do anything,” Max adds, his voice steady. “You’re safe.”

You nod, though the tension in your chest doesn’t ease. You’re not afraid of Jonathan in the same way you used to be. Not exactly. It’s more the dread — the weight of knowing he’s going to walk in and say things that’ll hurt, that’ll drag you back down into the hell you’ve fought so hard to escape.

The door opens then, and you flinch, your breath catching in your throat. For a second, you think it’s Jonathan, but it’s just the server, bringing water to the table. Max watches you carefully, his eyes sharp, protective. You can feel him tense beside you, every muscle in his body on edge.

“Where the hell is he?” Max mutters under his breath, his patience clearly running thin. He checks his watch again, his hand tightening into a fist on the table.

The lawyer clears his throat, an attempt to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “Jonathan has a lot on his plate. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

Max shoots him a look, the kind that silences any further excuses. “He’s almost an hour late. If he wanted to show any respect for this process — for her — he would’ve been here on time.”

You glance at the door again, half hoping Jonathan won’t show. That maybe he’ll just stay gone, and you can pretend for a little while longer that this is all over. But you know better than that. Jonathan always shows up, eventually.

And he does.

Nearly an hour after the scheduled meeting time, the door swings open, and there he is — Jonathan Harper, in all his smug, arrogant glory. He strolls in like he owns the place, not even glancing at you as he makes his way to the table. No apology, no acknowledgment of how late he is. Nothing. Just that same cold indifference you’ve seen so many times before.

You shrink back instinctively, your heart pounding, your hands twisting tighter in your lap.

“Well, well,” Jonathan says, his voice dripping with mockery as he pulls out the chair across from you. He doesn’t sit right away. Instead, he stands there, looking down at you with that familiar sneer. “I see you finally found yourself a babysitter, huh?”

You flinch, the words hitting you like a slap. You can feel Max’s anger beside you, simmering just below the surface.

Jonathan sits down, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. “I have to say, I’m impressed. Didn’t think you had it in you to hire a lawyer. But then again, you’ve always needed someone to take care of you, haven’t you?”

The air in the room grows thick with tension, Max’s silence growing heavier by the second. His fists clench on the table, knuckles white, but he doesn’t move — yet.

Jonathan doesn’t even look at Max. He’s too busy reveling in his own cruelty. “I mean, come on. You couldn’t even manage to keep the house clean, let alone figure out how to divorce me. It’s cute, really. This whole act. Like you think you’re suddenly strong enough to stand up to me.”

Your chest tightens, shame flooding you, and you can’t bring yourself to meet Jonathan’s eyes. He’s always known how to hit where it hurts most.

Max’s voice cuts through the air, low and dangerous. “That’s enough.”

Jonathan’s eyes flick to Max for the first time, his smirk widening. “Oh, this must be the lawyer. What’s your angle, huh? You think you’re gonna play hero and save her from the big bad husband?”

Max leans forward, his voice cold. “I said that’s enough.”

Jonathan just laughs, leaning back in his chair, completely unfazed. “You’re not scaring anyone, buddy. You think I care about your little threats? I’ve got more money and more power than you can even imagine. And her? She’s nothing. She’s been nothing for years. You’re wasting your time.”

Before you can even process what’s happening, Max stands, his chair scraping back with a loud screech. His hands slam onto the table with a force that makes the glasses shake, his body leaning over the table, looming over Jonathan.

The sudden movement sends a jolt through you, and you glance up at Max, heart pounding. His face is inches from Jonathan’s, his eyes blazing with barely controlled fury.

“You’re going to shut your mouth,” Max says, his voice low, lethal. “Or I’m going to shut it for you.”

Jonathan blinks, his smirk faltering for the first time. But then, as if to mask his own fear, he laughs again, though it sounds more forced this time. “Oh, tough guy, huh? You think you’re going to intimidate me?”

Max leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that sends chills down your spine. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. Keep talking, and I’ll make sure you lose everything.”

Jonathan’s smile returns, but there’s something colder behind it now. “You’re bluffing. She’s got nothing. And when this is all over, neither will you.”

Max straightens, his hands still planted firmly on the table, his eyes locked onto Jonathan’s. “Meet me at noon tomorrow. Bring your lawyer. Or don’t — it won’t make a difference. But I’m telling you now, you’re done. You’ll never hurt her again.”

Jonathan sneers, pushing his chair back and standing. He adjusts his jacket, glancing at his lawyer with a bored expression. “We’ll see.”

He turns without another word, walking out of the room like he’s already won.

You sit there, frozen, your heart still racing as the door clicks shut behind him. Max stays standing for a moment, his fists still clenched, his breathing heavy. Then, slowly, he relaxes, his shoulders dropping as he exhales a long, controlled breath.

You don’t say anything at first. You don’t know what to say. Everything feels raw, exposed.

Max turns to you, his eyes softening when they meet yours. “He’s not going to win. You hear me?”

You nod, though your body still feels tense, the weight of Jonathan’s words pressing down on you.

“I promise you,” Max says, his voice quiet but firm, “he’s not going to get away with this. Not this time.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, you believe him.

***

Jonathan grips the steering wheel with one hand, his phone pressed to his ear with the other. His friend on the other end of the call is laughing at something Jonathan said, some offhand comment about how pathetic you are — how you’ve always been pathetic.

“Can you believe she actually thinks she’s gonna win?” Jonathan says, his voice dripping with disdain. “I swear to God, it’s like she’s forgotten who’s in control. I’ve got everything — everything — and she’s sitting there with nothing, thinking some low-rent lawyer’s gonna save her.”

His friend’s laughter crackles through the speaker, fueling Jonathan’s ego. He glances at the dashboard clock — he’s late, but who cares? It’s not like Max and his little damsel in distress can do a thing without him. They need him there. They’re at his mercy. And that’s how it’s always been.

“Max, though,” Jonathan continues, “that guy’s a real piece of work. Acting like he’s some knight in shining armor. Bet he’s got his own skeletons. Probably looking to get a taste of what I had.”

He laughs cruelly, switching the phone to his other ear as he maneuvers through traffic. He barely pays attention to the road. He never does. There’s an ease to his movements, like the world bends to his will, like there’s no need to care about anything or anyone. Not you, not Max, and certainly not whoever might be in his way.

“Yeah, she was always weak,” Jonathan adds. “Clingy, needy … hell, even if she manages to win, she’ll still be nothing without me. Just a broken little girl playing house.”

The friend on the other line chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying the tirade. Jonathan feeds off it, leaning into his own bitterness, his own inflated sense of superiority.

“She’s nothing without me,” he repeats, as if saying it out loud makes it more true, as if it cements his control over you. The idea that you might actually be moving on — finding freedom from him — twists inside his chest, but he shoves the thought away. No, you’ll never be free of him. He won’t let you.

Jonathan shifts in his seat, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the wheel, the city blurring past as he approaches the meeting point. He’s already imagining the look on your face when he walks in, late and unapologetic, just to remind you who’s really in charge. He smiles to himself, his lips curling into a sneer.

“She's probably trembling right now,” Jonathan scoffs into the phone. “Waiting for me to show up, like a good little-”

Suddenly, something feels off.

He presses the brake pedal out of habit as the traffic ahead begins to slow — but nothing happens. His foot sinks down to the floor, the pedal soft and useless beneath his foot. Jonathan’s heart skips a beat.

He tries again. Harder this time. But still, nothing.

“Shit,” he mutters, his eyes darting to the dashboard, hands tightening around the wheel. He presses the brake repeatedly, panic beginning to creep into his chest as the car continues to speed forward.

“Hold on,” he says to his friend on the phone, his voice sharp now. “Something’s wrong with the damn car.”

The brake doesn’t respond at all. The car picks up speed as it rolls downhill, buildings flashing by in a blur of glass and steel. Jonathan’s breath quickens. He yanks the steering wheel, swerving between lanes, his tires screeching as the car narrowly misses another vehicle.

“What the hell …” Jonathan’s voice is a strained whisper now. He slams his foot on the brake again, harder, and his whole body tenses. Nothing. No response.

His friend’s voice crackles through the speaker, confused. “What’s going on?”

“The brakes …” Jonathan mutters, his voice strained. “The goddamn brakes aren’t working!”

The friend says something else, but Jonathan barely hears it. His mind races, adrenaline surging through his veins. He yanks the wheel again, veering off the main road, trying to avoid the cars ahead, but the car is moving too fast. Way too fast.

Jonathan curses under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. Panic claws at his throat, but he forces it down, refusing to let fear take over.

He’s not going to crash. He can’t crash.

He’s Jonathan Harper. He doesn’t lose.

His phone slips from his hand and clatters onto the passenger seat as he struggles to regain control. The buildings are coming closer, faster. His breath comes in shallow, rapid bursts as he wrestles with the wheel, trying to steer toward an empty alleyway. But the speed, the force of the car — it’s too much.

The last thing he sees before impact is a flash of brick and glass.

The sound of the crash is deafening. Metal crumples, glass shatters, the front of the car folding like paper as it collides with the side of a building. Jonathan is thrown forward, his seatbelt jerking him back just as his head slams into the steering wheel.

Pain explodes in his skull, his vision blurring as the world spins around him. The car is still now, steam hissing from the hood, the engine making a pitiful whine before going silent.

For a moment, Jonathan doesn’t move. His ears ring, his head swimming, the taste of blood sharp on his tongue. He tries to breathe, but his chest feels tight, constricted, like there’s something inside him squeezing the air out of his lungs.

Slowly, he lifts his hand to his face, touching his forehead. His fingers come away wet, sticky with blood. His own blood.

“Shit …” he groans, his voice weak, barely a whisper. He tries to move, to reach for the door, but something stops him. A sharp, searing pain in his chest. He gasps, choking on the breath, and a wave of dizziness washes over him.

The taste of blood is stronger now. It fills his mouth, thick and metallic, and when he coughs, crimson sprays across the shattered windshield.

Something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong.

He tries to lift his head, but it’s too heavy. His hands shake as he grips the steering wheel, trying to steady himself, but his vision is fading, the edges going dark. He coughs again, harder this time, and more blood pours from his mouth, thick and viscous, staining his shirt, pooling in his lap.

No. No, this can’t be happening. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

Jonathan struggles, panic surging through him now. He can’t breathe. His chest heaves, but no air comes in, just the taste of blood and the sharp, stabbing pain that’s getting worse with every second.

He tries to call for help, but his voice is lost, buried beneath the gurgling, choking sound coming from his throat.

He’s dying.

The realization hits him like a freight train. He’s dying, right here, in the driver’s seat of his own car, choking on his own blood. And no one’s coming to help him.

His fingers slip off the wheel, falling limp at his sides as his vision narrows to a pinprick of light. He gasps, trying to suck in one last breath, but all he gets is more blood, flooding his lungs, choking him from the inside.

As the darkness closes in, Jonathan’s last thought is of you.

You, standing in that restaurant yesterday, small and afraid, but maybe — just maybe — stronger than he ever gave you credit for.

***

The clock ticks loudly in the otherwise silent room. Each minute that passes only seems to grow heavier, the tension building with every tick. You sit in the same chair you did yesterday, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves, stealing glances at the door every few seconds.

Max sits across from you, his expression unreadable but his fingers drumming lightly against the table. Jonathan’s lawyer is seated at the far end, flipping through some documents with a detached boredom that doesn’t match the mounting frustration you feel swelling in the room.

It’s been almost two hours. Jonathan was late yesterday, but this … this is ridiculous.

Max finally speaks, his voice calm but edged with annoyance. “Two hours. How much longer are we supposed to wait?”

The lawyer doesn’t look up, just shrugs. “I’ve been Jonathan’s lawyer long enough to know he’s rarely on time. You’ll get used to it.”

Max’s jaw tightens. You can tell he’s fighting to keep his anger in check. “This isn't a casual lunch meeting. It’s a legal matter.”

“Legal or not,” the lawyer replies, turning a page, “Jonathan Harper moves at his own pace.”

You bite your lip, feeling the weight of their words hang in the air. You want to speak up, to suggest maybe you should leave and try again another day, but your voice feels trapped. Instead, you clasp your hands together tightly in your lap, trying to ignore the gnawing pit in your stomach.

Max glances over at you, his expression softening for just a moment. He sees how tense you are, how uncomfortable you’ve been this entire time. He leans back in his chair, looking like he’s ready to explode but holding it together, probably for your sake.

“He’s deliberately wasting our time,” Max mutters, almost to himself, though the frustration is clear in his voice. His eyes flick back to the door, then back to you. “We’ll give him five more minutes. If he’s not here by then, we leave.”

You nod, grateful for the out, but before you can say anything, your phone buzzes on the table. The sound is jarring in the quiet room. For a moment, you freeze, staring at the screen as an unfamiliar number flashes across it.

Max’s eyes are on you immediately. “You gonna get that?”

You hesitate, but something tells you to answer. You slide the phone off the table and hold it to your ear. “Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. Harper?” A woman’s voice, calm but urgent, crackles through the line.

Your heart skips a beat. You feel Max and Jonathan’s lawyer watching you, but their gazes blur as a cold shiver runs down your spine.

“Yes, this is she,” you answer, your voice barely above a whisper.

“This is Mercy General Hospital. I’m afraid I have some difficult news. Your husband, Jonathan Harper, was brought in around an hour and a half ago after a car accident.” The voice on the other end pauses as if giving you space to process.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Car accident? Your mind races, trying to make sense of what she’s saying.

“An accident?” You repeat, your voice shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman continues, her tone softening, “but unfortunately, he didn’t make it. He passed away on the ambulance ride over.”

The phone slips from your fingers. You don’t even feel it hit the floor. Everything around you blurs, the room spinning out of focus as your body goes cold. For a second, all you hear is the ringing in your ears, drowning out everything else.

Max is out of his chair in an instant. He’s at your side before you even realize what’s happening, his arms wrapping around you just as your knees give out. You’re not crying. You’re just … empty. Hollow. The world feels like it’s closing in, suffocating, but Max is holding you up, his voice low in your ear.

“Hey, hey — easy. I’ve got you.” His words are steady, but you can hear the concern threaded through them. He lowers you into the chair gently, keeping his hands on your shoulders to steady you.

You blink, trying to make sense of it. Jonathan is dead? He’s … gone?

Max crouches in front of you, his face level with yours now, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you’re still there, still processing. “What happened? What did they say?”

Your lips move, but no sound comes out at first. You have to swallow, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “Jonathan … he’s dead. There was an accident.”

Max’s expression doesn’t change. He stays perfectly still, but you see something flicker in his eyes, something unreadable. He’s quiet for a moment, then he glances at the phone lying on the floor before looking back at you. “When did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, your voice shaky. “They said … they said he didn’t make it to the hospital. It happened over an hour ago.”

The lawyer finally looks up from his papers, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Jonathan’s … dead?”

Max straightens, his hand still resting on your shoulder as he turns toward the other man, his voice suddenly all business. “Yes, it seems there’s been an accident. He didn’t survive.”

Jonathan’s lawyer stands slowly, his face pale. He opens his mouth, then closes it, as if the gravity of the situation is just sinking in. “I … I’ll need to contact his estate. This complicates things.”

Max ignores him. He’s still focused on you, his thumb brushing lightly over your shoulder, grounding you, keeping you tethered as your world spins out of control.

You feel numb. The words echo in your mind: Jonathan is dead. Jonathan is dead. But you don’t know what to feel. Relief? Guilt? Fear?

Max crouches back down, his eyes never leaving yours. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice low and gentle but firm. “You’re safe now. Do you hear me? He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You nod, though the words feel distant, like they’re meant for someone else. You’re still struggling to catch up with the reality of what’s happened.

“I need you to breathe, okay?” Max continues, his hands still steady on your arms. “In and out. Nice and slow.”

You do as he says, inhaling shakily, then exhaling, trying to pull yourself back to the present, to this room, to the fact that you’re still here, even if Jonathan isn’t.

Max watches you closely, waiting until you’ve steadied yourself before speaking again. “We’ll go to the hospital. We’ll take care of everything. But you don’t have to do it alone. I’m right here.”

His words are solid, something to hold onto as the world tilts around you. You don’t know how long you sit there, just breathing, letting the weight of everything settle. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours.

Eventually, you nod again. “Okay.”

Max stands and helps you to your feet, his hand steady at your back as you move toward the door. He picks up your phone from the floor, handing it to you without a word. You take it, but your fingers tremble so much that you can barely grip it.

As you walk toward the exit, Max’s presence is a constant comfort beside you. You glance at him, and for a fleeting moment, you see something in his eyes — something deeper than concern, something more intense. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the calm, steady confidence that he always exudes.

You don’t know what’s waiting for you at the hospital. You don’t know how you’re supposed to feel about Jonathan’s death, or what it means for your future.

But for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe — just maybe — you’re going to be okay.

And that’s when you realize: you’re not alone anymore. Max is here. And for reasons you don’t fully understand, that thought makes all the difference.

***

The car hums beneath you, the soft rumble of the engine the only sound breaking the silence between you and Max. The city lights blur past the window, smudged streaks of white and yellow against the inky night sky. You barely notice the streets you're passing, barely hear the distant honk of horns or the murmur of the radio playing low in the background. Everything feels distant, like you’re watching your own life from somewhere outside of your body.

Max sits beside you, one hand gripping the steering wheel with calm certainty. His posture is relaxed, almost too relaxed for what’s just happened. You steal a glance at him, trying to read his expression. His face is as calm as ever, his jaw set, eyes focused on the road ahead.

But then you catch it — a flash of something. A fleeting, almost imperceptible smirk. It’s there for just a second, curling at the corner of his mouth before vanishing like it was never there. But you saw it.

And in that moment, something clicks.

You sit up straighter, your heart thudding in your chest as a realization settles over you like a heavy weight.

He knows.

He’s known for a while.

You blink, turning to face him fully now, your pulse quickening. “Max.”

He glances at you, his expression still steady, but something in his eyes shifts. “What is it?”

You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat. It takes everything in you to push them out. “Did … did you have something to do with Jonathan’s accident?”

There’s a beat of silence. Max doesn’t answer right away. He keeps his gaze on the road, his hand steady on the wheel, his fingers drumming lightly against the leather. But you can feel the air change between you, thickening with something unsaid.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and calm. “What makes you ask that?”

Your chest tightens. You can’t look away from him now, the truth pulling at you like gravity. “I saw your face. That little smile. You’re not … you’re not surprised that he’s dead, are you?”

Max doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t rush to deny it. He just sighs, like he’s been waiting for this conversation, like he knew you’d figure it out eventually. His grip on the wheel tightens for just a moment before he lets go of a breath.

“No,” he says simply, his voice calm but firm. “I’m not surprised.”

Your heart skips a beat. The air in the car feels suddenly heavier, pressing down on your chest. You wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. He lets the silence hang there, the weight of his words sinking in.

“Max,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “Did you … did you kill him?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightens, and he glances at you briefly, as if gauging your reaction. And then, after a long pause, he says it.

“Yes.”

The word hits you like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of you. Your hands clench in your lap, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to process what you’re feeling. Shock? Fear? Relief?

“Why?” Your voice is barely more than a whisper, your throat tight. “Why would you …”

Max keeps his eyes on the road, his voice low but steady. “Because he hurt you. Because he would have kept hurting you if I hadn’t done something.”

You stare at him, your mind racing, your pulse pounding in your ears. There’s no remorse in his voice, no hesitation. He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like killing Jonathan was just another necessary task, something he had to cross off a list.

“You didn’t have to …” you start, but the words die in your throat. Because part of you knows he’s right. Jonathan would have kept hurting you. And no one else was going to stop him.

Max glances at you again, this time his expression softening, though there’s still a cold edge to his eyes. “He didn’t deserve to live after what he did to you. I wasn’t going to let him walk away from that. Not after everything.”

There’s something dark in his voice, something you’ve never heard before. It sends a chill down your spine, but at the same time, you feel a strange sense of comfort in it. Max did this for you. He killed Jonathan because he thought it was the only way to protect you.

You swallow hard, your mind reeling. You should feel horrified, you should be angry or scared or disgusted. But you’re not. You’re not any of those things. Instead, you feel something else entirely — a strange, overwhelming sense of … relief.

Jonathan is gone. He can’t hurt you anymore. And Max … Max made sure of that.

You take a shaky breath, the tension in your chest slowly easing. “You killed him for me,” you say, your voice soft but steady.

Max nods, his eyes still fixed on the road. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

His words hang in the air, and for a long moment, you don’t say anything. You let them settle, let them sink into your bones. He’s not ashamed. He’s not regretful. And somehow, that makes it easier to accept.

Finally, you exhale, the weight of everything lifting off your shoulders. “Thank you.”

Max glances at you, clearly surprised by your words. His brows furrow slightly, and for the first time since the conversation started, he seems uncertain. “For what?”

“For protecting me,” you say, your voice firmer now, more certain. “For doing what no one else would have.”

Max’s expression softens again, and he lets out a breath he didn’t seem to realize he was holding. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand moves from the steering wheel, reaching across the small space between you. His fingers brush against yours, and then he gently takes your hand in his, squeezing it softly.

You look down at your intertwined fingers, the warmth of his hand grounding you in a way you didn’t expect. You squeeze back, letting him know that you’re okay. That you understand.

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable anymore. It’s calm. Steady.

You lean back in your seat, your gaze shifting back to the city lights outside the window. Jonathan is dead. The nightmare is over. And somehow, despite everything, you feel like you’re finally free.

Max’s thumb rubs lightly over the back of your hand, and you turn to look at him again. His face is still calm, but there’s something softer in his eyes now, something almost tender.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

You feel your chest tighten at his words, but not in the way it did before. This time, it’s different. This time, it feels like something is shifting between you, something you hadn’t noticed before but now feels impossible to ignore.

You don’t say anything. You just sit there, holding his hand, feeling the steady pulse of the city outside the car, and the steady pulse of Max beside you.

***

The hospital parking lot is almost empty, the few scattered cars gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. You and Max sit in silence, the weight of what’s just happened hanging heavy in the air. The hum of the engine dies as Max turns the key, and for a moment, neither of you moves. You stare at the hospital entrance, your heart pounding, your palms damp with nervous sweat.

It hits you — this is really happening. Jonathan is dead, and now you’re supposed to walk in there and pretend to be devastated. To mourn him, to cry for him.

Max shifts in his seat, turning toward you, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He’s been calm the whole drive, unshaken, and now he leans forward, eyes locked on yours, his voice low and measured.

“Listen,” he says, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is light, but his tone is firm. “When we walk in there, you need to act the part. They’re going to expect tears, shock — grief.”

You swallow hard, the idea of playing the grieving widow making your stomach turn. “I don’t know if I can do this, Max.”

His hand lingers near your face, fingers ghosting against your cheek. “Yes, you can,” he says, his voice softening. “You’re stronger than you think. Just focus on what you need to do. No one can know that you’re relieved. You loved him, remember?”

A bitter laugh escapes you, but it dies quickly in the back of your throat. The irony isn’t lost on you, pretending to be a devoted wife to the man who tormented you. But Max is right. No one can know.

You nod, taking a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I can do it. I’ll … I’ll cry if I have to.”

Max’s hand moves from your face to your hand, squeezing gently. “Good. And don’t worry about the rest. I’ll handle any questions, any details. Just play your part.”

You bite your lip, nodding again, your heart still racing but your mind clearing. You’ve played so many roles before — dutiful wife, obedient woman, silent sufferer. This is just another role to get through. Just another mask to wear.

Max releases your hand and pushes open the car door. “Ready?”

No, you think. You’re not ready. But you don’t have a choice. You force a smile, though it feels like it might crack your face. “Ready.”

The two of you walk toward the entrance, the automatic doors whooshing open to the sterile, cold smell of disinfectant and hospital walls. Your breath quickens as you step inside, the reality of the situation crashing over you like a tidal wave. Nurses bustle past, clipboards in hand, murmuring to one another, while the soft beep of machines hums in the background.

You feel exposed, like every person here can see straight through you, can see that the grief you’re about to display isn’t real.

Max leads you to the front desk, his hand resting lightly on your back in a gesture of support. He leans in toward the nurse on duty, his voice low and authoritative.

“We’re here to see Jonathan Harper,” he says. “He’s my … sister’s husband. We got a call.”

The nurse looks up, her expression softening with sympathy as she glances at you. “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss,” she says gently. “If you’ll just have a seat, I’ll call someone to come speak with you.”

You nod, not trusting your voice just yet. Instead, you let Max guide you to the waiting area, where you sit down in one of the stiff plastic chairs. Your hands are shaking, so you fold them in your lap, gripping your fingers tightly together.

Max sits beside you, his hand resting on your knee for just a moment, grounding you. His presence is reassuring, a steady anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“Remember,” he says under his breath, leaning close enough that only you can hear. “You loved him. Show them that.”

You nod again, taking a shaky breath. You focus on your hands, on the feel of the cold plastic chair beneath you. You need to let the reality of the situation sink in — Jonathan is dead. He’s really gone. The man who hurt you is gone.

And you’re supposed to be devastated.

The thought makes your stomach churn, but you force yourself to push it aside. This isn’t about what you feel. This is about survival. About making sure no one suspects the truth.

A few minutes pass before a doctor approaches, a man in his mid-forties with graying hair and kind eyes. He kneels in front of you, his expression full of the kind of sympathy you don’t deserve.

“Mrs. Harper,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry to tell you this, but … your husband didn’t make it.”

And just like that, you snap into character.

Your breath catches in your throat, your eyes widening as the weight of the words hits you. “No,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “No, that can’t be … there must be some mistake.”

The doctor shakes his head gently, placing a hand on your arm. “I’m afraid there’s no mistake. We did everything we could, but the injuries were just too severe.”

You feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, and you let them fall. You’ve always been good at crying on cue. It’s something Jonathan hated about you, your ability to turn on the waterworks whenever you needed to. But now, it’s a weapon, a tool to make everyone believe the lie.

You cover your mouth with your hand, your body shaking with sobs that come more naturally than you expected. It’s almost too easy to cry for the life you lost, for the years of pain, for the woman you used to be before Jonathan destroyed her.

“I don’t understand,” you gasp, your voice breaking. “How … how did this happen?”

The doctor sighs, his face etched with regret. “It was a car accident. The paramedics did everything they could, but he passed away before he reached the hospital.”

You let out a soft, broken cry, your shoulders trembling as the grief pours out of you. You don’t have to fake that part. The relief feels like grief in a way, like a release of something you’ve been holding onto for far too long.

Max leans in, his hand on your back again, his voice low and soothing. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

The doctor stands, giving you a moment to compose yourself. “We’ll need you to come with us to identify the body, Mrs. Harper,” he says gently.

You nod, wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks. “I … I can do that.”

The doctor gives you a small, understanding nod and turns to lead the way down the sterile white corridor. Max stays close by your side, his hand never leaving your back. As you walk, you focus on your breathing, on keeping the tears flowing just enough to sell the part.

You feel Max lean in slightly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re doing great. Just a little longer.”

You nod, sniffling as you walk, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. You’re not just playing the part of a grieving widow — you’re erasing the evidence, erasing the truth. You’re erasing Jonathan Harper from your life, once and for all.

When you reach the morgue, the doctor stops in front of a pair of heavy metal doors. He pauses, turning to you with that same sympathetic expression. “Are you ready?”

No. You’re not ready. You’ll never be ready for this. But you nod anyway, because what else can you do?

Max squeezes your shoulder, his voice low and steady. “You’ve got this.”

The doctor opens the door, and the cold air hits you like a wave. The room is dimly lit, the fluorescent lights flickering slightly as the doctor leads you toward a covered body on a steel table. You feel your heart hammering in your chest, your pulse loud in your ears as you take each step.

This is it. The final act.

The doctor gently pulls back the sheet, revealing Jonathan’s pale, lifeless face. His features are slack, his skin bruised and bloodied from the accident. For a moment, you can’t breathe. The sight of him — so still, so powerless — it’s like seeing a ghost. The man who held so much control over your life now lies broken in front of you.

You force a sob, your hand flying to your mouth as you step back, tears streaming down your face. “Oh God … Jonathan …”

The doctor watches you, his eyes full of pity, but he says nothing. He doesn’t need to. You’ve done your job. You’ve played your part.

Max steps in, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close as you turn away from the body. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get out of here.”

You nod, still crying, still playing the part.

***

The car ride back is heavy with silence, the hum of the engine filling the void between you and Max. You stare out the window, watching the city blur by in shades of gray, your mind still reeling from the night’s events. Jonathan is dead. The words feel surreal in your head, like a distant truth you’re not quite ready to touch.

Max drives with one hand on the steering wheel, his other resting on his lap, fingers tapping lightly as though he’s thinking. His face is calm, focused, but there’s something different in the air now — an ease in his posture that wasn’t there before. He’s done what he set out to do. Jonathan is gone, and now it’s just a matter of cleaning up the aftermath.

After what feels like an eternity, Max breaks the silence, his voice smooth but carrying an undercurrent of something darker. “I had someone look into Jonathan’s will.”

Your gaze snaps to him, your heart skipping a beat. The words rattle in your brain, bringing with them a new layer of uncertainty. “What do you mean?”

Max glances at you briefly, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard. “Jonathan never updated it. He didn’t add you.”

The breath you’ve been holding releases in a sharp exhale, anxiety knotting in your stomach. Of course he didn’t. Of course, even in death, Jonathan would find a way to hurt you. You sink back into the seat, your head leaning against the cold window. “So … what does that mean? I don’t get anything?”

Max is quiet for a moment, but then his lips twitch into a faint smirk. “Not quite. The legal system will treat it like a case of forgetfulness. You were married, and he didn’t update his will, so you’ll still be the main beneficiary. It’s a loophole.”

You frown, trying to process his words. “Are you sure?”

He chuckles softly, his voice dripping with confidence. “I’m a lawyer, remember? Trust me. It won’t be a problem.”

You stare at him, your mind buzzing. Max always seems to have the answers, always one step ahead of everyone else. You’ve barely had time to think about what Jonathan’s death means for you — financially, legally, emotionally — but Max has already covered all the bases.

“It feels wrong,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “Like … taking his money after everything.”

Max raises an eyebrow, glancing at you with a look of mild amusement. “After everything he put you through, I’d say it’s more than fair. You deserve every cent.”

The bitterness in his tone is palpable, and for a moment, you see flashes of the man who took control of the situation with such ease. He doesn’t just see this as a legal matter, there’s something personal about it for him. Something about Jonathan’s abuse struck a nerve, and you realize again just how far Max is willing to go to protect you.

“But what if people start asking questions?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want anyone to think I-”

“Stop.” Max’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, firm but not harsh. He reaches over, placing his hand on yours. The warmth of his touch calms you, steadying the racing thoughts in your mind. “No one is going to question anything. You were his wife. You’re entitled to everything. No one’s going to think twice.”

You stare at your intertwined hands, the weight of his assurance sinking in. Max always seems so certain, so sure of himself. He makes everything sound simple, even when it’s not. Even when you feel like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “It just feels so … complicated.”

Max squeezes your hand, his voice softening. “I know it does. But I’ll make sure it’s not. You won’t have to worry about any of this.”

His words are like a balm to your nerves, but there’s still a flicker of doubt gnawing at you. You’ve been living under Jonathan’s thumb for so long, every part of your life controlled by him, that the idea of having any freedom — especially financial freedom — feels foreign. You’re not used to having power, and the thought of inheriting everything Jonathan left behind feels like stepping into unfamiliar territory.

“What did he leave behind?” You ask after a moment, your voice quiet.

Max’s eyes flicker with something — an unreadable emotion — but his tone stays steady. “More than enough to ensure you’re taken care of. He wasn’t exactly a modest man.”

You nod, biting your lip as your mind runs through the possibilities. Jonathan was always secretive about his finances, never letting you see the full picture. But you knew he had money — more than enough to maintain the lavish lifestyle he forced you into, the one that felt like a cage. Now, that money is yours, and the thought leaves a strange taste in your mouth.

“I don’t want it to feel like … blood money,” you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Max’s grip tightens on your hand, his voice firm. “It’s not blood money. It’s justice. He took so much from you. Now, it’s time you take something back.”

You look at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, but there’s none. Max’s conviction is unwavering, his belief in what he’s done — and what he’s doing — absolute. It’s both comforting and unsettling, this realization that Max sees the world in such clear-cut terms. Right and wrong. Justice and vengeance.

And somehow, you’ve fallen right into the center of it all.

As the city lights flicker by, you let out a soft sigh, resting your head against the seat. “I don’t know what to do with it all. The money. The house. Everything.”

Max’s eyes soften, his voice gentle. “You don’t have to decide right now. One step at a time. The most important thing is that you’re free.”

The word ‘free’ hangs in the air, and for a moment, it feels like a foreign concept. You’ve spent so long living in fear, tiptoeing around Jonathan’s moods, that the idea of being free — truly free — seems almost impossible.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice small. “I’ve never been on my own before.”

Max is silent for a moment, then he reaches over, brushing a thumb across your knuckles. “You’re not on your own. You have me. You have Victoria.”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. The truth is, you don’t feel alone. Not with Max sitting beside you, guiding you through every step of this mess. But the idea of relying on someone else again — especially after everything with Jonathan — it makes your stomach twist with uncertainty.

“Thank you,” you whisper, glancing at him from beneath your lashes. “For everything. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

Max’s lips curl into a soft smile, but there’s something deeper in his eyes — something you can’t quite place. “You don’t have to repay me. You’ve been through enough. Let me take care of this.”

The car slows as you approach Victoria’s house, the familiar sight of her front porch coming into view. Your heart clenches as you realize that this — this strange, messy situation — is your new reality. Jonathan is gone, and with him, the life you once knew.

Max pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine, the silence between you thick and charged. For a moment, neither of you moves. Then Max turns to you, his expression softer than before, his eyes searching yours.

“You’re going to be okay,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I promise.”

You nod, though you’re not entirely sure you believe it yet. But there’s something about the way Max says it — something about the certainty in his voice — that makes you want to believe.

As you reach for the door handle, Max’s hand brushes yours, stopping you for a moment. “And if you ever need anything — anything at all — you come to me. Understand?”

You look into his eyes, feeling a strange warmth spread through your chest. “I understand.”

With a final squeeze of your hand, Max lets you go, and you step out of the car, the cool night air hitting your skin. You walk up to Victoria’s front door, the weight of everything pressing down on you. But as you turn back to see Max watching you from the driver’s seat, you can’t help but feel a flicker of hope.

For the first time in a long time, you’re free. And maybe, just maybe, you’re strong enough to figure out what that means.

***

The restaurant is one of those upscale places with white tablecloths and a quiet hum of conversation, the kind of place that feels almost too polished for the three of you to have anything resembling a casual lunch. You sit across from Max, watching him, trying to get a read on him the way you’ve been doing ever since everything happened. It’s hard to tell with Max. He always seems so composed, like everything is part of a plan that only he knows.

Victoria, sitting next to you, has been doing most of the talking, catching Max up on the little things that have been going on — her job, mutual friends, things that feel oddly normal considering how not normal your life has been lately. You pick at your salad, your appetite still shaky after everything that’s happened.

“So,” Victoria says, after taking a sip of her wine. “What’s the plan with the house?”

The question catches you off guard, though you’ve been thinking about it non-stop. Jonathan’s house. The house you lived in with him. The house that still feels like it’s haunted by his presence, his cruelty, the fights that rattled through its walls. You look down at your plate, avoiding Max’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I can’t … I can’t stay there.”

Victoria reaches over, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “Of course not. You shouldn’t even have to think about it. You’re still welcome to stay with me as long as you need. My home is always open for you.”

You glance up at her, gratitude warming your chest. Victoria has been nothing but supportive through all of this, offering you a safe place to land when everything felt like it was crumbling. But even though you’ve appreciated every second of her kindness, the truth is … you feel like a burden.

“I don’t want to impose,” you say softly. “I’ve already stayed longer than I should have.”

Victoria waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not imposing at all.”

“I don’t know,” you continue, fidgeting with the napkin in your lap. “I just … I feel bad. It’s your space. I don’t want to be in your way.”

Before Victoria can respond, Max clears his throat, drawing both of your attention to him. He’s been quiet for most of the lunch, observing, listening. Now, he sets his fork down, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression.

“You could move in with me,” he says, so casually that it takes a moment for his words to register.

Your head snaps toward him, eyes widening in disbelief. “What?”

Even Victoria looks taken aback, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Wait — what?”

Max shrugs, his expression calm, as if he hasn’t just dropped a bombshell on the table. “I’ve got plenty of space. The penthouse is way too big for just me anyway.”

Your brain scrambles to catch up with what he’s saying. Move in with him? Into his penthouse? You’re not sure how to respond, your mind immediately filling with reasons why that’s a bad idea.

“Max, I-I can’t just move in with you,” you stammer, feeling your cheeks heat up. “That’s … I mean, it’s your home. I don’t want to-”

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” Max cuts in smoothly, as if he’s already anticipated every one of your protests. “Like I said, it’s way too big for one person. You’d actually be doing me a favor.”

Victoria blinks, looking between the two of you, her surprise turning into a curious smirk. “I mean, it’s not the worst idea,” she says, clearly enjoying how flustered you’ve become. “Max does have that ridiculous apartment. It’s like living in a luxury hotel.”

You shake your head, still trying to wrap your mind around the suggestion. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t want to be dependent on anyone again, especially not after …”

Your voice trails off, but Max knows exactly what you’re thinking. He leans forward slightly, his gaze intent. “You wouldn’t be dependent on me. This isn’t about control, it’s about giving you a safe space to figure things out.”

His words hang in the air, their weight settling over you. Max always knows how to say the right thing, how to make it sound like everything is under control. And maybe it is, in his world. But in your world, everything still feels like it’s teetering on the edge of chaos.

“I don’t know …” you murmur, your fingers twisting the napkin in your lap.

Max reaches across the table, his hand resting on top of yours. His touch is firm, grounding. “I’m not asking you to decide right now. Just think about it. You don’t have to figure everything out at once.”

You glance at Victoria, hoping she’ll have some kind of advice, but she just grins, leaning back in her chair as if she’s thoroughly entertained by the entire conversation. “Honestly? I think it’s a good idea. You’d have more space to yourself, and you wouldn’t feel like you’re cramping my style.”

“I don’t feel like I’m cramping your style,” you mutter, giving her a playful glare.

She laughs, but there’s a softness in her eyes as she looks at you. “Look, you’ve been through hell, and I think the last thing you need right now is to worry about where you’re staying. Max is offering you a chance to take some of that stress off your plate. You should take it.”

You swallow hard, your gaze flicking back to Max. He’s watching you intently, waiting for your response. And while every instinct in you is screaming to refuse — to keep your independence, to not get too close — the truth is, you’re tired. Tired of fighting, tired of being afraid, tired of not knowing what’s going to happen next.

Max’s offer feels like a lifeline, and as much as you hate to admit it … you need one.

“I’ll think about it,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max nods, his expression softening. “That’s all I’m asking.”

The conversation shifts after that, Victoria taking over with a story about a disastrous date she had earlier in the week, but your mind stays stuck on Max’s offer. Move in with him? The idea feels foreign, like stepping into a life that’s not your own. But then again, everything about your life has felt foreign since Jonathan died.

Later, as the three of you finish your meals and the waiter clears the plates, Victoria leans over and whispers in your ear, her breath warm against your skin. “You should say yes.”

You glance at her, your eyes widening. “To what?”

“To moving in with Max,” she says, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I mean, come on. A penthouse? You’d be living the dream.”

You roll your eyes, though her words stir something in your chest. “It’s not about the penthouse.”

“Right,” she says with a knowing smirk. “It’s about Max.”

Your face heats up, and you quickly look away, hoping she doesn’t notice the flush creeping up your neck. But of course, Victoria notices everything.

“You like him, don’t you?” She teases, nudging you with her elbow.

You shoot her a glare, though it’s more out of embarrassment than anger. “It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, clearly not believing you for a second. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know.”

You groan, leaning your head back against the chair. “Can we not do this right now?”

Victoria laughs, but she doesn’t push it further. Instead, she just gives you a soft smile, the kind that says she knows exactly what’s going on, even if you’re not ready to admit it to yourself.

By the time lunch is over and the three of you are standing outside the restaurant, the sun warm on your skin, you still haven’t made up your mind. Max’s offer feels too good to be true, like stepping into a different world, a world where you don’t have to be afraid anymore.

But as Max pulls you into a quick hug, his strong arms wrapping around you for just a second too long, you start to wonder if maybe … maybe it’s not too good to be true.

Maybe it’s exactly what you need.

***

The late afternoon sun casts golden light over the city as you stand at the entrance of Max’s penthouse building, staring up at the sleek, glass structure. It still feels surreal. A part of you wonders how you got here — how your life has shifted so quickly from the nightmare of Jonathan to this strange, uncertain new chapter.

Max stands beside you, keys in hand, effortlessly calm like always. He glances over, his dark eyes warm. “Ready?”

You nod, gripping the handle of the box you're holding a little tighter, though your nerves buzz underneath your skin. “Yeah. Ready.”

The moving truck is parked a few feet away, filled with your belongings. You don’t have much, just some clothes, books, a few personal items, and the memories that you’ve tried to leave behind. Victoria offered to help today, but Max insisted that he could handle it. You’re still not sure how you feel about that — about Max doing so much for you — but you’ve stopped protesting. Every time you try, he brushes it off like it’s nothing.

Max leads you into the lobby, the doorman greeting him by name. You follow him into the elevator, clutching the box to your chest. The ride up is silent, save for the low hum of the elevator. When the doors open, Max steps out first, turning back to give you a reassuring smile.

“Let's get these up to the apartment,” he says, his voice steady, like moving you in is just another ordinary task for him.

You step out of the elevator and into his penthouse. The doors open into a sprawling, open-plan living room, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the city. The space is sleek, modern, but somehow still comfortable — just like Max himself.

He sets his box down and glances over at you. “We can start setting things in your room if you'd like. The spare bedroom is down the hall.”

You try to hide the way your breath catches in your throat as you nod. “Sure. Thanks.”

As you begin moving boxes from the truck to the penthouse, you find yourself increasingly distracted by Max. Every time he bends to lift a box, his muscles strain against the fabric of his shirt, the sinewy strength in his arms drawing your attention. His movements are fluid, effortless, as though this is nothing for him.

And it's not just that he’s strong — it's the ease with which he carries himself. There’s no posturing, no arrogance. He’s doing this because he wants to help, because he sees you struggling and wants to make things easier.

You try not to stare, but it’s impossible not to notice the way his shirt stretches tight across his broad shoulders or the way his biceps flex when he lifts heavier boxes with one hand, like they weigh nothing at all. He catches you glancing once or twice, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything.

After a couple of trips back and forth from the truck, you’re standing in the living room, trying to decide where to start unpacking. Max steps beside you, brushing a bit of dust from his jeans, and glances around the space.

“Where do you want this stuff?” He asks, motioning to the remaining boxes.

“I guess I’ll start with the bedroom.” You bite your lip, glancing toward the hallway. “It’s not a lot, really. I don’t want to take up too much space.”

Max shakes his head. “You’re not taking up space. Like I said, this place is too big for one person. Besides,” his voice softens, “you deserve to feel comfortable. Make it yours.”

Something about the way he says that, like he genuinely cares, makes your heart skip a beat. You nod, feeling your throat tighten as you head down the hall with him. The spare bedroom is just as luxurious as the rest of the apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows and more space than you’ve ever had in any room you’ve lived in.

Max sets the box down near the door, watching as you take in the room. “What do you think?”

“I don’t even know what to say,” you admit, shaking your head. “It’s … beautiful. It’s too much, Max.”

He steps closer, his presence warm and solid next to you. “It’s not too much. It’s exactly what you need. And besides, I want you here.”

You swallow, trying to process the weight of his words. He wants you here. Max has always been protective of you, ever since you met him through Victoria, but this is something else. It’s not just protection — it’s … something more. Something you can’t quite put your finger on yet.

As the day wears on and more boxes make their way into the penthouse, you start unpacking, trying to make sense of this new chapter. Max works alongside you, quietly helping without ever making you feel like you owe him anything. Every time you glance over at him, he’s there, steady and calm, grounding you in a way you never expected.

After a while, Max heads back to the truck to grab the last few items, leaving you in the apartment alone. You take a moment to breathe, running your fingers over the smooth surface of the kitchen counter. It still doesn’t feel real, being here, surrounded by luxury and safety. You’ve spent so long being afraid, walking on eggshells around Jonathan, that this feels almost … too easy. Too good.

Max’s voice calls out from the hallway as he returns, carrying the final box. “That’s the last of it.”

You nod, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Thank you, Max. For everything.”

He sets the box down with a quiet thud, then turns to face you, his dark eyes steady. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do, though.” You cross your arms, feeling a mixture of gratitude and something else — something heavier. “I don’t even know how to start repaying you for all of this.”

Max steps closer, the air between you shifting, heavy with unspoken tension. He tilts his head slightly, a faint smirk on his lips, though his eyes are serious. “I’m not doing this because I expect anything in return.”

“I know,” you whisper, looking up at him. “But still.”

He reaches out, brushing his thumb across your cheek in a gesture so gentle it makes your chest ache. “You’ve been through enough, okay? You don’t owe me anything. All I want is for you to feel safe.”

The warmth of his touch lingers even after he pulls his hand away. You nod, though your throat feels tight, overwhelmed by the way he looks at you, like he actually means it. Like he’s the one person in your life who doesn’t expect you to give something back.

The two of you stand there for a moment, the weight of everything that’s happened settling between you. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you realize that maybe — just maybe — you’re finally safe.

Max’s phone buzzes, breaking the silence. He glances down at the screen, his expression shifting back to that calm, collected demeanor you’ve come to know. “I need to take this call. Are you okay unpacking the rest by yourself?”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, waving him off. “Go ahead. I’ve got this.”

He nods, already heading for the door. But before he leaves, he pauses, turning back to give you one last look.

“If you need anything,” he says, his voice low, “I’m here.”

You nod again, watching him leave, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the hallway as he disappears. Once he’s gone, you let out a long breath, sinking down onto the couch.

This is your life now. And somehow, despite everything, it doesn’t feel as scary as it used to.

***

The scent of simmering tomatoes and garlic fills the air as you stand in Max’s kitchen, stirring the pot of sauce slowly. The space around you feels both intimate and strangely unfamiliar, a far cry from the cold, silent kitchens of your past. Here, in Max’s penthouse, everything feels alive, warm.

Max leans against the counter beside you, watching the sauce bubble. He’s more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him, his sleeves rolled up and his tie long discarded. It’s a side of him you haven’t seen before — domestic, almost casual. You’re still getting used to it, the idea of Max being more than just the quiet force of nature who’s been protecting you. Here, in the soft glow of his kitchen lights, he seems … human.

“Are you sure it needs more basil?” Max asks, raising an eyebrow at the pile of fresh leaves you’ve already tossed into the pot.

“Trust me,” you say with a smile, turning the spoon in your hand. “It does.”

Max chuckles under his breath and takes the spoon from you, dipping it into the sauce for a taste. He blows on it gently, then takes a slow, thoughtful sip. His eyes narrow as he considers the flavor, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

“Not bad,” he admits. “But I think you’re overestimating the power of basil.”

“Basil makes everything better,” you say playfully, nudging him with your elbow.

He smirks, setting the spoon down on the counter before leaning back against the cabinets, his arms folding across his chest. “We’ll see. I’ll let you have this one.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you go back to stirring the sauce. Max watches you quietly, his eyes lingering on you in a way that sends a strange warmth through your chest. You’ve been in his penthouse for a few days now, and things between you have settled into an easy routine. It’s nice — this strange sense of normalcy.

But every now and then, when you catch him looking at you like that, you’re reminded that there’s nothing entirely normal about this.

“So,” you start, trying to focus on the sauce instead of the way Max is watching you. “Do you cook often?”

Max shrugs, still leaning back lazily against the counter. “Not really. Usually, I have someone come in to do it, but … I don’t mind doing it myself sometimes.”

You nod, stirring the sauce in silence for a moment. There’s a calmness between you, a quiet comfort that has become a regular part of being around Max. But there’s also something else. Something unspoken.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” you say suddenly, surprising even yourself with the question.

Max tilts his head, watching you for a moment before a small smile creeps onto his lips. “You know, you ask a lot of questions.”

“I do,” you admit, meeting his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. “And you never answer them.”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Alright. Let me think.”

There’s a pause as Max considers his answer. Then, after a moment, he leans in a little closer, his voice dropping just slightly.

“When I was in law school, I almost dropped out. My dad wanted me to be a lawyer, to have something legitimate on the side. But halfway through, I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by the honesty. “Really? But you stuck with it.”

“Yeah,” Max nods, his expression thoughtful. “I stayed because of Victoria. She said I was too stubborn to quit.”

You smile softly, stirring the sauce as you consider his words. There’s something oddly comforting about hearing that — even Max, the man who always seems so sure of himself, had his moments of doubt.

Before you can respond, Max reaches for the spoon again, dipping it into the sauce for another taste. This time, he doesn’t blow on it first, and the heat catches him off guard. He winces slightly, pulling the spoon away from his lips quickly.

“Too hot?” You ask with a grin, watching his reaction.

“Just a little,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. But as he does, a small streak of sauce remains on the corner of his lip, bright red against his skin.

You chuckle softly, pointing at his face. “You’ve got something right … there.”

Max pauses, his hand hovering near his mouth as he tries to find the spot. But before he can clean it off, something inside you stirs — a sudden impulse you don’t fully understand. Without thinking, you take a step closer, reaching out to him.

His eyes meet yours as you lean in, your heart pounding in your chest. The space between you shrinks, and before you can second-guess yourself, your lips brush against the corner of his mouth, tasting the faint hint of tomato and basil.

The moment is quick, fleeting, but the electricity in the air lingers long after you pull away.

Max freezes, his dark eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The kitchen is quiet except for the low simmer of the sauce on the stove.

You swallow hard, suddenly unsure of what you’ve just done. “I — sorry. You had … some sauce.”

Max blinks, his gaze softening as the corner of his mouth lifts into a small, almost amused smile. “I noticed.”

Your heart races as the weight of the moment hangs between you, and you wonder if you’ve crossed a line. But then Max steps closer, his presence warm and steady, his voice low.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says softly, his eyes searching yours.

“I … I know,” you murmur, your breath catching in your throat as he inches even closer. “But I wanted to.”

For a moment, Max just looks at you, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. And then, slowly, he reaches up, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “you’re full of surprises.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your skin tingling under his touch. “Is that a bad thing?”

His thumb grazes your cheekbone, his touch gentle but firm. “No,” he says quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Not at all.”

The tension between you crackles in the air, thick and charged, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world has narrowed down to just the two of you standing in the kitchen, the smell of tomato sauce and garlic surrounding you like a haze.

Max’s hand lingers on your face for just a second longer before he pulls away, clearing his throat and stepping back. The distance between you returns, but the weight of what just happened still hangs in the air, unspoken.

“I should, uh …” He glances at the pot, his voice a little hoarse. “We should finish dinner.”

“Yeah,” you agree quickly, trying to ignore the way your heart is still racing in your chest. “Dinner.”

Max turns back to the stove, grabbing the spoon and stirring the sauce again as though nothing happened. But you can’t shake the feeling that something did happen — that something between you shifted in that moment, even if neither of you is ready to acknowledge it yet.

As you move around the kitchen together, preparing the rest of the meal, the atmosphere is lighter, but there’s an undeniable tension simmering beneath the surface — something neither of you can ignore, no matter how hard you try. Every time your hands brush, every time your eyes meet, it’s there, lingering just out of reach.

And though neither of you says it out loud, you both know that whatever this is between you … it’s far from over.

***

The clink of dishes fills the kitchen, a peaceful rhythm as you and Max stand side by side at the sink. The scent of the meal you cooked together still lingers in the air — garlic, basil, and rich tomato sauce — its warmth a comforting backdrop to the easy silence that has settled between you.

You rinse the plates, passing them to Max, who dries them with a towel and places them in neat stacks. It’s strange how domestic this feels, how normal. After everything that’s happened, after all the chaos and tension, this moment feels almost surreal in its simplicity. The steam from the hot water rises, blurring the edges of your thoughts as you hand him the next plate.

There’s a calm between you, but also something unspoken. A simmering energy that’s been lingering ever since that brief, impulsive kiss earlier. Every time your hands brush, every glance you exchange — it’s there, lingering in the air like a spark waiting to catch.

You try to focus on the task in front of you, scrubbing a stubborn spot on a plate with a sponge, but your thoughts keep drifting back to the way Max’s lips felt when they grazed yours. The way his eyes darkened when he looked at you afterward. And how, even though neither of you has mentioned it since, you know he hasn’t forgotten either.

Lost in your thoughts, you absentmindedly squeeze the bottle of soap a little too hard, and a burst of bubbles shoots out, landing on Max’s arm. You blink, startled, then burst into laughter as you see the suds clinging to his sleeve.

“Whoops,” you say, biting back more laughter as Max looks down at his arm, then back at you with raised eyebrows.

“Whoops?” He repeats, his tone dry but with a playful glint in his eyes. “You did that on purpose.”

You shake your head, still giggling. “I swear I didn’t! You just-”

Before you can finish your sentence, Max reaches out, swiping a finger through the bubbles on his arm and flicking them back at you. You gasp as the soapy foam splashes your face, catching you completely off guard.

“Max!” You protest, laughing even harder now as you wipe the bubbles from your cheek. “That was not fair!”

Max smirks, leaning casually against the counter with the towel still in his hand. “Payback.”

You narrow your eyes playfully, but you can’t stop the smile from tugging at your lips. The tension that’s been simmering all night seems to dissolve in the laughter, replaced by something light and easy. For a moment, it feels like you’ve stepped into a different reality — one where the two of you can just be like this. Normal. Happy.

But then, as the laughter fades, the silence between you shifts again, the air thickening with something else. Something heavier.

Max is watching you, his eyes dark and intense, the playful smirk fading into something far more serious. His gaze lingers on your face, tracing the curve of your lips, the way your chest rises and falls as your breath quickens.

The mood changes so fast it almost knocks the air from your lungs. One second, you’re laughing, and the next, the tension between you is back, sharper and more urgent than before.

You can feel it — the pull between you. It’s like a magnetic force, drawing you closer together, even though neither of you has moved. The bubbles, the dishes, everything else fades into the background as Max takes a slow step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Max …” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. But you don’t know what else to say. You don’t know what this is, this charged energy building between you, but it’s impossible to ignore.

Max takes another step, closing the distance between you, his hand still holding the towel loosely at his side. His eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, it feels like the entire world has narrowed down to just the two of you. Just this moment.

You’re not sure who moves first. Maybe it’s both of you at once. But suddenly, Max’s hand is on your waist, pulling you toward him, and his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is hard, almost desperate, like all the tension that’s been building between you has finally snapped. His other hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, pressing you back against the counter.

You gasp against his lips, your hands instinctively grabbing at his shirt, pulling him closer. The cool surface of the cabinets presses into your back, but you hardly notice it. All you can focus on is Max — on the heat of his body against yours, the way his lips move with a hunger that makes your knees go weak.

For a split second, you can’t think. Can’t breathe. All you know is that you want more — need more. Max’s kiss is consuming, overwhelming, and you find yourself lost in it, lost in him.

His hand tightens on your waist, his thumb brushing against the bare skin just under the hem of your shirt. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and you let out a soft, involuntary moan against his lips.

That sound seems to snap something in Max. He breaks the kiss suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at you, his breathing ragged. His eyes are wild, dark with an emotion you can’t quite name.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks, his voice rough, low. His thumb still strokes your skin, a gentle reminder of the fire burning between you.

You nod, your heart racing. You can barely find your voice, but when you do, it’s filled with certainty. “Yes.”

That’s all it takes.

Max crashes his lips against yours again, harder this time, more intense. His hand slips under your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your waist as he presses you further into the cabinets. The towel he was holding drops to the floor, forgotten, as both of his hands find their way to your body.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you. His kiss is rough, insistent, and you can feel the barely restrained desire in the way his hands roam your body, the way his mouth claims yours like he can’t get enough.

The kiss deepens, growing more heated by the second, and you lose yourself in the sensation of it all — the taste of him, the feel of his hands on you, the way his body fits so perfectly against yours. It’s like nothing else matters in this moment, like the world outside this kitchen doesn’t even exist.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, Max pulls away again, his breath coming in harsh gasps. He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to catch his breath.

You’re both silent for a moment, the only sound in the kitchen the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the rapid beating of your hearts. Max’s hands are still on your waist, his grip firm but gentle, as if he’s afraid to let go.

When he finally opens his eyes, they’re softer now, the wild intensity from earlier replaced by something deeper. Something more vulnerable.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, your heart swelling at his words. “Me too.”

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips — this one slower, more tender, like he’s savoring the moment. When he pulls back, there’s a small smile on his face, and you can’t help but smile back.

There’s a calm between you now, a quiet understanding. Whatever this is between you, it’s real. It’s undeniable. And as you stand there, wrapped in Max’s arms, you know that things between you will never be the same again.

***

“Is that …” One of the men, Gregory, squints toward the entrance of the exclusive restaurant, pausing in the middle of a flirtatious exchange with the hostess. His words trail off, confusion clouding his features.

“What?” Brian, the stockier of the group, follows his gaze, annoyed that Gregory stopped mid-conversation. “What’s up, man?”

Gregory gestures with a tilt of his chin toward the door, where a woman has just stepped in. The place is dimly lit, but something about her seems familiar, though they can't quite place her.

“Do I know her from somewhere?” Gregory mutters, his brow furrowed as he leans back in his chair. The hostess, sensing their distraction, uses the opportunity to walk away, leaving them with menus but no promises of a table anytime soon.

Brian cranes his neck to get a better look. “Wait … yeah, she looks familiar.” His eyes narrow, trying to make out her face in the low light as she stands by the coat check with a man. The guy is tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in an expensive-looking suit. He’s effortlessly helping her out of her coat, revealing a very obvious baby bump underneath her fitted dress.

“That can’t be …” Gregory’s voice drops, his eyes widening. He leans forward abruptly, his voice incredulous now. “No way. It can’t be her.”

Brian is staring hard now too, the realization dawning on him slowly. “Holy shit. Is that …”

“It’s Y/N,” Gregory finishes, his tone a mix of disbelief and amazement. “No fucking way.”

Both men stare openly now, their jaws slack. This can’t be the same Y/N they remember. The meek, quiet wife of their old friend, Jonathan Harper. The one who always seemed so timid, always a little on edge, looking small beside Jonathan's larger-than-life personality.

“Didn’t she …” Brian begins, but the sentence dies in his throat as you turns, facing their direction for a brief second. There’s no mistaking it now. It’s definitely you.

“But she looks …” Gregory is still fumbling for words. Different is an understatement. The woman they remember had been quiet, always fading into the background whenever Jonathan had his friends over. The Y/N they’re looking at now is glowing, confident, carrying yourself in a way they’ve never seen before.

“Jesus, man,” Brian mutters under his breath, eyes still locked on her. “She’s pregnant.”

Gregory snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. “And with someone else? This quick after Jonathan? What the hell?”

Brian leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his tone taking on a gossipy edge. “Guess the widow moved on real fast, huh?”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Gregory's expression darkens. “She sure doesn’t look like she's grieving anymore.”

The two of them exchange knowing looks, already jumping to conclusions. In their minds, the version of Y/N they remember wouldn’t have been able to survive without Jonathan — without a man to take care of her. But here you are, very much alive, very much pregnant, and very much with someone else.

Brian’s eyes flicker back to your new partner. “Who the hell is the guy?”

“Beats me.” Gregory leans forward, intrigued. The man looks polished, strong, and carries himself like he’s someone important. He’s not standing too close, but his body language is protective, subtle but noticeable. He’s keeping an eye on you, as if ready to act if needed.

Gregory turns back to Brian, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Should we go say something?”

Brian looks at him, eyes gleaming with the kind of self-satisfied anticipation of someone about to stir trouble. “Hell yeah, we should.”

They exchange smirks, feeling a sudden surge of superiority. After all, you had been part of their circle by extension of Jonathan. You were Jonathan’s wife — emphasis on were — and to them, this move you pulled, getting knocked up by someone else and flaunting it in public, doesn’t sit right.

“Let’s see what she has to say for herself,” Gregory mutters, already starting to rise from his seat.

But as the two men stand up, ready to saunter over, something makes them pause.

The man at your side reaches up to adjust his suit jacket, and as he does, the fabric pulls back just enough to reveal something. Tucked into a holster at his side is a sleek, black gun, the metal gleaming subtly under the restaurant's dim lights.

Gregory stops mid-step, eyes widening. “Holy shit.”

Brian notices it at the same time. The two exchange glances, the smugness draining from their faces, replaced with a mix of uncertainty and alarm.

“Did you see that?” Brian hisses, his voice dropping several octaves.

Gregory nods, frozen in place, his gaze locked on the gun. He looks back at you, now laughing softly as the man beside you places a protective hand on the small of your back. You have no idea they’re watching you, no idea they were even thinking about approaching you. But your partner? He’s fully aware.

Max turns his head just enough to catch their eyes, and though he doesn’t say a word, his message is clear. The slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth says everything. Don’t even think about it.

Brian swallows hard. “Who the hell is this guy?”

Gregory shakes his head, suddenly regretting the entire idea. “I don’t know, but I’m not sticking around to find out.”

They both sit back down, their bravado evaporating as quickly as it had come. They exchange another uneasy glance, neither of them willing to admit they’ve just been scared off by a single look, but both fully aware that they want nothing to do with whatever’s going on here.

“Maybe she’s not our business anymore,” Brian mutters, grabbing his glass of whiskey and taking a long, deliberate sip.

Gregory nods, his eyes flickering back to you one last time. You’re completely engrossed in your conversation with the man, your hand resting on your belly as you smile softly up at him. Whoever this guy is, he’s clearly important to you. And as much as they hate to admit it, you don’t look like the fragile, breakable woman they remember.

In fact, you look happier than you ever did when you were with Jonathan.

“Yeah,” Gregory agrees, his voice subdued. “Maybe she never was.”

The two men settle back into their seats, the waitress bringing over a basket of bread and menus they’d long since forgotten about. They exchange a few more words, but the energy has shifted. The gossip that once seemed so juicy has lost its appeal.

As they half-heartedly resume their conversation, their eyes drift back to you and Max every so often. They can’t help it. There’s something captivating about the way you hold herself now — something different from the woman they once knew.

Brian, ever the more curious of the two, finally leans back in his chair and lets out a low whistle. “She really moved on, huh?”

Gregory shrugs, pushing his bread around on the plate in front of him. “Guess so.”

But as the night wears on, neither of them can shake the image of you and your new life. The woman who was once a shadow in the background of their lives is now someone they barely recognize. And for the first time, they realize that maybe — just maybe — they never really knew you at all.

Across the room, you and Max remain unaware of their scrutiny, wrapped in your own world, where the past no longer has a hold on either of you.

[vrittivsanghavi]

pairings: best friend!Harry x fem!reader

summary: Y/N's having a bad day and who better to help than her best friend

word count: 2.2k

authors note: hi hello!! here’s something that’s been sitting in my drafts for a whileeeee while i work on chapter three! :) hope you enjoy!!

TW: for a mention of self harm but the only thing she does is pinch her arms over and over again, please read with caution or don’t read if it triggers you or make you uncomfortable. i love you❤️

----

Y/N’s always been such a happy person, always there for all her friends, always having a smile on her face and making sure her friends are okay. She’s always been that one friend that no matter what time it is, she’ll always be there to lend a listening ear and provide the needed solace. 

She’s always been that friend that’ll give the ones she cares about the last of her anything, always willing to give the last of her money to help a friend in need, willing to give the clothes off her back if it was necessary. She’s just a giver by nature. She’s always been the friend to go to whenever you need advice, always taking care of her friends, giving them whatever’s needed. 

Because she’s grown to be able to mask her emotions, it’s hard to tell whenever she’s not able to fully give as much, whenever she starts feeling down and gets in her head. No one notices as she starts becoming quieter, smaller, less. 

She very rarely has bad days, her sunshine personality weeding its way through the dark clouds and allowing her to smile and laugh her way through the day. It’s easy to forget why her day was bad when she’s around friends, but it’s especially easy when she’s around him. Her best friend, her right hand man, her everything in a sense. 

Her and Harry had become friends when she stumbled into him and spilled her tea all over his cream flared pants and she over-apologized until he laughed it off and rubbed her head gently. After that, they became inseparable, always attached at the hip. They were close, close enough to where whenever they were out by themselves they were constantly asked how long they’ve been together, they were constantly mistaken for a long term couple. At the question, they’d both blush softly and deny the question by laughing and shaking their heads as they smile and say they’re just friends. 

They’ve always been just friends and neither have entertained the thought of becoming more, not seeing the point of appeasing everyone else as long as they were happy. He’s always noticing her, takes in the small details and keeps them all in a special folder in his brain and his heart. 

He notices how she’ll sway lightly in her seat whenever she’s happy, he notices how her nose scrunches whenever she genuinely laughs, he notices how she never leaves without a hug and ‘I love you’, how she puts her hand over a sharp corner when her friend bends down to get something, how she makes sure to never split the pole and to always give a little snack to any cat or dog she sees on the street. 

He also notices when she starts distancing herself in conversation, how her lip will quiver and her eyebrows furrow the tiniest bit when she’s upset but can’t sneak away, he notices that when she starts playing with her rings that means she’s in her head or she’s uncomfortable, he notices how her glossy eyes will lose the light in them whenever she’s having a bad day. He notices things that she doesn’t even notice in herself and he prides himself in knowing her so well. 

She’s his complete other half, his soulmate, he can’t imagine his life without her and refuses to even think about that. He can just feel whenever her energy shifts ever so slightly and he’s always been there to help her. 

But he knows that when she has the bad days she prefers to deal with it alone, she’ll start excusing herself from the friend group when she’s asked to hang out. Her most used excuse is she’s on her period and her cramps are just killing her, and he knows that’s when it’s bad, when her pain is at its worst and she can’t bother to attempt to mask. 

Her body aches, she can feel the pain rooting itself deep in her bones, she’s tense as her muscles scream at her. Her bloodshot eyes sting painfully as fat and heavy tears stream down her pink cheeks, her lips chapped no matter how many times she licks them. She can feel her head pounding and throbbing from how long she’s been crying, her throat sore and tight as she hiccups. 

Her arms are beginning to form a slight hue of red and she can feel bruises beginning to form as she pinches them quickly, trying to distract her mind from the intense feelings of her own emotions flooding through. The muscles in her stomach are tense and uncomfortable at the amount of heavy sobs and pants that flow through her body and out of her plump lips. 

She can’t remember what triggered all of this, her brain too fuzzy to even remember if she grabbed her list to ground her. As she cries and screams into the empty space, she can feel her lungs expand as she breathes, she can feel the light touch of her loose tank top brush lightly against her skin, she can feel the loose strands of hair brushing against the back of her neck. 

She feels as if she can’t breathe, it feels like her bedroom is caving in on her, the small room only seeming to grow smaller and smaller as her breath gets stronger and shaky. Her hand scrambles around her messy bed, searching for the list containing ways for her to calm down and a shaky sob racks through her body when she realizes she can’t find it. 

She closes her eyes tightly as she brings her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them, burying her face into her legs she can’t help as she shakes her head. She doesn’t know how long this has been going on, how long she’s trapped herself in her room, but she hopes it’ll be over soon. 

She grabs her phone from her beside table and with shaky hands she unlocks it and clicks on her messages app. She quickly taps on the conversation she’s looking for and attempts to write out a message. 

——

Sweet Girl: H, can u come over please

She doesn’t have to wait long for a response from him as her phone dings a couple seconds later.

Haz: Of course sweet girl. Do you need/want me to bring anything for you? Some food maybe?

Sweet: Girl: if u want, just want you rn

Haz: Ok bug. I’m gonna get us some food and then I’ll be over. See you soon x

Sweet Girl: kay, thanks H. love u

Haz: I love you sweet girl, just try to breathe for me, I won’t be too long and I’ll use my key so you don’t have to get up. 

——-

As she tries to focus on her breathing, attempting to take slow and deep breaths, she wipes her face to clear away the tears on her cheeks. She sniffles and wraps her arms around her torso gently as she lies in her bed, the soft material and warmth from her cover enveloping her and makes her smile softly. 

She’s only able to enjoy a couple moments of peace before another painful sobs rack through her body. She sobs into her pillow, the pain searing through her body as the tears stain her cheeks.

She hates this, she hates not knowing why she’s so upset, she hates everything to do with her bad days. She wishes she was able to ask for the help she needs but she’s so much of a people pleaser, she can’t bear the thought of not being there for her friends when they need her. 

A soft knock at her bedroom door jolts her gently from her thoughts. She quickly tries to wipe her face from any tears and snot streaks before telling the person to come on. Her door squeaks softly as it opens and his face appears in the small space. 

As he walks into her small bedroom, he smiles sadly at her in which she returns the favor. Her eyes light up just a bit when she spots the brown takeout bag with her favorite Mexican restaurant logo printed onto the cheap plastic. He leans down and kisses her forehead before sitting down on her bed gently and placing the bag next to him. 

“Hi” she whispers and he smiles 

“Hi, feelin’ any better?” He says and she nods 

“Not really, thank you for uh coming over” she says as she leans her head on his shoulder.

He hums softly as he wraps one arm around her shoulder and squeezes once. 

“Y’know m’always gonna come. You don’t have to thank me. Wanna talk about it?” He asks gently and she shakes her head lightly.

“Not much to talk about, dunno why it happens. I just get really sad out of nowhere.” She closes her eyes gently as she relaxes into his hold. 

He nods in response and they sit in silence for a couple minutes before he reaches over to the bag and holds it out to her. 

“Here, you should eat it before it gets cold.” She smiles in response as he nudges her hand with the bag. She thanks him quietly as she grabs the bag from him, smiling bashfully she begins to open the bag and the styrofoam box inside. 

As she eats in silence, she’s not able to eat as much as she normally would. She takes a couple decent sized bites before she begins to move the food around. 

“M’gonna put this in the fridge, I’ll be back.” He says quietly as he makes a way to grab the box, she sighs softly before looking at him. 

“Sorry..” he shakes his head in return.

“Don’t be sorry lovie. M’proud of you for eating as much as you did.” He says before walking out and setting the box in the fridge before walking back to her room. 

As he comes back into her room, he hums a soft song as he makes his way to her bed and wraps his arms around her, squeezing tightly. He kisses the top of her head before whispering into her ear. 

“M’so sorry you’re feelin’ like this lovie. But you’re not alone okay? You have so many people who care for you and love you.” He can hear her sniffle softly and be squeezes her once. 

“Not your fault Haz. I know I’m not alone but I don’t wanna burden anyone.” She says and he shakes his head.

“You’re never gonna be a burden. We want you to be happy, be okay, we want you to not have to suffer alone. All of us worry about you, it’s okay to ask for help, angel. We’re not gonna judge you.” Her quiet tears slowly become louder as he speaks, she shakes her head and he rubs her back.

“It’s okay not to be okay. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be in pain. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to accept the love you give out, angel. You give and give and give to everyone else, and I know you don’t give yourself the love and energy you deserve.. let us love you how you love us, let us help you. Let us care for you. We’re not gonna judge you sweet girl.” He says and she grabs his t-shirt tightly before sobbing into his chest. 

She can feel the tears streaming down her cheeks and wetting his shirt as she cries into him. She can’t find it to be embarrassed at how loud she’s being and how she looks, not with his hand rubbing small circles on her back and how his words have sparked a sense of warmth in her stomach. She can feel it fluttering throughout her body while he whispers all these soft and sweet words in her ear. 

She can’t remember how long she’s been crying, and she goes to move away from him and he stops her. 

“Y’okay now? You don’t have to move if you’re not ready yet.” She nods before scooting closer to him, their thighs mashed together and her head resting on his shoulder as he rubs her shoulders softly. 

They stay like that, sitting in the comfortable silence for a while before she yawns softly and catches his attention. 

“Y’tired?” He asks and she nods 

“Sorry you spent your day with a crying mess.” She says with a sad chuckle.

“You’re my best friend Y/N. I’d gladly spend however long with you no matter if you’re sad or happy. As long as you’re okay, I’m happy. Want me to stay with you tonight?” He asks and she shakes her head. 

“Uh uh, go have fun with your other friends. I think I’m okay now. Thank you for everything H.” She says as she squeezes him softly before moving to the head of her bed and getting under the covers. 

“Text or call me if y’need anything angel. I mean it.” He says and goes to tuck her in, resulting is a soft giggle to breeze past her lips.

“Okay, dad. I love you.” She says a smile playing on her lips as he leans forward and kisses her forehead.

“I love you sweet girl. Sleep well and have sweet dreams.”

[vrittivsanghavi]

Re-diagnosed

Hi guys here is another Harry Styles imagine, thanks for all the support so far and I hope you continue to like them. Feel free to give any feedback and request anything you wish to see. Quick side note I use my real name in the imagines hope thats okay. Please follow if you’d like to see more of my stuff and I’m also creating a masterlist as I post the imagines. WARNING: mentions of depression and anxiety so if you’re not comfortable with the topics please do not read because it may be alarming. Also if any of you have depression and anxiety feel free to message me if you want to talk xx

You were currently in Holmes Chapel, sitting at the counter in Anne’s kitchen with a cup of tea untouched on the surface, your cold hands wrapped tightly around the bottom, warming them up slightly. You were in black leggings and an old Fleetwood Mac t-shirt hidden under an old jumper of Harry’s which was lying around the house. Anne had given it to you when you had arrived, you hadn’t planned the visit you see, so you hadn’t brought anything with you. Your phone was buzzing next to your tea cup. Glancing down at it, Harry’s name and cute picture of him you had taken lighting up your screen, leaving it to go to voicemail and seeing 7 missed calls from him. Anne walked in, glancing at your phone and frowning.

 “Feeling better my love?” she said wrapping her arm around your shoulder and giving you a big squeeze. You sighed, a tear rolling down your cheek as you phone began to buzz again.

 “I can’t face him Anne” you said, beginning to sob again.

 “Now now love. Everything’s going to be alright, yeah? When has he been any less than supportive of ya?” she asked, making you nod your head. You phone buzzed again this time your mum’s number flashing across the screen, you quickly picked it up and answered.

 “Hi mum” you said softly.

 “I’m so sorry baby. I wish I could be with you right now. I’m so sorry” she said, you could hear she was trying not to cry.

 “Mum, it’s fine. It must be so late there mum” you said smiling at her voice.

 “It’s fine lovely. You’re with Anne yeah?” she said.

 “yeah mum, m’with Anne” you replied, making Anne look up and smile at you. Your mum was currently on holiday and your Dad was on a business trip with his best friend and colleague hence why you had wound up at Anne’s house.

 Recently, you and Harry had been arguing a lot, the both of you stressed about upcoming tours and events, the both of you taking it out on each other. You had been more moody and stressed than ever, constantly feeling alone and worthless. Your brother had suggested seeing a doctor, after facing depression and anxiety when you were younger, you thought it was best. You went to the doctor two days ago and they did various tests and assessments and this morning had your results. They had re-diagnosed you with depression and anxiety, thus here you were, ignoring Harry’s phone calls and sitting in the kitchen of his mum’s house.

 “I’ll let you enjoy your holiday and we’ll speak when we get back” you said, interrupted by the doorbell ringing and a loud knock at the door. Your mum hung up after saying goodbye. You heard Anne talking to someone at the door, Gemma running down the stairs as you heard Anne say “she doesn’t want to see you H, I’m sorry baby”. It was then that Gemma ran in the kitchen, a guilty look on her face.

 “I’m sorry, I text him, I didn’t think he’d come” she said but you simply smiled and nodded your head.

 “C’mon mum! You can’t stop me from seeing my own girlfriend! not in my old house!” you heard Harry shout, before he came barging through the kitchen door. You had never heard Harry shout at his mum, you never ever thought he would and you sure didn’t want to hear it again. You were sure as hell that he’d shout at you too when he saw you but instead he walked to you and gave you a huge hug.

 “I was so worried about ya love” Harry said breathing you in.

 “Let’s leave them too it Gem” Anne said making Harry let go of you and turn.

 “Sorry for shouting at you Mum” he said, moving to give her a massive hug.

 You sat back down at the counter, starring at the marble. Harry looked good as always, more casual than the past few times you had seen him. Just an old pair of black skinnies and a plain white tee, your head band around his neck and his sunglasses atop of his head.

 “C’mon love, you’ve gotta tell me what’s up?” Harry said placing his hand on top of yours gently, almost as if you’d cower away if he moved to quickly.

 “I can’t Harry… I can’t do this” you said, tears falling down your cheeks quickly, leaving you no time to even try to stop them. Harry took your small chin in his rather large hands, moving your face so you were looking at him, both his hands came up to cup your cheeks. You shutting your eyes tightly as if it pained you, which wasn’t too far from the truth.

 “What do you mean you can’t do this? Can’t do what love?” he said worriedly, kissing at your cheek and catching a tear.

 “I can’t- can’t” you tried saying, your voice catching in your throat.

 “Look at me love, look at me” he said placing delicate kisses at your eyelids making them flutter open.

 “I can’t have this conversation H. It will hurt me too much. Hurt me even more” you said sobbing, leaning forward and resting your head on his shirt, dampening it slightly. Harry’s hands ran through your hair, his lips pressing to the crown of your head.

 “Love… you can tell me anything” he said, sighing , it truly broke him hearing your sobs and feeling so helpless.

 “C’mon love, yer killing me here. Stop ya crying baby, c’mon, everything is gunna be alright. I’m here to help you” he said making you shake your head, looking back at him.

 “Yeh not gunna love me H. Once I tell ya, yer not gunna love me” you said sobbing harder now.

 “C’mon love, don’t be ridiculous, ‘m always gunna love ya. The love my life you are. should know that” Harry said meaningfully.

 “They re-diagnosed me H” you said, making him gasp slightly and pull you tightly into his embrace, you now sitting on his lap. Of course he instantly knew what you meant, him being the sole reason you overcome the first diagnosis, attending therapy with you when you could, helping you relax and helping you doing things outside of your comfort-zone, even making you love music all over again.

 “Baby, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I’m gunna get you through this, I promise” Harry said, his own tears falling down his cheeks.

 “We can’t get through this H. Nearly tore us apart last time, nearly tore you apart. I can’t put you through that again” you said knowing you have to let him go.

 “No love. Don’t be saying things like that. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here with ya” Harry said, his fingers pushing your chin up to catch your lips with his in a very passionate and emotional kiss.

 You pulled away after, tears still falling but coming to a stop.

 “H. I don’t want to break you again” you said, kissing his hand.

 “You wont Laura. Only made us stronger in the end, remember?” he said making you nod.

It was now a while later, you were on the sofa, eyes still closed but you had just woken up from a nap, your head against Harry’s chest as his hand played with your hair. You sighed and nuzzled your head further into Harry’s chest.

 “You up love?” Harry said placing a kiss against your head. You mumbled a mhmm making Harry giggle resulting in your smiling.

“There’s that beautiful smile” Harry said as you opened your eyes. You placed a soft kiss to his lips before mumbling a thank you.

“Imma make my girl a hot chocolate yeah?” Harry said making you nod and close your eyes again, feeling cold when he got up. You following after him only moments later and standing behind him in the kitchen and wrapping your arms around him.

“You’re supposed to be relaxing” Harry said as you nuzzled into his warm body.

“You were my radiator and now I’m cold” you said making Harry turn around and hug you tightly.

“Only just realised you’re wearing my jumper, looks cute on you” Harry said making you smile up at him.

“Feeling a bit better yeah?” he said making you nod as he placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Doctor said there’s going to be a lot of ups and downs” you said leaning up and kissing him.

“Think we can handle it though” Harry said making you nod. Anne peeked her head around the door, smiling as she saw the two of you.

“Laura. Your dad called when you were asleep, he’s coming home early so he can see you.” Anne said sweetly.

“Thank you for everything Anne” you said walking over and giving a big hug, Gemma joining in.

“You too Gem. Means so much” you said, then hearing a shutter behind you, making all three of you turn to see Harry with his phone in his hand.

“What? Looked cute” Harry said making you all laugh. You looked around at everyone before Harry pulled you into a massive hug. It may take a while but you knew eventually you would be fine. After all, you had the best family and the best boyfriend in the world.

[vrittivsanghavi]

You Can Start a Family (Extra: Holiday Blues)

Summary: The holiday season has Y/N missing her lost family members. Harry, Mitch, and Sarah are there for her when the grief becomes overwhelming.

Previous Chapters:

Main Story: One ; Two ; Three ; Four ; Five ; Six ; Seven ; Eight ; Nine ; Ten

Sickfic Part 1 ; Part 2

Mitchrry Prequel

Fan Reactions

Word Count: 2.1K

CW: mentions of loss, grief

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After losing loved ones, holidays can be incredibly difficult. Normally thanksgiving is the worst for you. It was the one time of year when your entire family would gather to celebrate together. But this year you had still been in the hospital and barely noticed the day passing by.

Which means that Christmas is when all the feelings are coming out.

It’s a few days before Christmas and it’s a rare occasion when you’re home alone. Since you got home from the hospital there’s normally at least one person with you. It’s nice, but also can be overwhelming. So, when Mitch, Sarah, and Harry said they all had errands to run you reassured them you’d be fine alone and practically pushed them out the door.

As soon as they leave you run to the back of your closet and grab the presents you stashed there. The real reason you wanted them gone is so you can finally wrap the gifts you have for them without worrying that they’ll see. You put on your favorite Christmas music and get to work.

It doesn’t take long for you to finish this task and soon you’re putting the wrapped presents back in the hiding spot. You spend some time tidying the apartment until you find an old photo album. You’re starting to get a bit tired from all the activity, so you decide to take a break and flip through the old pictures.

You curl up on the sofa with your favorite fuzzy blanket (that you definitely did not steal from Harry) and begin to look at the photos.

It starts off as a fun activity. Reminiscing about fun times, laughing at the memories, even sending your cousins some photos.

And then you come across pictures from Christmas. You guess you were about 10 years old. In the photo you and your sister are sitting side by side on the floor opening presents. Your mom is behind you and your grandparents are on the couch. Your dad isn’t in it, and you know he was the one behind the camera. As you look through the other pictures you get hit with a wave of sadness.

You finish the photo album and open your phone. You start to watch the videos you have saved of your family members. You know you shouldn’t, you can feel the overwhelming grief starting to creep up, but you can’t help yourself. You miss them and want to see them and hear their voices.

Tears pool in your eyes and it doesn’t take long for them to turn into full body sobs. You embrace the emotions you’re feeling, knowing that this cry session will be cathartic for you. Mitch is always telling you not to bottle things inside, and you know he’s right when he tells you to let it all out. And so, you do.

You’re curled up on the couch, hugging your legs to yourself, and you hear the front door open. You immediately get up and Sarah barely has a chance to ask what’s wrong before you’re in her arms. You wrap your legs around her waist, and she staggers for a moment under your weight before she gets her footing and holds you tight. You tuck your face into her neck as you continue to cry.

“Love, you’re worrying me, what’s wrong?” she asks.

You try to answer, but you can’t catch your breath. You feel a hand on your back and hear Mitch say, “Take a deep breath with me. That’s it, baby. Another one, a good slow breath for me. Good girl, that’s better.” You’re no longer gasping for air, but tears still roll steadily down your cheeks.

The next person to speak is Harry and he asks, “Can you try again and tell us what happened lovie?”

You sniffle and nod before saying, “I was looking through old pictures and videos. I just miss my family so much.” Your voice breaks and a new wave of sobs begins. Sarah gently rocks you, but Mitch can see that her arms are growing tired. He reaches out, indicating that she should pass you to him, but Harry quietly asks, “Can I?” as he puts his arms out as well. Mitch nods and Sarah passes you to Harry.

It's the first time Harry’s held you like this. It’s a position that you’d normally see between parent and child more so than boyfriend and girlfriend, but it’s your favorite way to be comforted when you’re upset. It makes you feel small, and young, and most importantly, cared for. You feel especially tiny in Harry’s strong arms. He starts to rock you as Sarah had been, the motion soothing you. He’s talking to you quietly, and while you’re still too upset to focus on the exact words he’s saying, the familiar cadence of his voice helps ground you even more.

Your sobs finally calm down to sniffles and you manage to stop crying. Truthfully, letting everything out did actually help. You feel so much lighter now as you rest your head on Harry’s shoulder. Sarah steps out for a moment and Mitch sees how your eyes tiredly track her movements. She comes back with some tissues and a damp washcloth. She wipes away the tears and cleans your face. This almost makes you cry again, as you feel so incredibly loved. You offer her a sleepy smile to thank her, and she smiles back as she slides her hand over your hair.

You melt into the touch and your eyes slip closed.

“Why don’t we sit on the couch and take a nap?” Mitch asks you. Without even opening your eyes you nod at the suggestion. He sits down and Harry places you sideways in his lap. Mitch cradles you to himself and you tuck yourself into his hold, your hands gripping his shirt. Sarah and Harry sit on either side of you two and knowing that you’re surrounded by your three favorite people, you give into the exhaustion. Mitch hears your breathing even out and notes how your grip on his shirt doesn’t let up, even as you sleep. He holds you tighter and feels you relax in response.

For a while no one moves. They stay cuddled together on the couch. In a way the three of them are grateful for you acting as a reminder to slow down, and that time with the people you love is more important than reaching for success. They soak up this time together.

The sun begins to set and before long the Christmas lights are the only thing keeping the room from total darkness. Sarah stands up and says, “I’m going to get started on dinner.” She leans down to kiss Mitch then presses a kiss to the side of your head. Harry rises as well stating that he’ll help. Just as Sarah had, he shares a quick kiss with Mitch. He then crouches down and gently strokes your face before leaning to press a series of gentle kisses. He stays close for a long moment before finally walking to the kitchen. Mitch and Sarah both notice the way Harry’s acting and share a worried look. Sarah subtly nods and Mitch knows that she’ll check on him while they prepare dinner.

They work side by side to put together a tray of eggplant parm, a recipe you taught them all how to make one night.

“You okay?” Sarah asks as they assemble the dish.

Harry pauses before truthfully replying, “No, not really.” She watches him as he puts the last bit of cheese on top and places it in the oven. He knows that she’s giving him time to explain more and so after finishing the task he says, “I just hate seeing her like this. I hate how much she’s gone through, how much pain she’s in. And when she was so upset that she couldn’t breathe? All I could think of was when she was sick last month and how we almost lost her. God, I was so scared! And then I thought, what if she hadn’t been away with her friends the night of the accident? She would’ve been in the car with her mum and sister! And then we never would have even met her, and I can’t, I cannot imagine life without her.”

He takes a shuddery breath and Sarah moves forwards, quickly wrapping him in her arms. They both begin to cry together, holding each other tight.

“I know the thought of losing her is scary,” Sarah says. “It’s terrifying. Sometimes I wake up at night and just watch her breathe.”

“I do that too,” Harry admits and they both start to smile.

“But,” Sarah continues. “We can’t think so negatively. Sure, we can worry. I think we’ll always worry. But Y/N is here and she’s okay. That’s the truth, it’s the reality. And that’s what we hold on to.” Harry nods and they stay in the embrace for a little longer.

They break apart and share a kiss. Sarah checks on the food in the oven and says, “That’s still got awhile until it’s ready. Let’s go back to the living room. It’s better for Y/N if we’re all there when she wakes up.”

They slide back into their spots on the couch and Mitch immediately notices how red their eyes are from crying. “You guys okay?” he asks.

“Yea,” Harry replies. “Much better now. How are you holding up?”

Mitch sighs before answering, “I’m good. I mean, it always hurts to see her like that but, she’s been through a lot of shit. I would be more worried if she was just perfectly happy all the time. As much as it sucks to see her grieve, I know it’s healthy for her, and I know that we can help her work through it.”

“Do you know if she’s ever been to therapy? To help process everything?”

“I’m not sure,” Sarah replies. “She hasn’t in the time we’ve known her, but maybe in the past?”

They talk a little more and their quiet voices are the first thing you notice as you begin to wake up. You snuggle deeper into Mitch for a moment as you slowly reorient yourself. Finally, you blink your eyes open and your heart fills with warmth as you see Mitch, Sarah, and Harry all gently smiling at you.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks.

“Good,” you reply before realizing how croaky your voice is and how much your head hurts and how dry your eyes feel.

Sarah notices your discomfort and grabs a water bottle off the table and hands it to you. You thank her and drink deeply, feeling better with some hydration in you.

“How are you really feeling?” Mitch asks and you laugh.

“Physically, I’m kind of wiped from crying. But emotionally, honestly, I’m good now. I really needed to let all of it out. I knew that if I fell apart I had you all to put me back together. And you did. I used to bottle up all my emotions because I was alone and I knew I wouldn’t be able to pull myself together again, and now I don’t have to. You guys always do that for me.”

“I love you,” Sarah says, which leads to a lot of “I love you’s” and kisses being shared. The mini love fest ends when a timer beeps in the kitchen. All four of you get up and you head to the bathroom for a minute to freshen up.

You join the rest of them in the kitchen and get hit with a delicious smell.

“Is that eggplant parm?” You ask.

“Yup,” Harry replies. “Just waiting for the pasta to finish and dinner will be ready.”

You start setting the table, wanting to help in some way, and soon you’re all sitting at the table with plates of food in front of you. The first bite immediately takes you back to dinner at your grandparents’ house, and you once again feel nostalgic, instead of overcome by grief.

“Is it okay?” Sarah asks and you nod.

“It’s perfect. Tastes identical to when my grandma would make it. Thank you for cooking it.”

Some food and water and good dinnertime conversations have you feeling better than you have in a while. You look at the people around you and know that you’re not alone, and you never will be again. It’s a comforting thought, and you know that your smile probably looks a little crazy, but you can’t help it. A few hours ago, you felt absolute devastation for all you had lost, but now all you can feel is joy for the people you’ve found.  

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Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!

Requests are open, I promise to get to all of them eventually!

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @theekyliepage @numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry @ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess @houseofdilfs @shaquille-0atmeal-1 @kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye @n0vaj3an @snwells @drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305

[vrittivsanghavi]

I Can Ease the Pain

Summary: You're feeling under the weather and Louis is there to make it better.

Word Count: 1.9K

CW: sickness, throwing up

AN: My niece wasn't feeling well the other week and napped on me and it inspired this soft Louis fic.

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One thing about you, is you never get sick. You’ll occasionally get a sore throat that bothers you, and you do lose your voice every now and then. You do also get a couple colds each year. 

But you never get so sick that you can’t power through. You’ve never taken a sick day in your entire adult life. You simply never feel bad enough that you can’t continue on with your day.

Which is why it’s so shocking and awful when it finally happens. 

You’ve been feeling rough all day, but you’ve kept going like you always do. It isn’t until you get home and change into comfy clothes that you admit to yourself you’re truly feeling unwell. 

However, you don’t let that stop you. It’s nearly dinnertime, and you know that Louis will be hungry when he gets home. And you know that you should eat, even if you don’t have an appetite. 

Looking through the cabinets you find some soup and crackers. That’s exactly what you need right now so you pull out a pot to heat up the soup. You keep an eye on it, stirring occasionally and making sure it doesn’t get too hot. 

Just as you’re pouring it into bowls, Louis walks in the front door. 

“Hi babe,” he says as soon as he walks into the kitchen. After you place the bowls on the table you turn to greet him. He presses a kiss to your forehead but quickly pulls away. You look at him in confusion, as he normally pulls you close rather than leave any space between the two of you. 

“You feeling okay? You’re really warm,” he says. Louis then looks at the dinner you’ve prepared and says, “Love, are you sick?”

“I’m a bit under the weather,” you reply, still trying to stay positive. “Probably just need a good night's sleep and I’ll feel better.”

“Alright, well don’t push yourself. Rest if you need to.”

“I will,” you say, but you don’t really mean it. You’ve never been one to slow down, and whatever germ this is won’t stop you from doing what you normally do.  

You and Louis sit and eat dinner together as you talk about your days. The warm broth soothes you and you’re feeling a bit better by the time you’re done. 

Louis cleans up the dishes, repeatedly telling you to sit and relax. You’re starting to feel tired, so you listen and let him take care of cleaning up. But just for tonight, you tell yourself. You’ll be fine tomorrow and you’ll go back to cleaning together. 

“Let's take a bath,” Louis suggests, and you go along with it. A warm bath does sound nice right now, it will probably help the aches you’re starting to feel throughout your body. 

Louis gets it ready while you grab clothes for the two of you. When you get back to the bathroom the tub is filled, and the steaming water looks so inviting. 

He helps you get in first, and you feel so serene once surrounded by the hot water. Louis slides in behind you and pulls close so that your back is flush against him. His arms wrap around you and you rest your head back on his shoulder. 

It’s absolutely perfect, and you feel better than you have all day. Louis gently washes your hair before rubbing a soap filled bath sponge all over your body. When the water starts to cool he helps you out of the bath,and wraps a towel around you. It takes only a couple of minutes for you to get ready for bed and climb under the covers.

Normally you can’t sleep unless Louis is in bed with you, but tonight you're exhausted. You’re asleep the second your head hits the pillow. 

Your alarm wakes you in the morning, and it’s incredibly difficult to drag yourself out of bed. You try so hard to do your normal morning routine so you can get to work, but after only a few minutes you know that you have to admit defeat. 

For the first time since childhood, you call out sick. 

Louis finds you half an hour later. You’re wrapped up in blankets on the living room couch, a mug of tea on the table in front of you. 

“Good morning, love. You alright?” He sits next to you and you lean your head against his shoulder.

“I don’t feel great. Took the day off.”

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry you’re feeling bad. I can stay home today, nurse you back to health.”

You smile at his offer, but reply, “No, but thank you. I’ll be okay.”

“Alright. Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No, my stomach’s a bit off. Didn’t want to risk it.”

“Well you should have a little something. How about toast? Or oatmeal? Maybe some fruit?”

It’s endearing, how quickly he’s switched into this caretaker mode. “I think I could handle some toast,” you answer.

“Perfect. You wait here, I’ll be right back.”

He stands and walks to the kitchen, and you’re surprised how much you miss his presence next to you. But you can’t expect him to drop everything just to sit on the couch with you while you sleep all day. 

As promised he’s back a few minutes later carrying a plate with some toast and a peeled orange. “Thought some vitamin C might be a good idea,” he says as he hands you the food. 

You nibble on the toast and Louis gets up to get himself ready to head to the studio for the day. He checks in on you again before he leaves and says, “If you need anything, call me. I’ll come right back home.”

“Thank you. I should be good. I’m just gonna chill here, watch some TV and rest.”

“I love you,” he says before pressing a kiss to your forehead. You don’t see the concerned expression cross his face when he feels how warm you are.

“I love you too,” you reply with a soft smile. 

He steps away, but not towards the front door like you expected. He heads back into the main part of the house and disappears for a minute. He returns, now carrying a few items.

“You need to stay hydrated,” he says as he places a bottle of gatorade on the table in front of you. Next, he brings the thermometer up to your head, frowning when he sees you do in fact have a fever. Wordlessly he hands you some medicine to reduce your fever and you take the pills, washing them down with the drink he’d brought.

“Thank you,” you say again.

“Of course. Hopefully that will help you feel better. I’ll see you later, love,” he says. This time when he gets up he does go to the front door to leave for the day.

You spend the morning resting, just laying on the couch like you’d planned. But you can’t fall asleep, even though you know you’re tired. And even with medicine, you begin to feel worse.

After a couple hours, what you’re feeling changes drastically. What started as just feeling tired and shaky has now morphed into nausea. Which is the worst case scenario in your eyes. Because colds and body aches you can handle. But vomiting is by far one of the worst experiences you can think of.

You try to convince your body that you’re not actually nauseous, but that doesn’t work. As sweat beads all over your skin and your mouth starts to water, you admit defeat and head to the bathroom. You make it just in time to throw up into the toilet.

It’s an awful experience, but once you’ve emptied your stomach you do feel slightly better. Just to be safe, you stay in the bathroom for a bit, not wanting to move and risk the nausea coming back.

After maybe half an hour, you’re confident that your stomach has totally settled. Plus you’re starting to doze off against the tub so you figure it’s time to head back to the couch. 

Before you can gather the strength to get off the floor, you hear the front door open. You’d be scared, but then you hear Louis’ voice calling out for you. A moment later he finds you and you say, “What are you doing home?”

“Just had a feeling that you needed me. Looks like things took a turn?”

“Yea. I got sick a little while ago but it’s better now.”

“Have you slept at all?”

You shake your head no, and Louis crouches down to help you stand. He leads you to the sink where you rinse your mouth to get rid of the taste lingering there. He wraps an arm around your waist and supports you back to the bedroom.

“I’m just gonna change into sweats,” Louis says as you settle on the bed. After a moment he joins you. He lays on his back and opens his arms, reaching out for you. 

While you’re not normally one for cuddles, he looks so inviting and cozy right now. In your slightly delirious state, you don’t hesitate to lay on top of him. You’re completely flush against him with your head resting on his chest. You can hear his steady heartbeat as he rubs his hands up and down your back in a soothing gesture.

He feels so comforting, so safe, and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes is so relaxing. In no time at all, he lulls you into a peaceful sleep.

When you wake up you’re groggy, but you feel better than you had earlier. Louis' arms are around you, holding you close and still rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

“Hi baby,” he says when he notices you’re awake. “How are you feeling?”

“Eh, still pretty crummy. Maybe a little better,” you murmur against his neck. 

“You don’t feel quite as warm,” he says, his hand now touching the back of your neck which is no longer radiating heat like it had been earlier. 

You hum in response, and snuggle closer to Louis. 

“You’re very cuddly right now,” he says. 

Realizing that you’re probably getting quite heavy after sleeping on him for over an hour, you try to pull away and apologize. 

“Don’t be sorry, I love it. This is nice, having you in my arms,” Louis reassures. 

“I like it too,” you admit. 

“Yea?”

“Yea. Don’t wanna move.”

“Well then it’s a good thing you don’t have to. Stay here as long as you want,” Louis says.

“Guess this is an upside to being sick,” you say as you grip his shirt tight, causing him to wrap his arms even tighter around you.

“You know, we can actually do this when you’re not sick,” Louis says.

“No, Really?” you say jokingly.

“Really!” he replies, playing along. “So why don’t we get you feeling better and then have lots of cuddles with no one feeling crummy. As many cuddles as you want. I promise.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Louis keeps his promise, and laying together like this becomes a normal part of your relationship. But there’s still something so special about finding the comfort only he can provide when you’re not feeling well. No matter what, Louis will always be your home, your safe place.

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AN: Louis looks so soft and cuddly, I just know he'd give the best snuggles haha

[vrittivsanghavi]

from pretend to perfect* (a fake dating au)

soooo this is another love story, posted on patreon a loooong time ago. less smut and more story, so, tell me if you like it

summary: you convince your best friend harry to be your date for a family wedding to avoid your aunt's questions. but when old chemistry and unspoken tension start to resurface, it gets harder to tell where the act ends and something real begins. one night could change everything.

words: ~9k

warnings: smut: p in v sex without protection, sex in multiple positions, kissing, dirty talk. a bit of angst and fluff too. (i think this is all, let me know if you find something more!)

happy reading. xx.

***

"You've got to be kidding me," you groaned into the phone.

"I'm afraid not, Y/N," your mom's voice crackled through the speaker. "Aunt Margaret is absolutely insistent that you bring a date to the wedding this weekend."

"But mom, you know I'm single! Why would Aunt Margaret care if I come alone?" you protested.

Your mom sighed. "You know how she is. She's already giving me an earful about how it's 'unbecoming for a young woman your age to show up to a family function without a proper escort.' Her words, not mine."

You rolled your eyes so hard you were surprised they didn't get stuck in the back of your head. Good old Aunt Margaret and her antiquated views. You should have expected this.

"Well what am I supposed to do? Hire an escort off the internet?" you grumbled.

There was a pause on the line before your mom responded slowly. "Actually…didn't you and Harry used to pretend to date all the time when you were kids?"

Your eyes widened as you recalled those hazy days of childhood, holding hands with your best friend and telling everyone you were married. A smile crept across your face at the memories.

"Yeah, we were really convinced we would get married for real when we grew up," you laughed. "Why, what are you suggesting?"

"Well, since Harry is already like family, why don't you just ask him to be your fake date for the wedding?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but then slowly closed it. It wasn't the worst idea, you had to admit. As your childhood best friend, Harry probably wouldn't mind doing you this favor. And it would get Aunt Margaret off your back.

"You know what? That might actually work. I'll ask him," you agreed.

"Perfect! I'll let Aunt Margaret know you'll have a 'proper escort' then."

You shook your head as you ended the call, your mom already appeasing the old busybody. Pocketing your phone, you headed off to find Harry and hoped he would be willing to play pretend with you one more time, just like when you were kids.

"You want me to do what now?" Harry's eyes were wider than saucers as he stared at you across the booth at the diner where you had met up.

"Be my fake date for my cousin's wedding this weekend!" you repeated, keeping your voice low and leaning across the table. "Just pretend to be my boyfriend for the day so my ancient aunt will get off my case about showing up alone."

Harry blinked a few times, seemingly trying to process your outlandish request. You studied his face, watching the conflict play out behind his bright green eyes. Finally, he spoke up again.

"Y/N, I'm not sure that's such a good idea," he started, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't you think it would be kind of awkward? Pretending to be a couple in front of your whole family?"

"Oh come on, Harry!" You gave him your best pleading expression. "We used to do that all the time as kids, remember? And it's just for one day. I'll owe you one, I swear."

He worried his lip, seeming to weigh the pros and cons in his mind. You tried not to get your hopes up too much, but you couldn't deny you really wanted him to agree. The two of you had been best friends for ages, since you were too young to even remember. You didn't want to have to ask anyone else.

"Please, Harry? I'm kind of desperate here! I'll make it up to you, I promise," you cajoled with your sweetest voice.

Harry's shoulders slumped slightly as he let out a defeated sigh. "Alright, fine. I'll be your fake date to the wedding."

"Yes! Thank you, thank you!" Unable to contain your excitement, you bounded out of your side of the booth to pull a surprised Harry into a tight hug. He let out a muffled chuckle as he returned the embrace, patting your back.

"No problem, Y/N. I've got your back," he murmured.

You tried not to read too much into Harry's affectionate tone as you eventually pulled back from the hug, fighting off a blush. No matter how close you were, he was still just your best friend. You had to keep reminding yourself of that.

"Okay, so the wedding is this Saturday," you began, switching into planning mode as Harry listened attentively. "We'll need to get you a suit or tux or something. And we should probably come up with some sort of backstory for how we got together, you know? To make it seem more believable."

Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah, yeah that makes sense. We can't just show up pretending to date out of nowhere with no explanation."

"Exactly." You paused, giving him a once over. "Maybe we could say we met in college? Since we actually did go to the same university for a while before you transferred."

"Sounds plausible," Harry agreed with a nod. "Alright, college sweethearts it is then. What else do we need to sort out?"

You hummed, racking your brain for other potential stumbling blocks. "Well, we're going to have to sell the whole physical aspect too. Like hand holding, hugs, all that kind of stuff."

You didn't miss the way Harry shifted in his seat, suddenly looking a bit flustered. Your brow furrowed in concern.

"Is that going to be too weird?" You hadn't even considered that he might not be comfortable pretending that level of intimacy with you. "We don't have to go overboard or anything…"

"No, no it's fine!" Harry said quickly, forcing a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it. We can make it look real."

You searched his face, trying to gauge if he really meant that, but he seemed sincere enough. With a mental shrug, you pushed your doubts aside and continued mapping out your plan.

"Okay then, I think that's all the big things covered," You finally said. "We've got our fake backstory set, and we'll just… act like a couple, I guess?"

Harry let out a bark of laughter at your uncertain tone. "Yeah, Y/N, that's about the gist of it. Don't stress too much, we've got this."

Hoping he was right, you forced yourself to relax and grinned back at him. This was going to be a bizarre way to spend a weekend, but Harry was your best friend. If you couldn't pull this off with him by your side, who could you do it with?

As the week rolled on, you and Harry kept in close contact to nail down the final details of your ruse. You picked out a sleek navy blue suit for him to wear and couldn't stop your cheeks from flushing when you imagined how handsome he would look all dressed up. Get it together, you chided yourself. He's just your friend.

Finally, the big day arrived. Your stomach was awash with nervous butterflies as you pulled up to Harry's flat to pick him up before heading to the venue. You had gotten ready hours ago, carefully doing your makeup and styling your hair for the big occasion. Smoothing your palms over the flowy skirt of the pastel-colored dress you had chosen, you tried to take a few calming breaths. This was just an act. Just stay focused and don't let yourself get caught up in the fantasy.

The front door opened and your breath hitched in your throat as Harry appeared. He looked unbelievably handsome in his well-tailored suit, his tousled chestnut hair styled perfectly. He was already the picture of a doting boyfriend as he greeted you with a warm smile and a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand.

"Wow, you, uh, you look amazing!" you managed once you'd recovered enough to speak. Harry's lips ticked up in a proud smirk as he handed you the bouquet.

"You too, love. Shall we get going then?" He played the part flawlessly, offering you his arm in a gentlemanly fashion.

Looping your arm through his, you tried not to focus too hard on the pet name or the sparks the simple touch seemed to ignite under your skin. Just an act, you reminded yourself sternly. Although with the way Harry was already making your heart stutter, you couldn't help but worry it might become harder to convince yourself the more the day went on.

Upon arriving at the lavish venue, you reluctantly had to release Harry so you could make your way inside to greet family and be ushered to your seats for the ceremony. But as soon as you had gone through the motions of hugging relatives and greeting distant aunts and uncles, Harry swept back to your side like a security blanket. His solid presence beside you put you at ease as his hand found your lower back, guiding you towards the seats your mom had saved.

"There's my girl!" your mom exclaimed happily as you approached. Her eyes quickly landed on Harry, shining with pleasant surprise. "And Harry! Well, isn't this a treat!"

"Hello Mrs. Y/L/N," Harry greeted your mom politely, giving her a warm hug. "It's been too long."

Your mom beamed at him before turning a sly wink your way. "I should have known you two lovebirds would find your way back to each other eventually."

You felt your cheeks heat up and were grateful when Harry simply chuckled good-naturedly instead of trying to refute your mom's assumption. He was really selling this whole thing.

"What can I say? This one's always had my heart," he played along smoothly, throwing you a fond look that made your stomach flip.

Get it together, you scolded yourself as your mom fawned over how sweet you both were. Harry was just a good actor, that's all.

Eventually you were able to escape the gushing as the ceremony was about to begin. Harry's hand found yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze as you took your seats. You tried not to focus too hard on how perfectly his long fingers intertwined with yours.

The ceremony itself was beautiful, the flowery language and romantic vows making you sigh wistfully despite yourself. You couldn't help but sneak sidelong glances at Harry, trying to gauge if any of it was having a similar effect on him. He certainly looked perfectly content, flashing you warm smiles whenever he caught your eye.

Afterwards, you meandered through the crowd with Harry at the reception, greeting more family and making small talk where required. All the while, he never left your side, keeping an respectful hand on your back or taking your hand again. You had to admit, if you didn't know this was all an act, you would have been completely convinced by the way he doted on you.

Finally able to snag a couple seats, you sank into the plush chair beside Harry with a relieved sigh and attempted to slip off your aching heels under the table. Only your shins collided with Harry's legs, making you yelp in surprise. You immediately froze, your muscles tensing. Okay, so that was an intimate level you two would have to get more used to if this evening was going to go smoothly.

As if sensing your inner panic, Harry moved closer until your shoulders were brushing together. "You alright there, darling?" he murmured, low enough for just you to hear.

Unable to find your voice, you simply nodded jerkily. Harry watched you carefully for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. Moving with casual ease, he draped his arm over the back of your chair, letting it rest behind you so your sides were pressed together.

"Just relax, yeah? We've got this," he spoke soothingly in your ear, so close you could feel his breath puffing against your cheek.

You leaned into him instinctively, trying to convince your body to stop responding so dramatically to his proximity. It was just Harry, for god's sake. You shouldn't be getting so flustered. But then his other hand found your knee under the table, giving it a tender squeeze, and you weren't so sure.

Shaking your head minutely, you attempted to focus on your surroundings instead of the bundle of nerves threatening to erupt in your gut. The reception hall looked like something out of a fairy tale, glistening chandeliers and delicate flower arrangements adorning every surface. All the trappings of a dream wedding, really.

"You know, it's kind of funny that we ended up coming to a wedding as fake dates," Harry's amused murmur broke your reverie. He was watching you with a soft expression that made your heart race anew. "We always did swear we were going to get married when we grew up."

You felt yourself smiling as well at the memory. "Yeah, I remember obsessing over every last detail of our 'wedding day' for months."

"And you used to beg your parents to renew their vows every year just so we could have a new 'ceremony' to attend and re-commit our kiddie vows," Harry added with a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I was very passionate about it!" you defended with a giggle, playfully swatting at his chest. Harry caught your hand in his effortlessly, not letting go but lacing your fingers together instead.

"You still are," he said fondly. "It's one of the things I love most about you."

His words hung in the air heavily as your amused expressions slowly faded. Had he really just said he loved that about you? And he was staring at your joined hands, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles so reverently.

The tension was suddenly thick enough to cut with a knife. You searched Harry's face, trying to read what was going through his brilliant mind behind those emerald eyes. But just as some unspoken thing seemed to pass between you, a boisterous voice cut through the moment.

"There they are! My two favorite lovebirds!"

Aunt Margaret's overly saccharine voice shattered the weighted trance you'd found yourself falling into with Harry. Plastering on a polite smile, you awkwardly released his hand to turn and give your aunt a one-armed hug in greeting. Harry did the same, but kept his hand resting on the small of your back once more, a comforting anchor.

"Oh just look at you both!" Aunt Margaret gushed, apparently lapping up your faked intimacy and ignoring any tension she may have stumbled upon. "I always knew you two would end up together. I mean honestly, who could have seen that coming from a mile away!"

You exchanged a mildly panicked glance with Harry from the corner of your eye before quickly shaking your head in what you hoped was an amused, bashful way. "Oh, you know, we tried to fight it for a while there. But I guess some things are just meant to be!"

Your saccharine words seemed to satisfy your aunt as she cackled delightedly, clearly eating up your sugary charade hook, line, and sinker. Meanwhile, Harry's thumb was tracing soothing circles into your back, keeping your fraying nerves at bay.

"Well I for one think you make a simply darling couple," Aunt Margaret insisted ardently. "Your children will be gorgeous, I'm sure. Not a bad seed in this family bloodline, oh no!"

You were caught off guard by her unexpected tangent, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly flustered at the mention of having kids with Harry. Kids! With your best friend! What an utterly outrageous notion that nevertheless sent your racing heart into overdrive. You briefly wondered if he was experiencing a similar spiral before catching his eye and realizing he looked equally panicked.

"Oh, we're not quite there yet!" you hurried to course-correct, praying your blush wasn't too obvious. "Still, you know, enjoying this phase of our relationship. Taking it one step at a time."

Mercifully, Aunt Margaret seemed to accept this mollifying response with a sage nod. After chatting your ear off for a few more minutes about the merits of not waiting too long to start a family - blessedly avoiding any further mentions of you and Harry procreating - she finally excused herself to mingle elsewhere.

The second she was out of earshot, you slumped back against the chair with an exhausted groan. "Why did I let myself get talked into this insanity again?"

Harry let out a husky chuckle beside you, sweeping a stray lock of hair back from your face with gentle fingers. "Because you love your weird, overbearing aunt too much to let her give you grief about being single?"

"Right, that must be it," you grumbled petulantly, though you made no move to actually push his hand away from where it was cradling your cheek. The impish glint in Harry's eyes told you he knew it too.

He leaned in closer until you were nearly nose to nose, his cologne and natural, woodsy scent washing over you enticingly. "Or maybe there was another reason you couldn't pass up one last chance to be my pretend girlfriend?"

Your mouth went dry as you stared back at him, getting utterly lost in the depths of his brilliant irises. Was there a hidden meaning behind his words? Or was he just playing into the act and pushing the envelope as far as he could to rile you up?

Whichever it was, it was definitely working. Your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest, and you became hyper-aware of every place your bodies were pressed together, separated only by your flimsy dress and Harry's suit.

Eventually, he seemed to take pity on you, pulling away slowly with an enigmatic smile. "Relax, love. I'm just messing around."

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously, wondering just how much truth was behind his joking, flirtatious words.

But before you could confront Harry about his words and the sudden fluttering in your chest, your attention was commanded by the band striking up a romantic melody. Couples began to filter onto the dance floor, swaying together under the twinkling lights.

"May I have this dance?"

You turned back to Harry, finding him already on his feet and offering you his hand with a hopeful smile. Despite your lingering flustered feelings, you couldn't help but return the smile and place your hand in his.

"I'd love to."

Harry's grin widened as he tugged you up from your seat and into his arms. You tried not to look as awkward as you felt as he guided one of your hands to his shoulder before resting his own at the small of your back. His other hand remained twined with yours, his thumb caressing your knuckles soothingly.

As you began to sway together in time with the music, you couldn't stop yourself from marveling at how perfectly you seemed to fit against him, like two pieces of a puzzle slotting into place. Harry's intense gaze was trained solely on you, making your cheeks warm under the weight of it. Every so often his grip would tighten fractionally, pulling you that much closer until there was barely any space left between your bodies.

"You look so beautiful tonight, you know that?" His voice was soft yet intense, the raspy timbre sending a shiver down your spine.

You averted your eyes shyly, worrying your lip. "You don't have to lay it on so thick, Harry. We're already the picture perfect couple, remember?"

Your teasing words seemed to bounce right off him as he shook his head adamantly. "I'm not just saying that. I mean it."

Those startlingly sincere eyes bored into yours again, rendering you speechless. Your heart felt like it might actually burst from the tenderness shining in them. This wasn't just an act for Harry, you realized with a start. He really meant what he said.

Leaving you gaping wordlessly, Harry unexpectedly twirled you in a slow circle, startling a breathless giggle out of you. When he tugged you back in, you were even closer than before, your joined hands pressed against his chest so you could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat under your palm. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You simply lost yourselves in the music and each other's heated gazes.

The overwhelming urge to say something, anything, to break the intoxicating tension grew more insistent with each passing second. Just as you parted your lips, another voice cut in first.

"I'm telling you Janice, those two are absolutely smitten with each other! The way he looks at her, like she hung the moon in the sky…"

Snapping out of the trance-like state you'd fallen into, you jolted in Harry's arms and quickly located the source of the new voice over his shoulder. It was an older woman you vaguely recognized as your mom's friend, sighing dreamily in your direction as she watched you and Harry dance. Her companion, who you could only assume was Janice, nodded in agreement.

"But can you blame him? She's absolutely stunning." Janice leaned in conspiratorially, clearly unaware you could hear every word. "If I wasn't already married, I might have made a play for her myself!"

Both women dissolved into giggles, utterly oblivious to your mortified realization that you'd been eavesdropped on, essentially overhearing them thirsting over you. Your face flooded with heat and you cringed inwardly, burying your face in Harry's chest to hide from any further comments.

Harry simply chuckled under his breath, hugging you closer and continuing to sway you around the dance floor at an easy pace. You could practically feel the smug satisfaction rolling off him in waves as he soaked in the older women's compliments. He dipped his head to murmur in your ear.

"I can't say I disagree with them, you know. You really do look exquisite, darling."

You shivered at the endearment, peeking up at him from under your lashes. He was smirking, clearly preening under the praise, but his eyes were molten with sincerity. This ridiculous, infuriating man really did think he was being charming and genuine. And the worst part? It was absolutely working.

"You're insufferable," you muttered weakly, trying to ignore the wild fluttering in your belly. Before your raging emotions could spiral any further, you quickly changed the subject.

"So, is this the most elaborate farce you've ever successfully pulled off? Because I think we might just be taking the world's best actor trophies on this one."

Harry threw his head back with a rich laugh that had your heart clenching almost painfully. When he looked back down at you with dancing eyes, your breath caught in your throat. Why did he have to be so unfairly gorgeous?

"Well it's certainly up there," Harry agreed with an amused grin. "Although I seem to recall a very dedicated year-long con we ran in middle school to convince everyone we were foreign exchange students who didn't speak English."

You couldn't stop the peal of delighted laughter that bubbled up at the memory. "Oh my god, yes! And we just nodded and smiled whenever anyone spoke to us in the most ridiculous accents."

"Exactly! I can't believe we kept that up for a whole year before finally coming clean," Harry chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "I thought Mrs. Wilkins was going to have a conniption when she realized two of her prized 'international' students had been pranking the entire school."

"Hey, we were committed performers from a very young age. It's no wonder we're pulling off this latest scheme so flawlessly," you quipped, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Harry's expression softened into something warmer, fonder, as he gazed down at you. "Yeah… no wonder."

Trailing off, he simply stared at you a long moment, his thumb brushing feather-light patterns against the skin of your lower back. You couldn't tear your eyes away, utterly captivated by the depths of affection shining in his emerald irises that seemed to see straight into your soul.

Then, as if unable to stop himself, Harry was dipping his head until his forehead rested gently against yours. Your breath caught in your throat, but you made no move to pull away as the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you swaying in your own little bubble.

"Y/N…" Harry's voice was low and husky, sending sparks tingling across your skin. "This thing we're doing, this whole 'pretend relationship'…I know it started as just a silly ruse, but I can't help wondering…"

He paused, seeming to struggle with finding the right words. Your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest as you waited with bated breaths for him to continue. What was he trying to say?

"I know this is just an act, but…" Harry pulled back slightly, eyes searching yours intensely. "What if it wasn't? What if I asked you out for real? Would you say yes?"

The noisy chatter and lively music of the reception surrounding you seemed to fade away into a dull buzz. All that existed in this moment was Harry's burning gaze and the weight of his question hanging heavily between you. Despite having absolutely no idea where this vulnerability was coming from or why now of all times, your immediate instinctive answer was…

"Yes."

The single, breathless syllable appeared to crash over Harry like a tidal wave. He blinked rapidly, any further words he might have dying on his lips as you continued to stare at each other with twin racing pulses.

Every rational part of your mind was screaming at you to shut this down, to laugh it off and dismiss the intensity crackling between you. This wasn't supposed to happen, blurring the lines between reality and your fake romance. It had been a fun ruse to play for a day, but now you were in dangerous territory. Feelings were getting involved. Real feelings that could threaten to upend your perfectly platonic relationship with your best friend.

And yet…you couldn't bring yourself to take it back or play it off as anything other than what it was. Because the sudden fire in Harry's eyes as soon as you had confirmed you wanted this - wanted him - just as much, spoke louder than any excuses you could have made.

In retrospect, you never really stood a chance of resisting the magnetic pull between you, even if you had tried.

Pushing up on her tiptoes without conscious thought, you closed the final few inches separating you until your lips crashed into Harry's with a heated urgency. The shuddering gasp he released just before melting into you and kissing you back with fervent intensity ignited every nerve ending in your body.

One of Harry's hands threaded into your hair, cradling your head and tilting it just so for a deeper angle. You fisted the lapels of his suit desperately, pulling him closer until your bodies were flush. The kiss rapidly spiraled from a heated clash of lips and tongues into a filthy grind and exploration of wandering hands that should have been wholly inappropriate for public.

At least you vaguely registered at some point that you were still in the middle of a crowded wedding reception and should probably tone it down before giving anyone more of a show than they bargained for. With a herculean effort, you managed to tear your lips from Harry's, though you couldn't resist ducking your head to mouth hot, openmouthed kisses along the column of his neck.

"Harry," you panted breathlessly between nibbling at the sharp line of his jaw. "We should…we need to…"

"I know, I know," Harry groaned, sounding utterly wrecked already. His fingers tightened almost painfully in your hair, keeping you pressed against his throat. "Just…one more minute."

You hummed in assent, unable to articulate any further as you focused on lavishing the warm, intoxicating skin of his neck with devotion. Harry tilted his head to allow you better access, the hard line of his body pinning you deliciously against him.

When you finally emerged for air, you were both flushed and panting heavily. Harry's pupils were blown wide, surrounded by a thin ring of emerald fire that made your knees wobble. Without a word, he claimed your lips again in a scorching kiss that left you whimpering into his mouth.

Only the sound of someone discreetly clearing their throat nearby finally made you break apart, extricating yourselves from the passionate tangle you'd become on the dance floor. Your head whipped around to find the source of the disruption, cheeks flaming when you realized it was your mom giving you a knowingly raised eyebrow.

"Might want to get a room, you two," she murmured, not even trying to hide her amused smirk.

If possible, your face burned even hotter at her teasing insinuation. Ducking your head, you simply nodded mutely, grabbing Harry's hand and pulling him off the dance floor and towards the hallway without a backwards glance. You didn't think you could handle facing any other friends or family members right then without combusting from embarrassment.

Harry trailed willingly behind you, allowing you to lead him through the maze of hallways until you found a quiet alcove, deserted and bathed in shadows. No sooner had you come to a stop did he spin you around and press you back against the wall, his body caging you in as he captured your lips in another heated kiss.

A low, desperate keen tumbled from your throat as you arched shamelessly into him, hands roaming wildly. You could feel Harry's arousal through the thin fabric of his suit pants, grinding against you in a delicious torment that had pleasure spiking hot in your core.

"Wanted this..for so long," he rasped against the corner of your mouth between searing kisses. "Can't believe…we've been so blind."

Agreeing wholeheartedly, you simply whimpered and tilted your head to give him better access to your neck. Harry took the offered invitation greedily, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin in a way that had your thighs clenching wantonly.

Just as you thought you might go up in flames from his skilled mouth, Harry rocked his hips in one firm roll that had your eyes rolling back. A sharp gasp escaped you as the thick shape of him rubbed against your aching core, separated only by maddeningly thin layers of fabric.

"Harry!" you cried out, nails raking down his back as you clung to him desperately.

"I know, love, I know," he growled against the heated skin of your chest, hands cupping your backside and grinding you together more insistently. "Tell me what you need."

"Need you," you gasped immediately without a second thought. There was no going back now, no pretending this was anything other than what it was: years of unresolved tension and affection shattering into mutual want in the most spectacular way.

Harry reared back to look at you with hooded, smoldering eyes. His hands came up to cup your face with surprising tenderness given his wild desperation only moments ago.

"We can't do this here," he murmured regretfully, grazing his thumb over your swollen bottom lip. "Not like this, not for our first time. You deserve so much better than a dark hallway, darling."

As much as the more primal part of you raged in frustration at the logical proposal of putting the brakes on for now, the more rational side was relieved Harry could still think clearly enough for both of you. Despite your heated make-out session leaving you disheveled and aching for release, you knew he was right. This was too important to be some hurried, anonymous hook-up.

With a herculean effort, you managed to tear yourself away from the solid warmth of his body enough to speak, ignoring the whine of protest your treacherous core emitted at the loss.

"You're right, you're absolutely right. We shouldn't…not here, not tonight at least," you panted, unable to resist one more crushing kiss before forcing yourself to fully separate from Harry's embrace. "Let's just…get through the rest of this wedding first. Then we can go somewhere and…talk about this. About us."

"Alright, yeah…let's get through the rest of this wedding," Harry agreed in a strained voice, clearly still fighting his body's arousal. "Then we can go back to my place and…figure everything out. Sort through all of this."

He gestured vaguely between your disheveled forms, eyes sparking with the promise of what was to come once you had some privacy. You could only nod mutely in affirmation, not trusting your voice.

Taking a fortifying breath, Harry reached out to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers linger and trace along your jaw. His touch was electric, raising goosebumps across your flushed skin.

"I don't want you to think I'm expecting anything, or pressuring you into…well, you know," he murmured lowly, holding your gaze with smoldering intensity. "If all you want is to talk tonight, really talk without any…distractions, then I'm fine with that. More than fine, really."

You searched his face carefully, peering past the tempting lust still simmering in those emerald depths until you found only sincerity and tenderness reflecting back at you. A rush of affection swelled in your chest, nearly overwhelming in its intensity.

Of course Harry would make sure you knew he respected you and your boundaries, that he wouldn't push for anything you weren't ready for despite the undeniable physical chemistry crackling between you both. This was still the same wonderful, caring man who had been your closest friend for years. Nothing could change that, not even this sudden shift into newfound romance and unresolved desires.

Slowly, you trailed your fingertips across the sharp line of his cheekbone, feeling the roughness of his evening stubble drag deliciously against your skin. Just that faint touch had him shuddering, leaning instinctively into your touch like a man starved for affection.

"I know you would never pressure me, Harry," you said softly, meaning it with every fiber of your being. "And if I'm being perfectly honest…I don't think I could wait much longer to have you, not after getting this tempting preview."

His pupils blew wide at your words, a muscle feathering in his clenched jaw. You reveled in the reaction you could elicit in him so easily. Trailing your hand down further, you boldly cupped him through the fitted material of his dress pants, feeling the hard line of his arousal with a surge of feminine satisfaction.

"I want this, want you, so badly," you continued in a low purr. You gave a firm stroke, delighting in the broken whimper that tumbled from Harry's lips. "So yeah…let's get back out there and finish playing our roles one last time. Then I'm taking you home and ravishing you properly."

A full-body shudder rippled through Harry at your blatant promise. When his eyes finally locked on yours once more they were blazing like a forest fire, full of desperate need and anticipation. You held his heated gaze steadily, feeling desire thrum hot and insistent low in your core.

But before either of you could give in to temptation once more, the shrill ringing of your cell phone startled you apart. Harry clenched his eyes shut, jaw ticking rhythmically as he worked to get himself back under control. You quickly located your phone, fumbling it out of your small clutch.

"Hello?" You winced at the husky, breathless quality of your own voice as you answered. Shooting Harry an apologetic grimace, you turned away slightly, needing to create some actual space between you if you wanted to focus on anything other than your raging hormones.

"Y/N? Hey sweetie, it's Mom." Your mother's chipper tone filtered through the speaker as you tried to regulate your breathing. "I was just calling to see if you two lovebirds had run off somewhere to, ah…celebrate your reunion in private."

You choked on your own spit at the unexpected insinuation, cheeks flaming brighter than ever as you whipped around to gape at Harry in horror. Thankfully you had at least partially turned away, or your mom would surely have heard his bark of laughter at your scandalized expression.

"Mom! Oh my god, no we didn't…we've just been, um, getting some air!" you finally managed to splutter, shooting Harry a withering glare as his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. Prick.

"Uh huh, sure sweetie," your mom replied in that tone mothers use when they absolutely don't believe a word their child is saying. "Well, we're going to start cutting the cake soon, so you two might want to wrap up your little…break and join us, hmm?"

She didn't even try to disguise the innuendo in her sugary sweet voice. You felt absolutely mortified at the implication, unable to form any kind of coherent response as your brain melted into a useless puddle.

Sensing your plight, Harry stepped closer and plucked the phone from your slack grip, bringing it to his own ear with an easy grin.

"Don't worry Mrs. Y/L/N, we'll be on our best behavior from now on," he assured her smoothly, eyes twinkling wickedly at you. "We wouldn't dream of missing the rest of the night's festivities."

Whatever response your mom gave seemed to satisfy him. With a few parting pleasantries and a wink in your direction, Harry ended the call and tucked your phone safely back into your clutch.

"I cannot believe you sometimes," you groaned, burying your face in your hands, still burning from residual embarrassment.

Harry simply chuckled richly, hands settling on your waist to tug you closer. You didn't resist as he dipped his head until his lips brushed your ear, igniting sparks across your hypersensitive skin.

"You'll be the one who can't believe me later tonight when I make good on my promise to ravish you absolutely senseless," he rasped in that low, sinful bedroom voice that made your toes curl. "Now come on, we'd better get back before your mom has to send out a search party."

Leaving you in a frazzled, anticipatory daze, Harry took your hand and laced your fingers together, guiding you back towards the reception hall with unruffled confidence. You stumbled along slightly behind him, breath still coming in shallow pants.

For heaven's sake, get a grip, you scolded yourself. You would never survive interacting with normal people looking and feeling this utterly debauched.

But then again…you supposed it didn't really matter what anyone else thought. All that mattered was that your charade as a couple was about to become one of the most delicious realities you could ever hope for. Everything else faded into insignificance compared to the promise burning in Harry's eyes and the lingering ache between your thighs that only he could satisfy.

When Harry tugged you close to press a searing kiss to your forehead, you sighed and leaned into him without a care for who might see. Screw it, you were all in now. You'd played the role of happy couple convincingly enough for one night.

Now you planned to completely live it to the fullest going forward.

Taking Harry's hand once more with a coy smile, you squeezed his fingers tightly and turned to stride back into the reception with your head held high. There were pleasures and an entirely new relationship to consummate very, very soon.

And this time, there would be no need at all for any sort of convincing act between you.

///

He drove you both to his, and you couldn't keep your hands off each other. His palm was on your thigh the entire ride home, and you wanted to something too, tease his thick thighs, or try and distract him with your sinful mouth, but getting home safe was much more important.

The second you were through the door, his hands are all over you, tugging at the dress you had so meticulously chosen for the wedding. You help him take it off you, shrugging it off with ease. It leaves you half naked, only in your bra and panties as he looks at you with hungry eyes.

"You're so beautiful, I swear-" he compliments, and you immediately grab him by his neck, pulling him in for another kiss that has you breathless. You push him backwards, and his back collides with the door. He lets out a low chuckle, the vibrations of which travel throughout you, making shivers run down your spine.

"Such a desperate little minx.." he says, and you kiss him harder.

He has no idea how long you have waited for that. During your childhood too, whenever he would smile at you differently or hug you, it made your stomach turn. It made butterflies erupt in your tummy, and god knows how long it has been since then.

His lips melt against yours, his hands finding your face and cradling it in his palms. The kiss is urgent, full of heavy breaths and clanking tongues, and his mouth tastes so good. Perhaps it's still the lingering taste of the cake form the wedding, but it's so good.

He breaks the kiss, and you arch your back towards him as he turns you around, pushing you against the door. You let out a low moan, eyes rolling into the back of your head as his lips find their way down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. Your back arches involuntarily, even more so, pushing your chest towards his mouth and craving more of his touch. He growls against your skin, feeling your body react to the sound.

Your body shivers with desire as his hands wander down your body, grabbing and tearing at your clothes. You moan as his fingers dip underneath your bra, feeling the softness of your breasts before he takes them in his mouth, sucking and licking until your nipples are hard and aching.

You feel his hardness pressing against your thigh, his cock bloating in his pants and begging to be released, and you can't wait any longer. You push him back, and he looks at you with an open mouth as you begin to undo his expensive suit.

It fit him so perfectly, his arms flexing and bulging against the material as he stayed with you throughout the wedding. You loved him for who he was, and his incredibly sexy body was an aded advantage.

You lean in, stealing another kiss from his lips while your hands finally undo the buttons of his shirt, and pull it off him. You try to forcefully loop it out of his hands, but it's a lost cause, and he's grinning like an idiot above you.

"Too desperate, aren't we?" he teases, and you purposefully yank it hard, pulling it off his hands

"Shut up" you retort back, and his mouth falls open in disbelief as you undo his pants and pull down his boxers, and his cock is released from the confines, a low graon leaving his lips as the cold air of the hallway hits his throbbing length. It's hot and red and hard, standing away from his body as you gasp at the length. He's really big, and you can't help but wonder if he'll fit inside you.

His hand find your hair, tangling them and placing his palm behind your head. You don't notice it till he grips it and yanks your head back to look at him.

"You want to take it down your throat?" he asks, seeing how desperately and hungrily you were ogling him. You nod immediately, and get down on your knees in front of him.

You stare at him for a couple seconds more, wondering how you would fit it inside your mouth, let alone your cunt.

"Don't worry, I'll make it fit" he promises, before guiding your hot, wet mouth down on his cock.

The tip brushes pass your lips, making him close his eyes. A low groan makes it's way past his lips, and his grip on your hair tightens. He tangles his digits perfectly, angling your head just right so he can thrust easily in and out of your mouth.

"I'm not-I'm not forcing you, you can go at your own pace. I just'm trying to guide you only if you want" he whispers almost immediately, and you nod, before replying, "That's okay. You can-can guide me. Show me what you like"

He smirks, and your mouth is back on him. You take him deeper, his tip going further inside your mouth. He tastes good, better than you had imagined. He eats so much fruit and drinks water, like he used to before you both parted ways. He really takes care of his body, and you would definitely show him how much you love it.

Your head bobs up and down his length, while your hand strokes what your mouth can't reach. Your other hand massages his balls, rolling them between your fingers, and experimenting. He moans and curses, and you can't help but feel proud that you're making him feel good.

You're making Harry Styles feel good.

His groans become louder, his hips bucking up in your hand and his balls becoming heavier in your palms. His cock twitches, leaking some precum that makes its way down your throat, his salty taste making you him, and the vibrations of your mouth make him do it again. He's close, and you can't wait to taste him.

But before you could make him cum, he pulls your mouth off, his lips planting another crushing kiss on yours. He pushes his tongue inside, tasting himself as you moan into his mouth, his lips so soft and pink and perfect.

"You're so beautiful" he whispers as he pulls off, and your heart swells at his compliment. Even though you look far from beautiful right now, makeup smudged, lipstick smeared all over your lower mouth, with a few tears on top of your cheeks, he can't help but adore the way you look.

"My makeup's smudged, Harry," you say, and he pulls you up by your hands. His lips attache to your chest, licking up the drool that had fallen from your lips. Your hands find his hair, pulling at it while he takes your nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the pebbled bud. He sucks at it, making you squeeze your legs together and moan above him.

"Y'look beautiful to me" his voice is muffled, his mouth around your nipple and all. He kisses both your breasts, and holds your waist, his green eyes looking up at you.

“Please?”

“Where?” he asks.

“Bedroom.” you whisper, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “Please, Harry—”

He doesn't need to be told twice. He picks you up in one swift motion, and you wrap your arms around his neck, legs around his waist. His hands come and rest on your hips, holding you up as he walks to his bedroom. It's upstairs, and he seamlessly carried you up two flights of stairs.

He pushes the door open, closing it behind him quickly and placing you on the foot of his bed. His bed is huge, and he watches your breasts juggle as he puts you down.

He looks down at you with hunger in his eyes, your legs spread open and pussy exposed. You try to close them, but he quickly slots himself in between, holding your thighs apart.

"Don't be nervous, love," he whispers, trailing his fingers down your body. "You're so perfect"

His words make you melt, and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Your wetness seeps through your folds freely, your neglected clit begging for some attention. He grabs your hands and pins them above your head, his lips trailing down your neck and chest, before reaching your breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around it while using his hand to play with the other one.

You moan and writhe under his touch, begging for more as he continues to explore and worship your body. He then pulls away, standing up and removing his sweater. The sight of his toned body and hard cock sends another wave of arousal through you.

"You want this?" Harry asks, his voice dripping with need and dominance.

You can only nod, the words caught in your throat as he positions himself between your legs. You grip the incredibly soft bedsheets beneath your hands, your legs spreading open further to accommodate him. He lines his cock with your tight pussy, lips spreading open to accommodate him.

He enters you slowly, the feeling of his tip pushing its way inside making you gasp.

The combination of his skin against yours and the rhythmic motion of his body setting you aflame. And as you both move together, his lips pressing against yours once again, you can feel yourself getting lost in the pleasure of it all.

'Harder,' you moan, your voice full of need. He responds immediately, his movements becoming faster and more intense. You can feel the pressure building inside you, warmth pooling in your stomach as he continues to thrust into you.

"You feel so good, love," he groans, increasing his speed and intensity.

"Y'pussy's so fucking tight, agh"

You moan and wrap your legs around his waist, your nails digging into his back as he pounds into you. The sounds of skin slapping against skin, mixed with your moans and his growls, echo through the room.

"You like it when I fuck you like this?" Harry grunts, his pace never faltering as he continues to fuck you.

"Y-yes," you whimper, unable to form coherent sentences as your body starts to tighten with pleasure.

Harry chuckles and pulls out of you, turning you over onto your hands and knees. He enters you once again, this time from behind, and the angle hits your g-spot with every thrust. He grips your hips, pulling you back onto him, and his dirty talk only adds to the intense pleasure.

"Little minx. Never would have thought you would end up in my bed, fucking me so goood-fuck"

His words make your mind spiral, your back arches and your chest collides with the mattress.

"Harry-I'm close-I-I-" you whimper from beneath him, and his hand comes between your bodies, finding your swollen clit. He rubs your clit with his strong hands, making you mewl and whimper as the coil in your stomach snaps.

Your orgasm washes over you, the tension in your body building until it's too much and you come undone, screaming his name as you climax.

"Harry-fuck" you curse as your nail scratch on the bedding below as your body convulses and writhes with pleasure. Your pussy milks and squeezes him, walls tightening and clamping around his length.

Harry follows shortly after, pulling out and painting his cum on your back. His hands stroke his cock till he's done, emptying himself on your back.

He falls on the bed, eyes falling shut as he catches his breath. Your eyes are closed too, and there's silence between you as the post-orgasmic haze takes over your body. Harry pulls you into his embrace as you both bask in the afterglow.

It would take a lot of that to get used to having him by your side once again. And this time, you're never letting him go away.

***

tell me if you like this!

[vrittivsanghavi]

when simon wakes up in a hospital, the last thing you expect is for him to grab your hand, pull you close, and say, “hey, there you are, love.” his voice is so soft, so sure, it leaves you speechless. you stare at him, half in shock, because this is ghost—simon riley, the one person who’s kept every feeling locked up.

“simon, do you… do you remember anything?” you ask, testing the waters.

he blinks, looking at you with confidence. “of course, i remember. you’re my wife.”

you freeze. his wife? this is new, and you’re not sure where he got the idea, but before you can correct him, johnny walks in, taking one look at the two of you and biting back a grin. he leans in, whispering to you, “maybe just… go with it for now, eh?” he’s got that teasing glint in his eye, and something tells you there’s no harm in humoring simon for a bit, if it can be helpful for his recovery.

so, you go along with it. and to your surprise, simon doesn’t act confused—in fact, he’s more open with you than he’s ever been. suddenly, he’s holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, always looking for you, keeping you close, calling you “love” or “darlin’” in front of everyone. he’s even got that soft smile every time you catch his eye, one that makes it hard to remember this isn’t real.

the team’s amused but supportive, playing along with the whole story. simon keeps asking you little things, like what your favorite meal is, or how you usually spend your days when he’s away, as if filling in gaps in a life he believes you share. you find yourself answering with things that feel so genuine, and the way he listens—focused, attentive—feels more intimate than anything you’ve shared before.

one day, you’re patching up a minor scrape on his hand, and he just watches you, eyes soft, like he’s memorizing every detail. “i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. it’s so genuine, so open, that for a second, you forget it’s all just part of his memory loss.

then, one night, he pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours, eyes serious. “do you ever think about us?” he asks softly, like he’s trying to get at something just out of reach. “how we’d be if things were… different?”

you’re not sure how to answer because there’s no script for this. “sometimes,” you admit, feeling a pang of something deep and unspoken. and for the first time, you’re almost grateful he can’t remember—because maybe, just maybe, it’s the only reason he’s letting himself be this vulnerable with you.

as the days pass, you start catching little glimpses, small things that make you wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on. he catches you watching him once, and instead of asking why, he just gives you this little smile, one that feels like he’s in on the secret. and just when you’re starting to think this is all some kind of twisted dream, he pulls you aside.

“i know i’m supposed to remember,” he whispers, “but i don’t want this to end. not yet.”

it’s in that moment you realize the truth. he’s been aware all along—he’s been pretending just as much as you, holding on to this fragile, temporary illusion because, maybe, he needs it just as much as you do.

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

hii!! i'm backkk!! send some requests plsss, byee <333

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving

[vrittivsanghavi]

as long as we're together (does it matter where we go?)

Summary: You don't want to be a burden to Bucky, knowing he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Pairing: Bucky x Female!OC

Genre: Angst

Length: 7.8k

Two years ago

“I don’t think I want to be with you anymore.”

Bucky had expected it. Weeks of you being distant, making secret phone calls, avoiding his touches like they physically hurt you. Countless times Bucky had asked, what's wrong?, only for you to shut him down and say that everything was fine. Bucky was sick of hearing that empty, meaningless mantra, but it didn’t mean that he reveled in your confession now.

Even though it didn't come as a surprise, it still felt like a punch to the gut. It physically winded him to hear those words leave your lips.

He wondered what he did wrong. He wondered where they went wrong. They were so in love, so wonderfully content in each other's company. You were his person. Steve had once told Bucky that he would find someone unexpectedly, when Bucky made an off-hand comment about how lucky he was to have met Peggy.

“You’ll find your Peggy.”

Things had been perfect. Or maybe Bucky had just been in denial, ignoring all the problems between you because he thought that his feelings for you triumphed over everything, no matter what hardships you may have been suffering from. How could he ever face the reality that you might actually leave in pursuit of something better?

Now, Bucky’s chest was tight with an indescribable feeling, both of you stood in your shared apartment. Your belongings stuffed into a black suitcase, Bucky’s heart in pieces on the hardwood floor.

He had expected it, but it didn't stop him from wanting to die.

"Why?" It was all he could ask. He wanted to know the reason, wanted to understand. Wanted to know if he could fix it. He was desperate to make you stay.

Bucky stared at your face. You looked so...indifferent. Unattached, in contrast to the woman he had met all those years ago. Where had the softness in your eyes gone? Why couldn’t you meet his pleading gaze, even now? At what point did your feelings for him start to fade, and was there anything he could have done to salvage it?

Your face was a blank slate, emotionless, and it made Bucky feel a truly troubling combination of sadness and anger. It was as if you had already said your goodbyes to their relationship, completely ready to move on whilst Bucky was still trying to process your words. You were ready to leave him behind to mourn.

“I don’t think we’re right for each other,” you had said quietly. “I don’t think we can give each other what we need.”

"Bullshit," Bucky said, his voice cracking. You grimaced ever so slightly at his tone, still unable to meet his eyes. "How can you say that?"

He took a step forward; you matched it with a retreating step, but with wide strides he seized your wrists. He silently willed you to say something which could somehow lessen the excruciating pain.

“Will you just look at me?”

He wanted so badly for you to meet his stare, to find some source of comfort within your eyes which usually held so much love for him.

Finally, you relented and lifted your head. They did not fill Bucky with any hope. You pressed your lips together firmly as he searched your face desperately for any sign of residual affection.

"We - we're in love. How can you say after all these years that we're not right for each other? For fuck's sake, will you just tell me what happened?"

"People change, Bucky," you said softly. The look on your face - was it sadness, or apathy? "We've become too distant."

"And whose fault is that?" Bucky released you then. He was so angry, wanting to elicit some sort of reaction from you, that he wanted to punch the wall beside them. It made him feel nauseous at how stoic you were now, like a piece of unyielding rock. He knew you hated it when he took his anger out physically. You had been the one to teach him how to manage his rage more constructively, to talk things out and use his words rather than his fists.

"Are you trying to say it's mine?" Your tone was sharp, finally demonstrating some emotion. "Are you saying that all those nights waiting for you to come back home, all those evenings alone whilst you stayed at the Tower, all those hours I spent staring at the four walls of this apartment were my fault?"

"You left me!" Bucky retorted, gritting his teeth. "You left me long before today! You think I haven't noticed? You can barely stand touching me. You're always on your phone, always texting, always out seeing your 'friends'," he said, making air quotes. "I asked Wanda, she said you haven't been meeting her or your other friends for weeks. Who's this 'friend’? Who the fuck is it that's so important that you can't spare any time for me, never mind your actual friends?"

A long, pregnant pause filled the air, an indecipherable mask on your face once more. Bucky’s eyes were wet, and if he hadn't been so angry, he would've seen the way your lower lip was trembling ever so slightly, the way it did whenever you were trying not to cry. It had been the biggest telltale sign for him over the years to know when you were upset and trying your best to hide it.

He was usually so good at reading you, but he was blinded with sadness.

"Fine," you said eventually, slicing the silence with a shaky exhale. "I'm seeing someone else."

You might as well have struck Bucky across the face.

Suspecting it and hearing the words fall from your lips were two different things. He physically reeled back in anguish as he stared at you. He took in the sight of his girlfriend in front of him, swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat. This was, without a doubt, the woman he had met five years ago. The woman he spent five years loving. The woman whom he recognized no longer.

"Why?" Bucky whispered, all the fight leaving his body. He physically seemed to sag, forehead creasing at all the other questions running through his mind, visions of you being touched and fucked by some faceless, nameless man.

You were almost pitiful in the way you looked at Bucky, and he hated it.

"I care for you, Bucky. But I’m not in love with you anymore. And I'm sorry I had to do this to you. Things just got out of control."

I’m not in love with you anymore.

You offered no further information, but he had stopped listening, anyway. The finality in your voice pierced him slowly, tortuously, through the heart. He barely moved when you took your suitcase and pulled it out behind you, out of their apartment. Out of his life.

The door slammed shut.

Present day

You are cordially invited to attend the wedding of Mercedes Knight & Samuel Wilson

Sam had become Bucky’s closest confidant in the past few years, and the latter had been a close witness as Sam met Mercedes ‘Misty’ Knight, a former NYPD officer who had somehow become roped into their crazy world. It was no surprise to Bucky when they announced their engagement just six months into dating.

Bucky found himself being pulled into their wedding planning discussions far too often. He tried to keep an amused smile at bay whilst listening into Misty and Sam’s wedding talk at the Tower. They were using one of the many conference rooms - a Knight-Wilson union was official business, Misty insisted.

"Are you bringing a date?" Misty asked suddenly in the middle of everything, the question directed at Bucky.

"Of course he's bringing a date," Sam smirked. "Heard things with Sharon are going well, right?"

Bucky smiled non-committedly, shrugging. "She's great." It didn’t go unnoticed by Sam that this didn’t quite answer his question.

"You two look good together," Misty offered. She glanced at her watch and widened her eyes theatrically, grabbing Sam’s hand. "Oh crap, we need to go meet with the wedding planner."

"But it feels like we just sat down," Sam complained.

"There's no rest for the bride and groom, Sam," Misty said, pulling her fiancé out of his seat as she waved goodbye at Bucky.

As soon as they departed, the smile on Bucky’s face dimmed. He was beyond happy for his two friends, he really was - but every couple he knew was a fresh reminder of his own failed love life.

Ever since you, he hadn't been in a long term relationship. Sharon is different, he told himself, and she was. They had been friends for a long time, and of course spent a lot of time together carrying out missions and the like. Over time, somehow, they had gotten closer, and one day Sharon had just asked him, “So when are you going to ask me out, Barnes?”

At that point, Bucky was still frequently thinking about you. Sharon had never met you before, but Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if she had heard stories about you from the others, since he had been notoriously affected by the breakup. Even though he was dealing with the aftershocks of the broken relationship, he was forcing himself to get past it.

They had been dating for two months now, and it only seemed right for Sharon to be his date at the wedding.

He had moved on. He was no longer the depressed, dark wreck he was when you left.

Sometimes it’s better to lie to yourself than to face the reality.

“You invited Bucky’s ex to the wedding?” Misty asked curiously.

“Uh, yeah. She’s not just his ex,” Sam explained gently. “She’s my friend too, and I haven’t seen her since she left town.”

"You told Bucky?"

"Nope," Sam snorted, shaking his head. "I can't. I don't think he'd turn up if I did. I want them both there on the day - I'm sure they can be civil for one night."

“I wonder how Bucky will react," his future wife pondered.

Sam shrugged. Not well, probably.

"What else can I do? I can’t not invite her, I really want her to be there. You never met her, so you don’t know, but she’s been through some shit.”

“I know, I know, you told me,” Misty said. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt. Do you think she'll be okay seeing Bucky again? Especially if he'll be there with Sharon?"

"She said she can handle it. She would be happy to see that Bucky was happy. She was the one who practically begged me to encourage him to move on."

“Do you think he has?”

Sam paused, considering the question carefully.

“He has to.”

Several weeks later, Misty Knight and Sam Wilson were officially wed at the local registration office. The day was full of hugs, cacophonous laughter, friends and family, and Bucky watched with a wide beam on his face as he witnessed his friends glow. Those kinds of smiles were few and far between nowadays, but he was truly happy for once.

"They look so good together," Sharon murmured as hundreds of guests filled the hotel ballroom, the party commencing in full swing. The newlyweds were in the center of the room, Misty being twirled around wildly by a laughing Sam before his wife collapsed against his chest in fits of giggles, looking up into his eyes adoringly.

More and more people joined them on the dance floor after the conclusion of their official first dance.

"Barnes, would you like to dance?" Sharon asked suddenly with a smile, extending a hand.

Bucky chuckled, allowing her to take his hand and lead him out to the dance floor.

An hour passed, and Bucky had to truthfully say that he was enjoying himself, assisted by all the alcohol he had consumed. Sharon was draped all over him as they swayed to the music, and Bucky found himself appreciating the feel of her body against his all too much, the scent of her intoxicating. His hands felt the fabric of her silky, emerald green dress, buried his nose into Sharon's blonde hair, sighing softly as he tightened his grip on her waist.

Her perfume was strong and woodsy, like a forest. It irritated his nose ever so slightly. You had preferred a more subtle, floral perfume, one that smelt like sakura blossoms.

Sharon was more confident and seductive in the way she danced, whilst you used to always let yourself become putty in his arms, enjoying how he took the lead and managed to make you look like you knew how to dance despite your two left feet.

However, despite the differences, if Bucky closed his eyes and just tried a little harder, he think he could pretend that -

"Sorry to interrupt.”

Bucky pulled away from Sharon suddenly, and he turned to mock glare at Sam. "What do you want, Wilson?"

"Need to borrow you for a minute," Sam said, an undecipherable expression on his face. Bucky tried to see where Misty had disappeared off to, but saw no trace.

"Um, sure..." Bucky tried to read Sam’s face but gleaned nothing.

"I'll just go say hi to Natasha," Sharon said, giving Bucky’s forearm a squeeze before she disappeared.

Sam’s smile faded, and he caught Bucky’s arm in a vice grip. "I need to tell you something. Don't get mad, okay?"

"What?" Bucky scowled as Sam dragged him to the side of the room, weaving through the crowds of guests. "What good news starts with, ‘don’t get mad’? Are you gonna tell me you want to run out on Misty or something?" He joked.

Sam pulled him out through one of the open French doors which led to a pretty, outdoor stone balcony. He shut them behind him as Bucky continued to babble, a little tipsy from the champagne he'd had. "I gotta tell ya, if she asks me to kick your ass I will literally do so -”

"Bucky," Sam said, taking a deep breath. "She’s here." Meeting Bucky’s nonplussed eyes, your name rolled off Sam’s tongue in clarification.

He felt like the breath was sucked from his lungs as he stared back at Sam, who looked uncharacteristically anxious.

“What?" He asked hoarsely, instantly sobering up. “What do you mean?”

Chills were running through his body. The name he had avoided for years was suddenly causing him to feel breathless. How did you still have such an affect on him?

"She couldn't make it to the ceremony earlier today, but she just arrived."

"You - you invited her here? She’s here, now?"

"Yes," Sam replied, nodding. "I invited her.” He straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest almost defiantly.

Bucky was speechless for a moment, taking a step back and scoffing. He shook his head. “Do you remember what she did to me?”

“I'm sorry, Buck..."

Bucky suddenly laughed, startling Sam. His laugh was curt, humorless. "What are you sorry for? I'm over her, Sam. It was two years ago. I haven't seen her in two years. I don't care anymore," he said quickly. Too quickly.

"Listen -"

"Look, it's okay." Bucky raised his hands in small surrender. “You have the right to invite whoever you want. I’m not mad. But I just don’t want to be held accountable for whatever happens now.”

He turned and wrenched the French doors open with such force that the handle buckled slightly. The noise inside the ballroom spilled out to replace the painful silence on the balcony.

He disappeared inside before Sam could say anything else, and he tried to hide it, but Sam could clearly see that his hands were shaking as he marched inside.

For the next twenty minutes, Bucky found sanctuary in the restrooms. He stood inside the stall, trying to stop himself from mentally collapsing.

He didn’t know what was happening. He had never felt this overwhelming panic rush over him before, immobilizing him. Anger, sadness and yearning swirling inside a melting pot of emotions that was crippling him.

She was here. The woman he hadn't seen in two years, the woman who broke his heart, the woman who betrayed him, the woman who left him in tatters.

Your infidelity had had an unforeseen impact on him. When he first found out, he was devastated. Terrified of how you became someone he didn’t recognize - or had you always been someone capable of betraying him, just good at hiding it?

You had poisoned all the happy memories they had once shared. Bucky found himself recounting all the years you were together, micro-analyzing everything, wondering if there was a hidden lie behind it all.

That was one of the things which made him angriest. You turned all the beautiful years of your relationship into a lie. None of it was real, Bucky had told himself.

You crushed him.

Of his feelings, anger prevailed, slowly simmering to the surface, like a volcano about to erupt. How dare you walk back into his life like this? He would show you, Bucky thought with determination. He was over you. He had no reason to be angry, he thought bitterly, because you were nothing to him.

Just like Bucky was nothing to you.

When he emerged from the toilets, the first thing he did was find Sharon. She looked relieved to see him, although confusion was clear on her face as she eyed Bucky.

"Where have you been? Are you feeling okay?" She commented, brow furrowed with concern.

"I'm fine," Bucky assured her. "Have you seen Sam?"

Sharon pointed, puzzlement still painted across her face, and Bucky snapped round quickly.

And there you were.

It was as if you had never left. As if the past two years filled with Bucky trying to eradicate every memory and feeling he had for you had never happened, because as soon as Bucky’s eyes found you through the crowd, everything came collapsing back down on top of him like an avalanche. Suffocating.

You were still so beautiful, strikingly so. Like a burning beacon among the crowd, Bucky’s eyes found your face as easily as anything. For a second, he allowed himself to ignore anything except you, and how the sight of you still managed to take his breath away.

You looked thinner than he remembered, your face gaunt. Bucky frowned slightly at this acute observation and found himself wondering if you had been taking care of yourself.

"Barnes? You okay?"

Bucky registered Sharon shaking his arm, but his eyes remained fastened on yourself and Sam. Neither of you had spotted Bucky yet, who was rooted to the spot like a statue. Sam’s mouth was moving, words that Bucky couldn't hear escaping his mouth, but his expression was angry. Almost as if he was scolding you for something.

"I have to...I..." Bucky stumbled over his words, voice faint. He could feel those tendrils of anger slowly seizing him again, wisps at first, until they grew more and more potent by the second. He remembered every single thing he felt when you left him, and instead of trying to hold back the emotions, Bucky just saw red.

"Let me introduce you to someone," he said suddenly, his voice strained as he took Sharon's hand.

"You said you were better," Sam said, expression torn.

"I am," you lied, trying to put on a smile. Truth was, you were exhausted, just like how you always felt. The ballroom was so crowded and loud, and you just wanted to go back to the hotel and sleep, which you would the moment you finished congratulating Sam and Misty. And perhaps, even though you didn't want to admit it, you wanted to catch a glimpse of Bucky, too.

"Look at you, you're -"

“Sam, please don’t,” you interrupted gently. “Just drop it, please? It’s your big day, I don’t want you to worry about anything else.”

Sam opened his mouth to talk, but stopped suddenly, his eyes flitting to look behind you.

"Hey."

You froze. You knew that voice, of course. Heard it enough times, the deep, gravelly voice that had once whispered sweet pet names, proclamations of love, and plagued your dreams ever since you left him.

You had longed to hear his voice again, hear your name being spoken lovingly. His voice was your favorite sound in the world. Except tonight, hearing it for the first time in two years, you heard nothing but ice.

"Bucky?" You turned slowly, and your breath hitched. He was just the way you remembered him. Even more handsome, if possible. Clad in a sleek black tux, tall and dark and sexy, everything you had missed and dreamed of, and...

He was holding another woman’s hand.

"Bucky," Sam repeated, voice tense. Bucky could hear the underlying warning.

"It's been a while," he said stiffly, acting as neutral as he could. As if he hadn't spent months after their terrible break up being a shell of who he used to be, barely repaired even now. Bucky felt like any other venomous words from your mouth would shatter him again, but he had to take the chance. He had to talk to you, show you that he had moved on. He didn't care about you anymore, or how you so ruthlessly left him.

"Yes," you said weakly, smiling softly. God, he still thought that you looked beautiful, clad in a periwinkle blue dress, a thick coat draped around your shoulders. You were shivering, and Bucky resisted the urge to ask you what was wrong. Now that he was closer, he could see that didn’t look well at all. You had dark circles under your eyes and your collarbones were too prominent, your gaze devoid of any livelihood.

You glanced at Bucky’s fingers interlaced with a gorgeous blonde. You had seen her on the news before, you were pretty certain. Your smile forcibly stretched wider, blinking a few times, not knowing what to do with yourself.

"This is Sharon," Sam said, clearing his throat and exchanging introductions.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Sharon said politely. She was gorgeous, you thought, watching as she sent Bucky a subtle, questioning glance.

Bucky was still staring at you, unmoving. You took the initiative first.

“Bucky, can we talk for a second?"

You could see the way he was trying to control himself by the way his lips stiffened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He gave a curt nod. He didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Sharon and the other hundreds of wedding guests.

“Let’s leave these two to catch up,” Sam said lightly, trying to hide his discomfort as he led Sharon away.

"So now you want to talk?" Bucky asked as soon as they were out of earshot, his voice sharp. You cringed, almost folding into yourself at Bucky’s hard stare.

"Yes," was all you managed to whisper, eyes darting to the ground to avoid meeting his glare. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

You turned and walked towards the exit of the ballroom, turning back to look at Bucky. He followed after a second, his jaw set like stone as you led the way to the empty lobby outside, away from the noise.

"It's been a while, Buck.” You voice was sad as you turned to face him again.

"Yes," he said, fighting an internal battle. He was so torn. Seeing you again made him want to wrap you up in his arms like he would've done two years ago, when you were still together. And feeling like that made Bucky angry. What right did you have to make him feel this way? Who gave you the right to mess with Bucky’s heart again after so long?

"How have you been?" You asked eventually after a painfully awkward silence.

He scoffed at that. "How have I been?" He repeated incredulously. He doubted you really wanted to hear about all those nights he spent in his apartment, refusing to talk to his friends, being a complete social introvert (more than he usually was) because he felt like he just couldn't live anymore. Not without you.

"Great. Fantastic," he said without a shred of sincerity.

You stared at him for the longest time, your lips pressed into a thin line. You looked so regretful that it made Bucky feel uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," you said eventually, your voice wavering like you were struggling to breathe properly. "I'm so sorry for leaving you like that. We...we could have ended things better. You didn't deserve how I treated you."

You flinched when Bucky scoffed derisively. He dropped any remaining restraints he had previously put in place, letting all his feelings run free.

"Are you kidding me? Why? Why are you coming back here and apologizing after all this time?" He felt like he wanted to tear his hair out in frustration as he stared at you, making sure to keep his distance lest he found himself wanting to pull you closer. God, it was all so confusing. He despised you, and yet seeing you here in the flesh was everything he had ever wanted in the last few years.

He hated how you were making him feel.

"Look, it doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done," he spat through gritted teeth, all the while completely unaware of how your heart clenched painfully at Bucky’s scornful eyes. “Do you have any idea how unfair this is? You fucked up big time, disappeared off the face of the earth, then come back standing in front of me now asking how I am?”

“I know. You’re right, about everything. I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry.”

“No. You have no right to do this,” Bucky seethed. “You have no right to come back here and try to - what, settle your guilt? Make amends?”

You didn’t say anything, choosing to let him vent instead.

“I still remember the way you left. What you did. I will never forgive you for that. So don’t you dare stand in front of me today with all this bullshit and expect me to have something nice to say.”

"You really hate me, don't you?" You asked then, taking Bucky off guard. You lifted your head properly to stare at him, and the look in your eyes was unsettling.

"I hate you," Bucky confirmed unwaveringly, his voice hard. "I hate what you did to me and by extension, you."

You didn't respond. You bit your lower lip hard, trying desperately not to cry in front of him. Your heart hurt so much.

It was the worst feeling in the world, maybe, seeing the man you loved so dearly tell you that he hated you. It was excruciating, the clenching inside your chest as Bucky’s words rang in your head.

"I know my apologies will never be enough. I just wanted to see if you're happy now," you whispered.

"I'm happy," Bucky replied almost immediately. "I'm happy with Sharon. Does that bother you? Did you hope that I'd still be pining after you? I'm not that pathetic anymore." The barriers were broken, and the hurtful words were falling from Bucky’s mouth, two years worth of it.

“I never said you were pathetic,” you retorted, slightly indignant. “I’m glad that you’re happy.”

Bucky was breathing hard, unconvinced by your words.

“And how's the man you left me for?"

"He...it didn't work out," you shrugged, trying to keep your face as straight as possible.

"Good," Bucky said harshly. "Because you don't deserve happiness." If he wasn't so mad, he wouldn't say such irrational things. But he just wanted you to hurt. He wanted you to feel all the pain you caused.

Bucky pretended he didn't hear you gasp. He pretended that he didn't see your eyes gloss over at the sheer amount of hate in his voice.

"Okay," you said finally, your voice clearly shaking. "Okay," you repeated again, nodding your head. Bucky watched you take a step back, away from him.

“I -”

“I'm sorry, Bucky. Please take care," you interrupted, smiling sadly before you turned and walked away as quickly as possible.

That was not how you envisioned the reunion to go. All you wanted was to apologize, know that he was happy, so that you could go in peace.

But maybe that was the consequence of your decision. Maybe he was just always going to hate you for the rest of his life and remember you as someone awful.

You didn’t know that all Bucky wanted to do was run after you. Tell you to stop. He wanted to apologize and tell you how he didn’t mean a word of what he just said.

Rage and pride kept him shackled, and he watched your retreating back, feeling like a coward.

The last thing Bucky expected when he opened his apartment door a few days later was Sam’s dirty glare.

"You can be a mean son of a bitch, do you know that?”

"Hello to you too,” Bucky retorted.

“Why did you say all that stuff to her?” Sam asked, pushing his way past Bucky.

Bucky closed the door, knowing exactly who he was referring to.

"Why is this any of your business?"

"You acted like a dick!" Sam said furiously.

“Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done something like that on your special day. But-”

“I want you to feel sorry to her.”

"She left me,” Bucky exclaimed. "You were there, Sam, you saw how fucked up she made me. She cheated on me! You want me to apologize to her?” His face was incredulous.

“You’re so fucking frustrating.”

“Oh, excuse me for not being the bigger person,” Bucky sneered. “But you don’t know how she made me feel, Sam, so don’t you dare try to give me a fucking lecture now.”

Sam was quiet for the longest time, looking exasperated. He stared up at the ceiling, sighing.

“Bucky, look man. She never cheated on you,” Sam said finally, an apologetic look in his eyes.

The apartment became filled with nothing but the sounds of Bucky’s heavy breathing.

“What are you talking about?” He spat, realizing now that Sam knew something he didn’t.

Sam let out a resigned sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I promised her I wouldn’t tell you. But fuck it, man, cause I think this is messed up. She’s sick, Bucky," he said solemnly. "Like, really sick."

Two years ago

"It's cancer, Sam."

You physically couldn't cry anymore. You had done enough of that the day the doctor had told you, your eyes puffy and swollen. Funnily enough, the first person you had sought out wasn’t your boyfriend, but rather his best friend.

Bucky wasn’t even in town that weekend, and you really didn’t want to tell him over the phone. In fact, you never wanted to tell him. How do you tell the man you love that you're dying?

"You can get treatment, right?" Sam asked.

"I don't know. It’s not looking good. They're doing some sort of new clinical trial in England, but even that’s a long shot. I - I’m going to try, though.”

Sam sat up straighter. “And Bucky?”

"You can't tell him," you said firmly. You had thought about it all night, and you knew you couldn't let him know. You didn't want to put him through something like this. "My father had cancer too, Sam," you said softly. "He died in so much pain, he had so much treatment but it didn't help. He was throwing up all the time, having fevers, his body was so weak, and by the end he wasn’t the same anymore. I don't want him to see me like that."

“But-”

“No buts,” you said. You had given it enough thought already. You knew that you would have to be very, very lucky to make it through this - the end was essentially inevitable. There was no way you would make Bucky bear witness to you succumbing to this illness the same way you had to watch your father.

It was the worst time of your life. You had told Bucky about it in the past, as he had never had a chance to meet your father since he passed away years before you met Bucky. Knowing what you did, you would never inflict that same experience on him.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I have to leave him.” You had been preparing yourself for what you needed to do all night. "If I go, there's a chance I might not come back, you understand that, right?"

"Don't say things like that," Sam said forcefully, clenching your hand. "Just stop. Bucky will support you all the way, you know that!"

"That’s exactly why I have to go by myself. I can't be selfish, Sam. I want him to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted. I can’t make him drop everything to make me his number one priority. Looking after me will take time and constant care. If I go to England, he will abandon everything and come. Manhattan is his home.”

Sam looked anguished and you knew that he was disagreeing with everything you had just said, but you plowed on.

"It’s not just a matter of time and effort. If he stays, he will watch me die, and I don’t want him to do that.” You began to cry, and Sam hugged you, wishing he could say something comforting.

“It’s okay," you said through the tears, even though every fiber in your body was telling you the opposite. You had been repeating these words to yourself all night, as if you would believe it if you said it enough times. "It’ll be okay."

Maybe you were being stupid, but you didn't care. You knew Bucky loved you with his body and soul, as did you. But you weren’t going to let him suffer over your illness. You wouldn't let the person you cared most about in the world see you slowly deteriorate.

You had been witness to how your father was clearly in a depressive state, and yet tried his hardest to pretend to be happy and fine around other people. You didn’t know if you had the strength or bravery to even pretend.

You began distancing yourself. Stopped trying to make conversation with Bucky, until the long, endless, random talks you used to share diminished into curt sentences. You stopped waiting for Bucky to come home, simply pretending that you didn't care. You became more secretive, furtively hiding your calls with your doctor and your mother.

There was no other man. You loved him and only him, and had been nothing but faithful. You didn't know what hurt more: having to lie to Bucky or the fact that he so easily believed you would betray him like that.

In the end, you had really regretted fabricating a story of infidelity. You should have just gone your separate ways without making him think that you had been unfaithful. But at that time, you wanted to find a quick solution that would make Bucky voluntarily detach himself from you. It seemed like a wise decision, but you really, really wish you hadn’t let him believe that you didn’t love him. It was truly the worst feeling in the world.

It was all over in a few weeks. You packed your things and left, trying not to cry with every heavy step you took towards the door of your apartment. You knew you were making the best decision for them both, surely.

Time would heal Bucky, and he would be happy again one day.

It just couldn’t be with you.

Present day

"She just didn’t want to feel like a burden to you, man," Sam said, shaking his head. "Why did you have to say all those things to her at the wedding?"

Bucky could register nothing else after Sam finished explaining everything. He was in disbelief, though he knew that there was no way Sam would fabricate a story like that.

Now, he could only think of the way he had shouted at you. The way he told you how much he hated you. The way you had left.

"Where is she?" Bucky whispered.

"She’s leaving today," Sam said tersely. "She’s going back to England. She was real sick for a long time, and she recovered a few months ago, but the cancer came back.”

He slipped a hotel business card into Bucky’s hand. “This is the address she’s staying at," Sam said.

He grasped it like a lifeline, eyes unable to see Sam standing in front of him. His vision was completely filled with images of you.

"Go," Sam said forcefully. "Go and find her.”

The tears wouldn't stop falling.

You didn't know words could hurt so much. Sure, you had expected Bucky to hate you, but you weren’t prepared for the way every single word seemed to embed themselves into your skin like splinters into your heart.

They were once so happy. They were so perfect.

You hated yourself. Hated yourself for getting ill, for ruining what you had. The logic was irrational, but the self-hatred had become second nature.

You had spent the last few days holed up in your hotel. You had planned to use the time to see a few friends before returning to England, but you no longer had the heart.

You left your room that morning only because Wanda was furious that she missed you at the wedding, and you agreed to have coffee with her. She almost cried at the sight of you, but you put on a brave face, refusing to talk about Bucky. You begged her if you could just talk about happy topics and she eventually obliged, smiling sadly when you hugged each other goodbye.

“I’ll see you again, dear,” Wanda had said, and you hoped to God she was right.

As soon as you got inside your hotel room, you felt a switch click internally.

Everything hurt. You were tired, unhappy and you really didn’t know if you would ever make it out of this emotional blackhole. You felt so weak, like you would keel over at any given moment.

Cancer really was a bitch.

You kicked off your shoes and entered the bathroom. You lay down in the bathtub, fully clothed, turning the cold water on until you were almost completely submerged, wanting to numb all the pain inside your body and mind.

You eyes were red and swollen, and you couldn't remember crying so much since that day the doctor diagnosed you. Why was life so unfair? You wanted your old life back again. The life where Bucky didn't detest you, the one where he was happily and wonderfully in love with you.

You lay back, letting the water cover you completely. You closed your eyes, your hair gently swirling around your face. You opened your mouth and screamed, bubbles erupting to the surface.

Eventually you emerged, gasping and coughing, your tears hot in contrast to your frozen face. Your body wracked with sobs, shaking uncontrollably.

You sank back down into the water, your mouth opening once more to scream in uncontrollable rage. It was cathartic, your fists clenched into balls as you willed the feelings inside you to just - disappear.

When you opened your eyes beneath the water, you nearly gasped at the sight of a blurry, warped figure above you. You didn't have time to do anything when arms were suddenly encasing themselves around you, lifting you to the surface.

You spluttered and coughed, your ears assaulted by the voice that once whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

"- the fuck are you doing? Are you okay?"

Bucky.

You blinked past the water in your eyes, bewildered at the sight of him, kneeling beside the bathtub with his hands gripping your shoulders. His bright blue eyes were scared, wide open with concern.

You were startled at his sudden appearance, unable to say anything as he scooped you out, lifting you with ease. You were clearly in shock and scared.

You collapsed against him as he sat down on the bathroom floor with you in his arms.

"What were you doing?” Bucky was appalled as he pulled you close to him, watching how you continued to weep, blinking blearily at him. Your body was ice cold, every inch of you soaked.

He whipped a towel down from the railing beside you, wrapping it around your body as you shivered uncontrollably.

"Bu - Bucky?" You asked, as if you couldn't fathom why he was here. You were almost convinced you were hallucinating.

"Fuck, we need to get you out of these clothes," Bucky said, gritting his teeth as he tried not to cry. He had so much to say to you. He wanted you to know how sorry he was, how he didn't mean anything he said, but now wasn’t the time. He had to be strong for you.

You felt like a baby as Bucky removed your soaking wet garments until you were naked, then immediately swaddled you with more towels. He picked you up completely off the floor and took you out of the bathroom.

He chose to place you down on the edge of the bed, positioning himself to kneel down in front of you.

"Bucky," you whispered, voice thick, trying to pull away from him. “I think you should just leave me alone."

He stiffened. It scared him to hear you talk like this, to see you look at Bucky with such defeat in your eyes.

“No,” he said resolutely. “I'm here now, okay? I'm here, I'm not leaving, and I need you to be with me. I need you here, talking to me.”

"I can't. I can't do this anymore. Just go, please."

Bucky looked at you then. Really looked at you. The woman he loved and misunderstood for so long was now a trembling wreck in front of him, skin paper thin and trembling like a leaf. You looked so vulnerable and sad, and it made his heart twist.

Bucky suddenly held you tight against his chest, tucking his nose against the crook of your neck, and you didn't resist.

"Do you have any idea how much I hate myself? I hate myself for letting you go through this alone. I hate myself for telling you all those lies that night. I love you, I love you, I love you," Bucky said, wishing that you would see it.

“Don’t.”

“I wish you had told me. I would have helped you. You should have told me. I can’t believe you -”

You realized now that Sam must've told him the truth, and you sighed softly.

"I'm not good for you, Bucky," you whispered. "I will only ever hurt you, put you through more pain."

"I know everything now," Bucky said firmly. "No matter what happens, I will gladly endure it as long as it means we're no longer apart."

“Don’t be so stupid,” you said, anger tearing through your voice, though the tears were still falling. “I’m broken, Buck. I can’t give you a future. Please just find someone else - stay with Sharon.”

“Sharon?” If you hadn’t mentioned her name, Bucky would never have even thought about her. “No - we’re not serious, doll. She was never going to be the one.”

“No,” you insisted. “If not her, then fine, find someone else. Just not me.”

“Why aren’t you listening?” Bucky asked furiously. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. Please don’t do this. I need you." He was desperate to make you see, to make you understand. It was you or nothing. "You don’t know how awful the past few years have been. I don’t want to be apart from you, please.” He was prepared to grovel at your feet and beg.

He hated himself for how easily he gave up two years ago. This time, he was not letting you leave him.

His beautiful blue eyes pleaded with you, and you felt your barricades crumble. Your arms finally moved to wrap around him, and he felt a wave of relief as he encircled you in his arms. You had missed this, the feeling of Bucky holding you so tenderly.

You didn’t know if you were making the right choice, but you wanted to give in so badly and just let yourself be selfish and enjoy what time you could have together. And now that Bucky had you back by his side, he was definitely not going to let you go.

Even if they were in pieces, at least they were together. And Bucky was positive that they could put those pieces back into a whole, as long as you gave it a chance.

"You're so stupid," you said through your tears.

"I don't think so," Bucky said, managing the smallest smile. "Just stupidly in love with you."

You wanted to stay like this forever, entangled in each others arms. He pulled back slowly to study your face, and leaned in to press a gentle kiss against your lips. He kissed you again, deeper this time, breathing you in.

“You owe me two years of kisses,” he mumbled.

You laughed softly, but it soon died. First, you had a lot of talking to do. You used the following hour to tell him the details about your illness, why you had left, how sorry you were for treating Bucky the way you did when you broke up with him.

"You're so dumb," Bucky had said, sounding furious for a moment. "You had no right to decide something like that for me. You know I would support you.”

"I know, Buck," you had interrupted. "That's exactly why I had to leave. I didn't want you to see me die, okay?"

You had looked like you were about to cry again, so Bucky stopped scolding you immediately. He would never make you cry again, he swore.

"You're here now," he said, kissing your temple. "We're together now. Everything feels...right again."

You swallowed, biting your lip. "I told you, my cancer is back and -"

"You'll get better again," he said, refusing to look at you. You knew that tears were in his eyes. "You'll get better, okay?" His voice wavered slightly.

"It's worse this time, Bucky," you said. "Look at me. I'm practically withering away."

"You'll get better," he said, clenching his teeth.

You didn't say anything, just nestled against Bucky’s chest, relishing the way he wrapped his arms securely around your frame as if you would disappear at any moment.

Maybe he was right. Maybe by some miracle, with Bucky by your side, you would be able to give him all the time in the world.

"I'll try to stick around," you whispered.

[vrittivsanghavi]

fan [texts]

_______________________________________

summary: texts they send when they find out you were a fan.

request: a little text request if it’s interesting for you: f1 drivers finding out well into the relationship their girlfriend was initially a fan of them (none of them get mad tho 😭)

drivers: charles leclerc, oscar piastri, lando norris, max verstappen.

warnings: no use of y/n, cursing, some suggestive language, and not much more i guess.

a/n: hiiii besties! hope you all enjoy this ;)

feedback is always appreciated!

MASTERLIST.

do not copy/repost/translate my work anywhere!

-

charles leclerc.

-

oscar piastri.

-

lando norris.

-

max verstappen.

___________________♡___________________

[vrittivsanghavi]

“Safe - Part Three”

mafia!harry x you

(“Safe” Masterlist)

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: gunfire, talks of blood, angst, talks of death, and a bit of toxicity on Harry’s part for a few seconds

Plot: (Takes place after “Part Two”, but before “Part One”) You and Harry are out to dinner to celebrate six months together, but he’s met with interruption after interruption. The night takes an alarming turn - resulting in you begging him to be honest with you about who he really is.

❈❈❈❈

You sat alone at the table - Harry’s chair across from you being empty as he stepped away into a nearby hallway to take yet another phone call. This was the third one he had received since you got to the restaurant to celebrate six months of being together, and you weren’t sure if you had ever felt so unimportant to him.

Each time he got up from the table, he didn’t even excuse himself. He just got up and immediately pressed his phone to his ear.

It was obvious that Harry was passionate about his work, but you never thought that it would take priority in a setting such as this. The waiter had come over a few times now to check on you, and every single time Harry just happened to be gone. You felt pathetic. You knew you looked pathetic. A woman, in her most beautiful dress, being practically stood up by her boyfriend. Sure, he was still in the building, but this was no date.

You were having dinner all alone.

Dropping your fork onto the table, having been pushing your food around your plate anyway, you reached forward to grab your half finished glass of wine. You gulped it down before standing up while grabbing your purse off the back of the chair.

You weren’t going to sit around and be made a fool of any longer. If Harry wanted to fix this, he was going to have to put in a lot of effort. You didn’t take well to a man making you feel unworthy of his attention, especially when this whole thing was his idea.

Just as you turned your back to the table, and were starting towards the front of the restaurant, you felt a hand capture your wrist. You quickly looked over your shoulder, and you saw Harry with a look in his eyes that you had never seen before.

“We have to go,” he stated, beginning to pull you through the restaurant after dropping money down onto the table to cover the bill.

You could hardly keep up as you walked through the front doors of the building, and you saw Heath, Harry’s driver, pulling up out front. Harry ushered you in before him, and then climbed in afterwards.

It was silent as Heath started down the road, and you stared at Harry as he typed away viciously on his phone.

“Harry,” you said, but he continued to ignore you.

With a roll of your eyes, and a huff leaving your lips, you crossed your arms over your chest and looked out the window as the streetlights passed you by. You hoped that he was taking you back to his, that way you could collect your things you had left with the intention of staying the night, and then you could go home.

It was only a few minutes later that Heath started to make turns you had never been through before, and you soon realized that you were driving down a gravel road that you couldn’t see the end of. You could hear the sounds of other cars pulling in beside Harry’s, and you clutched to the bench seat underneath you.

“Harry,” you repeated as you looked over to him, and you could feel your heart rate quickening. “Where are we? What’s going on?”

Heath stopped after a few more seconds, and Harry finally looked over to you. “Stay in the car, do you understand me?”

He got out before you could respond, and you could see that he walked over to Heath’s door. They talked quietly for a bit, and after that you watched as Harry walked into the building that was just a ways in front of you - several men hopping out of the other cars that had shown up to follow behind him.

“Heath, what are we doing here?” You asked, and Heath met your eyes in the rear view mirror.

“I’m sorry, Miss Y/L/N. I can’t tell you that.”

Anger started to fester even more in your being, and you sat up a little more in your seat. “This is absolute bullshit, do you understand? I’m not some object to be dragged around and ignored when I’m looking for answers.”

Heath didn’t say anything further, and he kept his sights straight through the windshield - as if he was waiting and keeping watch on the building.

You let out a laugh of disbelief before looking back out your window. “This is ridiculous.”

You weren’t sure how many minutes it had been since Harry left the car as your mind was racing. You were so in your own head that you jumped once you heard Harry’s door open, and your eyes widened when you saw blood stains all over his white button-up and suit jacket, as well as his face and hands.

“Heath, drive!” Harry yelled as his chest heaved up and down, and you reached out to him as Heath started to obey the command.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, almost grabbing at his shirt before Harry’s hands wrapped around your wrists.

“It’s not mine. Don’t worry.”

As you opened your mouth to speak again, the sounds of bullets ricocheting off the back of the car echoed through the vehicle, and you screamed - going to cover yourself, but Harry still had a hold on you.

Before you knew it, your seatbelt had been unfastened, and you found yourself on your back on the floorboard of the car. Harry’s body was on top of yours as he cradled the back of your head in his hand - forcing your face into the crook of his neck.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered in your ear as you sobbed, grabbing to the front of his suit jacket as your arms were pinned between the two of you - there was no part of your body that wasn’t covered by him. “Everything is going to be fine.”

Harry knew that his car was bulletproof, and it had been that way since he bought it, but you getting injured wasn’t a risk he was willing to take - regardless of that knowledge. He’d take every single bullet if it meant that you would come out unscathed.

Once the noise of the bullets died off, Harry pulled your head back down so he could properly look at you, and his heart ached as he saw your mascara streaked cheeks, and your red eyes.

“Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

You couldn’t even find the words to answer him. You were in a state of complete shock as he helped you up off the floor of the car, and he sat you back in your seat - doing your seatbelt back up. He did the same for himself before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“It’s been taken care of,” you heard him mumble quietly to whoever was on the receiving end of his phone call. “Tried to come after me in the end, but the guys took care of it.”

The phone call goes on for another minute or two, but you’ve tuned it out. All you can think about is getting home.

Pushing yourself against the door, and as far away from Harry as possible, you wrapped your arms around your body as you continued to slightly tremble. You had never actually heard gunshots in person before, and you hoped you’d never have to again.

This was without a doubt the most terrifying experience of your life, and it hurt that it came at the hands of the man you had fallen madly in love with. It wasn’t something you had confessed to him yet. You knew Harry had a bit of a shield up when it came to love, so you weren’t going to force it on him, but you knew you loved him. 

“Y/N,” Harry saying your name brought you out of your thoughts, and it was then you realized you were at his house.

He didn’t say anything else as he got out of the car, and it was only a few seconds later that he opened your door. You stared at him for a minute before shaking your head.

“I want Heath to take me home,” you whispered, bottom lip trembling. “Please, just go get my bag, and let him take me home.”

Harry swallowed harshly as he looked over your face, and he felt himself growing sick in the stomach knowing he was the cause of you getting so worked up. He wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive himself for this.

“Please, baby, just…just come inside. I promise I’ll leave you alone. I just would feel a lot better about you being here with me tonight,” he coaxed you gently. “If you wake up in the morning, and the first thing you want to do is go home, then I’ll let Heath take you home.”

Truth was, he was scared that after what happened tonight that someone could still potentially try to get to you in order to get to him. He had been so careful about keeping you hidden away from this side of his life, but he had been tipped off tonight that one of his biggest rivals knew he had found himself a girl - that he was borderline settling down. The phone calls he was getting during dinner had kept him informed of the whereabouts of the man threatening you both, so when Harry knew his rival was going to be somewhere stationary for a bit, he went into action.

You felt completely conflicted. You had no idea why Harry had been caught up in back at that warehouse, and you didn’t know whether he was in the right or the wrong in terms of what happened. 

Had you seen too much now? Was this his way of getting rid of you too? But what if you didn’t comply, and you didn’t do what he asked right now? Were you just going to make it worse for yourself if you didn’t obey?

Sucking in a deep breath, you finally nodded at Harry as you slipped out of the car, and you started towards the house. You waited for him to unlock the door, and once he had, you immediately went into the downstairs bathroom to try and clean yourself up.

You used the makeup remover you had in there to wipe your face entirely, and you decided to try and provide yourself with some normalcy as you went through the steps of your nightly skincare routine.

You exited the bathroom, and went back into the living area of Harry’s home to find no sight of him. You figured he was probably cleaning himself up as well.

Cleaning up all that blood.

Your eyes caught sight of his bar cart in the corner of the room, and you walked over to it - pouring yourself a hefty glass of whiskey before taking a seat at the head of his dining room table. 

Sipping slowly, you stared blankly in front of you, and it wasn’t until you heard the sound of another glass meeting the table that your attention was stolen. You looked over to see Harry tracing his eyes over you, as if he were checking on you, before he sat down in the chair beside you.

He was now dressed in a pair of black joggers with a white tank top covering his torso - the black ink that lined his arms on full display for you to see.

It remained silent between the two of you for a while before you finally decided to speak - your emotions now focusing solely on your anger. “I need you to tell me who you are. Who you really are, and I need you to do it now.”

The scoff that left Harry’s mouth ignited something in you that you had never felt before, and you tightened your grip against the rocks glass in your hand.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Harry stated with a shake of his head, and you knew you were on the verge of losing it entirely.

“If you don’t tell me, Harry, I will be more than happy to grab my things, and order myself my own Uber. I’ll leave here, and I’ll block your number. You’ll never see or hear from me again. Do I make that clear?”

Harry rolled his lips from one side to the other as he stared at you. “So that’s what you’re going to do, huh? Start giving me ultimatums? What do I scare you now or something?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, feeling tears of both fear and frustration filling your eyes again. “You do scare me. I’m fucking terrified of you right now!”

You watched as the look on Harry’s face softened, and you were almost certain that you could see his own tears pushing their way forward. “The last thing I want is for you to be scared of me, Y/N. That’s one of my biggest fears. It’s why…it’s why I’ve kept this all from you for so long.”

You had never seen Harry come even close to crying before, so as you watched his eyes start to glass over, you still felt a tugging in your heart. 

“Well, until I get some answers, I don’t know how else to feel when being around you,” you whispered, moisture beginning to coat your cheeks. “I need you to tell me, Harry, please.”

Harry’s head on his shoulders - chin meeting his chest as he ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. “I didn’t lie to you completely. I am an arms dealer, it’s just…not for the military.”

It was odd that you felt your heart tugging one moment, and then you felt it sinking into your stomach the next. You lifted your glass up to your lips, and took two large sips before putting it back down on the table.

“My father was a very powerful man when he was alive, and I was involved in a lot of it, however, when he died - I had to take over completely,” Harry continued, and you kept your eyes on him the entire time. “Tonight, a rival of ours was putting threats on me, and they somehow know about you now,” for the first time since speaking, Harry’s eyes met yours. “I’ve tried so hard to keep you hidden from all of this, but somehow someone found out that I’m involved with you.

“I’ve never had to be careful like this before because-” Harry cut himself off, clearing his throat as you saw the same tears from before glistening in his eyes again. “Because I’ve never been as involved with someone as I have been with you.”

You processed his words for a minute before speaking. “What I’m hearing is that you’re part of the Mafia?”

Harry knew that he needed to choose his next words carefully, and he took a sip of his drink as he tried to figure out how to phrase it.

“Y/N,” he sighed, looking into your eyes again. “I’m the head of my part of the Mafia.”

You could feel the color drain from your face as you slowly pressed your palms down against the table, and you pushed yourself out of your chair. Your steps were slow as you began to pace the area, and Harry watched you - riddled with worry.

“I can promise you that when you’re with me, you’re safe. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

It clicked in your head that you hadn’t seen Grant in a while. You stopped your pacing, and you looked over at him. Grant was officially a part of the mafia as well, so where had he gone?

“What happened to Grant? Were you so jealous that he almost had me first that you killed him?”

Harry slammed his hand down on the table, causing you to jump as he now stood up as well. “Grant was double crossing me, and he was actually doing it with the man I took care of tonight. I’m sure he was the one who revealed I had found someone that meant something to me. Grant was the reason they threatened us tonight.”

“So everyone knows now, huh?” You cried, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’ve got a target on my back, and you’ve got an even bigger one than usual on yours? This is fucked!”

“No,” Harry shook his head as he rounded the table to walk towards you. “They were the only ones who knew. We can still keep this away from the eyes of those who want to hurt us. We can-”

As he went to cup your face in his hands, you flinched away, and you watched as an expression you didn’t recognize took over Harry’s face.

He felt like his entire world could’ve shattered in that minute.

“You really are scared of me, aren’t you?”

“I’m trying not to be,” you told him honestly. “I just feel like I don’t even know who you are.”

“Y/N, baby,” Harry didn’t know what else to do. He felt like this was it. He was losing you. “I swear to you that I have been nothing but myself when I’ve been with you. Yes, I kept this a secret, but the way I feel about you, and how I’ve expressed that to you…that was all real.”

“But how can I know that? To me this just feels like I’m scraping the surface of your life, and I’m terrified that if I dig any deeper, I might not like what I see even more than I do right now.”

Now those were the words that broke Harry’s heart completely.

“Right,” he whispered, nodding his head.

He dragged the tips of his index and middle fingers along his chin, right under his bottom lip, before he let out a small laugh - picking up his glass from the table. It was then you saw tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’ll stay in my office tonight. You can sleep in my room, or the guest room...or wherever you feel most comfortable.”

No more words were spoken between the two of you as Harry walked up the staircase, and you heard the click of the door to his office.

After what he had told you, you knew it was best for you to stay here for the night. You believed he wouldn’t hurt you, that much was true, but discovering who he was overall is what was scaring you. This whole situation was blowing your mind. This was the furthest outcome of how you thought your night would end.

You gathered yourself as best as you could before also grabbing your glass - heading up the stairs. You walked into Harry’s bedroom and glanced over to the bed to see your overnight bag still sitting there. Your thoughts were immediately filled with how you’d be sleeping in that same bed alone tonight.

Slowly, your feet carried you over to the bed and you placed your glass down on the nightstand before sitting down at the foot of it - staring at your hands in your lap as tears continued to fall. 

All you could keep thinking about was how much you loved him. He had become your everything in just six months, and now you were being told that he’s been hiding something so big from you. You wished he had told you sooner, and under different circumstances. You wondered when he would’ve told you if the events tonight hadn’t taken place.

Harry treated you with such respect, and doted on you constantly. He had always been there when you needed him. He was truly the perfect boyfriend, and you hated that you were seeing him as something else now. You didn’t want to. 

Regardless of it all, you knew you still wanted him. But would you be able to look past this? 

The door to the bedroom clicking open startled you, and you lifted your head up to see Harry walking in - looking down at his feet. “I’m sorry, I’ll be quick,” he said as he started towards the en-suite, about to pass by you on the bed. “I just need my toothbrush.”

Once he was in front of you, you reached out, not letting yourself second guess it, and you wrapped your hand around his fingers. “Don’t go,” you whispered, swallowing down a sob. “Please stay in here with me.”

You heard Harry let out a shaky breath before he looked over to you. His eyes were red and slightly puffy, and you wondered if he had continued to cry the last few minutes like you had.

“You want me to stay?” He asked, his voice sounding strained.

“Yes, I don’t want to be alone,” you confessed. “I don’t want to be without you. I’m sorry.”

This time you couldn’t force your sob away, and you dropped your head down on your shoulders as your whole body began to shake. Harry quickly sat down beside you, pulling you into his arms while pressing a kiss to your temple. “You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. Not a damn thing. I should be on my knees begging you for forgiveness. I’ve been foolish keeping you in the dark.”

You buried yourself into Harry’s chest as he maneuvered you around so that you were sitting in his lap. He continued to press kisses against your face as you cried, and you were sure you felt tears of his own mixing in.

“I love you,” you whimpered, gripping the back of his tank top in your hands as you held him close. “I love you so much, Harry.”

It may not have been the best time for your confession, but you couldn’t help it. You were so overwhelmed, and your emotions were heightened. You didn’t expect for him to say it back - you didn’t care if he did. You just needed to let him know.

“Y/N,” Harry brought one of his hands up to pull your face back so he could properly look at you. You watched as his eyes danced over your face, and he ghosted the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip before speaking again. “I love you too.”

Both of your mouths turned upwards into smiles, and you let out a soft laugh as you lifted your hand to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I didn’t expect you to say it back.”

“I’ve known it for a while. I just don’t know when to say it. You know me, I’m not good with the romantic side of things,” he said, now tracing your upper lip. “But you’ve got my entire heart, love. It belongs only to you.”

Leaning down, Harry pressed his lips against yours, and you could feel the tension in both of your bodies relax as soon as they touched. You parted your lips after a moment, letting Harry roll his tongue into your mouth as you shifted over his thighs. 

At that moment, you thought that you could just sit there and kiss him like that forever - that you’d never feel the need for anything else but his mouth upon yours and his hands caressing your body.

Once Harry pulled back, the disconnect of your kiss echoed around the room in the form of a small ‘smack’, and you fluttered your eyes open to look into his.

“I thought I lost you,” he shook his head. “But I wouldn’t have blamed you for that.”

“I have a lot of questions,” you told him honestly as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “But if you promise to be honest from now going forward about everything, then I’m still yours, Harry.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Harry dropped his face into the side of your neck for a moment - puckering his lips against your skin quickly before sitting back up to properly look at you.

“I promise, Y/N. No more hiding,” he assured you, running the back of his fingers along your cheek.

You both continued to gaze at each other for a while, taking each other in completely, before engaging in another deep kiss.

❈❈❈❈

Taglist: @daydreamingofmatilda @prettygurl-2009 @ghoststyles @lillefroe @gem1712 @lemoncrushh @namoreno @mellamolayla @fangirl7060 @idklilili (if you’d like to be added to my taglist, please send me a DM!)

[vrittivsanghavi]

“Safe - Part Two”

mafia!harry x you

(“Safe” Masterlist)

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: smut (f, f, m - sex acts in public), fingering (f receiving) and a slight spit kink

Plot: (Takes place before “Part One”) The first time you and Harry meet, you’re in the company of one of his men - one he isn’t too pleased with at the moment. When it becomes obvious to the both of you that the man you’ve come with is not the one you need, Harry’s infatuation with you grows tenfold, and he’s determined to capture your attention instead.

❈❈❈❈

With your hand draped securely into the seam of Grant’s elbow, you made your way into Ray’s Lounge for the evening. You had never been here before, but Grant invited you to accompany him after the two of you met while you were out with friends at a club last week. 

Grant told you that he had been watching you all night from the VIP booth he had rented with a couple of other men, and he made it known that he was incredibly attracted to you. He was attractive, and you could tell he had some years on you, but he seemed nice enough. You agreed to see him outside of the club, but only if it was somewhere in public again. He didn’t have any problem with that.

As you walked through the foyer of the lounge, you took in the extravagant decor on the walls - as well as the large chandelier that hung above your heads.

“Right this way, Mr. Culver,” you heard the hostess say, and it drew your eyes back to what was in front of you.

She made her way to two large gold doors at the back of the main lounge, and when she opened it, you were met with several couches and low tables. Men were flocked around as they rolled dice and slapped money on the wooden surfaces, and your eyes traced around - picking up on a few women in the mix as well.

What you didn’t see right away, however, was the man whose attention you had stolen as soon as you made your way through those doors.

Harry’s eyes were glued to you as Grant took you around the room, introducing you to the others before leading you over to the table Harry, and a few other men, were sitting at. He lifted his glass of caramel colored liquor to his lips as you took the seat right across from him, and that’s when you set sights on him for the first time.

His ivy-colored eyes bored into yours, and you immediately felt goosebumps pricking up all over your skin. You could tell he wasn’t trying to hide the way his eyes traced over you, not in the slightest, and you were only drawn away from him once Grant placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Gentlemen,” he stated, and then looked over to the one other woman at this table - she looked younger than you, but was sitting in the lap of a man who looked a lot older. “And lady.”

The table broke out into laughter before Grant continued. “This is Y/N.”

Harry could see the way several of the men at the table looked at you as Grant told you their names, and it was in a much different way than he did. They looked at you as if they couldn’t wait to try to get you alone - to try and devour you. You didn’t notice them, however, your eyes drawn back to Harry just as soon as Grant told you his name. You watched as his hand tightened on his glass, and you could see his knuckles turning white from his grip.

Grant ended up taking a seat next to you, and he immediately leaned over to press a kiss against the side of her neck. You smiled, looking over to him for a moment as he asked what you wanted to drink.

Harry was crawling out of his skin as he watched the two of you interact. First off, he knew you deserved someone better than Grant from the start, but second, he was pretty sure Grant was the current ‘rat’ running rampant among his men. It was only a matter of time before he’d be dealt with properly.

“I’ll just take a dirty martini, please,” you responded to Grant, and he nodded as he lifted his fingers into the air to get the attention of the cocktail waitress that had been walking around the room.

It didn’t get past you the way his eyes trailed up the waitress’ long, panty-hose covered legs before he met her face - ordering drinks for the both of you. When she walked away, you caught his eyes staring right at her ass that rounded underneath her black pencil skirt.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat as you turned to face completely forward again, no longer having your body a bit turned towards Grant, and you made eye contact with Harry once more.

“So, Y/N,” Harry said from across the table, and it was the first time you’d heard his voice. The silky accent had you wanting to melt under his stare, but you tried your best to remain as normal as possible so Grant didn’t grow suspicious. “What is it you do for work?”

Rolling your shoulders back, you sat up straight in your chair just as the waitress was setting your drink down in front of you. You kept eye contact with Harry as you cupped the glass in one hand - using the other to start stirring the skewer with olives in the liquid.

“Publishing,” you stated, tilting your head to the side. “Magazine Publishing. Greater Trips and Travel. I’m not sure if you’ve heard of it.”

As you raised your glass to your lips, taking a large swig, you felt Grant’s hand slipping under your dress just slightly - giving your thigh a soft squeeze.

“I have,” Harry nodded as he ran the tip of his index finger around the rim of his own glass. “I’m sure you’ve been able to go to a lot of beautiful places because of your position.”

“Indeed, I have.”

And just like that, your responses to Harry intrigued him even more. You were so sure of yourself, something he had never really found himself attracted to before. He was used to submissive, delicate women who would bend to his every will - all consensual, of course. That wasn’t you, however. You were confident, and strong from what he could see, but he was so drawn to you.

He was determined that by the end of the night, you’d forget about Grant, and that you would be his.

Grant gave your thigh another squeeze, this one a bit more rough, and it immediately had you snapping your head over to look at him with narrowed brows.

“Is something the matter?” You questioned quietly, bringing your hand down to push his own off of you. “I don’t appreciate being handled like that.”

“You’re here with me,” he answered lowly.

Running your tongue along the inside of your cheek, you stood from the table - gulping down the rest of your fresh drink in just a few more sips before biting the olives off the plastic skewer. “Where are the restrooms?”

“Down the hallway, just there,” the young girl seated on the older man’s lap spoke up - pointing behind her. “Ladies room is on the right.”

Not sparing Grant a second glance, your heels clicked across the tiled floor as you ran your hands over your deep maroon dress that hugged every curve - a zipper running down the front. 

From just that one move from your date, you knew you wouldn’t be meeting up with Grant again. You didn’t take well to men claiming you before they even got to know you, and even then, your conversation with Harry was more than harmless.

You were sure Grant was just irritated that Harry had asked what you did before he ever brought it up. He knew Harry was making him look bad.

You reached the bathroom, and you were thankful there was no one inside the single stall room. You stepped in, locking the door behind you before standing in front of the mirror to look yourself over.

After a moment, you started to pace the small area as you thought of how you might be able to get out of the rest of this evening. You just wanted to go home now.

Harry had watched the whole interaction with Grant, and he was thankful that he was so good at reading lips. He saw you tell Grant off, but he also saw how he borderline threatened you without using any harsh words. 

Harry didn’t like that. He didn’t like that one bit.

It also didn’t help that the moment you left, Grant began making vulgar comments about you to some of the other men - none of the comments being reciprocated, thankfully. The man was making a complete fool of himself, and when he noticed no one was feeding into his disgusting ways, he turned his attention elsewhere.

Although these men liked to look, a lot of them didn’t take well to the degradation of women, and that’s exactly what Grant was doing to you without you even knowing.

When you had been gone for a few minutes, Harry excused himself from the table once he saw Grant was busy flirting with the cocktail waitress, and he started down the hallway you had walked down not too long ago.

The timing was almost too perfect. Just as Harry was approaching the door to knock on it, to check on you, you were opening it up.

You gasped, jumping a bit in surprise as you saw him standing there. “Sorry,” you swallowed harshly. “You frightened me.”

Harry shook his head as you walked forward completely to shut the door behind you, and you moved over so you were standing up against the wall. “I’m sorry, Y/N. It wasn’t my intention to scare you.”

“No worries,” you told him, holding his eyes.

After a moment, the both of you allowed your sights to run over each other completely - fully taking each other in before making eye contact once more.

“Grant is not the man for you,” Harry spoke up without hesitation, and you smirked softly.

“Is that so?”

You already knew this information, but you wanted to see what else he had to say.

“Mhmm,” Harry hummed as he walked forward, but he still left space between the two of you - not wanting you to feel enclosed or trapped. “A man like him doesn’t appreciate the type of woman you are.”

Running your tongue along your lower lip, you watched as Harry’s eyes dropped down to your movements before looking back up to your face.

“I’d be interested to hear what kind of woman you take me to be.”

You caught sight of how Harry’s chest swelled while he tucked his hands into the pockets of his suit pants - tilting his chin up a bit.

“Well, for starters, your beauty is out of this world. You’re stunning, as well as captivating, and you hold yourself with such poise,” Harry started, and you tried not to let it show that your pulse had quickened at just those few words. “Those are things I know for sure, but there’s some things you’re going to have to let me know if I’m right on.

“I feel as if you’re determined, in both your everyday life, and your work. If you want something, you’ll get it. Whether it takes days, months or years, it’ll be yours. You also don’t let anyone take advantage of you,” he continued. “And, I guess this is another sure thing, you’re obviously successful at what you do. You’re passionate about it.”

You remained quiet as you took his words in, and you sucked in a deep breath before responding. “You came to those conclusions just by knowing me for what…fifteen minutes?”

“I did.”

“And what? Grant isn’t the man for me, so you’re trying to convince me that you are?” You raised a brow at him, and he chuckled softly.

“I’d be highly interested in showing you the type of man that I could be, Y/N. One thing is for sure, I know I’d treat you right.”

Suddenly you felt lightheaded at the fact that this man, who was a million times more attractive than Grant, was admitting to having some sort of infatuation with you. It wasn’t uncommon for men to hit on you occasionally, but it wasn’t the norm for men who looked like Harry to be the ones doing it.

You didn't want to give in just yet. Part of you wanted to make him grovel for it - to see if he would actually put in the work for just an opportunity to show you how he could be with you. For you.

“So bold of you to approach a woman while she’s with another man, regardless of whether or not you feel he’s suitable for her,” you teased, sending him another smirk. “What if I think you’re all talk?”

Harry’s eyes darkened slightly, but not in a way that frightened you. No. The way his eyes darkened sent a pulse right between your thighs.

“Y/N,” Harry now closed all space between you, and he slowly leaned in so his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “If you’d like for me to show you that I can indeed bite to match my bark, all you have to do is ask.”

Your eyes threatened to roll back into your head from just his words, and you felt a warmth growing in your lower abdomen as you pressed your palms against the wall behind you to ground yourself.

But still, you didn’t want to let him win too early.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer if Grant doesn’t seem to be the one to satisfy my needs tonight,” you replied, and Harry lifted his head to look down at you.

“I don’t play games too often, darling, but for you, I’ll let the offer stand until the end of the night. After that, it’s off the table.”

Lifting his hand, Harry stroked the tips of his fingers along the side of your neck. You bit back the gasp that wanted to escape you, and you felt your skin grow warm underneath his touch.

“As much as your words say you’re weighing your options, your body is betraying you,” Harry clicked his tongue against the back of teeth as he shook his head. “I’ll have that pulse of yours racing even more soon enough.”

With that, Harry dropped his touch away while he looked over you once more, and then he started back down the hallway towards the tables again.

You remained against the wall to catch your breath - trying to will away the second heartbeat that had grown prominent between your legs. No man had ever laid his cards out so clearly, and it had your head spinning.

And even though Harry didn’t know for sure, you already knew that you’d be taking him up on his offer by the end of the night.

❈❈❈❈

Once one of the men suggested a change of scenery, bringing up a place by the name of Calypso, it seemed like most of the men quickly stood and started to head out. Grant was one of them, and he barely waited for you to stand as well before heading back towards the front of the lounge.

His hand ghosted on the small of your back, but your arms remained by your side as you walked. Part of you was going back to the idea you had in the bathroom - to call a cab and just head home.

That thought was soon interrupted though when you saw yourself approaching the same car you and Grant had arrived in, and the two of you quickly slid into the backseat.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself tonight,” Grant stated as the car began to move. His fingertips trailed over your knee before he leaned in a bit further. “There’s some business I have to take care of once we get to the club, but if I finish up in time, I really hope you would consider coming home with me.”

You knew that wasn’t going to happen, but you didn’t know what this man was capable of, so you played the part.

“We’ll see where the night takes us,” you responded with a nod, and a soft smile, before looking out the window.

It was only a few minutes later that you saw the neon sign for Calypso come into view, and you were grateful you no longer had to be trapped in a car with just the two of you. 

As you stepped inside the club, Grant didn’t even utter another word to you before you saw him trailing behind a girl with dark purple hair, and she seemed more than thrilled to see him. With her hand tight around his tie, you watched as she dragged him down a hallway that was covered by a curtain.

Rolling your eyes, you made your way over to the bar and sat yourself down as you watched one of the girls stripping on stage. You had figured it was going to be this type of club once it was suggested, and you had no issues with it. You had been to your own fair share of strip clubs before.

One of the bartenders came over to you and asked what you wanted to drink, and you ordered yourself another dirty martini. When she asked for a card to keep your tab open, you started to dig through your clutch to locate it.

“A bottle of bourbon, Diamond,” you heard that familiar British accent right next to you, and you paused your movements - still keeping your eyes down into the contents of your clutch. “And whatever this beautiful young woman is having, please. She’ll be on mine for the rest of the night.”

Willing yourself to finally look up, you saw that Harry was already staring down at you.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?” You zipped up your clutch before tucking it back underneath your arm. “Technically I’m not your date.”

“No, you’re not,” Harry shook his head as he leaned against the bar. “But that doesn’t mean that you won’t be leaving without my number in your phone before the end of the night.”

That feeling of both excitement, but also anxiousness, from earlier came creeping back into your stomach, and a yearning that burned deep within was also causing your mind to go a bit fuzzy.

“We’ll see about that,” you responded as the bartender, Diamond, set your drink down, and you were quick to bring the skewer of olives to your lips.

Harry’s eyes were trained on your every move as you gently rested your teeth against one of the garnishes before slowly pulling it into your mouth. You watched as his throat expanded from a harsh swallow, but his attention was soon captured by Diamond placing his bottle of bourbon and glass onto the surface.

“So, do you plan on sitting here for the rest of the night, or would you like to join me for some fun?” Harry’s head tilted to the side as he continued to hold your gaze.

“What kind of fun?”

“Nothing crazy, just a private room in the back with me and some of the other gentlemen - respectable ones. They won’t be inappropriate towards you, I promise. If they try, I won’t allow it, but I assure you they won’t. There’ll be a dancer or two as well.”

Harry’s eyes held reassurance that what he was telling you was true, and you’re not sure why, but you felt as if you could trust him without even really knowing him.

“Okay,” you nodded, standing up from the bar - holding your drink tight in your hand. “Lead the way, Harry.”

With his arm locked securely around your waist, and fingers curling along your hip, Harry started through the main floor of the club with his bottle of bourbon resting underneath his arm. He held the single glass in his hand as he guided you though the seats and tables lining the stage that the girl from when you first walked in was still dancing on, and you saw now that she was completely naked.

You looked up to Harry to see that he was paying her no mind, keeping his eyes forward as he maneuvered you both carefully.

Soon you found yourself slipping into a curtained hallway, much like the one you saw Grant disappearing into when you first arrived, and Harry led you into one of the rooms lining the walls. 

Stepping inside, you saw there was a girl already dancing on a table in the middle of the room - still fully clothed. There were couches lining around each side of the table, and few men were already partaking in drinks while watching the girl.

“These are my most trusted colleagues,” Harry said into your ear over the music that was playing, not too loud, but loud enough that he needed to lean down for you to hear him. “I’ll introduce you properly. I’m sure that Grant didn’t.”

With the way the men were already seated, you ended up sitting across from Harry instead of next to him, but you didn’t mind.

“Y/N,” Harry said once the two of you were situated, and he gestured to the man next to him. “This is Elias, he’s my right-hand man in my line of work.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smiled, carefully reaching across his table and quickly shaking his hand so you didn’t disturb the dancer.

“The man next to you is Gregory, he’s been with me for a few years now.”

You shook his hand as well before Harry pointed to the man that was man spread on the remaining couch by himself - arms draped across the top of it. His eyes fixated on the dancer, but you could see there were really no thoughts behind them.

“And that’s Chase,” Harry chuckled with a shake of his head. “He’s usually a bit more social, but he’s had a lot to drink tonight, and not enough to eat.”

You giggled softly at not only the state of Chase, but also the sound of Harry’s laugh - no matter how short it was.

After a few minutes, you felt yourself truly loosen up as you sat back against the couch while sipping on your martini. You and Gregory held simple conversations, but every now and then, your eyes wandered back over to Harry as he spoke with Elias.

It was by your third drink here that you were properly feeling your alcohol, but you were only tipsy, nowhere near drunk. If anything, you were now more relaxed, growing more animated in your discussion with all of the men - excluding Chase, of course.

Harry watched you with such admiration as you had kicked your heels off at some point, and he found it so endearing to see you with your legs curled up beside you on the leather couch as you engaged in banter with not only him, but also his men.

The dancer that had been in when you first got into the room with Harry had already stripped and left, but you looked over to the door as a new girl walked in.

Your eyes trailed over her long, curvy legs as she sauntered over to the table. Slender fingers wrapped around the pole to hoist herself up onto the surface, and she immediately dropped the deep green robe she had tied around herself to reveal leather lingerie of the same shade.

Harry watched the way you looked at her as she began to dance along the pole, and even though he felt a sense of jealousy surging through his chest, he was also intrigued as to where this could go.

“Oh fuck,” you heard Gregory mumble next to you, and you diverted your attention from the dancer for just a moment to follow where he was looking.

Chase was now passed out on the couch with his head slung back on his shoulders - mouth open as he let out loud snores.

“I should be getting him home,” Gregory stood. “It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You as well,” you told him before watching him pull one of Chase’s arms over his shoulder.

Harry stood for a moment to help Gregory get Chase over to the door, but after that he was sitting right back down next to Elias.

You turned your attention back to the dancer, and once she saw the way you were watching her, she smirked while bending down to be level with you. Her knees met the table as she placed her hands between them - one on top of the other as she leaned forward.

Her full breasts spilled over the top of her leather bra, and you pushed your thighs together underneath your dress.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” she said sweetly, her own eyes now trailing over you. “I know I’d remember you if I had.”

A smirk pushed itself onto her face, and you found yourself matching it. “It is my first time. You’ve caught me.”

Biting down on her plump lower lip, she lifted herself onto her knees a bit so she could run her hands down her torso, and to the inside of her thighs.

You kept your eyes on her as you opened up your clutch, and you fished out the hundred dollar bill you had. Now you were leaning forward, placing your almost empty drink down onto the small table at the end of the couch so you could slip the bill into the cup of her bra.

“I’m Y/N,” you told her as her face neared closer to yours, and she hummed lowly.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” the dancer lifted her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m Ruby.”

Her name made complete sense to you. Ruby had fiery red hair, and you knew that’s why you were attracted to her. You had always had a thing for red-heads.

Before you knew it, you felt Ruby’s lips against yours, and you sighed through your nose as you kept your hands on the tops of your thighs. You weren’t sure if you were allowed to touch her, and you wouldn’t be doing so without her permission.

Ruby’s palms cradled your cheeks as she moved herself forward - skillfully crawling from the table and over to the empty spot on the couch next to you without touching the floor.

“You can touch me, Y/N,” she mumbled against your mouth. “Don’t be shy.”

You ran your hands up the outside of her thighs until you were cradling her hips, and soon you were now turning to face her properly while perched on your knees as well. Your dress had ridden up to gather around the middle of your thighs so you could have the proper room to move, and soon you felt one of Ruby’s slotting between your own.

As she began to kiss down your neck, you looked over to Harry to see him watching the two of you intently as he peered over his glass of bourbon.

Harry was turned on beyond belief at the vision in front of him. Ruby was his go to dancer when he would come here. He had hooked up with her a few times, but it was never more than oral sex, a hand job or a bit of fingering. He had never gone all the way with her.

It was casual between the two of them, and he honestly didn’t indulge often.

But to see you, a woman that he did want to go all the way with, making out and being touched by a woman whose body he already knew - it had his cock pulsing in his trousers.

“Elias,” he spoke while setting his glass down. “Leave us. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Elias nodded in response without question, and he exited the room without you or Ruby even noticing now that your mouths were connected once again.

It wasn’t until you felt the shift of weight behind you on the couch that you looked over your shoulder to see Harry sitting there.

“Hi,” he said, eyes trailing over you. “Mind if I join?”

You looked over to Ruby first, wanting to make sure this was something she was comfortable with, but when she leaned past you to rest a hand on Harry’s thigh, the other still on your hip, you watched as they engaged in a small kiss.

Much like Harry, that sent a shock of jealousy zapping through your nerves, but you wanted to see exactly where this all would lead.

Soon enough, both Ruby and Harry’s hands were cupping your hips, and they were moving you to sit down properly on the couch between them. Your feet were now flat on the floor as you faced forward while both of their bodies were turned in to face your sides.

“Pretty, isn’t she?” Ruby asked Harry as she ran one of her hands down your body before beginning to play with the pull of the zipper at the front of your dress.

“Mhmm,” Harry hummed in agreement. “And incredibly sexy.”

“So sexy,” Ruby breathed as she pressed another kiss against the side of your neck.

You gasped as the sensation, and you could still feel Ruby toying with the pull.

“Can we play with you a little, Y/N?” Harry’s silky voice filled one of your ears, and you felt a small fog taking over your brain.

Never had you been in the position of two people wanting to touch you at once, and for both of them to be so attractive, it almost felt unreal - like you were waiting to wake up from this wet dream.

“Yes,” you nodded as you looked into Harry’s eyes as Ruby began to slowly slide down the zipper on your dress. “You can do whatever you want.”

It wasn’t like you to be so submissive, but you were desperate for both of them to have their hands on you. You needed to be pleasured to release this tension that had been growing all night after your first conversation with Harry.

You sucked in a deep breath once it was completely undone, and the sides fell away from each other to reveal your black lace bodysuit underneath. Ruby’s fingertips started to dance along the material as her eyes took you in, and she began to kiss over your bare shoulder.

“Look at her, Harry,” she said, shaking her head once she looked back at your face. “She’s stunning.”

Your eyes had remained on Harry’s, and his on yours, until Ruby had spoken up again. You watched as Harry’s eyes trailed down your body, and you could see his tongue running along the inside of his lower lip at the sight of you in front of him. You sat up a bit, allowing the dress to fall off your frame completely, and Ruby tossed it to the side.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Harry stated as he looked back into your eyes.

Harry’s hand coasted down your sternum until he settled it over one of your breasts - kneading it in his palm as you arched into his touch. You barely felt Ruby as she pulled the cup containing the other down, and soon her lips sealed around your pebbled nipple.

You moaned, your eyes now slipping shut as you dropped your head back onto the couch with each of your hands resting on one of their thighs. Your fingers tightened against the material of Harry’s trousers as ran his other hand up the inside of one of your thighs.

“Can I feel you, darling? See how wet you are for the two of us?” His lips brushed against the shell of your ear again, just like they had done earlier, and it sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

“Yes.”

The tips of Harry’s ringed fingers popped open the three buttons that were holding your bodysuit together between your legs, and you gasped as they made their way through your drenched folds.

“Oh, she’s soaked, Ruby,” Harry clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth.

“Is she?” Ruby responded after popping off your nipple, and you watched as she looked down to where Harry’s hand was caressing you.

Humming, she leaned down a bit to run one of her fingers alongside his, and then she looked back at you with a gleam in her eye. “You really are, Y/N. You like us that much?”

You were glad that she wasn’t actually looking for a response as she looked back over to Harry.

“Spread her open for me, yeah?” Harry asked, pressing a kiss against Ruby’s cheek.

Ruby nodded and moved her middle finger down to your folds as well, gathering more of your arousal before spreading you apart. Harry sunk his teeth into his cheek as he could see your clit was already so swollen, and inviting, and he tilted his head down just slightly.

Your hips jolted as he spit down onto the eager bud, and from there he began to rub circles against it with his fingertips. Ruby’s lips soon closed around your nipple again, and that’s when you felt the band beginning to tighten in your lower abdomen.

They had hardly touched you so far, but you were already coming undone for them. You fluttered your eyes back open to look at Harry, and you dropped your gaze to stare at his perfect lips.

“Want a kiss?” He teased softly, leaning in to tap the tip of his nose against yours. “I’ve been wanting a kiss from you all night, darling.”

“Please,” you whimpered, and Harry didn’t hesitate to give into your pleading.

His soft lips slotted perfectly against yours, and you lifted your hand from his thigh to cup one of his cheeks. As your kiss deepened, he moved his fingers against you in faster circles, and you began to pant into his open mouth.

“Harry,” his name escaped you easily with a whine, and your hand made its way up into his hair. Your fingers tugged at his curls as Ruby kissed over to your other breast that was neglected - pulling that cup down as well to show that nipple equal attention.

“I know,” he cooed, holding his top lip right against yours. “Feels good, hm? Both of us taking care of you?”

Your eyes shut the tightest they had all night as you felt Harry’s fingers slip down - plunging his middle and index fingers into your dripping entrance. You were so overwhelmed by the places the tips of his fingers could touch, places you could never reach on your own, that you didn’t even feel Ruby’s lips detach from your body.

Harry flashed his eyes over to Ruby, and she nodded, knowing the look behind them. She leaned down to press one more quick kiss to the side of your neck before grabbing her robe, pulling it back around her body, and leaving the room.

“Are you okay with it being just us?” Harry asked, pulling back a bit to look down at your properly.

“More than okay,” you responded, locking both arms around his neck.

With one hand still being used to pump his fingers in and out of you, Harry gripped one of your hips with the other, and he moved you around to where both of your thighs straddled one of his own.

You used your newfound leverage to rock your hips against the thrusts of his fingers, and you bit down on your bottom lip - humming as the heel of his palm clashed up against your clit.

“Soaking my hand, darling,” Harry ran his hand from your hip down to one of the rounds of your ass. He gripped to it with a hunger, and you moaned softly at the feeling.

“Is this what the two of you do?” You asked breathlessly, feeling the band in your stomach tighten more and more. “Tag team all the girls you bring back here?”

Harry shook his head, leaning in to press a kiss against the hinge of your jaw. “Ruby and I have had fun together before, I won’t deny that, but I’ve never had fun with her and someone else. I saw the way you looked at her. I wanted you to have some fun with her too before I made you completely mine.”

Harry’s words had you feeling a bit floaty, and you leaned down to press another searing kiss on his lips - neither of you ceasing the movements at the lower half of your body.

“I’m going to come,” you mewled against his mouth. “Please don’t stop.”

“Would never dream of it. I need to see what you look like when you come all over my fingers. Let go for me, Y/N. Let me see you.”

Your orgasm washed over you in a wave of lust and desire. It continued to ebb and flow throughout your entire body - toes curling, and hands grasping to the front of Harry’s suit jacket as he helped you ride through your high completely.

Once you came back down, you collapsed into his chest with your face buried into the side of his neck. You did your best to catch your breath so you could speak, and you let out a small whine as Harry slipped his fingers out of you.

You brought your head up just in time to see him sliding them between his lips, and he stared into your eyes as he buzzed at the taste of you.

“You taste just as decadent as you look,” he smirked as he dropped his hand back down. Both his hands caressed your thighs as you played with the curls at the nape of his neck with your fingers. “I hope you’ll let me taste you again.”

You looked down to see Harry’s erection straining against his pants, and you went to reach down to undo his belt, his hands quickly captured your wrists. “No, no, love,” Harry shook his head. “Tonight was about you.”

“But you’re really hard, Harry. I know that has to be uncomfortable.”

Harry could have melted at the way your eyes showed such sympathy, and he was sure no woman had ever made him feel that way before. All these new things you were having him feel in such a small amount of time had you drawing him in even more.

“I’ll be fine, I promise. I didn't expect anything in return, and I don’t need it,” he remained firm in his words. “Another time, maybe.”

Standing off the couch, you had slipped your feet back into your heels, and Harry kept you between his legs as he buttoned your bodysuit back up. He stood as he helped you back into your dress, and you zipped up the front.

As you both started towards the door to exit the room, Harry blocked it slightly with his body while staring down at you. “I meant what I said, Y/N. I’d like to show you the type of man I could be. One that treats you the way you deserve. Can I see you again?”

Harry had never asked a woman to see them again like this. Most women just threw themselves at him, and it was unspoken on how long they’d hook up for until one of them moved along to the next one. 

But not you. He needed you - desperately.

You held his eyes for a moment before digging through your clutch for your phone. You handed it over to him once you located it, tilting your head to the side. “Put in your number, and I’ll text you.”

Harry did just that before you both left the room, and he walked you to the front of the club. He already had a driver on standby to take you home, so he walked you out to the car - opening the back door with one hand, and holding yours with the other as he assisted you on getting in.

“Goodnight, Harry,” you held his cheek in your hand before pushing yourself up on the seat so you could give him one more tender kiss. “I’ll be in touch, I promise.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Harry nodded, stealing another quick peck from you before stepping back. “I look forward to it.”

Making sure your limbs were in properly, Harry shut the door and walked backwards onto the street so he could watch the car drive off with you in it. 

After stepping back into the club to pay his tab, it hadn’t even been five minutes since you left that Harry felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out to see a text from an unknown number, and his heart palpitated in hopes that it was you.

“No more games, but you’ll have to work for it. No Ruby next time. Just you.”

Harry smirked at your text, not really expecting anything less from a woman such as yourself. He tucked his phone back into his pocket, making a mental note to respond later, as he lifted his fingers - signaling to Diamond that he needed one more shot before closing out for the night.

❈❈❈❈

Taglist: @daydreamingofmatilda @prettygurl-2009 @ghoststyles @lillefroe @gem1712 @lemoncrushh (if you’d like to be added to my taglist, please send me a DM!)

[vrittivsanghavi]

Como La Flor

summary: you accidentally spend too much time online

words: 2.4k

tw: none

“Harry looks so bored when he’s with her.”

“He’s clearly not happy in this ‘relationship.’”

“What does he see in her anyway?”

“Nothing. He looks fucking miserable.”

“I’m really worried about him. She’s obviously using him for fame.”

“Did you see her in that dress last week? She looked horrible. God I hope she’s not pregnant. We’d be stuck with her forever.”

Sniffling, you shut your phone off and placed it face down on the night table next to you. You flicked the lamp off and hid yourself under the fluffy covers of your bed. Squeezing your eyes tight, you hoped that the last hour you spent online was burned from your memory.

You knew that there were people who didn’t…approve of your relationship with Harry. Before you even confirmed your relationship and were just spotted out together, you were bombarded with angry fans of his who thought you weren’t good enough for him. Those weeks were difficult for you. You hadn’t been with Harry for a very long time at that point, and although you really liked him, you weren’t sure if you could handle that level of scrutiny from people who didn’t know you. 

Harry had understandably been upset, and did everything he could to reassure you that the only people that mattered in your relationship were the two of you, apologizing for the cruel treatment you’d received online for just standing next to him. From that conversation, you could tell that this issue had been the breaking point for Harry’s relationships in the past, and you felt bad for him. He was one of the nicest guys you’d ever met, but instead of one disapproving mother or friend or whoever, he had thousands of people criticizing whoever he was interested in.

“I really like you,” he said, linking his fingers with yours. “But I understand if...you know…”

You were at a crossroads. Leave this boy behind before you got too attached and save yourself a boatload of anxiety and self-esteem issues, or take a chance and trust that what the two of you had would be enough to ignore all the comments and spectators. When comparing the two, you were surprised by how much you didn’t want to break up with him. There was something special growing between you and Harry, and you could tell he knew it too. So, you gave him a chance, and you ended up falling in love with him soon after.

As your relationship with Harry progressed, you began to avoid the internet, only opening up social media accounts, all of which were now private, to check up on your family. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a big deal, especially if it meant that you were comfortably dating someone you loved, but there were moments where you couldn’t help yourself. Like Sleeping Beauty and her needle, you were drawn to the Internet, unable to help but be curious to know what people thought of you.

That led to today. You were home from work, Harry was busy the rest of the night, so you were left to your own devices, which meant exploring different social media apps. And once you started, you couldn’t stop.

YouTube was filled with conspiracy videos on why people thought your relationship wasn’t real, providing concrete “proof” in some and just wild accusations in others. Twitter had pictures of you and Harry walking around a few days ago. In some of them he had his arm around your shoulders, in others you skipped ahead while he was a couple paces behind you, holding various shopping bags in his hands. To you, they looked normal, and you could almost see the conversation you were having in some of the photos, but because Harry was straight-faced in all of them, it apparently meant you were some kind of parasite that drained him of his energy and happiness.

You didn’t know what you were doing wrong. You knew that you made Harry happy, or did you? It was suddenly hard to tell. Harry always told you that you were the only people in your relationship and no one else, but as you continuously scrolled, you couldn’t help but be swayed to believe that if so many people were saying it, it had to be true. Maybe you weren’t good enough, or pretty enough, or just enough in general.

Tears freely flowed down your cheeks, unable to stop them as your chest heaved and your nose became stuffy. You tried to turn your thoughts off before they could spiral more than they already had, but it was too late. You were suddenly aware of every little thing you’d ever done to annoy Harry, of anytime where you were made aware of your body in a way that made you feel insecure, of all the people you were up against, who would never let you live in peace unless you broke up with Harry.

These thoughts consumed you and wouldn’t let you sleep, but you didn’t get out of bed either, content to wallow all night. Your chest heaved occasionally with a new sob, each intake of breath difficult because your nose was so congested. Hugging the stuffed purple rabbit Harry gifted you on your third date to your chest, you buried your cheek deeper into your pillow, wishing your boyfriend was here but also glad that he didn’t have to see you like this at the same time.

Almost like your thoughts summoned him, the front door of your house opened. Nothing was said, but you knew it was Harry. He was the only one besides yourself who had a key to the house. By his soft footfalls and his lack of his usual, “I’m home!”, and the fact that you weren’t supposed to see him tonight, you knew he was trying to surprise you, as he often liked to do. Whenever he was super busy and needed to get away, or he just missed you, he’d come over and make dinner. “I was just hoping to steal a moment of your time,” he’d say. “Maybe two or three moments.”

Those were the kinds of things that made you fall in love with him. He just seemed to know when you needed him, even when you didn’t. As you thought about Harry’s sixth sense, you wondered if you brought anything to the relationship. Your mind flooded with thoughts about how Harry was always going out of his way for you, how he seemed to always know what you needed, how caring and comforting and wonderful he was. 

But what about you?

That only made you cry even harder. Your whole body wracked with sobs as you faced what you thought was the end of your relationship. You’d completely forgotten about Harry at that point, even though his arrival was what had sent you back into a tailspin in the first place. 

Harry, who wasn’t totally surprised that you weren’t lounging around the front room of your house or the kitchen, walked down the hall towards your bedroom. He wanted to surprise you with a recipe he’d been working on the last few days. It was one that your mother shared with him, one of your favorites from growing up. He was so excited to cook for you once he perfected the recipe, and today happened to be that day.

What he wasn’t expecting was to find you in bed and crying your eyes out. “Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Startled by Harry’s voice, you peeked your eyes out from where you were hiding under a blanket to find him at the foot of your bed, concern wrinkling his brow. Shaking your head and wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, you told him, “Nothing. I’m just feeling a little under the weather.”

Both of you knew your answer was bullshit, but he didn’t say anything as he came closer, sitting on the edge of your bed so he could see you up close. His eyes flickered over you, trying to guess how long you’d been like this and what could’ve made you this upset. His gaze landed on your phone, still face down on your night stand, and he had a hunch.

“So, if I look at your phone right now, I won’t find anything?” 

Your eyes widened, your lashes all stuck together from crying so much. You reached for your phone, not wanting him to know what you had been looking at, but he beat you to it. Unlocking your phone with your passcode, Harry looked at it, his face falling the longer he scrolled.

“Baby…” he breathed, his heart cracking the longer he read.

You watched as he looked down at your phone, feeling guilty. “I’m sorry—”

“You know none of it’s true, right?” he said suddenly. When you didn’t answer him, he reached his hand out to wipe a tear from your cheek. 

“I just don’t know what you see in me,” you confessed before turning away from him.

Harry’s heart cracked even more. He thought you knew how much you meant to him, how much joy you brought him. He’d never been happier since meeting you. You packed him lunch with little notes when he had to go into the studio all day, you listened to him whenever he had to rant when things weren’t going to plan with songwriting, you encouraged him to take risks and believed in him when he didn’t believe in himself. You were his muse, you were his heart. How could you not see it?

“I love you so much,” he said, running his hand along your back. You didn’t answer him, but he could feel your breaths start to even out, so he continued, his voice soft as his hand soothed you. “You came into my life at a time where I thought I couldn’t be happier, but you proved me so wrong. I didn’t know life could be so beautiful until our first date. You’ve opened my eyes up to so much, you’ve helped me to be a better man, you’re a reminder of everything good in my life and what I stand to lose if…if…

“I know you didn’t sign up for this,” Harry said quietly, referring to the online scrutiny. “And I know that it’s not easy for you, just know it’s not easy for me either. I hate that people say these things about you, I wish there was a way to make it all go away without losing you, but I’m too selfish to even consider that as an option.”

You turned around, fresh tears on your cheeks, but not ones of despair. “You really mean that?”

On any other day, Harry would’ve looked at you like you were crazy. He was so head over heels for you, and he thought he was pretty obvious about it. But knowing you were in a sensitive state, he only smiled and leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Of course. I’m gonna make you my wife someday.”

You couldn’t help but grin at that, and Harry returned it. “I’d like that.” Sitting up, you cradled his face in your hands. Harry was smiling, but it was dimmed. Rubbing your thumb along his cheek, you said, “You know I don’t blame you for any of this, right?”

“You always know what I’m thinking before I think it,” he said, but he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. “They’re my fans, Y/n, I can’t help but feel responsible for when they make you cry.”

Shaking your head, you told him, “You can’t control what other people say, bubba.”

“I know.”

Harry laid down with you for a while, eager to hold you in his arms and simply exist in your own little bubble. He tried to kiss you, but you wouldn’t let him, claiming your face was covered in tears and snot. He didn’t care, but respected your wishes anyway, kissing your neck and temple instead. Now that Harry was here, you felt silly for letting all of that stuff get to you. You were just glad he decided to come over when he did before you could do something really stupid like suggest a break or break up with him entirely. 

You were feeling much better, but you were exhausted, emotionally spent. You had no problem staying in bed the rest of the night, but Harry had other plans. He’d brought everything to make you dinner, and he wanted to do it now more than ever. But when you didn’t get out of bed with him, he grabbed your phone again.

“I know what’ll get you up,” he mumbled, linking your phone to the speaker in your room and queuing up a song. When the opening chords began, your head perked up, but you didn’t move much more than that. 

Harry walked back over to you with a couple tissues in his hand. “Blow,” he said, and though you felt like a little kid, you did as he asked, blowing your nose into the tissue. He wiped your nose a couple more times, then tossed the tissues on the bed. “Come on, don’t make me dance all by myself. Not that you could ever resist.”

You watched as Harry straightened up and started to dance to the song he played. He swished his hips and reached his hands out to you. He was right, you couldn’t resist. Slowly getting out of bed, you took Harry’s hand. He immediately pulled you to him, resting his hand on your waist. “Si vieras cómo duele perder tu amor, con tu adiós te llevas mi corazón,” you sang softly, pinching Harry’s cheek when he looked down at you. You spun each other around a couple times, but you eventually just held him and continued to mumble the lyrics until the song eventually ended, grateful for him and everything he did to make you smile.

You leaned up and kissed him, threading your fingers through his hair and hoping that that one kiss would communicate everything you couldn’t find the words to say. Harry kissed you back with the same amount of passion, but pulled away when you reached for the hem of his shirt.

“Later, I have a surprise for you,” he said, but you continued to kiss him anyway. “Lovie, I’m trying to grand gesture,” he whined, but both of you knew he wasn’t annoyed.

Still, you pulled away, kissed the tip of his nose, and let him lead you out of your room, not bothering to take your phone with you.

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harrystyles: my lovie, my muse, mi corazón.

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[vrittivsanghavi]

Buttercup

~7.8k words

From me: I love a knight in shining armor moment. Grumpy sunshine, black cat and golden retriever kind of vibe. There are definitely some details missing on purpose here. Best of luck. Hope you like it 💕 Sorry for the delay in posting. What a week.

Warnings: dick ex-bf - cheating, emotional trauma, threatening. Angry Harry, neighbor Harry, some mentions of sex, a good bit of angst, and some fluff.

Summary: Harry's new neighbor is fun to prank. She just wants to tend to her garden and enjoy her chocolate in peace.

But it's... comforting to know Harry is right next door.

The boys that lived next door weren’t too loud, weren’t super messy, and they were easy on the eyes.

But that was the furthest she could compliment them.

Well, Louis was really lovely overall. He had a girlfriend that came by frequently (almost daily) and appeared to keep him in check. But there was no one to keep Harry in check. He walked around his yard in his boxers, got the mail in them even, and both greeted his sexual partner(s) then sent her on her way off his property the following morning in nothing but boxers as well.

All with a smug smile in her direction while he wore nothing but underwear and the ink etched on his unbelievably smooth skin.

Stupid hot people.

Regardless of what he was doing, he was always sure to irritate her if she was outside. “Hi Buttercup,” he cooed like they were old friends while she worked in her garden. It was clearly her favorite part of the house. It desperately needed a new coat of paint, and she didn’t care in the slightest. The flowers were more important, and she did a good job. Clearing the flowerbeds happened before all her boxes were officially inside her house.

She thought about the day she arrived.

When she moved in, she took a deep breath, pulled her hair into a ponytail and tugged it through the back of a baseball cap. One by one, she pulled a box out of her car and brought it inside. A storage pod was dropped in the driveway as well and then she began the same process after taking a short break while she looked at what she needed to do first. She leaned against her car and felt anxiety and a serious case of being overwhelmed start to fill her chest. She took deep breaths hoping the sugar she ingested would help ease her worried mind.

“Hey, neighbor!” She turned to the voice where a guy with brown hair and blue eyes smiled brightly at her. “I’m Louis, welcome to our neighborhood. It’s nice to meet you. Need help?”

She shook her head quickly. Almost defensive as she aimed to protect herself. “No, I’m alright, thank you.”

Louis glanced at her storage pod and tilted his head at her curiously. It was a lot to unpack on her own.

Metaphorically and literally.

“You’re sure?” He asked. “My roommate saw you from the window. Thought you were... well, not struggling... But it’s a lot to move for anyone. He’s changing, he’ll be right out to help too,” he explained and rubbed the back of his head. “My girlfriend was on the phone and overheard Harry, and she insisted as well.”

She thought that he was nice. A friendly neighbor if there ever was one. But the wall of anxiety she put up and the nerve she was feigning to keep up was battling something fierce. “Right,” she cleared her throat. She would need an ally. There was no one in this new town for her and Louis seemed nice.

Levi seemed nice too... she thought.

Shaking her head she tried to rid herself of the negative outlook. Louis wasn’t Levi. “That... that’s really nice. Thank you. If you’re sure.”

Louis’ best friend and roommate Harry soon joined them. Introduced himself and she sincerely thought they were just two nice guys who would be decent neighbors.

The second they dropped the first load of her stuff safely inside Harry began his pranks. “Is this box labeled underwear up for grabs?”

There was no box labeled underwear. She knew that. But it still made her cheeks burn with embarrassment even though Louis rolled his eyes as if was used to it. Which she supposed he was. “Christ, Harry,” Louis sighed and pinched between his eyes. “I’m sorry, love. We don’t let him out of the house much.”

She looked at him with an eye roll. He was cute. She would give him that.

Well, hot.

Enticing green eyes, sinewy muscles, and a smile so bright it could put the sun to shame. He knew he was hot. There was no way he didn’t. But she wasn’t going to let him get to her.

“Where are y’moving from?” Harry asked.

“Uh...” she shook her head trying to remember what lie she was supposed to say. But then went with most of the truth. “Just upstate, a few hours away. I got a new job and whatnot.”

“New modeling job?”

“Boo...” Louis droned, grumbling as he moved boxes labeled kitchen into the correct room. “If you’re going to embarrass yourself, you could use better material.”

“This is m’best material, Lou,” he scowled at his friend. Her cheeks were still burning at his shameless flirting.

“I know he’s obnoxious, but he’s harmless,” Louis rolled his eyes.

“Excuse you, Louis. M’not obnoxious.”

“The shit you say,” he shook his head.

“I jus’ think you’re gorgeous,” his eyelashes did all the flirting for him when his words stopped.

But whether Harry was flirting or not, she didn’t want to flirt with her neighbor. Didn’t want to have a boyfriend. Certainly not one with all the charisma he had around her.

Even if he was flirty and charming.

And hot.

There was no denying how hot Harry was.

So she would have to be careful.

*

“Looking good, Buttercup.”

She glared at the tulip bulbs she was planting in front of her door for the spring. She adjusted the planters of mums placed on the porch steps. A variety of gold, orange, brown and red. Perfect for fall and the idyllic picture for a magazine cover. There were pumpkins on the side of the bottom step greeting anyone at her home with the pretty festive colors. A cute scarecrow was staked among fake corn stalks and hay beside the pumpkins.

It was unseasonably warm for November but for the last two months, and even though Harry drove her crazy, she wanted to be outside enjoying the sunshine and fresh air while she could. She had listened to Harry’s flirting with her since the moment she moved in. He was blatant about it. But in the same timeframe, she watched him with women coming and going. Of course, it didn’t bother her one bit who he spent his time with; that was his choice, and he had no obligation to her or the women he took home as long as he wasn’t a complete douchebag to them.

But Harry always seemed to be there. He was there when she got her mail. There when she got home from work. There when she was going to work. It didn’t matter. Didn’t he have to work? “Are businesses too intelligent to hire you?”

“No?” He chuckled phrasing it as a question.

“Just assumed, since you’re never at work.”

He snorted. “Funny.” She continued tending to her flowers. “I work from home.”

Perfect. So he would continue to always be there. Some people had all the luck.

He wasn’t in his boxers for a change. An interesting change of pace. He was in a pair of plain jogging pants and a plain T-shirt, yet he was the one that looked like a model for Nike.

Men had it so easy being attractive. A pair of workout pants and a T-shirt that outlined his pectorals way too tightly was all it took to get her flustered.

He sat beside her and watched her work. “Y’should do our garden, next Buttercup. Looks so nice the way y’put everything together.”

She paused and stared at him. His eyes roamed her little planters and across the weedless yard. He smiled at her as his gaze returned to hers. “You’re making fun of me,” she scowled.

“Kitten,” he pressed a hand over his heart, looking affronted. “I would never make fun of you.”

She looked back at the dirt that was under her nails. She focused on the feeling of it rather than the feeling of dread she felt around Harry. He was so confident in himself and in everything he did. It was annoying. His stupid green eyes and his dumb smile. She couldn’t fall for it again. No matter how sincere he sounded.

“Y’look really pretty in y’garden,” his voice was gentle. Like he was worried she was going to throw something at him. She had considered it. Her trowel seemed like it could do some damage. But she was trying not to be completely ridiculous just because Harry was a pain.

And sickening.

And irritating.

And cute.

Fortunately, she had a list of things to remind herself of that he was a nuisance. Not to mention there were his pranks that made her crazy.

He sprayed her with the hose when she wasn’t looking. Sent mail to her house for porn addiction making the mailman look at her with a smirk before she screamed at Harry (which didn’t help the look the mailman was giving her). At the beginning of October, he put a Halloween mask outside her window to scare her when she woke up so terrifyingly that Louis and Eleanor rushed over in their pajamas. While nothing was irreparable or worth putting her into therapy, the jokes made her mad because Harry always made her mad. He was too good looking and too there all the time.

Instead, she continued weeding and planting. Making the previously bare flower beds green and brown with freshly overturned dirt. It was calming. Being in the garden, the yard. Dirt on her hands and the sun on her back.

“Cat got your tongue, Buttercup?” He joked.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“The more y’ignore me, kitten, jus’ makes me want y’more.”

“I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

“Ugh, will you marry me?”

“You’re so ridiculous, Harry.”

“God, y’drive me wild.”

She continued digging in the dirt. “If you’re going to sit there and be annoying, can you at least be useful and hand me the watering can?”

Harry silently grabbed the can and poured the water into the hole, watching her carefully. “I used t’garden with m’Mum.”

“You didn’t just spawn from the ground climbing out of hell?”

Harry chuckled quietly. “No, m’mum’s a saint,” he said with a smile. The fondness in his voice and reverence for her made her heart skip a beat. He was so annoying but that was undoubtedly beyond sweet. Even if it was Harry saying it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your mother.”

“Y’didn’t. I know what y’meant,” he chuckled. “Mum would like you,” he told her. Which absolutely terrified her because mothers often did. It made things more complicated. Like it had in the past.

“She would like me? I’m an absolute bitch to you, Harry.”

“Hey,” he frowned. “Don’t say that,” the sincerity in his voice continued making her throat catch on any rebuttal she wanted to say in return. The pucker of skin between his eyebrows made her want to reach out and smooth his skin. His frown made her sad too. Before she could push the feeling away, he spoke again. “You’re funny. Stubborn. Adorable. Mum would like that y’keep me grounded,” he complimented.

“Keeping you grounded is the nice way of saying bitchy.”

He sighed, irritation practically rolling off him in waves. That was new. “Seriously, kitten. Knock it off,” he shook his head disappointedly.

She blinked, surprised by the genuine tone. “You’re serious?”

“Jus’ because y’say it ‘bout yourself doesn’t make it better.”

For a whole minute she seriously thought about how easy it would be to fall for Harry. He was handsome, intelligent, kind, and funny. Even if he was obnoxious. Louis and Eleanor kept him around for a reason, right? For God’s sake he wouldn’t let her call herself a bitch. Who did that?! “Um... sorry?”

“Apology not accepted. You’ll have t’go on a date with me. S’the only way t’make it up t’me.”

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the bulbs she was planting. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Alright fine; I’ll jus’ have t’think of something else,” he sighed, pausing, like he was really thinking about how she could make it up to him.

Then he smeared a clod of cold, wet dirt across her cheek.

She spluttered trying to avoid dirt in her mouth and reached out to smack him. However, he was nearly giggling, practically running back to his house before she could register what really happened and retaliate. “See y’later, Buttercup!” He called.

*

One of Harry’s ongoing pranks involved slipping his phone number into her contacts early on when he met her. It happened shortly after she moved in, and it allowed him to send her memes and inappropriate messages (not the kind of unsolicited messages that only complete dicks sent to women who did not want them) but the ones that he found on the internet. Inappropriate jokes. Innuendos.

But he also texted her when he was heading to the grocery store to see if she needed anything. But in the time that they exchanged messages, she never started the conversations. It was always a Leave me alone Harry. No thank you. Can you stop staring out the window like a creep? If she needed something she asked Louis, which honestly upset him to a degree, but he understood. Harry came on strong when he met her. Not that he would change that, but it wasn’t unreasonable of her to feel standoffish to him.

God, was she beautiful. Harry loved seeing her in the yard. Made it a point to drop everything he was doing and go get a closer look. He was drawn to her. Moth to a flame. The whole bit. She was so funny, even when she was grumpy. He wasn’t joking when he told her that her ignoring him made him want her more.

She was a hard worker and left early in the morning and returned well into dinner time. While the weather was nice, she would sit on her porch and read or work tirelessly on her perfect garden. She was lovely. Harry could see it from afar and he was bummed she didn’t catch on to his shameless flirting the way he had hoped when he first saw her.

One of these days I’d like you to text me instead of Louis when you need something. Louis already has a girlfriend.

From the looks of it you have PLENTY of options for a girlfriend.

Jealous?

Of getting a disease? No. I’m good.

Your green thumb is spreading, Buttercup. It’s not your color.

You can ignore me all you want. Just think about it. It doesn’t have to be a thing. I just want you to know I’m happy to help you if you need it. Not just Louis.

Also, I’m clean in case you ever want to explore that side of things too 😉

Surprisingly, she ignored that message too.

*

Harry felt like he was going through withdrawals from her. He hadn’t even seen her in the yard. Between the rain and their work schedules, it was like he couldn’t get a glimpse of her pretty being tending to the weeds, reading her book, or anything. His joke asking her what she plays with at night that also vibrates went unanswered.

Maybe he should have stopped sending her inappropriate jokes, but the fact she hadn’t blocked him gave him the shred of hope he desperately wanted. Maybe if she had blocked him it would get through his head that she was out of his league, and she wasn’t interested.

I’m heading home to shower, change, and then I’ll come grab you. It was Niall though, and not her reply to his joke.

Harry put cologne on and settled in the living room quietly scrolling through his social media looking at the time stamp from his message, almost a whole day ago. Frowning, he returned to scrolling and waiting for Niall. Not thinking much of anything of merit as he did.

But then that little notification slid from the top of his phone making his heart bounce with excitement.

Harry, are you home?

Is it finally happening?! 😍

There was no response and Harry thought he ruined their moment. Even if he believed her when she said they would never sleep together, he was glad she was talking to him. He was worried his latest prank had gone too far.

Harry’s car was in the garage, and he had almost every light off since he was leaving soon, so it was a fair question since she couldn’t see the back of his house where he was hiding in his room.

I was kidding, Buttercup. I’m home. You could have just come over to ask though.

There was still no response, but he kept his phone in hand waiting and holding his breath. Hoping something would come through from her again.

Pick some flowers from my yard.

Come knock on the door like we’re supposed to be going on a date.

Please.

And hurry.

Please.

What?

...?

Kitten...what’s wrong?

He tried calling her immediately, but it went right to voicemail, like she had turned her phone off after sending her last message.

What the hell. Why aren’t you answering your phone?

This isn’t funny, Buttercup...

You’re making me nervous.

If this was a retaliation prank it went way too far. Way further than putting the mini popping firecrackers under her tires before she left for work. The very one that got her so mad, he thought she was going to call the cops finally. The one that made her ignore him for days on end despite the messages he sent.

But this wasn’t funny. Not even a little. Her safety and security weren’t things Harry liked to joke about because despite everything, he was possessive about her. And frankly, he adored her. Even if she wasn’t his to obsess over nor adore.

But he wasn’t going to ignore her any longer than he had to. He nearly sprinted out the door, swiping randomly at her pretty flowers and feeling horrible that he was pulling her precious plants after all the hard work she put into them. It seemed silly to spend time doing this, but he didn’t want to fuck up what she asked him to do. Not when her messages seemed so worrisome. Not when she didn’t answer. With a fresh bouquet in hand, he hurried to the front door. Fortunately, he was dressed for a night out. Niall would be on his way to pick him up; so, he was, in theory, date ready. But the thought of being with Niall and not home when she needed him terrified him further. Thank God he was home.

Harry had no idea what was on the other side of her door, but it was embarrassingly late in the moment that he realized there was a car in the driveway he hadn’t seen before. At once he realized she never had company. Which only made him even more anxious.

Swallowing, he knocked firmly.

The door flew open within ten seconds of his knock. The relief in her eyes made Harry feel sick. What was she so nervous about? What could make her that nervous, that seeing him made her at ease? She was constantly irritated by his presence. The moment only made him feel worse. “Harry, right on time,” she smiled sweetly. She was a good actress. If she hadn’t texted Harry so urgently, he wouldn’t be looking for signs of trouble, wouldn’t see the relief in her eyes, and he would have no idea that something was wrong.

“Hi kitten, don’t y’look beautiful,” he cooed leaning down to press a kiss to her cheekbone as if he had done it a thousand times before. Gratefully, he had imagined it about a thousand times, so it probably looked as natural as it felt. Plus, she was beautiful. Always. The acting came naturally to him as well. His arm wrapped around her waist in the same movement instinctively. His eyes fell to the man standing a few feet back watching her like a hawk. His gaze was territorial and possessive; Harry didn’t care for that at all. Even if she wasn’t Harry’s, she definitely wasn’t his either.

But Harry was possessive, and he was there because she asked him to be there. Something he got the feeling the other man did not have permission for. He knew he shouldn’t have felt possessive of her, but he would pretend all the same if it meant the worry in her eyes would go away.

He handed her the bouquet he plucked only moments before and threaded their fingers together; another movement that felt like he had done before and not for the very first time that second. “Let’s get a vase,” he suggested and kept his eyes on him. It wasn’t lost on him how easily her fingers fit between his, the way their palms touched, or how her grip tightened ever so slightly when she settled her grip in his. “Hey,” he nodded his head in greeting.

The guy ignored Harry. His eyes glaring at the pretty girl beside him. “You’re seriously telling me you’ve been dating this guy since the moment you moved in?”

Her cheeks burned red, and Harry kissed the top of her head tucking her toward his chest protectively. Harry didn’t care for it at all. If the anxiety in her texts, expressions, and body language wasn’t enough evidence, then the way she leaned further into his chest despite everything and how annoyed she was by him, certainly was. “M’Harry,” his voice was firm. Pointed. “And you are?”

He grunted, shook his head. “The fuck, babe?” He snapped. She didn’t respond, simply glanced up to meet Harry’s gaze. She blinked unsurely at Harry, unable to find her next move. Harry nudged her gently toward the kitchen.

“Do y’have a name or what?” Harry grumbled over his shoulder as he made a show of caressing her while she found a vase. Her hands were shaking slightly as she placed the vase in the sink. Fortunately, Harry saw it immediately and tugged the glass from her grip, pulling her hand back in his. Even if it was impractical and stupid looking while he placed the vase with one hand in her sink to finish what she was doing.

“Levi,” he snapped. “We apparently used to date.”

Harry felt her body deflate. He wondered why. Was it the prospect of dating this asshole? Was it the phrase used to? What happened before he got here?

“Well, Levi, glad we’re on the same page and you’re using the past tense. M’here t’take my girlfriend on a date,” he pressed his body around hers, bracketing her body against the sink. She kept her eyes down, away from Levi’s gaze. Her body felt so warm against his it made him wish this wasn’t for show. Instead, he bent down to kiss the crook of her neck and shoulder hoping she wouldn’t hate him later over it.

He was really into pretending. She squeezed his hands that were wrapped around hers against the edge of counter. Was that a thanks? Was that a sigh he imagined when he kissed her skin? God, she smelled good.

“M’not sure exactly what’s going on here, but m’getting a good sense that she doesn’t want y’here. So maybe s’a good time t’go before I have t’escort y’out of the house.”

He snorted and shook his head. He glared at Harry as he spoke, but her eyes were still cast down toward the sink. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re playing at, babe. You can try and fool me all you want. But I’m not stupid. I’ll come back when your boyfriend isn’t around,” he left the kitchen and slammed her front door shut as he exited. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Begrudgingly, he left her by the sink and went to the front door, peering out the small window right next to the frame. He watched while Levi pulled out of her driveway and down the road. Harry stood and watched, waiting for the sound of his car to completely disappear before he felt he wasn’t coming back any time soon. Harry locked her deadbolt.

“Who was that—” He started as he turned back for the kitchen, but his heart practically broke at the sight of his stubborn, fearless, and utterly pretty neighbor teary eyed and shaken to the core. She left the kitchen near silently it seemed but stopped in the hall right before the entryway of the front door. He didn’t even hear her approach. “Hey,” he cooed coming closer. “Buttercup,” he frowned when she didn’t respond to her nickname. “Hey,” it was like he was approaching a wounded, wild animal. He didn’t want to scare her, but God did he want to protect her. God, did he want to hold her again. “Love, he’s gone. I—” He wanted to reach out for her and pull her into his embrace again, but something about her looked off. The anxiety written all over her face made him nervous and sad.

He zoned in on her hands; they were shaking by her sides worse than the way she held the vase. Her eyes were so fucking sad looking Harry wanted to scream. “Kitten,” he tried again. “Can I...?” He reached for her again. “M’not going to...” all his sentences were half finished as he tried to figure out why the fuck Levi scared her so badly. All he wanted was to comfort her. She was too sweet and pretty to look so terrified. When she never looked scared of anything. “Buttercup,” he murmured again.

She sniffled and swiped at her eyes. “I’m fine,” but her voice was barely audible over the sound of it getting caught around the emotion in her throat.

“Hey, s’okay t’not be okay. M’here,” he promised holding his hands out to her. “Can I touch you?” He asked. She shook her head quickly. It hurt like hell for her to say no. Harry thought he was seriously going to cry. “Okay, okay,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets because he didn’t trust himself not to try and comfort her and the last thing that he ever wanted to do was break her trust and consent. “Baby, you’re breaking my heart,” he pouted and watched as she was starting to shake like she was in the middle of a blizzard without a coat. “Come sit,” he begged. “Please.”

She obeyed and Harry went to her kitchen and found a glass in the cabinet as if this was his own house. He got water from the dispenser on her fridge, and he brought it to her. Her hands were still shaking violently, and her tears were flowing but not a sound other than a quiet sniffle left her. “Here, Buttercup,” he mumbled.

She sniveled and wiped her eyes as she took the cup from him. He avoided brushing her fingers with his and he paced in front of the coffee table. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he caught sight of the time. “Fuck,” he muttered. Pressing the phone to his ear he glanced out the window. “Sorry Niall. Can’t come out,” he ran a hand on the back of his head. She perked up at his words.

“Harry,” she whispered.

“No... I don’t know.... I just need t’be here for her,” he mumbled.

“Harry, you don’t—”

He silenced her with a look while her words died in her throat with another little whimper. Being vulnerable was hard for her. Obviously. Harry wondered if she knew how difficult it was for him to watch her look so upset and scared and not comfort her. If he knew letting go of her in the kitchen meant he wouldn’t get to touch her again, he wouldn’t have let go to start.

He hung up without hearing Niall’s response and he put his phone in his back pocket.

“If you have plans—”

“I don’t,” he interrupted shaking his head quickly. “Jus’ a date with a pretty girl,” he sat across from her on the coffee table making sure that not even his knee bumped against her. His eyes were following her every breath. Every tiny movement and flinch. The nervousness he felt was painful. Waiting for something to make sense. The water in her glass rippled and practically splashed over the side from how hard she was shaking. Harry wanted nothing more than to take it from her grip. But instead, he patiently waited until she sipped it.

“I’m okay,” her voice was nothing more than air. Even if it wasn’t, Harry wouldn’t believe her.

“Baby,” he frowned. “No one sends a message like that if they’re not worried about their safety. I’m worried ‘bout your safety. So don’t pretend t’be okay if you’re not. I’ll stay all night, sitting right here, and stare at you.”

She snorted. “That sounds like watching paint dry.”

He shrugged. “You’re far more interesting and prettier than paint drying.”

She swiped at her eyes again looking at her lap. “He cheated on me.”

“What a fucking moron,” he mumbled and tilted his head at the ceiling. Harry would never understand how the luckiest men in the world treated lovely, beautiful girls like her as if they were nothing. “He wants y’back?”

She shrugged, shook her head, and nodded. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want him back?”

She whimpered and shook her head. Squeezing her eyes shut so tight, he worried she was going to split open her lids. “God, no,” she whispered.

Harry sighed, rubbed his palms on his thighs. “Can y’talk t’me, kitten? M’not leaving unless y’tell me to. Do y’want me t’leave?” It would kill him. Sincerely, truly kill him. But if she didn’t want him there, he would go.

“I can’t,” she was sobbing. It was killing him. It hurt so much not to hold her and comfort her.

“Okay, okay. I’ll... I’ll jus’... go back t’my house... Yeah? If y’need something, jus’...” he rubbed a hand over his face feeling like he was walking on a bed of glass saying the words. “Call, text, throw rocks at m’window,” he stood, mindful to not bump her knee. He smiled weakly at his own joke. It wasn’t returned. He didn’t know what to do or say. He didn’t know how to help the sweet, lovely girl. The smile fell from his lips when she didn’t respond. “Jus’... lock the door behind me, Buttercup, yeah?”

It felt like he was walking toward his death, but he left her living room and waited until he heard her deadbolt lock before he descended her porch steps.

*

She dropped the glass of water Harry gave her in the kitchen after she let Harry leave. It shattered into a million microscopic pieces and the flowers from her garden looked so unbelievably pretty she wished Harry really was taking her on a date.

She covered her mouth around another broken sob. Her eyes felt red and raw, and the pressure of her sinuses and the front of her forehead ached beyond words. She was safe. She was okay. But her chest hurt.

Levi was gone. Harry came to her rescue. After she was mean and grumpy toward him. Trying to protect her heart after it hurt six ways to Sunday because of the man that let himself into her home without permission. Harry didn’t even try to touch her without permission. She could tell he wanted to. Hell, she wanted him to... but everything hurt, and she was just so scared.

Maybe it was too late. But she needed him. Really needed Harry to hold her and comfort her. Her mind ran rampant with thoughts of how lovely it was to be held by him. The kiss on her skin. He was warm and solid. Safe. That’s what she wanted. To feel safe. Her heart ached with want.

Immediately after the thought of his warm solid body around hers, she raced out of the kitchen and unlocked her door. She was ready to fly down the steps of her porch, cross her yard and his hoping he would have the door open before she even arrived.

But Harry was already there; at the bottom of the third and final step of her porch.

He never even left.

Harry stood and turned as soon as he heard the deadbolt open, standing only seconds before she was ready to blow right past him. “Oh, thank God,” he whispered to himself.

Without any more pause, she was in his embrace. Her arms around his neck and she sobbed openly into his shoulder. His hands felt so big and safe on her body, just as she predicted.

He hummed something into her hair. Something like “M’here,” in his gravelly, pretty voice. “I have you,” he soothed. “Oh kitten, m’so sorry,” his voice sounded like he wanted to cry as much as she was. Poor Harry. He didn’t deserve to feel so sad. Not because of her and her messed up life. “C’mon, Buttercup,” he scooped behind her knees and cradled her as he carried her back inside to her sofa, locking the door behind them as he entered.

“Don’t leave me, please,” she begged, sniffling into his shirt.

“Never, baby. Never, ever, ever,” he promised rubbing her back. “Not unless y’ask.”

Her lower lip wobbled. “But I will ask,” she sniffed. “Because I’m too much. I’m sad, scared, broken, and damaged.”

“Y’not any of those things, kitten. Certainly not damaged, Buttercup.”

“But I am,” she whimpered. “You have no idea. He messed me up so bad... and I... I don’t,” she choked. “I pushed you away already.”

It wasn’t much, but the little bit she opened up her heart to him meant the world to him. It was almost as good as holding her. But nothing could replace that feeling now that he had it. He stroked her face with the back of his hand. “I wasn’t far,” he shrugged.

He didn’t even leave her porch. Was he going to stay out there all night? Her heart felt achy, and her eyes were already raw with tears but if they weren’t she would have cried at the thought of her obnoxious neighbor sleeping on the bottom step of her porch in the cold all because she was broken.

“You just wanted to help, and touch and hold me, and I wouldn’t let you—”

“Kitten,” he said sternly. He cupped below her jaw and stared right into her pupils like he was speaking directly to her soul. “Let’s get one thing very clear. I will never touch you without permission. No one has any right t’touch you unless y’ask.”

A sob escaped her throat and then she buried her face against his chest. His body was so broad and warm. She imagined if they were without heat or power, she would still be warm. “But I want you to touch me. All the time. Every second I’m around you,” there was no use denying it. Not when she couldn’t lift her face from his shirt.

Harry sighed with relief. “Well good,” he squeezed her affectionately. “Baby,” he stroked his thumb below her eye. “What happened?”

She shivered and Harry pulled the blanket that was on the back of her sofa over them. Her personality was huge and beautiful. She invaded Harry’s every thought. In the same room, she was in every air particle. Outside in her garden she was every little piece of dirt, petal, stem, root and all. She was larger than life.

It killed him she felt so small in his arms.

“I knew he was cheating, and he didn’t want me to leave,” she sniffed. Harry nodded, his teeth ground together. His jaw tensed. Waiting for her to continue. “He said I was overreacting. Our relationship was stale, and we just needed something to spice things up.”

She turned her face to his shirt and Harry cupped the back of her head, his fingers sliding and massaging his fingertips against the back of her skull. “He’s an idiot, Buttercup. A stupid, idiotic, horrible excuse for a man,” he grumbled.

She swallowed and didn’t say anything for a few moments. Harry holding her felt like medicine was sinking into her skin and directly into her bloodstream. Harry didn’t force her to speak. He didn’t ask questions. He just held her. She was sure he wanted to know more. Wanted to know all the gritty details that resulted in her moving in the middle of the night and finding this house next to his.

But there was only one thing she could think about.

“Why do you call me Buttercup?” She whispered.

Harry didn’t answer for several seconds. His free hand was on the small of her back, pressing gently to get her frame even closer to his. “Can I kiss right here?” He asked ignoring her question. He brushed his thumb along her temple. She nodded and Harry followed the brush of his thumb with his lips.

“That’s nice,” she murmured.

He chuckled. “Jus’ wait ‘til y’get a real kiss,” he promised. “Gonna make y’fall in love with me.”

She didn’t want to tell him she already had because that seemed ridiculous. So ridiculous it made her a little breathless. “That good hmm?” She hummed.

“Never had a complaint.”

“That’s obvious,” she smirked.

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t sleep with all of them.”

“Not my business.”

“But it is... M’a gentleman first, kitten. Mum taught me well. I just like t’make m’date feel good,” he explained. “Doesn’t always include... y’know,” he shrugged one shoulder. “I know I drove y’crazy walking them out in m’boxers.”

“No, you didn’t,” she lied.

He chuckled. “S’okay t’admit it, kitten; don’t know what I would have done if y’had someone over and flaunted a date in jus’ your underwear.”

“You were trying to make me jealous?”

“I didn’t think y’were that stubborn.”

She wasn’t sure if Harry was avoiding her question or trying to distract her, but she still wanted an answer. “Why?” She asked quietly again.

“Why what?”

“Why do you call me buttercup?”

He sighed, kissed her temple again turning her insides warm and mushy. He didn’t speak for a few seconds like he didn’t really want to tell her. “Y’were eating a peanut buttercup,” he mumbled. “When y’moved in. Y’have wrappers all over the floor of y’car. On Halloween, y’didn’t pass out any of them, but I saw them in the grocery bags I carried in for you one time.”

She bit her lip wondering how she didn’t put it together. It was incredible he noticed that. “They’re my favorite,” her voice no more than air once more.

“And you’re mine,” he assured her, cupping the side of her face. “M’not going t’let him hurt you. I’ll break every bone in his body and mine if I have to.”

She blushed. “You don’t have to—”

“Buttercup, m’not joking,” he said cutting off her protest. “Y’don’t have t’be scared because m’never going t’let him get close t’you ever again,” he promised.

“He just said he was going to... wait until you leave, Harry. You can’t promise that.”

“Guess I won’t leave. Or you’ll have t’come home with me.”

“Harry,” she croaked.

“Kitten, m’not messing around with y’safety,” he reminded her. “I can stay here on the couch and y’can stay in your bed. It doesn’t have t’be a thing. M’staying t’keep y’safe. Don’t read into it if y’don’t want to.”

But she wanted to read into it. God, did she want to. Harry dropped everything the moment she texted him from the bathroom in a panic. He was only next door. Didn’t she want to believe all his pranks were his way of flirting? Didn’t she want to believe he liked her more than just annoying her?

She swallowed like there was something stuck in her throat. He didn’t deserve a mess. He deserved one of the effortlessly beautiful girls that he brought home. The kind that knew how to curl their own hair and where to draw the contour lines when they did their makeup. “You don’t have to stay,” she shook her head.

“Kitten,” he tutted.

“No seriously—”

“You’re deflecting, baby.”

“I’m just—”

“Buttercup,” Harry’s hands felt so warm and perfect against her skin. He brought his other hand to her bare cheek. It looked like he was trying not to cry himself when she met his gaze. “You just told me y’would try t’push me away. I don’t want t’go. But I will. I’ll sleep on your porch if y’want me too,” he offered. “Please,” he whispered quietly. Gently, like he was worried he was going to scare her. “Don’t ask me t’leave you.”

There was a long pause. “Stay,” she murmured into his hand. Because she was too exhausted and scared to tell him to leave. Pressing her lips against his palm, she met his gaze and watched the hope bloom in his eyes with just one little word. “Please... please stay.”

Harry sighed with relief, pulling her tightly toward him and nodding. “Course, Buttercup. Of course.”

*

It had become routine. She arrived home from work, and there was Harry. Sitting on the bottom step of her porch. He waited for her while she gathered her belongings from her car. His smile was so stunning. Like a streetlight on a dark road. Bright, beautiful, and all for her. “Hey Buttercup,” he hummed as she approached. He stood and pulled the bag off her shoulder and carried it for her. It wasn’t even heavy. In the same movement, he pecked her cheek and pressed a hand to her lower back like he had done for the last six weeks since he started seeing her exclusively. Not a single girl with perfectly curled hair had been his driveway. No one with expertly contoured makeup. Harry stopped walking around his yard in his boxers (but now she wished he did it more). As he guided her toward the front door, he continued grinning like an idiot. “Did your day get better after lunch, kitten?”

She nodded, his encouraging text sent at lunchtime was meant to ease the frustration he could sense through her messages. It wasn’t lost on him that as much as he used to enjoy her frustration, he wanted nothing more than to ease it now. “M-hmm,” she smiled at him. “You?”

“Better now that you’re home.”

She rolled her eyes at him because while he stopped pranking her so much, he replaced it with the cheesiest thoughts and lines known to man. But there was no denying how it made her heart flutter. “Did you want to go out to eat?” She asked.

He shrugged, then nodded. “We can if y’want.”

“I don’t really feel like cooking.”

“Me either.”

“Let me change and we’ll go.” Harry was looking at her strangely. The kind of face he made when he pulled pranks on her before he officially swept her off her feet. Maybe she was wrong, and the pranks were coming back.

Maybe there were those mini firecrackers under her toilet seat. “What?”

“Nothing, jus’... think y’look pretty,” his smile was too devilish (and handsome). He knew what he was doing. she shook her head and snorted. But Harry saw the way her cheeks turned pink at the compliment. He watched her head to her bedroom. When she stopped in the doorway, his smile bloomed. Her pause to look at her room as if it wasn’t hers made his heart skip a beat. “S’matter, Buttercup?”

“There are like a hundred peanut butter cups on my bed,” she told him. Like he didn’t already know. Orange wrappers lined up in the shape of a heart along her bed spread.

“107, actually,” She turned to look at him. He shrugged. “It would have 110, but I needed a snack.”

She wanted to smile. But her heart was beating fast, her emotions overwhelming her. She bit the inside of her lip. “Why?”

“Y’said y’were having a bad day.”

Her lip felt raw from biting it, behind her eyes prickled with tears. “Oh.”

“S’nice? Yeah?” He wondered and made his way to her, putting his hand on her lower back. He kissed her temple. “Kitten?” She nodded and turned her head toward him, hiding her face against his shoulder and trying to quell the emotion that was threatening to come out of her. “Hey, s’wrong, Buttercup?” He frowned. “Do y’want t’order take away instead?” He rubbed her arm soothingly.

She shook her head, then nodded, followed by a shrug. “I don’t know,” she sniffed.

“Aw, baby, don’t cry,” he hummed. “S’okay,” he reassured her. He didn’t even know why she needed reassurance. “S’jus’ some candy.” She sniffled again and Harry kissed the top of her hair. “M’gonna make sure y’feel good all the time, Buttercup,” he promised.

Her chest felt so overwhelmingly warm and achy in the best way. She nodded against him wishing she could tuck herself further into his strong body where she felt like nothing bad could happen. The change in relationship was a lot to absorb. But it was easy in a lot of ways. Harry was sweeter than she ever imagined he could be. Or maybe she was biased now that she got kisses, and he held her like she was the most precious thing he had ever touched. It killed her in hindsight how standoffish she had been to him. The thought of ignoring him made her feel sick to her stomach.

“I think you really will,” she mumbled into his shirt. He chuckled, kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered.

“Y’never have to thank me, kitten,” he shrugged. “Sorry I was so annoying.”

“I suppose it worked,” she sniffed.

He chuckled. “I knew it would.”

“You did not.”

“I did so,” he said petulantly. “Or I hoped it would.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t know why you would want someone so mean.”

“Jus’ makes me want y’more,” he joked and rubbed his thumb over her lower lip. “M’gonna kiss y’now, kitten,” his way of warning her and asking for permission. It hurt that he felt he had to ask. But Harry was nothing if not thorough and sure in asking for her consent.

“Don’t ever stop,” she sighed dreamily.

He chuckled again and leaned in to follow his promise. “M’pleasure, Buttercup.”

--

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