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doobean · 17 days

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ROMAN HOLIDAY ─ NAGI S.

synopsis: Nagi Seishiro has a plethora of secrets up his sleeves. He knows that Reo loves being in the center of attention—well, no, that's a fact. But one thing that Nagi knows for sure is that the Mikage Corporation is on the verge of filing for bankruptcy. And what better way to prevent that than to have an arranged marriage with another powerful company? You're intelligent, beautiful, and obedient. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take long for Reo to fall for you, and you seem to be content with everything—at least, you pretend to be. Nagi knows you're head over heels for his best friend, but doesn't understand why you hate his guts.

contents: explicit content, afab!fem!reader, bathroom sex, kinda cheating/kinda not really, piss involved towards the end, dubcon, hate sex, nagi centric, reader comes from an affluent family, power/dominance play, frottage, descriptors of a curvy, busty reader, breast play/nipple play, facials word count: 4.8k a/n: this fic is for all the nagi haters out there ig @niitoshi + @pipppinn (u get a rest from beta reading ur enemy)

You’re an absolute menace.

Nagi had no clue, when his best friend had introduced you as his potential fiancee months ago, just how big of an impact it was going to have on his life. In most cases of Nagi’s lack of social life, he originally had no intentions of befriending you, at least, outside of introductions and shorthand greetings whenever he crashed over at Reo’s apartment. To him, it didn’t make sense to get close to you, even if you were going to be a major part of Reo’s life.

Unlike his best friend, you appeared reserved and uptight, much like all the other affluent students he surrounded himself with back in high school and university. Nagi thinks he’s only received one ‘hello’ from you, and that was just from the first meeting. You’ve always attached yourself to Reo, whenever he’s around, and Reo would somehow play it off as you’re just “shy” around others.

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Reo had assured him with a firm shoulder clasp. “She’ll eventually warm up to you.”

And while Nagi still has a hard time believing that, he didn’t feel the need to continue the conversation knowing that Reo wouldn’t get the hint. You don’t flaunt your wealth and status around, but Nagi has always sensed that you were looking down on him. Why else would you always stare at him?

You come from a family of ‘self made’ entrepreneurs and billionaires.

From all those last minute conferences meetings that Reo would have him attend, simply because his best friend would lose track of time whenever they’re together, Nagi knows that your father owns a famous construction company that’s somehow affiliated with the Mikage estate. From one shareholders’ meeting, he’s learned that your family owns 60% of all rental properties in Japan, and he doesn’t know if that’s something to be proud of. Coming from a semi-wealthy family himself, Nagi is well aware that there’s no such thing as an ethical billionaire.

He’s seen your family name plastered on billboards before, shining over the neighborhoods in Akihabara, and the company sounded impressive enough that Reo’s father didn’t hesitate to bring up the topic of marriage during a conversation about future prospects.

Reo didn’t seem to mind, or rather he tried really, really hard to mask any trace of anxiousness and annoyance when he signed the NDA papers. Nobody wants to be in a loveless, arranged marriage, after all. Especially not when they still have their whole youth ahead of them. Though, needless to say, Reo fell for you rather quickly. Nagi’s aware he’s not the best at expressing his emotions, but anyone with a sensible brain could obviously tell you’re the standard stereotype of “wifey material”.

Quiet. Intelligent. Extremely obedient to the seniors around you. Nevermind the fact that your behavior reflects your style as well. Your makeup never strays from being “too little” or “too much”. The outfits you wear always reminded Nagi of those old British dramas from the late 90s, he thinks Reo calls it “old money” fashion. Whatever that means.

He just knows that it’s classy and fits whatever housewife aesthetic you’re trying to go for. Even though he can easily see through how much you hate it. You’re always picking at the threads in annoyance, as if they’re tight, itchy, and alien on your body. Even when he watches your pretty, plump lips smile and nod towards everyone around you, you always quickly turn sour when you think no one’s watching.

At age twenty four, Nagi carefully watches his best friend enter the room with you wrapped around his arm, from the corner of the banquet hall. Today’s a celebration, a huge one, because Reo just completed his accelerated MBA program and, therefore, is one day closer to filling in his father’s shoes as CEO of the Mikage Corporation. This also means he’s one step closer to becoming a married man. Soon, you’re going to be a permanent fixture in Reo’s life. That thought alone had his tongue swelling up in his mouth, and urged himself to get it together.

The event ends up being treated like a work gala. Everyone is dressed in black tie, the smell of warm leather fills the air, Nagi only half understands the business jargon being thrown around, and the food looks rather bland for what it’s worth. Most of the guests are crowded around Reo and his father, and he can only assume the business executives are trying to wiggle their way in to just get a chunk of free shares.

He notices you standing to the side, in the midst of your own conversation with your father. Your outfit throws Nagi off, slightly. It’s certainly different from your previous choices, more modern and form fitting, highlighting certain assets that makes it slightly even more obvious why certain men in the room couldn't stop their gawking.

Somehow, even though you’re caught up in a seemingly heated conversation on the other side of the room, Nagi catches your stare. Your eyes, facial expression, and even aura feels uncomfortably blank, despite the small smile you force out.

He merely awkwardly waves back and, for whatever reason, you take that as a sign to make your way over. He can only groan inwardly as he watches you exit out your current conversation and thread gracefully through the stuffy crowd, somehow showing up with two empty wine glasses in hand. Originally, his plan was to just show up for the free food, say hi to Reo, then prepare an Irish exit. With the look you’re currently giving him, Nagi feels like he can’t plan an escape.

You turn around and reach for a bottle of wine on the bar cart, a brand that Nagi could never pronounce correctly despite the numerous times that he’s heard it leave from Reo’s mouth. It’s also the same imported wine from France that all three of you shared the day Reo had introduced you to him. From what Nagi remembers, it didn’t leave a good taste.

You end up pouring the two glasses, then whirl back around to face him, quickly setting the drink down by the end table. Nagi picks up his glass as soon as it's available, but you clink yours against it before he could bring it up to his lips.

“Do you have a moment?” you mumble quietly.

“For what?” he’s honestly surprised to hear that many words coming from you.

“I…” you trail off, looking down into your drink and unconsciously hug your sides. Nagi uses this opportunity of silence to sip. Then, after a moment, you shake your head a little, clearly flustered over something.

“I want to talk to you about Reo, about your friendship and me fitting into that. I’ve been thinking about it for a while but I haven’t had the chance to bring it up.”

Nagi just nods, sipping again, not sure if he’s pleased or disappointed by your response. Of course the very first thing you bring up after not speaking a word to him for months is about their friendship.

He then notices that you’re suddenly rubbing your palms, hands alternating between them as you stretch your fingers out. You’re grimacing slightly, and Nagi leans back against the wall, something stirs inside of him at the sight of you appearing in distress. He’s not sure what to make of the odd feeling.

With a shrug, he tilts his head. “Go ahead with it.”

You meet his eyes and shake in disapproval, setting down your wine glass. “I need to speak with you in private about it.”

Nagi doesn’t say anything, and a moment of silence passes between you two as several high executives try to usher the rest of the crowd to the next room for an unrelated conference meeting. At one point, a clientele calls you over for a drink, and you disappear to join him for one, leaving Nagi to stew in his own thoughts once more.

A part of him wants to go over to Reo, telling him what happened, why you’re suddenly being so vague and direct with him after all this time. However, with one glance at his best friend, who’s currently knee-deep in a conversation between his father, the idea dies out. He’s never seen Reo this relaxed and determined before.

Maybe the closest expression he shared was when they were both heavily sprawled out on the turf field after an intense football match back in high school, but even then Nagi doesn’t even think he’s seen Reo this content. He wants to believe that you’re simply just asking about potential wedding details, maybe to even join in on the planning, but that’s laughable. You seemed nervous, and not for the right reasons.

He shouldn’t be here, glass half empty, stomach barely full from all these damn healthy finger foods, sitting under the appraising and curious eyes from other businessmen and yourself.

“Nagi, an answer?” you probe, as if hearing his thoughts when you finally return.

Were you always this demanding? He shifts in place and adjusts the collar of his suit, and tries his best to sound unaffected. “Right now?”

You finally smile, and it lights up your entire face. “Right now.”

At that, Nagi downs the rest of his drink.

You eventually coax him to an empty hallway, down the corner next to the fire escape, while everyone else is preoccupied with the meeting. You kept reiterating that it’ll be quick, that Nagi will understand what’s the “problem”, but he doesn’t believe it one bit. Not when you’re squeezing both sides of your arms and keep glancing down the hallway, anxious to be seen.

Without warning, you blurt out, “Please, stop dragging down Reo. I want you out of his life.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, yet is drenched with anxiety and the barest edge of vexation.

“What?” Nagi can’t help but be offended. The reluctance on your tongue contradicts the harsh order.

“I’ve seen the way he talks to you. You’re a distraction to him and having you around will just—”

“He can say what he wants about me. Why do you care so much? Your only job is to sit by his side.”

“Nagi, please—”

“Forget it,” he can’t seem to find an answer to your demand. It doesn’t make sense, and even if he did make out an answer, his brain is currently too distorted and torn to process a coherent response.

You stand your ground and the next few words are fumbling over the other, “I’ve… never liked you since the day I met you.”

That doesn’t surprise him. You aren’t much of a talker, but then again, neither is he. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re currently having an unusual personality shift—almost as if you’re revealing a bit of truth about yourself to him, and only him. Reo probably doesn’t know that this side of you exists.

Nagi doesn’t bother to respond. He only rests his back against the bathroom door behind him, crossing his arms over his chest in irritation, and stares down at you. In that moment, he can see the raw edge of your bubbling… is it anger he’s sensing? Your body is filled with tension and he can’t imagine why. Your eyes are boring into his and refusing to let go.

Suddenly, Nagi feels his frustrations growing thicker.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

You step closer, eyes narrowing, yet you look conflicted. “I could say the same thing.”

The proximity of you—the blend of sweat, bergamot, and something that could only be described as bitterness—makes Nagi dizzy. The space of this hallway, once ample, now feels suffocatingly small.

“Nagi,” you seeth out, a plea that’s both sounding an invitation and surrender. “This is a business deal. If this doesn’t fall through it’ll look bad on us and—argh, I really need this to work out, okay?” You quickly clamp a hand over your mouth, as if surprised that the words flooded out.

It wasn’t much spilled, but he understands the gist of it. Your frantic explanation earns him a curt laugh, one that’s distinctly him. He almost feels sorry that you were forced to do this, all of this. But you could’ve also easily gone against it, too. “You can’t think for yourself, can you? This is why I can’t stand these heirs and heiresses, you’re all a bunch of hassles to be around.”

“Fuck you.” you’re cracking under pressure. The makeup, dress, your hair… The facade of being perfect and plain slowly comes crumbling down the longer Nagi stands there, unwavering. “I can think for myself.”

“Prove it.” His tone is a dangerous one, spoken with an even tone.

You take another step forward, slow and purposeful. It serves as a reminder that your background is influential, powerful, and that you’re no puppet. Nagi wants to believe that more than you do.

He would be doing himself a disservice if he hasn’t admitted that there’ve been nights where he does think about you. What life would be like if you haven’t given him the cold shoulder, times where he wishes he could understand all the hidden languages spoken between you and Reo, and if you would’ve treated him any differently.

So, Nagi’s command is framed as a tease, and knowing how you really are now, you’re not going to leave until you give him an answer. Nagi Seishiro hates the rich, hates dependent people even more, but he’s a good guy when he tries to be. You, on the other hand, might be ruining that for him.

He watches as your plump lips part, and a needy little sound escapes. It sounds like a damn moan that’s absolutely dripping in desperation. Nagi lets out a breath, feeling his insides liquefy and overflow. His cloudy eyes search your face, and the dark overcast over your eyes instantly hooks him in. He can see the wetness where your lips separate, and suddenly he’s overwhelmed with the desire to trap your mouth between his.

Nagi drops his hands to both sides of your face and holds your cheeks tight in the expanse of his calloused palms, drawing himself closer to you when he feels your hand latch onto his forearm. Your cheeks are warm and soft beneath his touch and, without a second thought, you both close the gap.

You gasp into his mouth as his lips claim yours with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation, a heated urgency that clears any uncertainty. He feels your other hand shooting up and roughly tugging at his silver locks, a stark contrast to your passive actions earlier. His hands roam over your body, tracing and mapping your curves with extreme possessiveness.

Nagi wants more. Wants your hands even lower, on his thighs, between his legs, wants your pretty lips wrapped around the base of his cock. He wants you, but not here. He wants to leave here with you, see where you live, do this on the comfort of your mattress, inhale the scent of your sheets, and rid your mind of his best friend and that damn business proposal.

“Excuse me? Is somebody there?”

You pull away first with a concealed string of curses by the intrusion, gasping for air as soon as you separated, the hand you have on his forearm is now trembling. Whether it's from excitement, fear, or a combination of the two—Nagi can’t tell.

He peers over to find a security officer patrolling around, radio in hand, at the end of the hallway. From this angle, where the corner curves slightly, it doesn't seem like he’s able to make the two of you out, at least for now. The last thing he wants is for the media to highlight why you were seen alone with him. He’s already got enough on his plate with professional football on its own. Kissing his best friend’s bride to be is something entirely different. He doesn’t want to wait around to find what might happen.

“Fuck, fuck, where should we—”

“Quit freaking out,” he pulls the handle behind him and tugs on your waist, ushering you inside the bathroom as the sounds of sharp loafers against marble creep closer. Bewilderment flashes across your face as he shuts the door and locks it. He ignores your swarm of questions and props you against the sink’s countertop in an instant.

You appear terribly confused with yourself as he cages you in between his arms, his head leaning against yours with a dark look in his eyes. Your lipstick is smeared at the corner of your lips, your hair is nothing but a disheveled mess, and your damn breasts— Nagi looks down and scoffs —you're not wearing a bra. He soon realizes that this look suits you better than any other outfit you’ve worn.

“What was that,” you try to say, but he quickly keeps your busy mouth occupied again. His fingers trail up your shoulder blades, easily slipping down the top half of your dress, and soon your breasts fall free — round, heavy, and soft.

Your chest heaves as you breathe in sharply, tongue darting out to wet your lower lip. “You’re such a dick,” you shoot him a misty glare, defiant in tone despite every bit of your body language screaming submission.

This is enough to set him off. Nagi’s fingers curl into your waist, sighing in pleasure when you whine at his harried touch. He lifts you from the counter, your legs instinctively wrapping themselves around his waist, as he pushes your back against the door. The frame and his greedy palms on your fleshy ass serves as support as he begins to shamelessly grind against you, the needy, aching pressure from his arousal fights through his slacks.

God, he wants to fuck you right into the door.

You moan into his shoulder when Nagi dives against your throat, swearing under his breath as he finally gets a taste of your intoxicating skin, a sound of pure lust vibrating throughout your bodies.

“Don’t tease me,” he warns with a groan.

“I’ll do what I want,” you bite back, jolting in pleasure when his tight erection probes against your thighs.

Nagi decesends, his mouth leaving wet trails across your collarbones and down your chest until he stops at your breasts. Gently, his teeth grazes over one nipple, nipping at it until he hears a sharp hiss from above. Before you could chastise him, he captures your nipple in his mouth, sucking the stiff peak between his lips. He feels the dampness of your panties rubbing against the clothed tip, causing his tongue to twirl aggressively over the wrinkled flesh.

“Oh, fuck,” your mews are growing louder and louder in pitch. Nagi hopes that the security guard from earlier is long gone by now. He’s also certain that his dick might come bursting apart any second. But he’s not going to admit that, not to you of all people.

Seeing you crumble under his fingertips makes Nagi’s heart swell. He pulls back with a loud pop and closes the distance between your lips again, pressing hard so you can feel the urgency from the heat of his tongue.

“Need you,” he finds himself whispering against your lips, pressing his entire weight of upper body into yours.

You choke out another desperate sound and begin fumbling with his waistband, hands blindly searching to feel him, trying to prove and show that you can provide the same fervent pleasure and attention. You both sigh when Nagi feels his cock springing free, hard and leaking with copious amounts of pre. He carefully watches your movements, there’s hesitation and surprise glassed across your face as you gently wrap your fingers around his length.

It barely makes the full circumference.

“Scared?”

Then a shudder rumbles through Nagi’s frame as you begin stroking him. It takes everything in him to not rip your dress in two and fuck you right then and there, but he’s trying not to be eager, caging his bloodlust. But it’s hard. Hard when you pull him into a kiss that leaves him breathless and grinding against your palm.

Nagi can’t stop himself from the way he crushes his lips against you, nor can he stop the way his tongue slips forward into your mouth, his hands squeezing the softness of your waist when you melt in his embrace, pressing those soft breasts against his blazer.

You break the kiss with a moan, and it’s so messy that he can see the tether of saliva that stretches between you two when you finally pull away. Your face looks even more dazed than before, and you squirm against him, sending a hot flare soaring throughout his body when your thumb brushes against his leaking tip.

“Sensitive?” you mimic his teasing tone.

Nagi’s now positive that you’re trying to kill him. He’s known it before, from the first moment he’s laid eyes on you, but there’s no reasonable explanation for you to be so beautiful and sexy all at the same time. The way you’re teasing his bare cock, rubbing your wet, clothed cunt straight against it, is doing nothing but sending him straight into a tailspin.

The truth is, when you first approached him, the only thing that had been on his mind was getting to know you more, same as it has been for months now ever since he’s met you. Now, with your lips looking glazed and pouty as ever, he feels like he’s on cloud nine.

“Turn around,” he commands.

You stare at him with wide eyes, and Nagi sees your brain rewiring in real time whether or not to follow through with your stubbornness, but after a moment, you obey. You unclasp your legs around his waist and he gently sets your feet down, letting your body spin around so that your palms are flat against the door, back arched, and ass pressed against his length. The look you shoot across your shoulder stirs something inside of him, and he quickly takes you by the hips, pulling aside your soaked panties with ease.

“Is this okay?” he doesn’t know why he’s asking right now, despite everything that’s happened within the past few minutes.

Regardless, it’s meaningless to wait for your response; the wave of pleasure from the way he’s playing with your breasts from behind, to the warmth of your puffy entrance teasing the tip of his cock, has you unable to respond with anything other than a loud moan. Nagi takes this as an affirmative response, and angles his hips from behind, sucking in his teeth as he watches the entirety of his length being swallowed and hugged by your gummy walls.

The mirrors in the room have begun to fog up when he starts the initial movement. Nagi grabs a palmful of your ass, grasping and kneading them in a way that has you widening your legs to deeper access. Your soft whimpers and moans ring like a siren’s call in his ears, and he doesn’t quite understand how you’re able to control his body like this, but you’re squeezing him just right as if you’ve known him forever.

Nagi shuts his eyes and easily begins to lose himself to this bliss. The tight, velvety walls are all too euphoric, making him easily forget that you’re both in a random bathroom in one of the biggest, extravagant conference halls in the country. A vivid grunt escapes from his mouth as his shaky hands maneuver up to your hips, guiding them in a circular motion as the fat of your ass ripples from every thrust he spears into you.

“Fuck,” he pants out. “Just like that…”

But the rough, muffled sounds of sex in the room shatters as a knock pierces through the air.

Your fingers, splayed across the door, come together close and form into fists as he watches you struggle to catch your breath. After a moment of silence, a tender murmur breeches the stillness.

It’s Reo, and his call for you is automatically fear inducing. Nagi feels you clamping up more than ever.

“—are you in there?” he repeats through the door’s barrier.

Panic flicks across your features and you scramble for composure, frantically pulling up the top half of the dress and craning your neck around to gawk at Nagi, wondering if he has any clue on what to say, or do. Little do you know, Nagi has absolutely zero plausible answers.

“It’s okay,” he leans down and nips your shoulder blades. “Just stay like this.”

A sweet whimper exits from you as he continues his thrusts, slower and shallower. “A-Are you insane?! He’s going to know it’s us…!”

You’re afraid, intimidated by the position that you’re both in, but Nagi kisses you again and engulfs your hand with his. He offers a comforting squeeze before dining in the pleasure of the tip of your tongues touching.

“Stay quiet and he’ll eventually go away,” what is he even saying right now? He’s not being fair to Reo, but somehow there’s hardly any guilt flowing through his veins.

His best friend, your future husband, faintly calls your name again. This time with more uncertainty. There’s nothing but stillness on either side of the wooden barrier, where neither of you are willingly to slip out a sound. Nagi just rests his head on the side of your neck, letting the sweat from his bangs seep down, as he focuses on your steady breaths while having to control his own. If it weren’t for Reo on the other side, he would’ve fallen asleep just by the rhythm of your heartbeat.

Another agonizing moment of silence passes before Reo mumbles out an apology, saying that he’s got the wrong person, and retreats. The sounds of heavy heels from his loafers hitting against the floor burns deep into both of your memories.

By the time he’s gone, Nagi doesn’t waste any time and throttles against a spot inside of you that has you squealing like an animal.

Pulling his hands away from yours, he brings them up to your chest, teasing your nipples while you throw your ass back against him, fucking as hard as you possibly can. He feels you drifting far away, bringing yourself closer and closer on his length, and a tight familiar coil begins building inside of his core.

Suddenly, you try to pull away, stumbling over your next words, “W-Wait, stop, I feel like I have to go—!”

Nagi huffs and readjusts his grip around your waist, snuggling his cock deeper, “Then go, what’s stopping you, heiress?”

“I’m being serious…!”

Lowering his mouth to your ear, he whispers, “And so am I.”

He doesn’t care. Nagi positions his hand lower, keeping the other arm wrapped tightly around your waist, and his long, callous fingers pull your folds up, applying pressure against your full bladder. Vibrations of your whines send him to set a wicked pace until you’re creaming white around the base of his cock. The wet sounds, your moans, and the sloppy grip—it’s all too much, too exhilarating for him.

“Have to be patient…” Nagi murmurs, but his words are starting to jumble. Heat gathers and twists throughout his stomach and he winces, trying to not cum all in an instant.

Your voice is nothing but all breathy moans, puffs of air rushing all around, and you mumble something unintelligible, but it’s all the confirmation Nagi needs. He shudders when he feels the warm wetness finally spill from your pussy as you climax at the same time. Your lewd moans are buried deep into your shoulder, and the sound is forever imprinted in his mind. He feels thousands of sparks ignite between his thighs at that saccharine note.

Nagi relishes in the warmth, until he finds his own release and pulls out, cumming all over the front of your chest, and even striking the bottom of your chin. He leans back with a gasp, gripping the sink counter for balance, his heart thundering as the bliss ebbs away entire chunks of his brain. Slowly, the haziness begins to fade, and Nagi tucks his throbbing cock away, reminding himself that he’s in a restroom of all places.

“Fuck…”

Suddenly, Nagi hears you crying for his name and sees your entire body shaking, trying to calm down from the high of your orgasm. Wet, fat tears are streaming down your face, but he wraps one arm around the front of your body, pinning you against him. You’re both breathing heavily, covered in the sticky warmth and heavy sweat, but the feeling of your racing heartbeat is soothing him.

Nagi holds you tight, letting his fingers get caught in your damp hair.

#doobean writes #bllk smut #bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro smut #nagi x reader #blue lock x female reader #bllk x female reader #cw: piss #cw: dubcon #cw: cheating

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myosotisa · 1 year

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Eddie walks in on you crying and he is immediately dropping to his knees.

Maybe you'd try to hide it. You don't like to show intense emotion like that, especially not in front of other people. Maybe it's been building for a long time and you just break without warning.

You're sitting at your desk with your face tucked into your shirt, tears streaming, hiccuping gasps, mouth contorted in a silent sob. Willing it to stop, to get back in control, for the sorrow to remove it's claws from your chest and let you breathe again.

Eddie edges the door open with his foot, about to bust in and shower you with affection, but the moment he sees you, hears your small cries, everything stops. He's across the room and to your side in 3 long-legged steps, dropping to his knees with his hands hovering, torn between wanting to grab you and tuck you into him and wanting to respect any space you need.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" His concern just makes you cry harder, hiding further into the neck of your shirt, back bending as you try to curl in on yourself. Eddie's heart breaks, his hands curling into tight fists as he battles his own indecision on what to do. "Baby, please talk to me. Can I hold you? Please."

Despite everything in your brain just wanting to be alone, to suffer in silence, to not show this side of yourself -- your heart wins out. You drop the curtain of cotton hiding your ruddy and wet face from him and reach out like a child. It makes you feel like one. But Eddie doesn't hesitate. He drags you out of your chair and onto the floor with him, tucking as much of yourself into him as he can. Arms wrapped around, thighs under yours, shaggy hair making a new curtain to protect your vulnerability from anyone other than him.

He covers you with warmth and care like a fiberglass blanket over a fracturing fire and it breaks you to pieces. Sorrow for yourself, for how you're feeling, for how hard it is to accept this comfort, for how much it means to you to finally have it now. For how willingly and readily Eddie was prepared to give it.

He holds you as you cry, whispering sweet things into your hairline like, "It's gonna be okay, baby, I've got you. I'm here." Rubs your back in little circles, presses his fingertips tighter when you cry out louder as the waves crash over you. He keeps holding you as your crying starts to die down into little sniffles, as your breathing evens out. He doesn't let go until you start to pull away, and even then it's with reluctance.

The moment he can see your face again he's cupping it in his big palms, eyes searching yours to see if he can find what is hurting you, slay the dragon that made you feel this way. When you just shakily smile, sniffling again, he presses a kiss to each cheek, to each eyelid, to the tip of your runny nose, to the center of your forehead. And then he drags you into his arms again.

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #myos ideas #did i write this while sobbing alone at my desk? yes i did #did it make me feel better? maybe a little bit #myo4munson

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chuthulhu-reads · 1 year

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[ID: A pair of panels from Trigun. In the first, Vash the Stampede has his arms folded, his face mostly obscured by his heavily gloved left hand, though his tired, angry eyes are visible. The second panel is closer up on his face, most of which is still obscured by his hand but again emphasizing his unusually narrowed, angry-looking eyes. Vash says "I see. In other words... all I need to do is babysit the selfish little girl?" End ID.]

This has always stuck in my brain because it's the first time we see Vash talk about a plant as a person, referring to the plant as a girl instead of "it" like the crew and assigning morality/emotions to her... and it's so interesting me that he's shittalking her as selfish. Whenever Knives talks about plants, he's seeing them as weak and defenseless and unable to protect themselves from humans; a lot of other talk/imagery around the plants in the manga centers on them as angelic, giving, kind. Vash is the only one who ever talks about them expressing things like fear, confusion, anger, and selfishness, which feels a lot more like recognizing personhood in them than reducing them to victims or angels.

IDK I think it ties into my general frustration when Vash gets flattened to being only ever nice, patient, or worst of all, naive. As if he's kind because he can't help it or doesn't know better, not on purpose. He's frustrated with his "sister"'s behaviour and how many lives it's threatening, and he also sees her as a person whose life an personhood are equal to theirs and wants them all to be okay. He sees the negative aspects of others, is fully aware of the consequences of his actions and the risks, and he cares despite, even so, regardless.

(Also seen in another light it's just funny. Like ugh I just wanted to enjoy my trip and then my bratty sister threw a tantrum and nearly blew us all up just because a JJBA villain attacked)

#Trigun #Vash the Stampede

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follows-the-bees · 7 months

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Filmmaking analysis time!

How cinematography, blocking, and camerawork in S2 eps 6&7 show Ed's and Stede's emotions.

Since season one, red has been used to show the love for each other: the red of the silk and Stede's new red shirt in both moon scenes. We also know that purple comes out more as Ed falls in love with Stede.

So let's talk about Calypso's Birthday and Man on Fire.

The lighting during this scene is full of color, the reds, purples, and blues. Besides being classic bi lighting, it incorporates the red and purple that we know represents Ed's and Stede's love.

They are swimming in it. Yet, they aren't the same blockingwise, they aren't as close as last season, there is still stuff between them that needs to be spoken. They are standing by each other, their bodies turned inward, and a giant red flower sits bright and center between them, showing how large and full the love they have for each other is.

These purples and reds diminish when Ned Lowe crashes the party. His presence brings a screeching halt to the healing and good times the crew and particularly Ed and Stede are having. He not only crashes the party but right before Ed and Stede were about to dance. This giant wrecking ball that symbolizes Ed's pirate past brings in the harsh blue and green lighting and ups the trauma for both men. Green lighting is used to show that things are off, it is off-putting and fills the scene and audience with unease.

Gif credit

The purple lighting stays very subtle during this whole scene, but as Ned insults everyone, and brings up all of the still unspoken insecurities of the men, the blue shines more, especially on Stede as he makes his choice to have Ned walk the plank. We see immediately how that affects Stede, his trauma comes roaring back, he's shaking, and has tears in his eyes. He retreats back to his cabin.

Ed on the other hand is also experiencing trauma here. While helping out and being around Stede, he has been treading water, trying to figure out what he actually wants in life. And the embodiment of that, when he was at his lowest after S1, when he was trying to break the record has come back to taunt him and the man he loves. He chooses to check in on Stede.

This is when the lighting and camerawork change. We are now inside and the lighting is warm, glowing from candlelight. Ed has a yellow glow behind him when Stede opens the door, like he is the beacon of light in this storm of emotion and trauma that Stede is experiencing from his decision to kill Ned. To cross that boundary when with the rest of the crew he used his usual positive people management style.

Pay attention to their positions here, cause this upcoming choice makes this scene feel off. The pull into the room and the subsequently slam into the wall and kiss are flipped. Along with the quick movements in each shot, this triggers a little part of our brain that realizes something is off even if we don't know why. Read more about the mirror shot in this meta analysis.

When Ed and Stede decide to be together for the first time, to numb the traumatic pain in their desperation and love for each other the lighting is different. It turns a warming orange/yellow glow, showing the softness of the situation.

These men desperately love each other and want to be together. They both agree to this night, Stede pauses before kissing Ed, waits until Ed nods his head and gives consent then pulls Stede in.

And when Stede closes the curtains, the lighting is back to red and purple. The two colors symbolizing the love these two have for each other.

In the morning, the bright yellow lighting is back. The beautiful morning sky in the background looks serene and idyllic, but it also puts our characters in a shadowy haze in the foreground.

They are still in the warmth, the afterglow of being together. Ed gets nervous and brings Stede breakfast in bed. (A parallel to Doug and Mary). They have an intimate conversation where Ed opens up about seeing mermaid Stede while in Purgatory. They have now been intimate in all forms of the word.

But there is still something off, just like with the mirrored images. Stede is shirtless, open, feeling safe. Ed has ditched his leather clothing, his Blackbeard persona, and is now in fine clothing. And I can't confirm but the inside of the robe looks purple. But his robe is closed, which can be read as still hesitant, even if it's subconscious. And they have the same body language of all of the last episode. They are sitting apart, not touching, but still comfortable facing and leaning into each other.

And this bliss continues outside where they open up more. The lighting is bright, pretty, they are surrounded by greens and tans, glowing still. Stede tells him about the multiple letters in bottles he has written. They are opening up about things but they are still avoiding what needs to be talked about - the trauma, their different paths that seem to be emerging.

And then finally, when the fight happens, all of the uneasiness from the mirrored shot, the close but not yet close enough body language, all of these choices come crashing down just like the relationship.

The light is muted. They have spent part if not all of the day apart. So the lighting indicates that it is approaching sunset not only in time but in their relationship, the foreshadowing of Ed breaking up with Stede and leaving.

Ed has already made up his mind. He is leaving to be a fisherman. He thinks what happened the night before - and by that - the moving too fast part was a mistake. While they both love and want each other, Ed is self sabotaging - in a direct parallel of last season - thinks he has ruined Stede, spiralling and choosing like he's done in the past to completely run away from the darkness. He needs to learn that he can embrace both (all) sides of himself without losing himself.

Stede tries to save it. Responds to Ed saying "this can be whatever we want it to be." But then things escalate, things aren't explained. Stede doesn't realize what the fish means to Ed, and saying he lied about the quality of the fish is Ed's view of them, "they are the fish."

They need to talk, about what they want, their diverting paths, finding common ground, and learn how to be in this relationship.

They believe the exact opposite of the truth. Ed thinks he's ruined Stede and that Stede won't love him if he's not Blackbeard (the chin convo!) And Stede thinks he isn't good enough for Ed (and everyone, that is why he goes a little crazy when people recognize him - in a direct parallel to Ed during the dinner party in 1x5.) And Ed doesn't love his softness.

All the lighting reaffirms just how much these two love each other, but the blocking, mirrored camerawork, and fast movements show the underlying unresolved tension that has been building up and ultimately leads to this rift.

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd spoilers #our flag means death s2 spoilers #ofmd season 2 #stede bonnet #ofmd stede #ed x stede #gentlebeard #ofmd ed x stede #ofmd edward teach #blackbeard #ofmd season two meta analysis #ofmd meta #meta analysis #our flag means death filmmaking analysis

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hannie-dul-set · 9 days

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STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE [3].

SYNOPSIS. the saying “never meet your idols” exists for a reason. you just didn’t expect the reason to be because said idols would end up declaring that you’re their alleged lover from a past life (past lives, rather). now you have three big celebrities vying for your attention, and it’s not as dreamlike as you imagined it to be.

PAIRINGS. choi yeonjun, choi soobin, choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRES. reincarnation! au, celebrity! au (soloist! yeonjun, actor! soobin, rock band member! beomgyu), slight college! au, slight historical! au, rom-com, angst, reverse harem woohoo. WARNINGS. swearing, talks about stalking, talks about death, data privacy violations, so much emotional whiplash yummy, a very long conversation, google dependent historical information. WORD COUNT. 6.3k.

NOTE. this chapter finally made its way out hell 😭😭😭 per usual, please let me know your thoughts on the chapter! a single comment on ao3 inspired me to finish this, so ur feedback really means a lot! enjoy<3

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 3 — can we go back to being parasocial?

IF SOMEONE HEARS YOUR SUMMARY OF THE EVENTS THAT UNFOLDED WITHIN THE PAST FEW DAYS, they may accuse you of lying. Delusional, even. You’d think the same had you not been the center of it all— yet the proof is in your pockets. Your phone. In the album Choi Yeonjun failed to sign, stuffed inside your bag at the last minute before you left your apartment earlier.

The summary. Right. Yes.

“Can they stop sharing that video of Yeonjun excessively flirting with a fan?! I’m going to kill myself if I see it one more time.”

You were lucky enough to nab a fansign slot. But instead of getting Choi Yeonjun’s signature, you ended up getting a kiss of a hand instead, along with a scrawl of numbers on your album that you’re far too terrified to try to dial.

“Hey, send me our photo with Soobin the other day,” nudges Huening from beside you. “I’m gonna print it out and put it in a locket and use it as a family heirloom.”

You bumped into one of your favorite actors, Choi Soobin, in the middle of a late night convenience store run with your friends to fuel your group all nighter, stained his shirt with your ice cream, and got a photo with him in the process.

“By the way, have you called the business card yet? What are you gonna do with your broken phone screen?”

And Choi Beomgyu may or may not have professed his undying love for you, asked for your hand in marriage, and started crying in front of you in less than ten fucking minutes.

“She’s zoned out.”

The problem is, you can’t even bask in the delightful absurdity of it all because one common thread from all those three separate instances has been keeping you up for nights. It’s clawing at your brain, lingering in the back of your mind like an incessant stalker— which, mind you, is not a pleasant feeling when the very causes of such disturbance were once the bringers of joy and all things good in your otherwise meaningless life as a cog in the capitalist machinery that is society.

“Hello? Are you awake?”

Said problem being the fact that you’re pretty sure they all called you by your name at one point.

How the fuck do they know your name?

“I deleted Twitter. I Airdropped it to you. No, I have not called it yet. Now please let me think in peace.”

Crazy. This is all too crazy. In the first place, what are the odds that you bump into three celebrities within one week’s time? Is this some sort of prank, or something? Are those three filming a hidden camera show together? No, no. That couldn’t be because there’s no fucking way a company is sane enough to stage a risky hidden camera prank during a fansign knowing full well how obsessive and insane fans can get. You’re lucky your face wasn’t caught in any of the videos circulating online— video of you and Choi Yeonjun, mostly him, acting out a fucking sageuk. You’re lucky you haven’t been doxxed yet.

“Finish your sandwich,” Taehyun clicks his tongue, nudging your food closer to you, and you sigh heavily. Maybe you’re just wrong, you think, taking a bite from the bread. Maybe this is just a misunderstanding. Maybe you’re just overthinking.

You eat your lunch and steal some wet wipes from Gaeul in between. Right. It’s not like you’re ever gonna bump into them again. You live in, as cliche as it sounds, two different worlds after all. You’re just gonna watch their dramas, listen to their music, enjoy their performances, and that’s it that’s it that’s it.

“Prof Jang sent a message. Class is canceled.”

But still—

“Woohoo! Let’s go to the new dessert shop that opened downtown.”

Choi Beomgyu’s voice saying I love you, Choi Soobin’s cologne wafting in the air you were breathing in, and Choi Yeonjun’s lips pressed against your skin.

How can a sane person just forget about all of that?!

“Why do you look like you’re fantasizing about perverted shit?” Woohyun slaps you in the face with a reality check. This is fucking stupid.

“I’m not fantasizing,” you grunt, because they were events that actually fucking happened— they weren’t birthed from your brain’s insanity. “Anyway, dessert? Where is it?” You ignore your burning face, hoping that your friends decide to ignore it too, but Gaeul has her eyes narrowed at you. Crap. She didn’t recognize that it’s you in the videos right? Holy fucking hell, you’d rather die.

“Aren’t you gonna answer that?”

Oh. Well. That’s— that’s something. A good something because she hasn’t suspected you yet, moitioning instead to your cracked phone that has been buzzing under your notice because you’ve been thinking way too fucking much.

You check the caller ID, but it’s an unknown number, and it doesn’t match the business card you got from your run in with the alleged Choi Beomgyu. “Hello?” you answer, and a voice you don’t recognize says your name and asks if it’s you. “Yes, this is her. Who’s this?”

Another item added to the weird as fuck things that happened to your this week. You excuse yourself from your friends, and with knitted brows, you listen to the stranger at the other end of the line. “You met Choi Soobin the other day at a 7-Eleven in Gangnam, right?” The fuck? Did someone see you that day? Is this a stalker? “This is his manager. Lee Byeongho. I would like to speak with you regarding a certain matter.”

Now, hold the fucking phone.

“Is everything alright?”

You respond to Huening’s concern with a stiff smile before turning away from them. “Did I do something wrong?” you fuss into the call. “I didn’t post any of the photos from that day. I never talked about it online either, and I’m pretty sure my friends haven’t either. Wait. Wait a minute. How did you get my number?”

“Yes, it was difficult to obtain knowing only your first name and university.” That doesn’t answer your question. That just gave you more questions. “But, no. You aren’t in trouble. Actually...I called because you’re the only one who can help us— help Soobin— get out of trouble.”

Your face scrunches up.

“I’m at your campus right now. Parking lot. Do you mind meeting me for a moment?”

Just what did you get yourself into?

“You haven’t finished your food. Where are you going?”

“Somewhere,” you reply, quickly snatching your half-eaten sandwich from the table as your friends follow your swift movements with matching looks of confusion. “I’ll be right back. It’s nothing, don’t worry.” However, you are quite worried. You’re pretty sure Lee Manager, or whatever, is committing some data privacy crimes against you, but the one thing you want at the moment is answers. Your brain is about to explode from all the fucking questions and confusion. There’s a sliver of hope that meeting up with this sketchy guy can answer a few of them. You’d take that chance to air out your head.

There’s a black van in the parking lot. It’s the first thing you noticed because one of its doors are open, and there’s a familiar looking guy waiting just in front of the exposed seats.

He notices you approaching. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says. What’s with men you’re meeting for the first time treating you with familiarity? You’re going to rip your hair out and throw yourself into moving traffic.

“Sure, but can you get to the point?” you stiffly say. “I’m a little busy. I still have classes in a bit.”

“Of course, I’m sorry. This whole situation must’ve come off as a shock to you.” Great, now you’re feeling bad. Soobin’s manager (allegedly) looks like he’s been through a whole lot as well. “Anyway. You are a fan of Choi Soobin, correct?”

“Well,” you blink. “Yes.”

“How about the dramas Kang Jaehee has written and directed?” he follows up. “Are you a fan of those as well?”

Your brows furrow. “I guess?” Peach Tree. That Summer. Mogi. Those are the titles that come right at the top of your head. “What does that have to do anything with me?” Manager Lee spares you a look of pity. You feel like this meet-up is just set out to making you even more fucking confused.

“I sincerely apologize. I didn’t want to drag you into this either, but I’m afraid you’re the only option I have,” says Manager Lee despondently. “Since...since you are a fan of Soobin, and I assume that means you also care about his career, so—”

He pauses. Like he’s practicing the next set of words he’s about to say inside his head.

“—do you mind meeting up with him to convince him to take the lead role for Kang Jaehee’s upcoming drama?”

But nothing could’ve prepared you for that.

What.

What the fuck?

“Mr Manager. Sir,” you start, appalled beyond comprehension. “I’d appreciate it if you start making a bit more sense.”

“Trust me, I can’t believe I’m doing this either.”

You’re speechless. Your mouth is hanging open with no words coming out because, again, what the fuck? Manager Lee looks just as defeated as you, as if he weren’t the one who had just presented that ridiculous proposal. You are, quite frankly, at a discernible loss.

Manager Lee lets out a sigh and digs a hand into his pocket. “I’m afraid this is all the time I have today. But please contact me once you’ve made a decision.” Another business card acquired. This is just dandy. “I am really hoping for your cooperation, miss. I’m sure you’re aware of Soobin’s inactivity lately, and my intention of approaching you today is simply in order to help my star’s career. Please consider the favor positively, and we will compensate you as much as my authority can allow.”

With that, you’re left with another laminated piece of paper in your hands. Gosh. This is a headache. When you get back to your friends, they notice the distress you’re in, further justifying a visit to the new dessert store, and seeing how your soul has completely left your body, you’re dragged along with them with ease.

“Hey, pick one. My treat,” says Woohyun. You let out a grunt and point at a random pastry on display. Next thing you know, you’re seated in between Huening and Gaeul at the store you don’t even know the name of.

Huening is force feeding you an eclair. “Eat.” Your scowl disappears when you allow the eclair entry into your mouth. “Seriously, what’s going on with you? Who did you meet earlier?”

Seeing as you show absolutely no intentions of telling them, they refuse to question you about it further. Good on them, because there’s no way in hell you’re spilling your predicament. Not until you find out exactly what kind of situation you’re in, at the very least. The two business cards feel like they’re weighing your pockets down, a constant reminder of their existence along with the scrawl Yeonjun left behind.

“I know exactly how to make you feel better.”

The declaration comes from Gaeul, who slides her phone over to you, and when you look down to see what exactly her miracle medicine is to make you feel less manic, you hack out a cough upon seeing Choi Yeonjun’s face on her phone screen. “The hell is wrong with you?” asks Taehyun from across, giving you some water to push down the eclair lodged in your throat. “I know you like him, but even that is an overreaction.”

Jesus, you’re close to losing it. When you’ve avoided choking to death, Gaeul puts an airpod into your ear, and you hear Yeonjun reading out some comments. “Choi Yeonjun, you look really happy lately, did something good happen? someone asked,” he says while having snacks of his own. “First of all, why are you calling me Choi Yeonjun? It’s like you’re putting a wall between us. I don’t like it.”

Gaeul makes a noise of some sort and had you not been subjected to this week’s insanities, you might have reacted the same way too. Instead, you simply listen to his live in caution, feigning disinterest as you watch him nibble on some pretzels and churros through the screen, continuing to answer the slew of questions in the comments.

“Anyway, you’re right! Something good did happen.” Yeonjun hums while picking out a pretzel from the paper bag, rustling noise and a lively tune filling the audio for a moment— a short moment, right before he continues speaking. “That’s because I finally met the love of my life.”

Taehyun has to give you his water again.

“Oh? Oho, what’s with the exclamation points?” he laughs. “Did I meet them the other day? Hmm...that’s a secret. You’re curious? You think it might be you? Well, let’s see. Should I describe her?”

“God, he’s so fucking messy,” says Gaeul from beside you. “This is why I like him. How many calls is he getting for his manager and company this time?”

“What’s going on? Why is she so startled?”

“Yeonjun’s talking about his apparent soulmate, I don’t know. Wanna listen?”

“Didn’t he get in trouble for doing the same thing last time too?”

Now, you’re not one to give a shit about his love life, and you like to stay out of that side of celebrity gossip as much as you can, but Choi Yeonjun himself is droning on about the love of his life right now. You can’t not hear about it even if you want to. However, as much as you want to let things come into one ear and out through the other, you can’t. Because— wait. Wait. His description is eerily familiar. His description is making you double take and second guess what you’re fucking hearing.

“Sounds a lot like you,” Taehyun remarks without much thought, right after Choi Yeonjun says that the girl he likes has a bit of an attitude, but he likes that about her.

Huening lets out a snort. “Yeah, that’s definitely you. Why don’t you go in a wedding dress the next time you attend a fansign? Who knows, you might have a shot.”

You snap them a dirty look. Fuck. This is making your head spin. For the second time, Choi Yeonjun’s tendency of putting himself into headlines and the trending searches for doing something insane is giving you nothing but stress.

“I did give her my number, but she hasn’t messaged me yet, so I’m quite hurt.”

Number. Hold on a fucking second.

“The comments are going crazy.”

You grab your bag from underneath you, dropping it down to your lap.

“Hey, if you’re watching this, pl—eeeeease contact me. Kim Noona thinks I have a phone addiction now because I’ve been dying waiting for your call.”

You quickly get up from your seat.

“Yo, where are you going this time?”

“I need a minute,” you announce, eyes scanning the store for a quiet place alone while hugging your bag to your chest. There’s nowhere. Looks like you have to get out.

“Damn, we were just joking. As if you have a chance with a celebrity like him.”

Huening’s joke is ignored and you quickly leave outside the doors, making a sharp turn around the corner, slipping through the passersby downtown until you find an empty alley. Your heart is racing. Your heart is racing like crazy and you may be reaching right now. You may be acting crazy, but what Choi Beomgyu said during the interview with Yeong-Il the other day is echoing in your mind, and— in conjunction with everything else that had happened— you’re starting to think that maybe he wasn’t joking.

Your cracked phone screen greets you when you take it out of your pocket. On your other hand is the first business card you got this week.

“Who’s this?”

“Hello. Good day.” You tell them your name, the events that led up to you receiving this number, with the hope that maybe you’re finally on to something. “I’d like to talk about the compensation for my broken phone.”

Whatever that something is, you’re gonna get to the bottom of it.

It’s already beyond closing time at Kwiyeomdongmoim Cafe (a mouthful, you know), yet your pink apron is still neatly tied around your waist as you pace back and forth, to and fro, in circles inside the breakroom. The time is half-past nine in the evening. You should’ve clocked out thirty minutes ago, but you’re still waiting.

The knock on the door signified the end of your wait. You turn to see your boss’s head popping in through the half-open crack.

“Three guys are waiting for you,” informs Seokmin. “They all seem handsome. Are they your suitors?”

When you ditched your friends at the still unnamed dessert store the other day, you did it to make a few calls. Three, to be exact. Today is the culmination of those calls, which is why you’ve been erratically nervous the entire freaking day. Choi Soobin, Choi Beomyu, and Choi Yeonjun’s managers all answered respectively when you called all the sketchy numbers you got and made some negotiations (apparently, the mess on your album is Yeonjun’s number, but he got his phone confiscated after that livestream).

“As if,” you say, walking up to the door leading back into the cafe. Suitors, more like stalkers. Fans stalking their idols is common, but the other way around is a pretty fresh idea. “Anyway, thanks, Kyeom. Thank you for letting me use the store for a while.” Because this is the only private place you can think of outside of your own home— and there’s no way in hell you’re letting them in there when you don’t even know how they managed to get hold of your personal information.

“We’re closed anyway.” Seokmin smiles and makes way for you to pass by. “Go ahead and do your thing. Do you want me to stay inside or keep watch?”

“You can stay inside, it’s alright.”

He nods. “Call me when you’re done. Scream if you need backup. I can handle all of them.”

You laugh and thank him once more, a pat on his arm before you decide to peek out the door first as a precautionary measure. From your spot, you can see three thoroughly covered men in windbreakers, caps, and masks sitting on three separate tables in the store. The blinds have already been rolled down, so you can’t see anything outside, but there doesn’t appear to be any cameras around, so you take it as a safe sign to finally leave your hiding spot.

The moment you do, the break room door creaks, and all three pairs of eyes immediately fall on you.

They stand up. They call out your name in unison.

Holy shit.

And when they do, they all look at each other with a sudden flash of hostility in the air.

Um. Well. How are you supposed to do this? “H—hello,” you manage to squeak out, prompting their attention once more. Soobin takes off his cap and removes his mask, the other two following suit, and oh my god. Oh my god. You suck in a deep breath. Today, you are not a fan. You are an interrogator. This is not a fansign. This is an interrogation.

“I— uh, I asked your managers if I can meet you all to—today for a specific reason.” Wow. Good job. Your hands are shaking and you can’t look up from the floor or else you’d start losing your mind. “But—but, before that— would...would you like some drinks…?”

Interrogation paused. You need to get your shit together first.

“Please enjoy.”

With the help of your boss (because your hands wouldn’t stop shaking and you dropped the first one you made), you managed to whip up four iced teas and settle all three of them into one table at the very back of the store. You send a stiff smile at Seokmin after he placed all the drinks on the table.

God, you owe him so much— especially when he’s being unreasonably glared at by the three men sitting with you right now. Choi Beomgyu to your left, Choi Soobin to your right, Choi Yeonjun directly across from you and holy fuck, you have yet to look at them properly yet for your own safety. They haven’t been talking to each other either, simply sitting and waiting for you to speak. You’re pretty sure they know each other though, at least by name, being in the same industry and all.

To say that the tension in the air is suffocation would be an understatement. How...how do you start this? The fuck should you say first?

“You know, I was really happy when Kim Noona told me you called.”

Apparently you don’t have to start it. Choi Yeonjun does it for you.

“But why are these two crashing our date?”

And that’s when things also start to get messy.

“Date?” Choi Soobin interjects. He sounds offended. Why does he sound offended. “What are you talking about?”

Choi Yeonjun doesn’t get a chance to make his case. Because Choi Beomgyu from your left suddenly snatches one of your hands from the table, prompting you to look at one of them for the first time tonight, and your eyes fly wide open. “I’d...like to apologize for the other day. I was just overtaken by my emotions. I hope you weren’t too freaked out.”

You are quite freaked out because holy shit, this is too much maybe. Not maybe. Yes. This is too much. Too. Much.“Hey, why are you holding her hand?!” you hear Choi Soobin exclaim from your other side. Choi Beomgyu’s soft expression suddenly disappears into a glare and a sneer the moment he shifts his gaze.

“You’re holding her hand too!”

“Why can’t I?!”

“Hey, this isn’t fair! One of you switch with me—”

Dizzy. You’re feeling dizzy. Your head is spinning and you’re suffocating from the heat emanating from your very face. Whatever they’re arguing about isn’t even reaching your ears anymore. You’re getting lightheaded and your sweaty hands start slipping out from the two’s weirdly tender hold on your hands because your body is physically breaking down.

“Shut up! Oh my god, my head—”

Your vision actually starts spinning for a second so you quickly bring the bottom of your palms to your temples, elbows on the table to balance yourself, only to be wobbled and shaken because the three suddenly jolted off their seats in panic.

“Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine, just please—for the love of god— sit down and shut up.”

They sit down and shut up. You massage your temples in silence. You remove your hands from your face and, after sucking in a deep breath and releasing it thereafter, feel your heartbeat settling into a normal rate. As normal as it can get in this situation.

“Whew. Okay. I think I’m ready. Let’s get down to business.” Finally, you’re the one steering the conversation. You give each of them a once over as quickly as possible because now you know that prolonged eye contact will only hurt you. You settle with looking at the gaps between each of them. That’s fine. You’re fine. “Choi Soobin, Choi Yeonjun, Choi Beomgyu.”

It’s like three bulbs just lit up in succession. Your brain is starting to hurt.

“A—as I was saying, you three are some of South Korea’s biggest celebrities and although I am, in fact, a big fan of all three of you—” Why is Choi Soobin growing pink. Why the fuck is he blushing. “—that— that does not make me fail to recognize the amount of weird shit that’s been happening lately, and I think I need answers.”

They are still sitting down and shutting up. They listen to instructions well, at the very least.

“First, how the fuck did all three of you know my name without any prior introduction. Second—”

The words get clamped in your throat. It’s lodged in there very tightly because you make the mistake of looking one of them in the eye, only to notice that all three of them are looking at you with the same expression. An expression you can only describe as longing.

And your face starts burning.

“Se— second, why…why do you all keep looking at me like I’m an ex you want to get back together with…?”

Maybe you asked the wrong question.

Because for some reason they all look sad now. Really sad. Really fucking sad and it’s making your stomach clench and nerves all numb and funky because making three big celebrities all sad simultaneously is a bragging right at one end of the spectrum, and a national crime at the other.

It’s Choi Soobin who cracks the silence. “I…I had a feeling when I saw you again for the first time at the store.” Again? “Do you not remember me?”

Your face furrows. “No…? Did we ever meet before you became an actor?”

Hurt. The look of sadness has now spiraled into hurt and one might think you just stabbed and twisted a knife into his fucking gut. “How—how about me?” Your attention turns to Choi Yeonjun who isn’t looking any better. It’s like his entire world view was just proven to be wrong and why does it feel like you’re the one to blame.

What else can you do but shake your head in denial? Now he looks like he’d just been told he’s adopted!

“You’re…you’re joking,” he tries to laugh it off, but it only comes off as strained and shaky, then, in one fell swoop— desperate. “R—right…?”

“Great!”

Before you start feeling even shittier, Choi Beomgyu finally decides to join in.

“And here I thought her forgetting about me was the worst case scenario.” His tone is bitter. There’s a snap in his words. “I didn’t think there’d be other bastards in the same situation as me. God fucking damn it.”

There’s a moment of silence. You watch as realization hits the other while you’re still left in the dark. Choi Yeonjun juts his seat closer. Choi Soobin tries to reach a hesitant arm to your direction, but you’re tugged to the other side by Choi Beomgyu, who’s suddenly a little too, too close.

“Hey.”

Your hands are clamped together.

“I meant it when I said I love you. I do. I have loved you four hundred years ago and I still love you now, and if whatever god or deity decides to make you meet you for the third time, I’ll still love you then.”

Beomgyu’s holding both of them in between his in a firm grip.

“Second life is about you. Blue Spring is about you. You’re the person I’ve been waiting for from the beginning of this life until the last.”

Now, if this situation wasn’t crazy, your heart would be skipping a beat right now.

But it is crazy. This is fucking insane. And you look around to see that there’s a weird look of sympathy and understanding in the other Choi’s eyes, clearly not recognizing the visceral insanity of this situation, which fills you with a swallowing lump of existential dread. You pry your hands out of Beomgyu’s grasp (you swear you can hear glass breaking), and slowly turn to Choi Yeonjun and say, with a very hesitant, very cautious, “Y...you too…?”

The look on his face says it all. And then you swivel over to Choi Soobin.

“And you?”

“I’ve lo—”

“No!” you snap. “Don’t finish that sentence. Please. Oh my god.”

You see Seokmin popping his head out from the corner, mouthing an are you okay? and you shakily bring up a weak thumbs up. “Well, isn’t this interesting,” you hear Choi Yeonjun say, which feels like a slap in the face because what exactly is interesting about this. “Here I thought I was special.”

“Get off your high horse,” retorts Choi Soobin, a sneer in his voice. You double take. Choi Soobin is supposed to be sweet and gentle and kind. Who is this man? “Whatever kind of past you had with her doesn’t mean anything. I met her first. I met her at the end of King Danjong’s rule.”

“Ha!” Choi Yeonjun starts. “We got married under King Taejong. I’ve loved her before any of you did.”

Now, what the fuck?

Choi Soobin’s face pales and he chokes over his words. “M—married?”

There’s a smug grin on Choi Yeonjun’s face. He leans back against the chair with his arms crossed in victory. “You heard that correctly. Married. Pack up your bags. Unless you want me to tell you everything we did on our we—”

“Shut up, shut up, I don’t want to hear it!”

Marriage. King Danjong. King Taejong. Second life. The gears are churning inside your head. You don’t like the direction where the gears are pointing.

“What about you?”

Choi Yeonjun raises the question and the attention is now on Choi Beomgyu. He’s been quiet. The other two wait for him to say his piece— a feigned air of disdain and arrogance but there’s an unconcealable undertone of nervousness underneath it all. Your iced teas have been left untouched. Choi Beomgyu simply scoffs and presses his crossed arms against his chest.

“I have no reason to tell you any of that. This is between me and her.”

And at your mention, you receive the undivided attention of three pairs of eyes once more. Your heart rattles. God fucking damn it. Listen, you’re an avid consumer of the entertainment industry. You’ve watched a good amount of dramas and have read a good amount of manhwas to surmise a conclusion with the bits and pieces of stray information being tossed back and forth between the three. And it’s all ridiculous. But you have nothing else to work with unless they come spilling their guts themselves.

“So,” you clear your throat. “Are you three, like…a couple…hundred years old…?”

They all look offended.

“No!”

Well, maybe you’re wrong about that part. But after a very long, convoluted discussion, the “facts” (if you can even call it that), are finally laid down on your feet.

They say you’ve all met before. Separately, in three separate lifetimes, with this one allegedly being your fourth unless there were lives in between that they can’t remember. One thing for certain is that the three of them remember the life they had while loving you— and they loved you very much apparently because those feelings and memories got carried over even after they got reborn into the present day.

The problem is, you don’t have the same symptoms. You don’t remember anything about your past lives. Hell, you can’t even remember anything in this life before you hit two years old.

You slump in your seat. The table rattles. They get up from their chairs and come circling around you in concern.

“Are— are you okay, do you need to lie down? You could rest in my van for a while and—”

You swat Choi Yeonjun’s hand away before it could land on your shoulder. You’ve now got your hands on your face in stress, and peeking through you see Choi Soobin on your right, crouching down and looking up at you with furrowed brows and big, sad eyes. On your left is Choi Beomgyu, half-seated on the chair. You let out a very long, very anguished and muffled groan. This is too much. “If— if what you guys are saying is true,” you say. “What does it matter?”

There’s a tense pause in the air.

“What do you mean…?”

You spring up from your seat and turn around, Choi Yeonjun in front of you.

“I mean what does it all matter? King Sejeong, Joseon era, or whatever— I don’t care about all of that. We’re in the twenty-first century right now. I’m neither your lover nor your wife. I’m just a fan of your dramas and music and performances and that's it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t really want to see their faces right now. You let a huff of air slip past your lips, turning back around to collect the untouched glasses of drinks on the table.

“Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet me and explain. I hope it’s all settled. Thanks for clearing everything up today. You can now all leave.”

It’s Choi Yeonjun who races after you when you make your firm and quick strides to the counter. He cuts off your path. “I—I don’t understand,” he chokes out. You make the mistake of meeting his gaze and see the threat of tears glazing his eyes. “What—what do you mean?”

Admittedly, that hurled a giant pang against your ribcage, knocking the air out of your chest, but you move forward. You brush past him, setting the glasses back on the counter, and— after a moment’s pause— you turn around, a heavy weight on your shoulders. It’s like gravity is trying to suck you deep into the mantle. “What I’m trying to say is we should all just get over what happened all those hundreds of years ago and live our lives in the present. I mean, I don’t know any of you. Don’t you think it’s unhealthy to keep clinging onto the past, especially when you guys are nothing but strangers to me in this life?”

Dead silence. You don’t dare look at any of them in the face. You try and retreat to the break room as quickly as you can, hands fumbling to untie your apron along the way, but you stumble over your steps, screeching to a halt the moment you hear someone say—

“Do you think it’s that easy?”

You could hear your heart in your eardrums.

It takes all the strength in your body for you to look back, to see the pained expression on Choi Beomgyu’s face standing the farthest away from you out of the three. “Do you think I put my name out there so that it’d be easier for you to find me, wrote all those songs about you in the hopes that I could see you again if you’re someone I can just easily forget?”

Your throat tightens. It’s like you’re swallowing a boulder.

“If you wanted me to forget about you, you shouldn’t have died right in front of me then. You shouldn’t have told me you loved me right before you went cold in my arms if you wanted me to fucking forget.”

Oh.

Oh, god.

Choi Yeonjun and Choi Soobin don’t look any better. It hits you that you might have been more than a little bit unfair.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t know your history. You don’t know what the fuck happened between you and them throughout those years that made them feel so strongly about you. But it must be harder for those who remember than for those who forgot.

It’s not like they chose to live in the present with half of their souls stuck in the past, either. You’ve been acting awfully unfair.

“I was being insensitive. I’m so sorry,” you exhale. Your knees feel like they’re about to buckle. Your head is spinning in circles. “But to be honest, this is all still very overwhelming, and I’m having a hard time comprehending and making sense of everything. It doesn’t feel real.” You try to take a step closer, but your legs give in. Choi Yeonjun quickly rushes to balance you back on your feet.

“Don’t push yourself,” he says, softly. You can’t look at him. God, these guys really know how to bring your guilt all the way home.

“Thanks, um, anyway—” You breathe in. Shit, you can’t believe you’re considering this. “Again, I really can’t and won’t be able to understand the magnitude of your— well, uh— feelings, since I really don’t remember anything. But how about…I spend some time with each of you individually, and maybe…maybe it can help in jogging back my memories?”

The atmosphere shifts. Ah. This feels like a fucking trap.

“You— you mean it?”

To be honest, you’d much rather just not deal with any of this, just stay at home and continue living your life with these three men as persons you only know behind the screen. But those looks in their eyes— hopeful and melancholic— make you feel your organs are being rearranged every five seconds, and you’d feel bad leaving them with the pain of this conversation especially after they poured out their hearts to you.

You can’t deny the joy and escape they’ve given you for the past couple of years you’ve spent as their fan. Maybe entertaining this unreality is the least you can do.

“I mean, well,” you start, clearing your throat. “Choi Beomgyu, you still need to pay for my phone. Choi Soobin, your manager wanted me to talk to you about something, and Choi Yeonjun—”

You look at the guy who still has one arm pressed against your back, two hands in a firm grip on your shoulders. He’s looking at you and batting his eyes expectantly. You let out a sigh and set yourself loose.

“I need to discuss something with you soon, too.” As in, please stop vaguely mentioning me in your live streams because I fear I might find an angry mob in front of my house. “I think I have all your contact information anyway.”

There aren’t any more reactions coming from them. This seems like the best possible solution for all of you. You sigh again. This has been an emotionally draining evening. You can’t wait to get some fucking rest.

“I’ll be in touch with you or your managers soon. For now, let’s call it a day.”

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

#tomorrow x together x reader #txt x reader #choi yeonjun x reader #choi soobin x reader #choi beomgyu x reader #txt scenarios #tomorrow x together scenarios #txt x you #tomorror x together x you #soobin x reader #yeonjun x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt fanfic #choi soobin x you #choi beomgyu x you #choi yeonjun x you

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fuckmyskywalker · 4 months

Text

❄️𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟓𝐭𝐡 : 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 - 𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐤𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫.

— CW: 18+, smut. Cheating. PiV. Both Padme and Anakin cheat. | Word count: 2.0k (not proofread!)

— a/n: Consider this a late Christmas gift because it's 2k <3. I normally don't like my fics but I can say I am proud of this one. Inspired by an unreleased song by Jules Paymer. Follow them ;).

— Anyafest 2023 + Taglist!

Anakin stares at you from the other side of the large room, admiring how you carry yourself with such grace and confidence. His hand tightens around the glass of whatever the fuck he is drinking, he can’t really give a damn about it now. All he can think of is how much he wishes he could yank your hair and beat you up. Drag you to the center of the room and expose you, scream to the world how you ruined the best thing he would ever have.

It’s time. He knows he has to be quick before you get away before he can get his stupid revenge. As he strides towards you, he can hear Padmé’s apologies ringing in his ear, bouncing inside his brain and making his blood boil.

“I am so sorry, it was a mistake! I promise I didn't mean to.”

“It was an accident, Anakin. I was drunk— she means nothing to me!”

“Please forgive me. I just couldn't lie to you anymore. It was killing me.”

Sure, maybe fucking the woman your wife cheated on you with isn't the best approach, but that's the only thing he can think of right now. Thankfully Padmé skipped today’s event, probably at home lamenting herself and planning a very sappy and emotional apology, buying him gifts, and preparing a new set of tears to ask for forgiveness. Anakin knows he will forgive her in the end, besides her he doesn't have anyone else. How is he going to give up the only good thing in his life?

He is pathetic to even consider forgiving an infidelity, but what else can he do? It isn't often that his mind strings a coherent thought, and tonight exception.will not be the exception. It would be easier to give you the benefit of the doubt; to be fair, you weren’t aware of his marriage, and if Padmé was as drunk as she claimed then— no. He cannot give her the benefit of the doubt. You are quick to acknowledge his presence and Anakin doesn’t miss the way you eye him up and down, completely oblivious to the way his eyes are beheading you. He isn’t nice when he presents himself, in fact, he is quite harsh with replying to your questions.

Your obvious interest makes him sick, so you think that with that pretty face and expensive gowns you can just get away with everything you want? Disgusting.

“I thought Jedis weren’t fond of these sorts of events,” You speak in a sultry tone. Anakin can bet you think you are being so smooth and seductive— batting those long eyelashes at him.

“Well, it’s nice to cool off from the stress every now and then.” Anakin gruffly replies, taking a sip of his drink trying to sound as charming as possible which on a normal day wouldn’t be hard, but Maker, his shoulders are so tense they hurt and his stomach is twisting with anger.

“Glad you can find a reliever,” You wink, and he can read what you imply— another type of reliever is thrown on the plate, it is up to him to bite it or spit on it. “You do look tense… General.” The way his title rolls down your tongue makes him sick. So you know who he is, did Padmé say something? Did she mention him at all? Did she even think about him as he was breaking his trust?

“Long day.”

The initial conversation is polite, he has to give you that. You don’t go straight to the point which he is thankful for, if you had tried any insinuation Anakin wouldn’t have been able to hold the impulse to crash his glass against your head. His internal struggle becomes hard; when he finds himself smirking at a snarky comment you make of another guest on the other side of the room, or when he sees you smiling at a very fake compliment he gave you… he feels nauseous— to not say ashamed— he can see right through you but you cannot see his real intentions.

“I can’t imagine living on the edge all day,” You sigh, tapping your long, manicured nails on the oddly-shaped drink. “Must be quite challenging.

Anakin suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. “You get used to it,” Is he being too harsh? Too scattering? How are you supposed to treat the person you now hate the most?

You offer him another drink which he reluctantly accepts, is this your preferred method? To force people to drink and then take advantage of them? Or is his vision of reality so distorted he isn’t able to pick up that you are the one tipsy? If any he would be the one taking advantage of you.

Anakin watches you drink without restraints, staining the edge of the glass with your dark lipstick. Is that the same color that tempted his wife? Or did you choose another shade that night? His sudden jealousy is clouding his judgment, not that he has much but still.

After your third drink— although Anakin is sure you had a couple more before he decided it was time to talk to you— your tongue begins to lose. Your questions get bolder as well as your touch. Your hand lays on his arm when you laugh, your body slowly making its way dangerously close to his. Despite the sick feeling that rises up his stomach, threatening to regurgitate the lousy dinner he managed to eat, Anakin forces himself to place his gloved hand on your lower back with an unauthentic smile. He needs to play along because that’s what he wants right? To get revenge.

It’s not hard to find an empty room in this ridiculously enormous building. Too many unused rooms that on a normal day would throw him into a useless rant about how poorly managed the Senate budget is, but then again— this isn’t a normal day for Anakin. What is extremely challenging is to continue with his plan; you let him do his move which makes him drown in self-doubt and loathing again. Was his wife the one who made the first move? Did she kiss you the way he was kissing you now?

The dark red lipstick smears all over his lips, and Anakin swears he can taste bile on his tongue. It’s stupid. What did he even think this was a good idea to start with? He is fucking stupid. Bringing your body closer to his, Anakin parts his lips to deepen the kiss, shivering when your tongue comes in contact with his. Pushing you further against the wall, you mistake his intentions— he looks like he wants to merge his body with yours, and the misunderstanding fuels your desire. He is handsome, terribly so, so where’s the harm in having a little fun? His kisses are heated, rushed, he wants to be done with this as soon as possible. He wants to— what the fuck does he even wants to? Is this the moment of clarity? Maybe.

Suddenly your lips don’t feel that bad. The taste turns sweet and it catches him by surprise, if this was what Padmé felt then maybe… Can he even blame her?

A kiss. No. Multiple. Contact after contact with Anakin's mind fogs. Your sounds are just as sweet as your lips, asking him for more, praising him, practically dragging him to the same mess he was never meant to get involved with. Clothes soon become a bother, but the situation isn’t ideal— nothing is. Your hands shouldn’t feel as good as they do— but fuck they do. Anakin gets greedy fast, a characteristic he probably will never be able to get rid of. A familiar burn builds up in his body, the only thing that wasn’t supposed to happen.

It’s laughable. It really is.

“Please don’t stop,” You whisper against his lips in a way that makes his blood boil, bright erythrocytes then pump his cock until it strains against his black robes, you feel it, of course, you do. “Oh— Anakin.”

Sweet. His name sounds so charming when you say it with his hand in between your legs. He wants more. Why? He’s not sure. Nothing seems real right now and for an instant he forgets he is about to have sex with the woman who unbeknownst to her ruined his marriage. Your skirts are heavy, but the layers of fabric don’t seem to be a problem. He finds you dripping, easily sinking two fingers inside you, watching with half-lidded eyes how you arch your back. No longer sweet but sinful. Anakin pants, feeling pathetic for finding the slightest hint of enjoyment in what was intended to be revenge.

“I can’t do this,” He mutters, withdrawing his hand. He can watch his fingers glisten under the dim light of the room. “I… I can’t.”

“Yes, yes you can,” Your voice is like a lullaby, broken and barely frustrated by the irruption. “Anakin, I need you.” Do you? Because he doesn’t know what he needs. The lines blur too fast for his mind to catch up and the next thing he registers is his trembling hand fumbling with his pants. “Please, Ani. Fuck me.” That damn nickname. The one that was reserved for the woman he loves, but if she had to share her with you for a night, it is only fair that Padmé shares that pet name with you too.

This wasn’t supposed to be something pleasurable, now Anakin can see clearly how Padmé couldn’t say no. When he fully slides his throbbing cock inside your tight heat he crumbles. Now he has gotten his own taste.

His thrusts are fast and eager, bringing one leg around his hips as his palm rests against the wall. You cling to his body desperately, moaning freely now— each sound pushing him closer to the edge he wasn’t meant to cross in the first place. A bead of sweat rolls down his brow, his tongue swirls with your sensually. No other touch had felt this addictive, plus the taboo of the secret he is holding, the one he will have to drag to the grave now. Anakin groans, biting your lower lip and tugging it with his teeth. Your pussy envelops his cock like a glove, tight and warm, so good and so bad at the same time.

“Maker— you feel so good,” You moan directly in his ear, furrowing your brows and rolling your eyes in delight. His cock feels amazing, stretching you in forms no other man has done. Is this the type of man the Jedi Council is keeping away from you? “I’m going to come, Ani. Fuck— harder, please.” You beg. That’s all you do. More. More. More. You are insatiable.

He is too far in— both literally and figuratively— to even deny you, which would mean he denies himself. He is close too, he can tell by the familiar clench under his lower stomach, how his balls tighten and slap against your sweaty body. He shouldn’t come inside, then he would be the same as his wife— or even worse.

The brief clarity the Force itself blessed him with suddenly disappears when you come undone around him. It’s like a wave crashing on top of him, drowning him in a feeling he knows will never be experienced again. You look like an angel, a miserable comparison given the situation. You climax with a strained moan, mouth hanging open and cursing to the Gods he will never believe in— and he is following you just seconds after.

Everything is ruined. Your makeup, your underwear, his dignity. Like a bitter reminder, the same apologies Padmé gave him over and over spun around his head with the same strength as his orgasm. Anakin rests his forehead against your naked shoulder, saliva trickling down the corner of his mouth as he struggles to catch his breath. He is fucked. He is so done. He is ruined.

He understands why Padmé cheated on him.

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anya writes!#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anyafest 2023!#anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker one shot #anakin skwalker #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin x reader smut #anakin smut #anakin x you #anakin x reader #anakin x y/n

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dnvrsmedia · 7 months

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Touch Me, Feel Me

Sevika x Reader (afab) smut

Kinktober

an: uh hi! it’s been a real long time & i come back bearing very filthy smut as promised HAHA

warnings: breeding kink 🤓

Ragged breaths escape your plush lips, dry from exhaustion. Eyes tilted up and back, unable to keep focus as the brute above you thrusts her hips in an ungodly manner.

Being the mechanic that you were, tinkering with hex tech was a pastime you enjoyed frequently. Knowing that Sevika’s birthday was coming up motivated you to finish something you had been working on for a long time. You were able to make technology to allow someone to regain feeling in a prosthetic. This idea came to you during one of the many nights you laid on Sevika’s chest. Soft strokes of her arm lightly scratching your back in comfort.

“I miss the way you feel on my arm.” Sevika kept her gaze on the ceiling.

Thoughts flurrying in her brain. Her strong jaw clenched in an act to make her exclude any emotion that may slip. You on the other hand, stunned. Sevika refuses to talk about her lost arm. The adjustment that was made post explosion left your relationship chipped, but not broken. From then on, you worked diligently to give your lover a new meaning.

You didn’t necessarily think your new technology would lead to Sevika attaching the device to her thick and lengthy silicon cock. Although, Sevika being Sevika, it truly didn’t surprise you.

“F-fuck! Vika, oh my-“ Your moans of deep pleasure increase by tenfold, the buff woman above you pistons her hips deeply into your core.

Her flesh hand snaking its way across your budding clit, rubbing furious circles into damnation. Drool dripping hotly onto the sheets from your gaped mouth as your center leaks from your pleasure. Slick coating the thick member while leaking down Sevika’s thick mountainous thighs. Her essence mixing with yours as her cunt weeps at the sensations of your warmth encompassing her member.

“That’s fucking it, baby. You like how this dick feels, huh? How full i’m- oh fuck- how full i’m making you?” The most powerful woman of Zaun grunts in your ear as her hips never farther.

Babbling is all you are left with as the piece works your walls. Stretching and massaging the spot that makes your toes curl. Sevika can feel the clenching of your muscles around her and moans a moan you’ve never thought could manifest from betwixt her lips. Your eyes full of adoration of how good she is feeling. You turn your gaze to watch as Sevika’s muscles contract in every movement made. Her abs on full display as her body contorts. Her nipples fully erect on her chest make you dizzy. It’s not very often that Sevika allows you to touch her breasts, but when she does it always makes her shiver. With no rational thoughts flowing through your brain, you unconsciously lift your hand up to her chest, catching a hold of her swelled bud, and pinch.

A roar from the bellows of her being errupts from the brute above. Like a light switch was flipped, Sevika shifts her body to contain your hands above your head in restraint.

“Who fucking told you it was okay yo do that? What a fucking whore you are. You say you made this for my arm but deep down we both know you wanted this.” Sevikas impossible pace picks up faster than you thought was possible.

At this point, silent screams are leaving your body as it is being found impossible to make noise. Your eyes fully roll to the back of your head in pleasure, unable to look at your lover above you. Your bilss taken away from you as her flesh hand removes itself from your clit with a firm ‘smack!’ a whine released itself from your throat as a plea.

“Watch yourself, baby.” Sevika halts all movement making you whimper and rustle in your restraint.

“Please.” You whimper softly, feeling too lightheaded to do more than that.

“What was that?” Sevika teased, slowly teasing herself back onto you, watching you fall apart.

“Vika, please! I need you!” You whine loudly, thrashing harshly in her hold. You can tell that she thrived off teasing you as her chin rose in pride and her smirk grew.

And in an instant, she’s back to fucking you open.

Sevika pushes to your climax with fast, sloppy thrusts . You can tell she is close by the guttural grunts and increased filthy words.

“Come on baby let me feel you cum on my cock. This pussy fucking loves taking me. Fucking take it!” And with that, you’re climaxing. Stars erupt behind your eyes as bliss comes running to you at full force.

“Gonna fuckin’ cum, gonna full you so good, baby! This pussy so fucking good.” Sevika is not too far behind you as she’s collapsing above you.

Moments pass before you feel your lover slip out of you with a wince. You giggle at her, she forgot to turn off the device allowing her to feel you. An annoyed pout adorns her face before she playfully smacks your thigh.

“Happy Birthday, Vika.” You kiss her lips slowly and passionately, showing your appreciation.

#dnvrsmedia #ask em!#em rambles #sevika headcanon #sevika x reader #sevika drabble #sevika arcane #sevika x reader smut #arcane sevika #sevika arcane x reader #sevika fic #sevika my love #kinktober #arcane kinktober #sevika kinktober #arcane smut #arcane fanfic

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leovenuslatina · 8 months

Text

✮⟡CRUSH⟡✮

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡🎀

who has a crush on you and why do they like you so much?

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

psa - tarot readings are not set in stone

take what resonates leave what doesn’t

you’re fully in control of YOUR own life

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

* take a deep cleansing breathe

and pick a beyoncé that calls to you *

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡🎀

PILE ONE - strength and 6 of cups

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the person who has a crush on you is someone strong physically like a buff person. this is someone who has overcome a lot of obstacles in their life and has been through so much but their struggles only make them stronger. this person is very responsible and they’re good at caring for others they love. overall pile one the person who has a crush on you is very responsible!

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why do they like you so much?

they like you so much pile one because you’re a loving person who they have lots of great memories with ! they like you so much because you’re person that makes them feel extremely loved and cared for.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡🎀

PILE TWO - ace of cups and temperance

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the person that has a crush on you is someone extroverted and always the center of attention in a good way though. they are someone passionate and romantic and aren’t afraid to share their feelings. this person is someone bold and adventurous!

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they like you like two because they can tell how much you love yourself you exude goddess energy!! they think you’re brilliant and intelligent they love your brain and your soul. they think you’re extremely exciting and every time y’all are together you get their heart racing. they literally KNOW you’re a gift sent straight from heaven literally they see you as an angel someone way too good for this earth. you pile one check everything off their list you’re the full package everything they have ever wanted in one person!

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡🎀

PILE THREE - four of wands and queen of cups

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pile 3 the person that likes you is someone who is very committed. someone who is caring and happy to be around those they care about. they might be a religious person with strong beliefs and morals. this is a responsible person who is very hard working. this person is creative and artistic with a super deep soul.

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this person likes you because you are mature and wise much like them you have a very deep soul with lots of thoughts on everything and they love everything you have to say. they like that your values match their own and they respect how you stick to them. they see you as a very loyal person pile 3. they like you because you’re a sensitive person who is empathetic to the emotions of others. they like you because you’re a great friend and person in general.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡🎀

#black tarot readers #pick a card tarot #tarotcommunity #daily tarot #crush tag #crush #future spouse #pick a pile #tarot cards #tarot daily #tarotblr #free tarot #beyoncé #tarot #tarot deck #tarot witch #love tarot reading #love reading

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theaawalker · 5 months

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Something to Feel, Something Real [Finnick Odair Smut]

Pairing: Finnick Odair x male!reader Song Inspo: Call Me By Your Name by Lil Nas X Word Count: 1,394 Summary: You've seen Finnick around, often through pitying eyes, but haven't spoken to him. The times you have seen, he's either with a client (flirting) or leaving them (shaking with shame, rage, and disgust). You decide to make him feel something real and mutually pleasurable. Warnings: smut, oral (male receiving), emotional build-up, MxM, one-shot, begging, substance usage, cursing, narrator pov Masterlist: see fandoms (pc-friendly) A/N: This is not attached to "I Promise", my other Finnick imagine. The second part will be here shortly. Just adding a little twist to the end. *smirks villainously* In the meantime, here's some gay smut to tickle your tentacles. Peep the easter egg tho ;)

You and Finnick have your first real conversation when he’s arriving back at the Tribute center one night after spending an upsetting few hours with one of Snow’s clients. He’s in a foul mood, anger bordering on despair and self-hatred, still feeling the ghosts of unwanted fingers on his body, when he steps into the elevator and finds you smoking a joint.

"Shit, shit!” you curse, hiding the joint up your sleeve and coughing, waving your hands in the air like you can disperse the smell. “Sorry, someone was smoking in here before,” you lie.

Finnick can’t help himself. He laughs. “Give me a hit and I won’t tell anyone.”

You share the joint in the elevator, not hitting any button to go up to either of your floors. The chatter comes easy with both of you, but it’s not long before you’re stepping over friendly small talk into a genuine conversation about the wild shit you’ve seen in the Capitol and in your case, at home, too. District 2 loves to rub elbows with the Capitol, something you despise. Your comparisons and imitations have Finnick barking laughter.

During one of the lulls in conversation, he takes in your face and form, basking in the fact that he’s responsible for the smile on your face right now. He’d like to get to know you better, and fuck it, maybe he’s a little horny right now, too.

“Come to my floor?” he asks, the joint between his fingers. He takes a slow drag, watching you.

You stare at his lips as he exhales. God, the high must be hitting because all you want to do is cover his lips with yours. Like, it’s the only thought rattling around in your peanut brain. His lips curl into a smile and--Oh, shit. He asked you a question.

“Sure,” you answer.

One expression Finnick identifies all too easily is lust. And he sees it plain on your face. “Then let’s go.”

Finnick leads you to the lounge on the fourth floor, well away from the bedrooms. The giant windows let in light from the Capitol’s nightlife.

“I miss the stars,” you say once you’re both settled next to each other on a loveseat. “It’s not like there are a ton of them back home with all the light pollution, but still. There are more than here.”

Finnick gazes at the dark sky. “You should come to District 4 sometime. You can see the entire Milky Way. And instead of listening to all those cars you listen to the ocean. And you can forget everything for a few moments.”

Despite the lounge being much, much larger than the elevator, this feels far more intimate. Finnick and you face each other, your eyes flicking to his lips. He’s the Capitol sex icon and has always acted like an absolute peacock on camera, but you’ve seen him trying so hard mentoring his own tributes and taking care of Mags. There’s a lot more depth to him than what the cameras show. And you like the bits he shows off camera far, far more. Those bits are coming out tonight; a funny, deeply caring, deeply hurt young man with a vast capacity for kindness.

When he came into the elevator, he looked positively miserable and so, so defeated. Like he had been stomped on and ground down. You wanted to make him smile, a real smile, but then you couldn’t stop at just one, and now here you are. You know about his and Snow’s “arrangement”. You also know you can treat him better than any of the “clients” do even when they’re trying, and you wonder if he’ll let you treat him like that.

Your intense stare has Finnick shifting, feeling a few degrees hotter than before.

“Can I kiss you?” you finally ask, voice low. If there’s one thing being a Career has taught you, it’s to grab at any opportunity you see. Finnick swallows. “Yes,” he croaks. “Please.”

You lean forward and capture his lips, one hand on the back of the couch and the other securely in your lap. You’re close and leaning into him, but not holding him. The restraint surprises him at first. But he’s grateful for it and he relaxes. He sinks into the kiss, his own hands venturing to fist in your shirt collar and hold you there. You let him lead, let him feel your arms and touch your face and chest, but never move your own hands from their position, just pour your all into your lips against his.

The lights flick on. You and Finnick snap apart like a rubber band snapping back into shape. It’s Mags. She looks between you both with wide eyes before a mischevious smile breaks across her face. “No, no, Mags,” Finnick protests.

She winks, grinning, and flicks the lights back off. She exits.

Finnick groans. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

You grin and wink. “Well, if you’re never going to hear the end of it, we may as well make it worth it, right?”

His seafoam eyes lock on yours, an eyebrow lifting. He smirks. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

Leaning forward, you whisper in his ear, “I’d like to suck you off.”

All thoughts leave his head and all blood flows straight to his groin. For once, he’s speechless. No one has ever offered this before. All the people he spends time with want his attention on them, want him to fawn over them, wants him to boost their egos with his attention. And if they did off, he’d wonder what they want in return. Exactly like he’s wondering right now. He should ask, but his brain is too focused on the thought of your lips around his dick. Does he really care what happens after as long as he gets what he wants, first?

At his silence you withdraw. “Only if you want me to, of course,” you add. The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable.

“Yes,” he hastily replies. “Yes. I’d love you to suck me off.”

That affirmation is all you need. You kneel in front of him and slowly unzip his pants, revealing plain boxers beneath. Finnick watches you, his heart pounding. With agonizingly slow movements, you touch his length and guide it through the gap in his boxers. He grips the cushions of the loveseat as you lick up the underside of his member, from the base to the tip. Your tongue is deliciously wet. Finally, you take Finnick into your mouth and work him slow, slow, slow. One hand balls into a fist on his leg and the other slips in your hair. He moans, a low sound that barely reaches your ears.

You can’t believe no one has ever done this before. You’ve barely started, and he looks absolutely wrecked and so goddamned pretty. His head falls back against the loveseat and he lets out a shaky breath.

Fisting him, you take your mouth off to quip, “Have I made the Finnick Odair speechless?”

He huffs a laugh, meeting your gaze. “Just wait until I have you on your back and—oh.” His words end in a strangled moan as you suck his head. You ease him a little bit further into the rhythm before you deep-throat him. By then both hands tangle in your hair and he’s whimpering and trembling, muscles taut. “Fuck. Fuck.” It’s so warm, so hot, feels so, so good.

He comes shortly after, cock hot and stiff in your mouth, his entire body rigid. As he comes down from his high he melts into the couch, both his hands gently tugging at your head. “Get up,” he pants. You comply and stand, bracing your arms on either side of his head, and kiss him. There it is again, that restraint.

“Touch me,” he moans. “Please.” He might combust if you don’t.

You obey and cup his cheeks. His hands mimic yours, holding your face to his while you kiss. His stomach feels warm and body completely relaxed, for once completely in the moment, his brain pleasantly quiet.

He opens his eyes. “What can I do for you?”

You press your forehead to his, cheeks hot. God, there’s so much you want to do to him, with him, but not tonight. “You can go to bed and get a full night’s sleep,” you answer.

What? He knows he heard you right, but what? “That’s not what I meant,” he says hesitantly. You chuckle and kiss his cheek.

“I know.” You brush back a lock of his hair. “And as much as I’d like to fuck you or you fuck me and make out well into the morning, you taking care of yourself is what I want the most. Can you promise me you’ll do that?”

Finnick can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “I promise.” He feels almost bashful. How do you know what he needs? Beneath your soft gaze he feels vulnerable and open, and while it’s foreign, it’s not unwelcome.

You smile at him, a brilliant smile that lights up the night. “Thank you.”

You’re thanking him. You just gave him a blowjob and you’re thanking him. Who the fuck are you?

After exchanging a few more minutes of sweet nothings, you leave to head to your floor. Finnick stays on the loveseat a while longer, smiling, watching the twinkling lights of the Capitol. The content expression gradually falls from his face and he sinks into the reality that is his life. At least this has been a sliver of good in what is his constant parade of masking for the Capitol. Maybe he can have a few more of those slivers when you’re around. He’s certainly going to try to grab the chances when they present themselves.

• ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ •

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sordidmusings · 7 months

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Thirsty Thursday with Pissed Off Buggy

A/N: Since I've felt like the Buggy I've been writing has been leaning more consistently towards sub, I wanted to spend some time with dom Buggy. Gotta get the best of both worlds! I'll eventually spend time writing him as a softer dom but my brain said "no make him fuckin ruthless" so this happened lol should work for either anime or live action

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: afab!reader, NSFW like a lot, has like lightly angsty peripheral plot (a misunderstanding has Buggy in a jealous rage), pretty strong degradation, overstimulation, p in v, rough treatment, he technically steps on you, creampie, dub-con if you squint? (boundaries neared but none crossed), slight dumbification, holy shit that sounds like a lot written out like that 🧍🏻‍♀️

Well, soups on! Enjoy the meal lol

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“Can’t!” you gasped out, “Too -aaah- much, ‘s too much.”

“Too damn bad. Now shut the fuck up,” Buggy snarled from behind you, where he kept his fast and forceful thrusts going. Each impact seemed to rattle through your whole body, and there was no reprieve from his thick dick splitting you open, even though he pulled far enough back for only his head to stay in you each time. He’s been at this for awhile now, the friction long since turned from sparks on kindling to rabid flames burning through all of your senses. The heart of the blaze was still strongly centered in your endlessly clenching cunt and swollen clit, kept alive by the rub of his cock and the slap of his balls on every thrust in.

“B-but Buggyyyy,” you whined, long and pathetic, struggling to get the words out after yet another orgasm wrung out your body. You couldn’t focus enough to keep from drooling on the desk below you, let alone find the words to placate him.

“I said,” he hissed, gloved fingers of a detached hand digging into your cheeks and jaw, “shut. UP.”

Those fingers dragged painfully across your skin before shoving their way into your mouth. You gagged hard when they pressed on the back of your tongue, but it only rewarded Buggy with your body bucking frantically against him. Your movements couldn’t get you very far, not with the way one of his detached, booted feet stepped down between your shoulder blades, pinning your chest so hard that you couldn’t fully inhale.

“Muuuuch better,” he taunted snidely. “That mouth is better full don’t you think? Keeps your dumb whore lips from seducing other men.”

You cried around his fingers at the accusation, needing him to know it wasn’t true. In his bid to grasp and control every part of you he could, he’s taken from you any way that you could reassure him.

Everything was so fuzzy and blended together. The onslaught of pleasure from his pounding hips and crushing hold, the lack of oxygen making your body tingle and mind fray, and the raging emotions of hurt and want storming together through you. You clung desperately to the fabric of your mind to endure it while the gales gripped you and tugged in every direction.

Buggy’s mind was already lost. He had let it go the moment he'd seen you trail a hand up that man’s chest and lead it behind his head to play with his baby hairs. Buggy knew what every detail of that felt like, how good it felt, and he was ready to start ripping everything around him apart because only he was allowed to feel that. Only him.

Now he is only instinct and impulse and all of it is bent on owning every piece of you. He’s split apart, pushing, shoving, grasping, and pinning every inch of you to keep you to himself. His whole being was insistent against you but nothing more so than his thick cock, which had bullied you into overstimulation for what felt like hours. Untethered from both feet, Buggy was free to use any angle or force that he wanted. Your body tried its best to take and process what he was doing to you, but it had quickly given up, leaving you limp and drooling under him. Seeing your full submission to him had a bolt of lightning shred through him. This is what he needs. He needs you to fold to the fact that you’re his - his to know and touch and fuck and own. Buggy needed to possess you and he needed to hoard your affection the most. You gave it to him and the thought that you might take it back had him violent in the need to defend his position with you.

After holding out through your endless milking of his cock, Buggy was starting to lose the battle to keep fucking you for eternity. He tried to hide it but he was trembling under the pressure of his oncoming orgasm. His thighs shook through every slam into you, his fingers in your hair and on your tongue were jerking in their grip, and his cock and balls throbbed so hard that he was sure you’d be able to feel it on your skin if you weren’t fucked so dumb.

“If I fuck you full will that keep you happy, little slut?” He sneered. You moaned loud around his fingers, sucking and swallowing for him. “That was it huh? My cocksleeve wasn’t getting enough use, so it was stupid enough to think SOMEONE ELSE could fuck it.” The way he broke into a yell was slightly terrifying but you couldn't deny that it had you gripping him like a vice. The delicious feeling had him fall onto his elbows above you.

“Fuck -hah- you’re so fucking stupid,” Buggy barked. His rage was palpable but you knew him well enough to hear the traces of hurt underneath.

His foot had moved from your back to press the side of your head down so that he could take its place. He kept switching between mean bites and sucking marks and pressing his forehead hard into your spine, smearing the remnants of his makeup on you. Despite the rough behavior, there was some comfort in having more of his touch blazing over you.

His hips finally began to falter.

“Gonna fuck you full of me and never leave you empty -shit- you’re gonna have to walk everywhere with my cock plugged in you now.” With each phrase, Buggy was panting more, lost in the idea of never leaving your pussy. “Any time you so much as look at anyone else I’ll press so deep in you it hurts,” he promised darkly. “I don’t care who the fuck is around, I’ll fuck you ‘til you’re screaming and crying for me, understand?”

He pulls his fingers from your mouth for you to sob out a “yes” before shoving them right back in.

“Good whore, good -hunnngh- good fucking whore,” Buggy groaned, punching each word into you with a strong clap of his hips on your ass. His arms slid to wrap around you without him telling them to and he knew he was done for. He growls out, “You better cum as a thank you, slut” before he bit into the meat of your shoulder hard.

You had absolutely no power or will to disobey him. Even with how swollen and sore you were, the orgasm was blissful and warm and everything you wanted. It peaked over all the others he’d forced from you tonight due to the strong grinds of his flicking cock into you. They turned the near painful abuse of your cervix into a delicious rub that kept your clit throbbing and your hips twitching and jerking. Your eyes had long since rolled back and you were screaming loud enough for it to escape the room, even with your stuffed mouth. You were so lost in your own bliss that you hardly registered the death grip Buggy had on you or the way he kept groaning deeply into your shoulder.

Buggy’s teeth let you go and his hand finally left your mouth for good, letting you gasp in air that had your overworked body prickling with static. Though enough time passed for him to finish wiping all the tears off your face, Buggy stayed hidden in the nape of your neck.

The moment you had enough oxygen in you, you pant out, “Don't want him. Was just info- getting info. Only want you.” He held you a touch tighter. “Promise, promise.”

Still too raw and unsure to say anything, Buggy responded by placing a kiss to the angry impression his teeth had left on you. It was a start.

#sorry not sorry #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown #opla buggy #one piece #thirsty thursday #thirst hours #my writing #afab reader #x reader

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tanadrin · 4 months

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Imagine one day a new social trend starts spreading. It’s something unbelievably dumb. Not harmful per de, but truly silly to believe. Let’s say, I dunno, healing crystals start going mainstream. Everybody’s talking about their crystals. It becomes impolite to criticize people who believe in healing crystals. They become a big part of people’s personalities, and people on TV start talking about them, and one day years down the line politicians are debating funding for crystal-based medicine. And through it all you are sitting there going, what the fuck is happening. I thought we were all on the same page on this. You want to get along and be friendly and open minded but you cannot pretend to believe in healing crystals, this is nonsense, and when the topic comes up you refuse to lie about it. This eventually starts to have social consequences—they’re that popular!—but what can you do? You cannot pretend a lump of quartz can cure the flu or whatever. It’s just all so unbearably embarrassing.

I think what the centrist/liberal/center-left reactionary turn driven by culture war stuff feels like. And I think the key emotion is probably cringe. Not hate, not fear, though those emotions may reinforce the turn. I think in a lot of cases people who imagine themselves pretty open minded and flexible have as part of their worldview something they thought was bedrock social consensus—on the level of “healing crystals are silly woo”—so bedrock maybe that it didn’t even need to be a conceptual boundary they actually policed in their minds.

For instance, when she started her anti-trans turn, JK Rowling made a big show of not being really anti trans, just arguing that Some People Had Gone Too Far. She wasn’t a frothing religious reactionary, after all. And I believe that’s probably true! I think Rowling probably did have a mental model of sex and gender with a little bit of give in it—of the “we can humor the odd weirdo” type. But as the discussion of trans rights in the UK got more serious over her lifetime, trans people went from “the odd weirdo” to “a recognized minority,” and eventually this ran against a bedrock belief that on some level men are men and women are women and never the twain shall meet. To act otherwise was just too embarrassing. And she wasn’t going to embarrass herself in the name of political correctness.

Other people whose brains have been eaten by the anti-woke mind virus (as @eightyonekilograms calls it) have something going of the contrarian in them, who enjoys yelling “up yours, woke moralists!” or w/e. Im thinking of ppl like Glenn Greenwald here, or Dave Chapelle, people who seem not to feel alive except when people are mad at them. That’s a separate but interesting dynamic. And there are people like Graham Linehan who become totally unhinged through this process of auto-radicalization, moths drawn ever closer to a particular source of validation within their chosen reactionary subcommunity, until they are truly parodies of themselves. That is also an important dynamic, but it’s one that only takes hold after the initial turn has begun.

I think the role of that feeling of cringe, that refusal to entertain an idea because it is too embarrassing (even if it does actually have a decent body of research behind it, unlike crystals) is important to think about, because I am interested in how to get people over it. I know that feeling has affected my own thinking over my lifetime. I wasn’t raised particularly conservative, but I had to learn not to cringe at a lot of feminist thought before I could appreciate it and learn from it. I explicitly didn’t have that cringe when it came to gay people for whatever reason, so it never entered my mind that it might be a problem. I remember being surprised to learn when I was very young that some boys wanted to marry other boys, but my response was “huh. Go figure.” Because for whatever reason I had not picked up that this was something I was supposed to be grossed out by. A general doctrine of empathy, of trying to understand people on their own terms, can help forestall some of this stuff, but it’s not foolproof in either direction—I don’t want to believe crystals have healing powers if it becomes socially popular to do so, just because it is socially popular to do so! And if they do, I don’t want to not believe they do just because it is socially unpopular!

(Obviously the crystals thing is not a one to one metaphor for the trans thing, so don’t read too much into that. Maybe astrology would have been a better analogy. Also I’m not talking just about people whose reactionary turn is predicated on trans issues—I think this dynamic applies to everything from gay rights to the Tridentine Mass. But trans issues are a handy example bc, as the adage goes, somebody posts once about trans people and they never post anything normal again. I think the classic rapid-onset trans derangement syndrome is closely tied to the fact that gender norms are a really deep element of many people’s social-consensus-based worldview, and so challenged to that worldview are felt as really cringe.)

I’m curious if other people who grew more liberal in their thinking over time had a similar experience of having to overcome what was basically a feeling of embarrassment at certain ideas.

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moonchildstyles · 10 months

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lovage

rosemary part four: the past finally caught up with harry and now y/n might have to pay for it.

wordcount: 16k+

—————

It was quiet.

There was no sound above the engine humming and the tires spinning way too fast over the asphalt.

No music.

No talking.

The only noticeable sound was Harry's heart beating in his ears. He just hoped only he could hear that.

(Y/N) hadn't said a word since they pulled away from her home. Harry hadn't pushed her, instead focusing on getting them away from that town as fast as possible, before anyone could have a chance to notice anything out of the ordinary. The fastest route out of there landed them on the highway within thirty minutes, the black pavement stretched out for miles.

Now forty-five minutes out on the highway and the time barely ticking after three a.m., they were one of the few out on the road. Everything was almost eerily quiet after the kind of panic that had been ignited in him just an hour prior. This was why Harry liked making a getaway before the rest of the world woke. He could make note of every car he saw, every marker on the side of the road, and every deserted rest stop when the rest of the world was quiet.

Coasting past every sign and darkened gas station, the next nearest city was another one hundred and thirty-four miles away—at least according to a sun-bleached sign, anyway. Harry made a point to focus his efforts in creating a rhythm so he wouldn't miss a single detail around him. He checked the road ahead of him first, noting the signs and anything that could be an opportunity to slip them further away to somewhere no one would look for them. He then scanned over every exit and shoulder, trying to spot any car lingering in the dark, anyone waiting in the wings to possibly sweep behind them and give chase. Every car he came across was examined as quickly as he could manage without drifting through lanes, Harry noting the driver and anything that may have looked familiar to him in a previous life. His mirrors were his lifeline to ensure he didn't miss anything that popped up behind him. The pattern would then repeat, every detail fixing itself into his brain.

It was a strategic system, one of the few defenses he could manage outside of just going fast and getting away as quickly as he could. It also ensured he wouldn't look at (Y/N).

While he wanted to believe that she was asleep since she hadn't said a word or tried to pry any kind of explanation out of him, Harry knew better. Once in a while, he saw her hands stir in her lap, reaching up to her face or a short sniffle would shudder her chest. She was choosing not to speak to him, not to touch him, not to look at him.

Numbness still coated everything he felt. Even the raw edge of those softer emotions had been dulled. He would mourn that comfort he used to have with (Y/N) once she was somewhere safe.

Once the meter for the gas in his tank drifted too low for comfort, Harry strayed from the highway for the first time since embarking out. He had waited, patrolling the exits, until he saw one that looked well lit and close to the highway to make a quick exit as soon as he was done. While he was ninety-eight percent sure they weren't being followed, he knew that wouldn’t be the case for too much longer. Soon enough someone was going to notice he was gone and had another with him.

Even with his certainty, Harry still took the exit and lingered around the station until he could be sure that no one was following them. When he didn't see any headlights coming after them, a stranger pull out of the shadows, or any other suspicious omen, he finally made his way to the pump.

His movements were calculated to cut every second of time he possibly could, everything efficient to ensure safety was that much closer. He made quick work of grabbing the money he had stashed in the center console, his attention placed on the numbered flag hanging on the meter.

"'M going to go pay inside," he told (Y/N), his voice feeling loud in the silent cab, "Do y'want anything?"

(Y/N) only shook her head.

Harry lingered for a moment, the wasted time going against his instincts though he didn’t budge. "Do y'want to come in with me?"

He watched as she swallowed, one of her hands reaching up to her face and wiping across her cheek. "I'm okay," was her response, the words watery and thin. She sniffled.

His lips thinned when he realized why she was so hesitant to even glance his way. He hadn't known she was so upset. He knew she'd been scared, but there was no indication that she had been crumbling away in the seat beside him.

She said she trusted him.

With limited light reaching through the windows, he wasn't allowed much of a view of her, her face cast in shadows and the details fuzzied by the dark. He didn't make any move to get out of the car. "(Y/N)..."

"Hm?" She barely managed to make her voice above a whisper.

"Look at me."

(Y/N) shook her head at his strict command, her hair covering her face even further. Her hands lingered around her face, wiping tears he was sure she was trying to keep away from his eyes.

"Please, look at me," he tried again, his voice decidedly softer the longer he tried to picture what she looked like with tears streaking her skin, "I jus' want to make sure you're okay."

Something bubbled over inside (Y/N) when she heard his words causing her to whip her face up to look at him, her red-rimmed eyes angry. Her lips though swollen from her silent crying were thinned into a stern line as she matched his gaze. The light shimmer of tears sparkled on her skin.

"I'm not okay, Harry!" she said, no longer trying to wipe away the evidence of her tears, the droplets slicking her skin in unstoppable rivers, "I have no idea what's going on, or where you're taking me, or why I wasn't safe at home anymore! You woke me up at three in the morning, telling me that I have to trust you and that we needed to leave, but you won't tell me why and I'm scared, Harry! I'm not okay! I'm scared, and all you want is for me to trust you but I have no idea what's going on and you won't tell me anything!"

Her hands had formed fists in her lap, her skin heating with a stunted breath shuddering her lungs when she managed to tame some of her rage. Tears poured down her cheeks, cry-swollen lips beginning to quiver as she tried to say something else, only for her voice to break. She all but deflated now that everything was out of her system, only a whimper managing to escape her throat.

Harry couldn't pull his gaze from her. The box he had tucked away in the back of his mind unraveled just enough as he looked at her. He forgot what it was like to be scared like this; it'd been years since he first ran, he barely remembered what it was like to be ripped from everything you knew and have no idea what the future held—even what the next hours would look like. He couldn't look at her crying eyes and not do anything to help.

That unraveling allowed him to stretch over the center console and meet (Y/N) halfway. Her balled hands were taken in his, her fingers laying limp across his own as Harry cuddled them in a stern hold. He waited for her to reluctantly match his gaze before speaking.

"'M sorry, (Y/N)," he said, his voice a low croon as if there were anyone else around to hear. He pulsed his hands around hers, pressing the apology into her skin and in hopes of making her believe it. "If there were any other way to take care of all of this, I would have done it. But, we don't have enough time. I need to get y'somewhere safe before I can tell y'anything. I didn't want to scare you." That initial unraveling allowed for a crack to budge through his foundation. He held himself together with a thick swallow and his grip on (Y/N)'s hands—his reality. "I-I couldn't leave y'back there, but I promise I will get y'home when 's safe again. As soon as I know you'll be okay, I'll make sure y'make it home."

(Y/N)'s breathing evened out from the angered pants she'd gone through during her own speech. A level of clarity reached her glossy eyes. She squeezed her hands in Harry's, her statue limbs coming alive to reciprocate his hold.

"Y'still trust me?" he asked her cautiously, dipping his head and looking at her through the fan of his lashes.

No hesitation before she was nodding her head. Her eyes shimmered in the dingy light. "I'm scared."

"I am, too." His voice was barely a whisper. A true secret just for her to hear—one he'd never let out before.

She nodded her head as if accepting everything she was learning, and everything she wasn't. "But, we're going to be okay, right?"

Hearing the word we come out of her mouth felt like a punch in his chest, something breaking and shattering against bony knuckles. Even knowing he was the reason she was no longer safe, she still wanted him to be safe with her.

Harry's throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. "'M gonna make sure you're alright and safe by the end of this, okay? I promise."

If there was anything he was going to accomplish in all of this, it was ensuring that she was safe and could go back to the life she had before she had the misfortune of knowing him. Even if it meant Harry had to go back to his old life or end up somewhere he would never be found again, that's what he would sacrifice. Nothing mattered except making sure she was going to be well and happy after he left her alone.

Something flashed in (Y/N)'s eyes as she listened to him, a pinch appearing between her brows. Before she could say much, he squeezed her hands once more. "'M going to go inside, yeah? Do y'want to come with me or stay here?"

Her features relaxed, gaze darting around the empty station. "You'll be fast?"

"I'll be back before y'know it."

His stupid quip was just the thing to get a short smile touching at her features. The first one he'd seen since he last bothered her days before.

"I can hold down the fort here, then," she told him, offering him a view of that gentle smile as she tipped her chin up just enough to feign confidence.

With her chin tilted just right and the low light filling the area, Harry wanted nothing more than to kiss her. He wanted to show her he could still be that man she invited into her home, the one that earned her trust in the first place, the one that could hold her gently and show her that she wasn't alone. But, the first thing that popped into his brain before he could even inch forward was the photo stashed away in his bag. The moment didn't seem so romantic now.

Backing off, Harry pulsed his hands around hers for just a moment longer.

"I'll be right back," he muttered to her, pushing his door open. "Lock the doors while 'm gone."

Even when he heard the click of the locks and felt the static of her gaze on him, Harry didn't look back as he walked away from her.

—————

Sighing, Harry pulled into the parking lot of the powder blue motel.

The only drawing factors to the rundown building were the lights being on in the check-in station and the vacancy neon lit up on the roadside sign. If not for the fact he'd seen (Y/N) nodding off an hour back on the highway, he would have kept driving. It'd been hours since she bawled at the gas station, and Harry wanted to give her somewhere comfortable to sleep for the night—even if this place didn't look particularly safe or clean.

Nonetheless, this wasn't the first time he'd stopped at a place like this, and they were good cover; less traffic went through, allowing Harry to make note of every person he saw, the rooms were cheap with attendants that didn't ask questions, and they were further out of the way and harder to find. Besides, it couldn't be too bad. Just in case, back at the gas station he had purchased a couple of fleecy, cheap blankets and travel pillows. Even if the place wasn't perfect, she'd have something to keep her comfortable for the time being.

Putting the car in park, he saw (Y/N) perk up from the corner of his eye. Her features were lit up in the glow of the neon, her skin painted a pearly blue with streaks of orange and red splashed across. She was exhausted; puffy eyes, swollen lips, and cheeks that just barely glistened in the light with perfect tracks of tears.

"We're stopping?" she peeped, her voice low to match the still silence in the car.

"For tonight," he decided, hands falling from the steering wheel. "We'll sleep, eat when we wake up, then we'll keep going." Even as he spoke of sleep, Harry doubted they had much more than an hour before the sun would begin to rise after the time spent on the road.

(Y/N) nodded quietly, moving to unbuckle herself as Harry did the same. He stopped when he heard the click of her seatbelt unlatching.

"Y'stay here, yeah?" he asked. "I'll come get y'when I have a room and everything."

She didn't fight him, instead just settling in her seat once more. "Okay."

Harry's jaw ticked at her dejection. Under that steeled demeanor he had curated for this, seeing her so defeated poked at the soft bits that didn't have time to hide behind his walls. More than anything, he wanted her to stay back so there would be less witnesses to pair them together if anyone came asking for him. It was safer this way, he wanted to tell her, all of this was to keep her safe more than anything.

Instead, he stepped out of the car silently, locking the doors behind him.

With a facade in place, Harry revived a version of himself he thought he left behind long ago. This Harry had an air of unwavering confidence. No one would dare question him. He was unfeeling, completely stoic and unshakable. This Harry had no qualms about the things he had to do.

That was who stepped inside the lobby of the motel, a bell jingling above his head. The attendant that had been lounging behind the desk, phone in hand, startled awake. He hadn't been expecting anyone, that much was obvious.

"Hi, how can I help you?" he rushed out, his voice in monotone after a near-silent shift.

"I need a room."

The attendant unabashedly yawned, mouth wide as he nodded. Looking to the computer screen in front of him, he clicked with taps of his fingers on the mouse. "How many nights?"

"Just for today."

He stopped his tapping at the computer, the screen stalling as a dark brow was arched over a suspicious gaze. Harry didn't flinch as the kid's eyes assessed him. "Just you?" he asked, skeptical.

"For two, please."

The attendant's gaze moved on, Harry's matching eye contact being more than enough to push his attention away. He appeared bored once more as he looked at the computer in front of him. "Our only two bed room is out of order at the moment. Sorry."

Despite the fact Harry couldn't conceive of a way a room could be out of order, especially in a place he doubted had particularly high standards, he thinned his lips and nodded his head. "Whatever y'have available then, please."

"I have a single queen open."

"That's fine," Harry blinked, already bored with the fact that this was taking longer than he liked. "Thank you."

"Cool," the attendant offered, sounding just as disinterested as Harry felt. "It'll be thirty-five for the rest of the night. Check out is at three or earlier, but if you want another night just come back up here. Second night's cheaper."

After the price was passed along, the rest of the explanation fell on deaf ears as Harry pulled some cash from his wallet. This pricing was just one of the reasons he preferred these kinds of places. He didn't want to blow all of his run-money on having somewhere to sleep for a few hours.

Harry worked quickly, passing along the cash in exchange for a sheet of paperwork he needed to sign. The page called for names and contact information, a whole top section saving the motel from any kind of liability if anything were to go wrong in one of their rooms. Particularly in the bathrooms.

It wasn't a comforting passage to read through, but Harry didn't care at this point. The longer he let (Y/N) sit alone in the car, the more anxiety built in his system. While he had a good idea that they weren't being followed, he could never be completely certain.

"So, you on vacation or something?" the attendant chatted, leaning on the front desk while Harry printed out fake names and numbers for both him and (Y/N).

"Kind of."

A hum left the attendant's throat. "That your girl out there then?"

The pen in Harry's hand skipped over a digit of the fake number. This kid was half asleep when he walked in and now there were all these questions to be asked?

Through a ticked jaw, Harry grumbled, "Something like that." He spared a single second longer to forge a nonsense signature before he was pushing the page and the pen back to the opposite side of the desk. "Which room?"

Recoiling, the attendant barely glanced at the information page before he was reaching around for the key. "Um, room six," he mumbled, passing along a key with a red, plastic tag with a large six stamped across, "Just leave the key on the table and the door unlocked when you leave."

"Yeah, thanks," Harry huffed, his muscles strung tight. How much time had he wasted in here?

"Have a nice night, man," the attendant offered.

Harry kept walking.

He rounded the car, heading towards the back seat where he had all of their bags and (Y/N)'s creature comforts. He could feel her eyes on him as he moved. It didn't surprise him when he heard her push her door open, feet stepping over the gravel of the unpaved parking lot.

"We're good?" (Y/N) asked, voice harmonizing with the sounds of the night around them.

Nodding, Harry passed her the key as he hiked the straps of their bags over his shoulders. "We're in six," he told her, jerking his chin down the length of the motel.

(Y/N) hesitated in her spot, eyeing all of the baggage he was shouldering. She looked just as tired as when the night started.

"C'mon," Harry prompted her, taking steps down for her to follow. She almost tripped to catch up with him.

Counting down the room numbers, they found number six towards the end of the strip, right beside the room with the Out Of Order sign. Harry's lips thinned at the sight.

Overall, the room wasn't too bad when they managed to make it inside. The lock stuck for more than a minute, the jamb unyielding as it held onto the door. (Harry didn't mind that quirk, really. He saw it as a built-in protection should anyone try to push their way into the room). Inside, the same color palette of powder blues and dull grey filled out the furnishings. An oddly colored landscape print was hung above the bed, complete with a ruffled blue ocean that matched the bedding below it. A tiny bathroom was shown off through the open door, seashells decorating the shower curtain.

Harry's attention almost immediately fell on the heavy curtains on the window, the split between the two panels a little too large for his liking. The second he had the bags settled, that was the first thing he fixed. He couldn't tell if they were dyed grey or dulled down from a collection of dust.

While he had his complaints of the space, it wasn't like Harry had much room to stand, he knew that. His apartment wasn't much better. The bed even, despite the comforter looking as if it needed a good wash, had a better bed frame than what he had been sleeping in for the last almost six months. He just hoped (Y/N) would be able to relax here, even if just for a few hours to decompress.

From the corner of his eye, (Y/N) wandered about the room. She seemed almost in a daze as she cast her gaze around, even peeking into the bathroom though she didn't appear to take much in. He couldn't blame her for being disconnected; if he could do the same, he would be almost catatonic.

Pulling the blanket from the flimsy packaging and one of the travel pillows, Harry laid them out on the blue bed. "Y'can sleep on these tonight if you're not comfortable with the bed."

(Y/N) snapped out of her daze at the sound of his voice, almost stumbling in her spot. She focused on him, eyes glazing down to the puff of a blanket he had folded on the foot of the bed. "Hm?"

"Jus' got y'some things so y'could sleep a little better tonight," Harry explained, urging himself not to tear at his cuticles, "You tired?"

She lagged in her spot for a moment. "I think I want to shower first, actually. Is that okay?"

He pulled back the sigh that wanted to escape his throat. He didn't like that she suddenly started asking him for permission.

"More than okay," he settled, "I'll be out here if y'need anything, yeah?"

Shooting him a small smile, (Y/N) went about collecting all of her things. It was slow the way she moved, glancing at him more than once as if he would strike if left unmonitored. The only movement he made was dropping himself into one of the understuffed armchairs positioned in front of the window.

Once the bathroom door was locked behind her, Harry felt a tightness in his chest. He knew it was most likely an instinct, but it poked at him, thinking that she was now scared of him. How was he supposed to keep her safe when she thought of him as a threat?

The thought made Harry restless, the sound of the running shower meshing with the buzz of his brain. He couldn't sit for longer than a handful of minutes before he was up and fussing about the room. Sparing both of the blankets he purchased, he made a cot for (Y/N) atop the already made bed, travel pillow dotted at the top. Though he wasn't particularly inclined to use it, he still grabbed the extra quilt that was tucked in the chest of drawers underneath the window. That would be his bedding, he decided, a pair of his sweats folded up under his head would be his pillow. The longer she was in the shower, Harry couldn't distract himself enough until he was changing his clothing into something comfortable enough to sleep in (or lay around for hours in, which is what he knew he'd be doing instead of finding sleep). He knew he wouldn't be able to shower tonight; the thought of being vulnerable and behind another set of doors with (Y/N) to fend for herself made his skin crawl.

By the time (Y/N) stepped out of the bathroom with a plume of steam, she seemed more exhausted than when she stepped in. Nonetheless, she still offered him a quiet smile as she tucked her clothing back into her duffle.

"Hi," she peeped, fingers fumbling with the zip.

"Feel better?" he mused, sitting in what he was considering his armchair for the night, plucking at a loose thread on the arm.

"A little, yeah," she settled on, standing to the full of her height with her clothes tucked away. Her gaze landed on the bed on top of the bed Harry made for her. "This is for me?"

Harry nodded, matching her eyes on the double stack of blankets. "I know these places aren't always the cleanest, so I picked a couple of things y'could use if y'wanted."

(Y/N) fell silent as she cautiously sat herself on the corner of the bed closest to him. A knit appeared between her brows, as she cast her eyes onto her hands in her lap.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier, Harry," she mumbled, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

He sat forward then, elbows on his knees as he looked at her with his own brows in a furrow. "Hey, I don't want you to apologize for that, okay? No reason to be sorry for any of that."

Her throat squeezed as she swallowed thickly around her words. He was sure she could feel his gaze on the side of her face, but she kept her gaze on her hands. "I just... You said you were scared too, and I shouldn't be screaming at you when we need to be helping each other. I just shouldn't have done that, and start being more helpful an—"

"No, you're not apologizing to me for this, okay?" he cut her off, unwilling to hear whatever narrative she decided on where she somehow had accountability in any of this, "This is my fault; I am the reason we are in this situation. Y'were right, and needed to let all of that out, (Y/N). Don't apologize to me.

"I don't want y'saying sorry for my problems. Y'don't need to be helpful or anything else in all of this. 'M going to fix all of this, I jus' need y'to trust me." Harry swallowed, his throat feeling dry as the weight of his own words caught up to him. "I know that's a lot to ask of you, but that's all I need from you. That's all I need to be able to get y'home soon."

A sniffle had her nose wrinkling, a small nod causing her wet hair to sway. She looked at him for the first time since sitting down, eyes glossy and wet. "I trust you, Harry," she murmured, voice watery.

In a split second, Harry saw the way she reached out for him. It was a twitch of her fingers, that purse of her lips, the tensing of her legs, that told him she was going to reach for him, wrap herself into a hug he gave to her freely before this. While he wasn't proud of it, he dropped his gaze from hers, moving his hand out of reach for her as he brushed his knuckle against the tip of her nose. He leaned just that much away from her, a movement he could pass on as absent. As if he wasn't trying to dodge her touch.

Feeling the warmth of her skin and allowing himself to grow reckless enough to reciprocate was one of the many reasons she was now roped into this mess. He couldn't make the same mistake now, not when her safety was the only thing he had on his mind.

He didn't deserve her touch after all that he'd put her through in the last few hours.

Something dimmed in (Y/N)'s eyes when he dared a look up at her. She sat still in her spot.

Clearing his throat, Harry passed his gaze to the palette behind her. "We need to sleep while we can," he started, absently picking at his raw cuticles, "We can eat when we wake up, then I think we should head out again."

"Okay," she said after a beat, voice distant. Spotting the makeshift bed on the floor, she flicked her gaze to Harry. "Is that where you're sleeping?"

"I want y'to take the bed."

For a flash, Harry could see that stubborn smoke he saw back in the bakery when she was so insistent about him indulging in her treats for free. It was the way it drained almost immediately that poked at the soft part of his heart.

"Thank you," she told him instead. Grabbing the edge of her makeshift bed, she slipped underneath the fleece. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, (Y/N)."

The words echoed in the silence of their room. Harry stiffly followed her suit, finding his own bed on the ground.

Harry didn't find sleep until he saw shards of light pitching through the curtains, the rising sun having beat him.

—————

Despite having fallen asleep last, Harry woke up first only a few hours later after a dreamless sleep. (Y/N) was still sound asleep, curled up in the cot he made on the top of the real. While she didn't look particularly peaceful, he knew she needed to sleep. The visible exhaustion he had seen on her remained in his brain. He wanted her to have as much time as she could to relax before he'd be putting her through another day of running.

Harry let her sleep as he showered. The rinse under the water he did barely could be considered a shower, but he didn't want to spend more time than necessary with (Y/N) unattended. By the time he made it out and changed into the set of clothing he'd used as his pillow during the night, she had barely moved in her spot, only the crease between her brows deepening just that much more. Harry wanted to smooth out the furrow, but kept his hands to himself.

He didn't disturb her as he went about trying to plan what the rest of the morning would look like before he'd set them on the road again. Unwilling to go very far from her, Harry only wandered as far as the front desk station, now manned by someone other than the attendant from the night before, though they seemed just as insistent on learning what Harry was up to. Asking about breakfast options close by, he was directed to a diner down the road, closer to the center of the small town they'd landed in.

In the interest of allowing (Y/N) to sleep in and make everything as easy as possible on her, he wanted to head out on his own and pick up meals from the diner and bring them back to their room. Maybe, it would make her smile to be greeted with warm food after what he was sure was a traumatic night.

But, the thought of being so far away from her for less than an hour, had something in his veins beginning to buzz. Anything could happen in that time while he was missing, and he would have left her completely defenseless. He'd never forgive himself if her life came down to takeaway boxes. If he could barely handle showering and walking as far as to the front desk without constantly feeling the need to check on her, traveling fifteen minutes away was going to be out of the question.

Instead, Harry took himself back to their shared room and took up residence in the same floral armchair that he took over the night before. This way, he'd be right there if she needed him.

The silence was something he hadn't accounted for, though.

While the last twelve hours had been on the quiet end, this was different. Before, (Y/N) was there, in her own world, but there to sit beside him and give him something to focus on—something real. Now, with her sound asleep, he was virtually alone. The freedom was more of a curse to his brain than a decompressing moment he had hoped for.

He didn't know where they were going, where he could take her, where they even were outside of a few roadsides. He didn't even know when they could stop running—if they could stop running.

Though this sloppy getaway was the only option at the time, the loose ends he hadn't thought about were getting more and more tangled the longer he left them without a plan. In all of the previous times he'd escaped his past, there were never this many variables to work out; (Y/N) wasn't a ghost like him. He didn't know when she would be safe, how closely they were being followed, and yet he had promised he'd be able to take her home soon.

He worried he wouldn't be able to follow through on that promise.

But, this was giving him time. The running and dodging was earning him time to figure something out. Anything.

Flicking his glazed gaze down to her curled form, the only thing Harry knew was that he wanted to keep her safe. He'd do anything.

—————

An hour of more rest passed before Harry forced himself to wake (Y/N).

Despite the fact he knew they were on a thin time limit, guilt still wracked his system when she had blinked her eyes up at him, something a little wild and scared appearing in her gaze for a split second. He knew she remembered everything that had happened after a moment when she settled into the mattress and only looked dejectedly at him.

He didn't know what to say to her. Instead, he only told her they needed to go eat before he'd start driving them out of town again.

(Y/N) had followed his directions quietly, only nodding and humming. He hoped it was only because she was still tired. Maybe she could sleep in the car today.

After getting dressed and ready to head out with their bags packed and room key sitting on the side table, Harry guided them back to the car. He felt a little better once the doors had sealed behind them, motor running with the key in the ignition. This was his only defense at the moment—the only thing he was in control of. It comforted him.

"There's this diner down the road we can eat at, then we've got to get going again." Harry's voice was a rumble that matched the engine as he backed out of the space he'd taken at the motel.

He hadn't been expecting to hear anything from (Y/N).

"Do you know where we're going, yet?" she asked, her voice small.

Harry swallowed, his throat bobbing. He was grateful for the fact he had to focus on backing them out so he wouldn't have to look at her when he spoke.

"No."

(Y/N) only nodded.

—————

Breakfast at the diner was quiet. Even with the food set out in front of her—an omelette with cheese and spinach, though the hash browns weren't as crispy as he knew she liked—she was more interested in the hollow town outside the window. She picked at the edges of her eggs, taking a bite here and there before instead tearing it apart and pushing the pieces around. She didn't bother with the hashbrowns. As soon as she realized Harry had finished his own plate, she was telling him she was ready to go when he was. He didn't argue with her.

Now with the town behind them, Harry forced himself to focus on blending in with the crowds of cars on the busy highway. Now with the sun up, he wasn't able to weave and swerve the way he did the night before without attracting attention. Driving so controlled and slow made him more anxious than the high speeds and knee-jerk lane switches.

Once he merged into a group of other travelers, his speed regulated and route nothing more than a straight shot forward, he allowed a brief glance outside of the constant cycle of checking every mirror. From the corner of his eye, (Y/N) was tucked into her seat, her eyes fluttering closed in long blinks before she was forcing them open and her attention forward. She looked moments away from curling up and falling asleep once more.

"Y'can sleep, you know."

(Y/N) startled in her spot, a short gasp blowing through her nose as her posture straightened to something uncomfortable. "What?"

"Y'can sleep if you're still tired. I'll wake y'up when we stop," he explained, his voice low as he tried to keep his eyes from drifting and sticking to her.

"Oh," she sounded, looking at him with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth even with the relief in her eyes. "Thank you."

With that, (Y/N) shucked off her shoes, brought her legs up underneath herself and curled up as best she could in the confined space of the cab. Her hand cushioned her head against the doorframe. She didn't look particularly comfortable, but with the way she drifted off almost immediately, he figured it couldn't be that bad.

—————

Despite what he had told her, Harry didn't wake her when he stopped for petrol later in the drive. If she was able to sleep through the jostling of the drive and the noise of the dirt road he had to take to get to the station in the first place, she was too tired for him to not feel guilty over waking her.

Merging back onto the highway, another dense group of travelers becoming his home for the next stretch, Harry tried his best to relax. Though he knew she was right there, he was spending too much time with his thoughts, unable to ignore the swirling pit forming in his stomach.

This was the kind of stress he hadn't felt in years, not since the first time he ran like this, and he had hoped he never would again. But, if this was the cost of keeping (Y/N) safe, he'd go through his over and over and over again.

Trying to stay a step ahead, he stitched any kind of plan together he could think of in the moment. Major cities were being advertised on the guiding green signs off the side of the road, miles marked between each. There had to be a small village he could stop them off in somewhere between, somewhere quiet enough to keep them hidden. This time, he hoped he could let her sleep and be comfortable for longer than one night, though he doubted his anxiety would allow them to stay in one spot for very long.

The longer Harry sat, stewing in all of the possibilities and variables that followed after them, he felt his hands grow restless wrapped around the steering wheel. His cuticles were already picked raw from the night before when he laid staring at the ceiling. Flicking his gaze to the glove compartment, an inch started in his palm. A glance in (Y/N)'s direction showed that she was just as deeply asleep as she had been for the last hour.

It took barely a moment of hesitation, a deep breath through his nose, before he lessened his foot on the gas just enough. He reached across the center console, making a point to keep his touch from hovering around (Y/N). His fingers caught on the latch to the glove compartment, pulling the door open.

A small strip of light clinging to the top lit up the contents: loose napkins, an old gas station receipt, one of his guns, a lighter, and a pack of cigarettes.

The carton and lighter were the two things he grabbed before splaying the napkins atop the firearm. Smoking was a habit he kicked a long time ago—it was too expensive and a fix too temporary for problems he knew ran deeper than just ten minutes of smoke in his lungs.

But, he could only be so strong. Back in the thick of it all, smoking used to be one of the only things that would relax him, take him off the teetering edge of his anxiety. It wouldn't be so bad to have just one right now; maybe it would help his brain settle and allow him a moment of clarity in all of this.

(Y/N) won't even know, he'd make sure of it. He'd smoke a single one, and then put it out before she woke up.

Cracking the window just enough, he kept his eyes on the road as he rested the single cigarette between his lips. The carton was quickly replaced into the glove compartment before he carefully ignited his lighter and lit the end of his cigarette. Once the cherry lit a warm red, the lighter joined the pack to be tucked away.

His first breath in exhaled like a sigh, the smoke trailing out the open window. Just the single drag allowed a level of calmness he hadn't felt since he was leaving his shift at the grocery store. As much as he complained about the mundanity of his job and his pestering coworkers, there wasn't much he wouldn't give to go back to just a few days ago.

But, this was the most he felt like himself since the last time he had caved and picked up this carton. In an odd way, each puff reminded him of what he was set out to be doing, and what kind of man he needed to be to get through this. He'd lost some of that self control over the time since he'd met (Y/N), but now was the time for him to find them. This time, these walls weren't going to be for his sake, but for her. She needed him to be that kind of man again, because he would be the one that would get her home safe, and ensure none of his problems followed after.

Harry pressed harder on the gas, the speedometer ticking ten above the limit.

The faster this is all over—the faster (Y/N) was safe—he'd pick a new place to settle for some time and move on from all of this. He'd make sure no one had to deal with him like this ever again.

Just barely, Harry heard a rustling from the passenger seat. A sleep-dredged voice said: "I didn't know you smoked."

Taking his last drag, the smoke billowing out the cracked window, Harry flicked the end of his cigarette out the window. "I don't," he told her.

He rolled up the window, sealing everything inside.

—————

"When do we leave tomorrow?"

This new motel's yellow walls looked too bright to be the background to (Y/N)'s sleep-sullen form. Her hair was still damp from her shower, baby hairs clinging to the edges of her face. She sat on the motel's cream bedding, her usual cot of a fleece blanket and travel pillow cushioning her contact with the questionable cleanliness of the space. This room's version of the floral armchair was a plain brown recliner settled beside the window.

"'M thinking sometime in the morning, a little early," Harry told her, his knuckle brushing the tip of his nose, "We stopped early tonight, so I want to make sure we have time to move on."

"Okay," she answered simply, her voice a monotone blip.

Harry swallowed back the sigh that wanted to drift from his throat.

This was the fourth time they've had this conversation. Four days on the road, with this yellow spot being the fourth motel he'd checked them into. The evidence of the rough road was clear in the dark circles under her eyes, and the way she barely had any energy to shower at the end of the night. Harry had to have been driving for a collective forty-eight hours at this point, blending in with others on the road while keeping a close eye on... everything. These days he only slept as much as he did because of the exhaustion pushing his brain to shutter for a few hours.

"I'll see you in the morning, then," (Y/N) said, running a heavy hand through her hair as she shuffled into her cot, "Goodnight, Harry."

Watching her, he knew he wasn't going to wake her until she was ready. She needed every bit of reprieve she could get. "Goodnight, (Y/N)."

Just like she had been lately, (Y/N) fell asleep quickly, her head hitting the pillow moments before her eyes shut. As exhausted as he was, Harry knew he had a few more hours before he would be able to join her, his body still buzzing from the day of escape. Just like every other day.

Keeping his station in the armchair, Harry wished he could distract himself. His cigarettes were in the car (he didn't really want to smoke anymore, anyway. One was enough for a while), his cuticles were already picked raw, and his book was stuffed at the bottom of his bag in the car. He was then left in the dark of the motel, a single lamplight on, and (Y/N)'s even breaths the soundtrack.

She didn't ask where they were going anymore, not after the handful of times he told her he didn't know over and over. She just lets him take her wherever, no questions asked. He couldn't tell if it was because of the trust or if she was defeated after it all.

It broke his heart.

It was still (Y/N) he was traveling with, her bright eyes taking in the sights as they ran through, but she didn't chirp and quip with him like she used to. She pushed around her food until hunger took over and she took whatever snacks Harry picked up at the gas station. He knew she missed everything she had left behind when she agreed to trust him and leave with him, but she didn't speak of it.

He knew it was his fault, that he was the one that was supposed to deal with all of this instead of stringing her along until he forced himself to do so. But, he was being honest when he told her he didn't know.

He didn't know what he was doing, or how to fix everything. If it was just him who was running, there wouldn't be so much worry. Harry knew how to take care of himself, but adding (Y/N) into the mix shifted his priorities in a way that sent his head spinning.

It scared him.

This kind of life used to be so familiar, an old home he grew into, this wasn't the same neighborhood. It had the same architecture, the same doorway, the same floors, but it wasn't the same place. This kind of danger he wasn't accustomed to. This wasn't the kind of running he was going to be able to move effortlessly through like he had before.

It was all going to have to stop soon. Harry couldn't keep finding greasy diners and powdery motels, gas stations to keep them on the run. It wasn't an option to keep (Y/N) away much longer, not with the way he could see her reverting into her shell more and more everyday. She had a life she deserved to return to.

That was all Harry was able to think about as he sat watch for the night, his eyes only shutting when his body finally forced him to sleep dreamlessly.

—————

This motel was a sunbleached pink, patchy and bright. With the setting sun, the off-white trim was tinted a peachy orange, covering the dark stains and unwashed dirt he was sure were left behind on the surface. (Y/N) led the way this time, her duffle bag over her shoulder and the keys in her hand, while Harry was behind with to-go orders of their dinner in his hands. She adjusted the strap on her bag, her eyes scanning around while they scaled the length of the motel towards their room at the end.

"After a while, they all kind of look the same, don't they?" she mused, tossing a look at him over her shoulder, "They're always some kind of pastel, have an out of order pool, and the same three art pieces."

For the first time since embarking out on the run, Harry felt that itch in his cheeks to spread a smile across his lips. This was the cheeriest he'd heard her be in days—the most herself she'd been since he pulled her into the car with him. There was a pressure in his lungs that eased just the smallest amount at the sound of the chirp in her voice.

"They all have the same smell, too," he told her, his eyes softening as he watched her rattle the sticky lock to their room, "Like bleach, but bleach that was here two weeks ago."

A peal of laughter left her lips at his comment, the first airy sound he'd heard from her in a while.

He followed after her as they made it into their room, Harry twisting the lock while she deposited her things onto the bed. She was running out of clean clothes, he knew that, but she didn't say anything as she rifled through the limited amount she did have.

"After I shower, do you want to sit down and eat?" she asked, looking up at him with her hands buried in her clothes.

"Sounds good," he told her as he settled in himself, dropping their boxed dinners on the side table with his own bag slipping down his shoulder.

With that, (Y/N) gathered the few pieces of clothing she had left before moving onto the cramped bathroom. In the silence of the room, the closed door sealing them apart, Harry took a deep breath as he sunk into this motel's version of his floral armchair (this one was a loveseat stationed under the single window).

This was their routine. Harry drove for hours on end, taking them in whatever direction he figured would move them towards safety despite not knowing where safety was, landing them in a motel where (Y/N) would shower before the night began. Sometimes they would eat, other times go right to bed depending on how she felt. Every day had the same ritual with Harry's eyes constantly looking out for any possible threat with (Y/N) waiting for the next powdery motel he picked for the night.

Harry felt guilty even thinking it, but it was kind of nice not doing this alone. Even with all the strain, the stress, and everything working against them, there was a part of him that was almost eased by the fact he wasn't alone in all of this.

Even now, setting up their dinner so she could sit right down after she showered, Harry could hear a small hum coming from the bathroom and he didn't feel so alone.

—————

(Y/N)'s eyelids felt stiff as she forced them open, her limbs heavy and tangled in her cot. The room was warm, baby hairs sticking to the back of her neck. But, that wasn't what woke her in the middle of the night.

Harry's voice was a mumble in the dark of the motel room, his body bundled up on the tiny couch pressed against the wall. (No matter how many times she insisted that they could switch, even for the night, he always took the floor or bundled himself onto one of the other uncomfortable pieces of furniture in the room. He never complained about his back hurting, even when he saw him rolling his neck and shifting all around in his seat while driving). His words were mushed and a little too quiet for (Y/N)'s sleep-addled brain to comprehend. It wasn't until she heard her name that she sat up.

Spying him on the furniture, he was laid out on his back, scrunched tightly into the space, but he wasn't looking at her either. He was dreaming.

His features were twisted with creases between his furrowed brows, eyes scrunched tight, and mouth open as he spoke to no one. The thin sheet he had pulled from the near-bare closet had been kicked down to his waist as he squirmed in his spot. Hot puffs of air left his mouth in between the mumbled words he pulled from his throat. His hands were bundled into fists, one tightly holding onto the sheet and the other laying heavily on his chest.

After he said her name, he seemed to quiet some even though his body stayed tightly strung. His mouth was moving but barely any noise was leaving his lips.

In a burst of energy, he found his voice again, mumbles making way for clear protests. "No, no, no, no!" he rushed out, louder than she had ever heard him speak even during the day. (Y/N) jumped, not expecting the bubble of silence to burst like that. She hesitated in her spot. Were you supposed to wake up those who were having a nightmare, or leave them to sleep like a sleepwalker?

"(Y/N)!"

The syllables of her name were so clear and concise, she thought he was awake for a moment. The blanket in her hands bore the brunt of her fright as her grip tightened. As quickly as he had burst with noise, he was back to mumbling and mushing his words into nothing.

She knew he didn't sleep too soundly—or much at all, really—, but this was different. Harry was having a nightmare.

(Y/N) didn't hesitate then, untangling herself from her cot. It stabbed at a soft spot in her to see someone like Harry so scared and vulnerable over a dream; she didn't want to think about the things that would make someone as strong as him so upset. Hopefully the article she read was about letting sleepwalkers continue to dream, because she didn't think she could keep sitting there watching him break down like this. Especially when he gasped with a sob breaking through his throat. The smallest of tears touched at the corners of his eyes, glittering in the sliver of light remaining from the cracked bathroom door.

Slipping off of her bed, she sat on the floor beside the couch with her legs folded underneath her bottom. Carefully, she reached out and grazed her hand over his shoulder.

"Harry?" she whispered, compounding the soft touch on his tense shoulder.

He only clutched the sheet tighter, his mumbling picking up as a shiver worked through his body.

Swallowing, she tried again with a firmer hand. She could feel the tight set of his muscles as she pushed against his chest, shaking him. "Harry, wake up," she pleaded with him, "You're having a bad dream, you need to wake up."

His mumbling picked up, words becoming slightly more clear before he jerked his head away to face the back of the couch. He wrung the life out of the sheet in his hand. His breathing shuddered for a moment. She shook his shoulder once more.

"Stop!" he burst out, his breathing shaking just before he bubbled into another round of heavy sobbing breaths.

(Y/N) startled, jumping back and dropping her hand from his shoulder. She had thought he was beginning to come to, not still so deeply rooted in his dream to shout through the room. Her own breathing picked up as she tried to center herself after his outburst. He was still asleep.

Looking at him struggle against his own dream, (Y/N) reminded herself that Harry would never hurt her. He didn't even know that he had yelled at her, let alone scared her. He never would have done that if he was aware, she knew that. She needed to wake him up if this was the kind of effect his dream was having on him.

Reaching out once more, she shook his shoulder again. She firmly pressed against his skin, denting his flesh just enough in hopes of bringing him to the surface with her. "Harry, wake up," she told him, no longer trying to be gentle with her tone, "Harry."

Harry's breathing came in puffs, murmured words working in between that grew quieter and quieter as he twisted his hands into the sheet.

"Harry," she said once more. She shook his shoulder harder.

Just like that, he took in a sharp breath with his eyes popping open. His once tightly bundled fists relinquished the sheet and instead shook as he tried to take in his surroundings. A sheen of sweat glimmered on his forehead. She watched as he looked around as if finding the pieces of a puzzle until he landed on her. It was then that whatever had been missing clicked into place for him.

Her hand had fallen from his shoulder, backing away some from the couch when she saw how abruptly he was moving, but that didn't stop Harry from all but falling from the cushions and towards her. His eyes only seemed to focus when he took her in, the moss of his irises clearing. In moments, she had been pulled from the floor and repositioned in his lap, his arms a looping cage around her middle and head in her neck.

(Y/N) was stunned in her spot. Everything had happened so quickly. She had almost forgotten what it felt like for Harry to touch her, the last time she had felt his skin for longer than a brush being when he had barely held her hands and tried to comfort her that first night on the road. Now, he was touching her everywhere, cataloguing every inch of her as if he couldn't be sure she was there and whole. He held her body close to his, his lap cradling her to him to mimic the hold of his arms. She could feel the tip of his nose and the brush of his lips against the column of her throat, words he was saying being forgotten and melting against her skin.

Once she found her footing, she reciprocated his hold with her own gentle hug. With her on his lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck, one hand stretching into his hair and brushing through the curls while the other dipped down his back. The blunt scratch of her nails made a soothing pace over his back, the circuit something he could hopefully focus on. She could feel each of his breaths, the fan of the exhale warming her neck.

"Harry?" she crooned to him.

As soon as she uttered his name, a shuddering breath rocked his lungs. Drops of wetness joined the graze of his nose over her skin, tears sliding between them. His hug tightened. Those mushy words she hadn't been able to understand became more prevalent, his voice shaking.

"I didn't mean to, (Y/N), 'm so sorry, please," he cried, swollen lips glancing over her skin.

A pinch knitted her brows together as she listened. She didn't understand why he was apologizing, but this wasn't really the time to start dissecting his dream when he was looking for some kind of reassurance. (Y/N) simply continued brushing her fingers through his hair and grazing her nails over his back.

"I know, Harry," she murmured, "It's okay."

That wasn't enough for him, it seemed as he shook his head from where it was buried against her throat. His tears slicked her skin. "I-I didn't want to, I promise. 'M so sorry, I di-didn't mean to, (Y/N). I didn't want to do it, 'm so sorry, 'm so sorry."

Her fingers curled in his hair. He was still stuck deep in his dream, she had no idea what he was talking about. Her lips thinned as he brought in a shuddering breath, hands shaking against her form.

"I know you didn't, I believe you," she told him, voice a gentle breeze in the quiet of the room, "I forgive you, okay? You're okay."

While he wasn't perfectly settled, that seemed to quell him enough as his pleads for forgiveness drifted into silence. He held her to him, his fingers pulsing against her body every now and then as if a reminder that she was solid and truly in his arms. As the minutes passed on, his breathing settled, working into even paces that fans across her skin with every exhale. He wasn't crying anymore, the much apse could tell. She kept her own touches up, tracing patterns over his back and threading through his curls.

He moved lethargically as he peeled his face away from her neck. She felt him move around her until he had his cheek pressed against her chest, just where her heart was beating against her ribcage. She was sure he could feel the pumps. He melted against her the longer he held her.

(Y/N) sat with him, their breathing matching one another, every slow exhale rewarded with a smooth of her hand over his hair. If not for the fact he hugged her so tightly, she would have figured he had fallen asleep.

"Are you alright?" she murmured, breaking the fragile silence.

In a blink, something shifted in the room. Harry tensed in her arms, the even pacing of his breathing skipping before resuming at opposing intervals.

"I...," he started, untangling himself from around her, "'M sorry, (Y/N)." Guiding her back to the floor, he helped her off his lap though he didn't dare match her eyes. "We should go back to bed. I want to leave early in the morning."

That wasn't the plan he had told her before, but she wasn't what she was going to bother focusing on for the time being. "But, Harry, you just..."

He shook his head, those curls she had pet back and smoothed through her fingertips now wild and flopping over his forehead. "It was nothing, (Y/N). 'M fine. 'M sorry I woke you up, but we have to leave in the morning. Get back to bed."

Hesitating in his spot, Harry chanced a single look in her direction, surely finding her with downturned brows and confused eyes. He didn't allow himself to linger before he was climbing back onto the couch and leaving her there.

Twisting the sheets back up to his chin, he told her once more, "Go back to sleep, (Y/N)."

Turning away from her, (Y/N) was left with a view of his back and the wrinkles in the thin sheet from where he had been wringing it in his sleep. She didn't know what to do with herself. She didn't even know really what had just happened and now she was supposed to pretend like nothing happened and go back to sleep?

Her head was spinning from how quickly the whole night had shifted and flipped and back again. She moved with absent limbs back onto the bed, slipping into the cot Harry put together for her, travel pillows under her head. She knew Harry wasn't sleeping—he barely did anyway, let alone after everything that just happened. If she had known that he would flip, she wouldn't have said anything.

With her back turned towards the occupied couch, (Y/N) didn't fall asleep again until exhaustion pulled her back down. She hoped Harry didn't have another bad dream if he bothered to sleep more at all.

—————

The cab of the car was as silent as the first night Harry had stolen (Y/N) away without explanation.

He didn't want to talk about the night before. He didn't like being so vulnerable in front of the one person he was supposed to be protecting. The whole reason they were in this mess was because he let his guard down, he couldn't do that again. That was why he dismissed her so blatantly when he realized what had happened; the second he heard her voice outside of his dream had woken him up from the comedown.

He didn't deserve to be comforted, not when his nightmare was nothing but a slideshow of his shortcomings.

It made it easier for him to focus, anyway. If he wasn't distracted with her touch and worrying about what it felt like to be in her arms, he could keep his brain clear. Even if his heart did break more and more every second she spent not speaking.

The sun's glare hit the bonnet of the car, the rays directly above them. They'd left at first light this morning, Harry forcing himself to stick to the lie he'd uttered to her when he was urging her to get back into bed. He needed to get her something to eat now that it'd been hours since she shoved a protein bar in her mouth for breakfast.

As usual, while he looked for a suitable exit to pull off, he cast his gaze to those vehicles around him. The longer they drove out, the more remote of a stretch they had landed on, leaving only a handful of other cars spaced out by a few miles. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but he still didn't take any chances.

The best opportunity came in the form of a rest stop twenty miles away from the nearest town. The small area consisted of a few small-town shops, an advertisement for a museum of fossils five miles deeper off the exit, and a gas station with a restaurant attached to the building. Coming upon the split in the road, Harry spotted the bare minimum of other patrons, no others on the main highway taking the exit.

Signaling, he pulled slowly off onto the exit, eyes switching to the rearview mirror to ensure he hadn't missed anything suspicious. Coming to a stop sign with a four-way intersection, he lingered a moment longer than necessary. When no one met up behind them, he went ahead, planning on trailing around for a minute or two before pulling into the gas station anyway.

Especially when he saw a big, black SUV cresting the exit ramp he'd just pulled off of.

Keeping his paranoia in check, Harry took a deep breath in. He hadn't seen that car on the road, and while it looked a little too familiar for comfort—a relic from a past life—that didn't mean anything. Anyone could have a car like that.

Nonetheless, he still took his time, making a point to slowly trace his way across the small rest area. If his paranoia was right, this car would pop up behind them at some point.

It wasn't until he pulled up to the single roundabout in the area that would lead out to the fossil museum that he got that dreaded confirmation. While the SUV wasn't right behind them, checking bumpers, they were definitely shadowing Harry. No turn signals were used, only smooth turns and curves to follow after his route.

His hands tightened on the wheel. He really, really hoped he was just letting the lack of sleep get to him.

Forgoing his turn signal, Harry took a sharp left turn into an alley between a pair of the roadside shops. His eyes were trained on his rearview, watching to see if anyone would follow the reckless move.

Unfortunately, a black SUV did just that.

(Y/N) hadn't been paying attention until then, a sharp gasp falling from her lips when Harry jerked the wheel for the turn. From the corner of his eye, he could see the flash of her hair as she looked around them, trying to find what would prompt his change.

"What's going on?" she asked, looking at him with wide eyes while he kept his attention directed ahead.

He didn't have enough room in his brain to try and explain at the moment. He needed to stay focused.

Reaching across the console, he popped open the glove compartment and snatched the gun from under a stack of napkins. (Y/N) stayed silent.

With the firearm on his lap, Harry's hands were white-knuckled around the steering wheel. His eyes only drifted from the rearview mirror so he could see directly in front of him. They knew now that he was aware they were shadowing him, the gap they'd given previously now all but completely closed. The windows were too tinted to make out clearly who was behind the wheel, but if things hadn't changed too much after he'd ran off, he had a good idea of who had been sent to tail him. And, he knew he was better.

His foot pressing on the gas had him racing through the streets, every turn taken sharply without a signal or a tap on the brakes. (Y/N) clutched the sides of her seat, her seatbelt tight across her body. Her wild eyes darted between Harry and the road in front of them.

All of these jerking turns and accelerating was just to bide his time until Harry could find a getaway onto the highway. The downside of these small stop areas, there wasn't much here to cause a distraction or obstacle for a clean getaway. He had to wait.

Lucky for him and unlucky for the driver he'd come across, someone had finally pulled out from the gas station. Harry watched as they came up to the same four-way he'd started this detour at. For the first time since noticing his shadow, Harry pressed on the brakes. He stopped long enough for the SUV to come close behind them. A second before he knew it would be too late for them to leave, Harry saw the third car start to pull out into the intersection.

Now was his chance.

In a move he learned after too many times of needing to get away as fast as possible from a tail, Harry hit the gas and peeled out on the asphalt. Maneuvering around them, the innocent car screeched to a halt in the middle of the intersection. Harry's hand on the emergency brake had him leaving marks on the blacktop, drifting around them to ensure he didn't give this person any more trouble than he already had. Before the SUV had a chance to follow after Harry, they were stopped in the intersection; they couldn't pass without a head-on collision that would cost them more time and damage than they could afford.

It took another sharp turn and a heady step on the gas pedal and Harry was pushing home back onto the highway.

Harry barely thought before he was weaving in and out between cars, and going too fast. His only thought was how quickly he could make that area disappear behind them. They were too close, that third car nothing more than a quick obstacle, for him to relax. Too soon, they'd find they way out here again and do anything they could to catch up. He wanted to be as far away as he could, hidden away in another village, before that happened.

Every reckless pass and blowing through speed limit signs felt like nothing by the time another hour had passed. No big SUV's had appeared on the horizon, just disgruntled drivers who were minutes away from uniting against him.

Forcing a heavy breath through his lungs and a loosening of his fingers around the wheel, Harry slowed. He needed to pick an exit for them to disappear on next. Hopefully, his shadow would assume he was too spooked to stop again, pushing them to assume forward instead of follow.

This time around, he picked a bigger exit, this one advertising chain restaurants and roadside shops. Others were taking the same route, something that made him a little nervous, but at least he could blend in this way. He knew what he was looking for now, he could make his getaway in moments if need be.

It wasn't until he pressed on the brake, signaling his turn, that (Y/N) seemed to come to life beside him.

"What just happened?"

Looking at her from the corner of his eye, she was just as scared as she'd been when he was whipping her around the rest stop. Her eyes were wide, flicking between his face and the gun on his lap, the safety having been switched off. Her fingers were still tearing into the sides of her seat, keeping her steady among whatever it was that was swimming through her head. She looked terrified.

Harry stayed quiet until he pulled into the shopping plaza a couple of miles past the roadside staples. Patrons were walking around, shopping bags in hands as they cruised the sidewalks, enjoying the sunshine on their skin. Bustling restaurants flooded the area with fragrant ingredients. Maybe, he could take her to one of those when he managed to explain everything.

Unable to relax completely, Harry picked a specific parking space, his eyes trained on the mouth of the plaza. He needed to be ready in case he saw someone that shouldn't be there.

"Harry, is someone following us?" (Y/N) tried again, her voice decidedly smaller than the pair of times she had tried to pull his attention. "Is that why we've been running?"

A lance of guilt poked at that soft crack in his heart. She really had no idea what he had dragged her into.

Pulling in a sigh, Harry dealt with the gun on his lap first. With the safety flicked back on, he reached across her to replace it in the compartment. (Y/N) shied away the closer the firearm was.

"Yes," was his simple answer, a deadpan tone to his voice.

A beat passed. "... Why?"

He didn't let his eyes stray from where he was patrolling. His throat bobbed as he swallowed around the jumbled explanation he tried to make sense of.

While he knew the truth was the only thing she deserved, he also knew she was scared enough already. She needed to keep trusting him. The more scared she became, the shorter that rope of trust became. He needed her to keep her faith in him, if only for a couple days more.

She would have to settle for half-truths for now. He'd tell her everything later, if he had the chance.

"I... I've done some bad things, (Y/N)," he started, his voice quiet. This was the most he'd ever spoken about anything from before. "A lot of things 'm not proud of and wish I could take back. When I was able to stop doing those things and leave, there's been people who have been looking for me since. They're not happy I left, and they're willing to hurt you or I to get me to go back."

Harry didn't need to look at her to know her eyes were stitched to his face. The air felt heavy between them.

A moment passed before he heard her voice again. "Harry?" Her voice shook around his name.

Chancing a look in her direction, Harry found her looking just as shaken as when he barged into her house in the middle of the night less than a week ago. He was taken back to the lowlight of the gas station, her hands wrapped in his as she pleaded with him for any kind of comfort.

He told her again what he had said then: "I promise you're going to be okay, (Y/N). 'M going to make sure of that. You're going to go home after this and everything is going to be fine."

Whatever she saw when she looked at him, or heard when she listened to him, caused a sparkling of tears to push into her eyes. Her waterline glittered, her bottom lip wobbled. She hadn't cried since that first night.

Harry dropped his gaze, his eyes falling to his lap. He wanted nothing more than to do what she had done for him the night before, wrapping her in his arms and shushing her, telling her everything she needed to hear to feel better. But, how was he supposed to do that when he was the reason for her tears? He didn't deserve to be the one to make her happy.

Running a heady hand through his hand and a heavy breath filling his lungs, he glanced at her through his lashes. "'M going to get y'something to eat, okay? I'll be right back."

With that, he forced himself out of the car, walking in the direction of the first restaurant he saw.

By the time he came back with a paper bag and warm food, (Y/N) stopped crying, the only evidence being in the sparkling tracks on her cheeks. She didn't say anything more.

—————

(Y/N) startled in her spot when Harry pushed open the bathroom door after his shower. She'd been jumpy ever since the incident in the car, but no matter how many times he saw her skittish reactions, it didn't make it easier on those parts of him that hadn't steeled through.

"Sorry," he told her, tossing his used towel over the shower rod. His movements felt stiff even with the steam softening his skin. The tense that had strangled his muscles while in the driver's seat still hadn't worn off.

"It's okay," she breathed out, settling once more with her own damp hair being twisted over her shoulder. A nervous habit he'd seen her pick up recently; she worried the ends of her hair the same way he plucked at his cuticles.

He felt her eyes on him as he moved towards his duffle, the bundle of clothes inside being reshuffled as he tried to fit the day's outfit into the limited space. While he brought a little more than (Y/N), he was getting low on spare clothing that was clean enough to wear. They couldn't keep running like this for much longer, even if Harry didn't have much of a plan outside of the open road.

It'd been long enough of a day, he decided, now wasn't the time to be rehashing his strategy. He just needed to get through the night. He'd figure something out tomorrow, maybe.

"We'll leave in the morning after y'wake up, alright?" he told her, zipping his bag closed with his back facing her, "I want you to sleep as much as we can before we head out."

(Y/N) didn't offer more than a hum of acknowledgement, though he didn't expect anything else. She'd been quiet since he gave her his story of limited truth. She was almost as quiet as him at this point. It was unsettling; Harry didn't like the quiet side of her. All he wanted was to sleep now—maybe she'd wake up different. That was all he could ask.

With the day washed off his body and damp curls beginning to dry against his neck, he plucked the spare sheet he'd already taken from the linen closet while (Y/N) had been showering. He made the familiar palette on the floor at the foot of the bed, this motel's armchair not looking particularly comfortable for even the few hours that he'd manage to squeeze in some sleep.

It wasn't until he started folding a hoodie of his up to make a pillow did he hear (Y/N)'s voice again: "Harry?"

"Hm?"

A beat passed, Harry able to visualize her plucking at the ends of her hair like he was sure she was doing behind him.

"Will you... Could you lay up here with me tonight?"

His lips thinned. She made this argument almost every night she wasn't tired enough to let it go. "'M fine on the floor, (Y/N), okay?"

A moment passed with the sound of a shaky breath falling from her lips. "No, I mean... I'm scared. Today was a lot, and I-I don't really want to be alone tonight." She paused once more, her voice thinning. "Since you can't tell me everything yet, please just let me have this."

Turning to face her, his bed abandoned, Harry saw watery eyes looking up at him from where she sat on the bed. Her fingers were twisted in a rogue strand of hair, the strands being worried around her digit, the slightest tremor being shown. The pits and cracks he had poorly filled in the walls around himself began to feel those tremors like earthquakes.

Despite the pit in his stomach that formed every time he remembered those photos of them wrapped around one another in her kitchen—the evidence that was being used to prosecute her on his behalf—he didn't think he could stand there and deny her of anything when she looked at him like that. She didn't deserve to marinate in her fear. She wasn't like him. She couldn't turn things off like he could—pretend he didn't have feelings or worries or anything worth feeling anything over.

It wasn't fair to punish her even more just because he didn't trust himself to keep her safe, even with her wrapped in his arms.

If this was what she needed to feel safe, he was going to try.

The nod he gave her was silent. Her own quiet smile that bloomed over her lips was more than enough to strengthen his faith in his choice.

Her eyes were stitched to him as he crawled upon her bed. His movements were slow, cautious with his fists sinking into the lumpy mattress, thin duvet cover wrinkling under his touch. (Y/N) offered him a space beside her as she lifted the edge of her personal blanket up for him, an invitation into the cot he made for her every night. Her warmth could be felt against him as he found his space beside her—but not too close. He could smell the scent of her lotion when the fleecy blanket fluttered atop him.

While it wasn't his first choice, his only option was the beaten pillow at the head of the bed to rest on. Before anymore more than a few strands of hair could brush the questionable fabric, (Y/N) stopped him.

"Wait, we can share," she told him, pushing her own pillows in his direction.

Harry hesitated, blinking as he looked at her. How close could he tolerate before those walls were erected once more to keep her out?

"Please?" was her gentle plea.

She had to know what she was doing, he thought. She had to know that he wasn't able to say no to her when she did that—when she spoke to him so softly, looking at him with those eyes he hadn't been able to stop thinking about since that first night under the fluorescents. She had to know what she was doing to him.

"Okay," he relented, his voice a soft croon between them. Maybe there were more than just cracks in his resolve; chasms just big enough to fit her through, it seemed.

Laying down, Harry felt stiff despite the soft accommodations. Her pillow cushioned his head, a burst of perfume leaving the fabric every time he adjusted his position, her blanket around his form with that same smell weaved through the fibers. He'd never shared a bed with someone before, at least not like this. Never for just sleep, or under such stiff circumstances.

With his back flat against the mattress, he kept his eyes facing the ceiling. He didn't drift his gaze from the texture of the drywall, even when he could feel (Y/N) looking at him from where shelled on her side. The best he could do was shutter his eyes as if he really had any chance of sleeping tonight.

Harry had counted his breaths up to forty-five before he heard his name wrapped in her voice, a quiet call in the dark.

"Yes?" he answered.

"Are you okay?"

He paused in his thoughts then. That wasn't the kind of question he had been anticipating. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. "Yes."

When she didn't say anything more, Harry chanced a blink of his eyes to open his lids. Turning to look at her, his cheek to the pillow, he found her facing him with those glittery eyes. Every time it looked like one of those glitters wobbled too close to the edge, she gave a fluttering blink to rein it back in.

"Are you?" he pressed.

Watching, he saw her twist the position of her blanket in her grip. "I'm scared."

"I know," he told her, the words floating on a deep breath, "'M sorry, (Y/N)."

Her own lungs shuddered as she tried to mimic his breathing. "It's n-not your fault."

"Yes, it is," he countered, tone firm, "And, 'm sorry for that. I really am."

She didn't bother pushing the subject, just rejecting his fault once more with a shake of her head. Her eyes drifted down from his face, following the line of his form to the broad of his shoulders and planes of his chest. She swallowed.

"Can I... I mean, would it be okay if it...?" She floundered around her words, her gaze flicking from his eyes and to his chest once more as she carefully wiggled over the bed an inch closer to him.

Seeing her become so shy, Harry thought it was a wonder he couldn't feel the heat bubbling behind her cheeks as she tried to speak to him. He really was weak when it came to her, he decided.

He wasn't going to make her spell it out for him, even if he did think it was a bit cute that this was the kind of stuff that had her clamming up.

"C'mere, 's alright," he told her, shifting to open his arm up for her to slip against his side.

A breath of relief fell from her mouth. She didn't waste any time before she was sidling up beside him. Her hands that had been worrying the threads of her blanket were now twined in the fabric of his shirt. The worst part was the way she nosed at his chest, snuggling close to him. She really did trust that he would keep her safe.

He really thought he was doing the right thing, keeping her at such a distance. She didn't even know why they were on the run or what kind of situation she'd been dragged into, but Harry never thought this kind of comfort would be the thing to thaw out the parts of her that were beginning to freeze. He wished he was a better man—a better person—so he wouldn't feel so much guilt giving her something she wanted; so he wouldn't feel like he didn't deserve the way she had so easily melted into him.

Quiet puffs of air fanned across his chest as she laid on him. "How much longer?" she whispered.

He knew what she meant. Bringing his arm down from where he had it laid across the pillows above them, he wrapped it around her and tightened her against his side. "I don't know."

She sounded so tired when she spoke again. "Okay."

God, he didn't deserve her trust. He didn't deserve her.

As they laid together, (Y/N) falling asleep before him with her hands still fisted in his shirt, Harry knew that if he wasn't so wrapped up in his own brain and hadn't cut his feelings off, he would have cried himself to sleep.

—————

Sunlight streamed through the curtains Harry hadn't realized he'd left open the night before. He woke in bed alone, his arm still curled around an empty space that was still warm from a soft body. He never slept later than (Y/N). He didn't even know if he'd had any dreams.

That was when the first bang on the door arrived.

Everything changed in that second. Harry swore his limbs stopped working the second the sound waves traveled through the motel room. He didn't know where (Y/N) was, and now the past was here to catch up with him.

Words were shouted through the door—familiar voices that were reduced to nothing more than droning calls. He couldn't focus on what they were saying when he felt his heart in his throat. His arms wouldn't move. How was he supposed to get out of bed and try to find (Y/N) if he couldn't move?

Where was she?

Only moments later, those bangs and voices on the other side of the door joined him in the motel room. That was how he figured he was the only person stuck with lethargic limbs. The door was broken down like it was nothing with a swift kick and a heavy fist.

Guns were the first things he saw when they entered. The guns lead to burly arms, tattoos he knew too well, and men he had left in a past life. These were the ones he thought he had taken care of when he ran away all that time ago, but now they were here to avenge him themselves. He couldn't pick out individual heartbeats anymore, the paces feeling like a constant stream as he looked at his past.

The instincts Harry expected to take over never came, even when heavy boots stomped over (Y/N)'s duffle bag left open on the floor.

It was then that (Y/N) made her appearance. Stepping out of the bathroom, she looked just like the day he'd first met her. That same cardigan and bow he didn't know she'd packed were adorning her body, bright eyes that he swore he had almost memorized under those grocery store lights now looking wild.

(Y/N) screamed when she realized what was going on. The sound drowned out the beat of his heart.

The men seemed to have grown bigger, looking huge beside (Y/N). Especially when one reached out and grabbed her.

The barrel of a gun was pressed to the side of her head, a heavy forearm crushing against her windpipe. The force cut off every scream she tried to let out.

Harry laid there, limbs too heavy to even throw the blanket off of him. He watched as (Y/N) cried with tears running rivers down her cheeks.

"(Y/N)!" he instinctively shouted.

Two thick voices began talking again. Every word was like mush to Harry's ears. He only heard the bits where they promised they were going to kill her. All because of him.

"H-Harry, pleas-se help m-me," she choked out, the only clear thing he could pick out in the moment.

He tried so hard to wretch his limbs from the mattress, will the cement out of his veins, shake off the dredge of whatever it was that was keeping him down. He did everything he could, just short of actually moving and helping her. What kind of protector was he? Paralyzed by fear.

(Y/N) cried harder looking at him, clawing at the arm on her neck and kicking her legs against the giants around her. She locked eyes with him, caning her head as oceans swam around her irises.

"Why did you let this happen to me, Harry?"

A gunshot sounded.

All at once, the world came rushing back to Harry.

The motel was still dark as he forced his eyes open, a harsh breath filling his lungs. (Y/N) hovered above him with sad eyes he just saw in his dream.

That sharp gasp he took gave way to a heady sob, the crack in his breathing matching whatever broke inside him during his nightmare.

She's okay. He thought she was dead, and hated him, but here she is. She looked at him with concern and care, and everything he wished he could dream of with her.

Harry didn't hesitate before he was reaching up, cradling her face in his hands. Her cheeks were warm under his palms, bottom lashes tickling the tips of his thumbs as he brushed the pads over her soft under eyes. Tears he hadn't realized he was harboring trickled down his temples, falling into his hair as he looked at her.

"You're okay," he whispered, the words scraping his throat, "fuck, you're okay."

He couldn't help himself, mumbling over and over the fact that she was okay and here with him. He traced each of her features, feeling her warmth and every tiny movement of the muscles under his hands. She's alive, and she's looking at him, and she trusts him, and she's letting him touch her, and god, she's here.

"'M so sorry," he sobbed, his thumb cataloging the height of her cheekbone, "Pl-Please, don't hate me, 'm so s-sorry."

She had let him have his fun until then, allowing him to touch and mould her all her wanted. The second his apologies began to spout from his mouth, she reached her own hand out and pressed hair out of his face. She soothed him with small touches over his own face, wiping tears away and petting his hair back. She settled with a palm against his chest, her softened eyes now with creases between the brows as she looked down at him.

"I don't hate you," she told him, whispering an earnest promise, "It's okay, Harry. I'm not mad, it was just a dream."

He only shook his head. That wasn't the point. She didn't understand. "'M so sorry, 'm so sorry, (Y/N)," he babbled, his words thick on his tongue.

Harry wanted to say more, apologize more, tell her that she didn't understand all the things he was sorry for. He wanted to tell her everything, but all of that fell to the wayside when another sob ripped across his chest. He couldn't keep it together when she looked at him like that; when she so much as blinked or twitched her nose, that was how he swore this was real. She was alive and that was the proof that made sense in his brain.

Dropping his hands from her cheeks, he instead wrapped his arms around her and brought her to his chest. He cried as he felt her hands bundle his shirt in her fists, her small reciprocation of his clumsy hug. Her face was pressed against the column of his throat, the tip of her nose brushing against his skin and her heat melting against his own. He held her tighter when he felt her chest expand with a breath, his nose pressing into the crown of her head.

She was breathing. She had a beating heart. She could move, think, see, hear. She was real.

"You're okay," he sighed, his words barely a whisper.

(Y/N) nodded, the movement felt against his throat. He forced himself to breathe so he could hear her speak.

"I'm okay, I'm here," she reassured him, lips grazing his skin, "You've got me."

"I've got you," he repeated, voice shaking with eyes shut tight.

He could feel her smile against his neck. Another round of tears fell from his eyes. He liked knowing she was happy.

"You're keeping me safe, Harry. Thank you," she murmured to him.

A bubbling sob shook her where she laid on his chest. "'M keeping y'safe,” he parroted, his heart easing every time she fed him lines.

"I trust you."

Another deep breath, a tear following the line of his nose and sinking into her hair. "You trust me."

(Y/N) fell silent then, comforting him through touch alone as he came down on his own. The weight of her on his body worked to soothe him, evening his breathing as he didn't want to bother her with the racking sobs.

The longer he stayed on earth, the less real his dream became in his mind. He saw the real motel around him, saw the sliver of the night sky through the split in the curtains, saw the door tight on its hinges. He pulsed his arms around (Y/N) once more. That was the most important dose of reality.

In his better brain, he knew he needed to separate himself from her—that was the smart thing to do. He'd done too much tonight, taken too much when he laid up there with her in hopes of comforting her, not the other way around. But this was different even than the past time she'd saved him from a nightmare. How was he supposed to reject her hold, go back to feeling the chill of the room when he knew what it was like to have her pasted on him and telling him just how much he was helping her?

He knew there was nothing in him that deserved this comfort, deserved this woman, deserved any bit of the warmth he was feeling bloom in his chest. He knew that. But, god, did he wish he did.

If this was how he would get it, the loophole in the contract, he'd take it with both hands.

He hugged her even after his eyes fell closed and breathing evened out.

—————

the lovage herb represents strength; going forward despite the past.

this is a long one w lots happening!!! I really hope yu guys are liking the story only a couple of parts left! thank y sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any ideas or requests for anything lmk!

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