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quindolyn · 3 years

Note

Hey I was wondering if you could write a sub!regulus X Dom!fem reader fic?

One where it’s angsty as Regulus had been acting different around the reader, and eventually after being questioned about it alone, Regulus breaks down and admitting his parents forced him to get the dark mark (there was nothing he could do about it), and the reader comforts him while they fuck. Regulus had been through a lot and the reader wants him to know that they love him.

Including: praise kink, subspace regulus, scar/mark kissing, aftercare for regulus, riding, and anything else you think would suit this situation <3

Resilience || Regulus Black

Word Count: 6154

A/N: Do I hate this? Yes, most definitely, without a doubt. Did I only proof read 5/15 pages. Yes, again, certainly. But I'm tired and I'm with my friend so it's not gonna get better than this. I love you all and hope you enjoy it

warnings: pretty much included in the ask, can't really think of anything else

Being light on your feet it doesn’t appear as though Regulus notices you tip toeing your way across the Slytherin common room. As you come up behind him you peer over his shoulder; he has his legs tucked beneath him with what appears to be his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook resting in his lap. Standing over his shoulder you let your eyes scan across the pages laid open and what you first believed to be a chapter on counter curses you realized was actually detailing how to cast the curse.

Realizing what you’d just read you let out a small, involuntary gasp that catches the attention of the boy sitting in front of you.

“(Y/N)!” Regulus quickly exclaims, glancing over his shoulder before slamming the book closed and sliding it into his book bag which sits next to him on the plush, green velvet sofa.

“What was that Reg?” You ask, brow furrowed as your eyes lock onto Regulus’ grey ones.

“Just a book love, that’s all.”

“Your Defense textbook?” You ask, hoping he would slide it back out of his satchel to show you the familiar scarlet cover you’d scratched your initials into on the bottom right hand corner.

“Something of the sort,” He answers vaguely, pushing himself off the couch to face you. Instead of making his way around the couch to meet you he stayed on the other side of the piece of furniture. Feet planted, hands fiddling with each other while instead of making eye contact with you his gaze seemed to be directed just past your right ear.

“Don’t lie to me Regulus,” Your voice is clipped, when you’d come to check in on Regulus after he’d come home from winter break at his dreaded family’s house this wasn’t what you had expected.

Regardless, it was what you’re met with, “What the hell is that book?”

Your voice jumps and you can hear the panic rising in it. Regulus had spent the weeks up to his departure date dreading the time he would have to spend at the Black Mansion. You’d stayed up countless nights, wishing you could somehow keep him from having to go to that hellish house but when it came down to it there was nothing either of you could do.

Finding him pouring over some dark arts book the first time you saw him after nearly two weeks apart wasn’t exactly the reunion you’d been picturing in your head. Nor was it comforting.

You can barely make it out but you believe you hear him whimper something about “it’s nothing” as his gaze drops from just over your shoulder to his toes.

You two stand there for a minute, then two, each waiting for the other to say something, anything to break the tension currently hanging heavy over the room. Regulus silently begging you to let it go, to leave the room and give him some time to stash the book before coming to find you to act as though nothing had happened and it was all fine.

Unwilling to yield, you hold your ground, maintaining your silence while your eyes bore into the top of his head, awaiting his explanation as to what you’d walked into.

You’re the one to finally break the silence.

“If it's nothing, then I’d like to see it Regulus.” It's the second time in the span of five minutes you opt for his full name instead of one of the nicknames coined by his brother, who he’d recently mended things with, and made popular by yourself. You knew it would strike a cord for him but you were scared, you were on the offensive.

With a deep sigh Regulus retrieves his bag from the spot it’d fallen to on the floor, pulling the book from the bag, bound in emerald green, Regulus hold it both far from his body and with a surprisingly tight hold, somehow both wanting it as far from him as possible and not wanting it to leave his grasp.

Though visibly ancient the book appears to be in remarkable condition, engraved on the front cover in gold leaf reads “Mendel's Most Malicious Curses”.

Studying the cover you don’t recognize the book’s title but based on what you’d glimpsed inside of its pages you hadn’t expected to. Even as a fifth year you doubt this would ever be included in O.W.L. curriculum.

Despite knowing better you can’t help but feel a strange, strong attraction to the book, an overwhelming urge consuming you to take that book. Your fingers itch at your sides as you imagine getting your hands on the book, wondering how hard Regulus would fight before relinquishing it from his grasp.

Somewhere in your subconscious you register that these thoughts are not organically your own, that somehow that book is influencing you and that in reality you want nothing to do with it. Frightened thoughts simmer at the back of your mind but they are lost in the shadows of your curiosity regarding the secrets that lie beneath the ornate designs swirling over the cover.

Expectantly you extend your arm, a nonverbal signal for Regulus to hand you the book but your movement throws him into action and has him clutching it close to his chest, both arms cradling the text.

“No no no no no,” He chants frantically, shaking his head as though to shake off the thought of relinquishing the book to you. “I can’t give you this (Y/N),” He swallowed deeply, shining silver eyes seaking out yours, ablaze with conviction.

“And why’s that?” You challenge with a raise of your brow.

Inhaling deeply he seems to be bracing himself to respond, “Because you’re a muggle born, it’s not meant for you to touch.”

You can feel rage bubbling up in your stomach, threatening to spill out your mouth in a flurry of angry words admonishing Reg for his remarks, “What? Is my simple muggle born mind not worthy enough to read words in that precious little pureblood book of yours? Do I need my pedigree intact to understand what it says? Not meant for mutts, is that it?”

You thought you were past this, you thought you’d left the aloof little third year you’d first met who’d called you a mudblood and asked you to move to a different table in the library because he didn’t want you looking at his charms homework behind.

Had the past year and a half of apologies and growth on Regulus’ part all been a lie? Was that hate not as small a part of your boyfriend as you’d thought? Did it really only take just shy of two weeks back with his biggoted relatives for him to start spewing this pureblood nonsense again?

Bouncing around in your head those questions overwhelm you as you try to ignore the most pressing one, pushing at the forefront of your mind.

Does he even love you?

“B-because you’re not a pureblood, this book (Y/N), it can’t be held by anyone not of pureblood,” Reg’s shaking voice broke through the flurry of questions wreaking chaos in your mind.

“God damn it Regulus! I thought we were past this! I thought-”

“It’ll kill you (Y/N)!” His voice is frantic and you pick up on the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, threatening to leak over.

Those words that seemed to carry a fatality in themselves cleared away the din clouding your mind, everything went silent. Too silent even as the implication of those words wash over you.

That book may as well be a gun, cocked and being held steady at your temple as you feel tears of your own begin to well in your eyes, distorting your vision.

The mess of questions doesn’t return to your mind, instead they begin thumping one by one at the base of your brain though they all carry through the same theme.

How could he have brought that near you?

“Kill me?” You curse yourself for how obvious your voice is shaking but the book that just moments earlier you were dying to get your hand on seems to have cast an oppressive air over the room and has you recoiling away from your boyfriend.

Regulus nods, holding eye contact with you as he slips the book back into his bag, sliding it under the sofa before cautiously striding towards you.

“That's why I can’t give it to you to look at, it's cursed and if you so much as bump it you’ll…” His voice trails off, the words too terrible to speak aloud.

Your arms wrap around yourself, clutching as hard as they can as you fight to wrangle your thoughts under control. His response revealed to you that he doesn’t intend to hurt you, not with the book anyways which has dozens of other worries popping up in your head. You’re desperate for answers as to what happened to Regulus at his house. He seems ready to give them to you as he offers to take you back to his dorm away from any prying eyes or ears that may lurk about in the Slytherin common room.

You’d both agreed to arrive back at school two days early hoping to get some alone time in but that didn’t mean that the castle was empty and that anyone couldn’t walk into his common room at any moment.

You stall as he lets you into his dorm, you’ve been there a thousand times, often under the mask of night but your usual spot, atop his always made perfectly bed, seems wrong now. Without answers to your countless questions the entire room feels foregin to you and leaves you standing by his desk, not quite leaning against it but also not quite supporting your own weight.

Regulus seems equally awkward but eventually settles on his bed, perched precariously on the edge of the mattress, he barely looks comfortable.

You stay there so long in silence that after a while your breathing syncs, the singular sound becoming the only noise in the drafty room.

Long after it becomes clear Regulus isn’t going to speak first and you finally tire of the silence you find your voice, somewhere deep inside of you summoning the words to your most pressing worry; “What happened at your house Regulus? What did they do to you?”

Your words have him crumbling, your usually stoic boy folding in on himself until he is but a ball hanging off the bed.

You hesitate for a single second before you’re racing towards him, dropping before him at his knees to cup his face in your palms. Directing his visage upwards to meet yours you feel your heart wrench in your chest as you take in his puffy, red eyes, red nose and flushed cheeks already marred with twin trails of salty tears cascading down his face.

“Regulus,” You choke out feeling tears from earlier resurface as you push yourself off the ground to take your place next to the scared boy beside you.

Pulling him into your lap as much as his size permits you too you take great care in cradling his head, clutching him to your chest as your rock gently back and forth humming into his hairline in hopes to calm his sobs. Raw and ragged they each tear at the fragile, brave exterior you’ve erected in hopes of comforting the boy, giving him something solid to hold onto.

Whispering sweet nothings into his ear you feel him melt into your touch, slowly the breathing becomes stronger and his sobs quiet to weak sniffles swallowed by the occasional gulp.

Feeling him shift under your touch you can tell he’s working himself up to something, he always gets fidgety when he’s trying to summon the courage to do something hard, his movement triggers a memory.

It floods through your mind as you’re reminded of a similarly terrified Regulus, knees bumping against the table at breakfast one lazy Sunday as he repeatedly bounced them, seemingly unable to sit still. He’d spent weeks working himself up to speaking to his brother for the first time in far too long.

The memory of him being so strong and brave even as the entirety of the Great Hall tracked his movement from the Slytherin table to the Gryffindor had you drawing a deep breath. The strength the memory provides you has you summoning the breath to prompt Regulus into some sort of explanation, anything.

“Reggie, your mother gave you that book didn’t she?”

He goes still at your words and even involuntary actions seem to still, his lungs draw no breath and his pulse seems to fade away under your touch.

“Bellatrix,” His voice is hoarse from crying, “Her idea of a Christmas gift.”

“That bitch,” You spit.

“Walburga’s was worse.”

You pause at the mention of her name, there is no doubt in your mind that he is the one who’s actions have sent Regulus into this downward spiral of despair and fear. You’re not even sure if you wanna hear what he has to stay but what you want stopped being important a long time ago.

“Do you wanna show me Reg?” You ask, breathless.

“No,” Comes his meak voice, “But I need to.”

You nod understandingly as you regrettably allow him to slip from your grasp so he can turn to face you, one leg tucked under his bum and the other hanging over the edge of the bed.

His eyes are downcast before he peaks them up through thick, dark lashes to meet your gaze, “Do you promise not to hate me (Y/N/N)? I don’t know if I can do this if you hate me.”

Your brows are drawn together as your response comes emphatically, “I could never hate you Regulus, I could never and I will never.”

“You can’t make that promise,” He says through a watery chuckle, leaving you wondering where the hilarity in the situation was. “I shouldn’t have asked you to.”

“Regulus,” You latched onto his hand before he could turn away from you, “I am incapable of hating you my love, please. Tell me what happened.”

Silver eyes locked with yours as though they would reveal the solidity of your promise. You’re not sure what answer he found in them but regardless he broke your gaze as he snuck his hand out of yours.

You watch as he slowly rolls up his sleeve and an idea as to what he’s going to show you begins to form and you find yourself regretting ever demanding to know what’s going on. You quickly shove those thoughts back down, there's no use in even entertaining them, ignoring your problems won’t make them go away.

Your worst fears are confirmed as Regulus rolls the sleeve of his black sweater to reveal swirling black ink sunk deep into his skin. Even just by looking at it you could feel the permanence of the ink, the meaning behind it causing a chill to shoot through your bones.

In the back of your head this had always been a possibility but not one you’d ever truly considered. You always thought that you would be able to get yourself and Reg away from everyone, from everything. Blood purity, the ministry, his family.

You were going to get out and you’d thought you’d have plenty of time, half way through his fifth year neither of you ever expected him to be forced to take the Dark Mark before his eighteenth birthday.

You were supposed to have until his eighteenth birthday.

Staring at the ink that seemed to pulse with life against the pale white of Regulus’ skin you suppose that it doesn’t really matter what you were supposed to have, what was supposed to happen. Regulus has taken the dark mark.

Godric, Regulus has taken the dark mark.

“Y-Your mother did this to you?” Your voice wobbles, anger, confusion, and terror evident in your voice, each betraying the strong front you’re trying to keep up for Regulus.

“She came for me in the middle of the night, (Y/N/N). First time I’ve ever been woken by her instead of Sirius or a house elf and she forced me up, made me get dressed before taking me downstairs and they were all there,” His voice cracks as a silent sob racks his body, you can only imagine how difficult it must be to relive the horrific events of that night. Hoping to provide him with any sort of comfort you inch closer to him, throwing your arm around his shoulder allowing him to rest his head on yours before continuing.

“They were all there (Y/N), not just her and Father. Bellatrix, Cissa and her husband, the Lestranges,” He pauses to swallow, “ And him. He was there.”

Regulus needn’t clarify who “he” was. The idea that he had even been near Regulus made you sick to your stomach and you could feel the distinct sensation of bile rising tickle at the back of your throat.

“Shhh, it's okay Reg,” You soothe, tightening your grip on him as sobs shake his body, “It’s going to be okay Red we’re going to figure this out.”

“He did this to me,” He sobs as he shakes in your lap, letting the enormity of his circumstances finally sink in after suppressing it for the past week, the fear of your response keeping him occupied.

To say you aren’t scared would be a lie, you’re fucking terrified but holding Regulus’ trembling form you know that this decision was not his. He would never swear allegiance to a group hell bent on destroying you and people like you, a few years ago maybe but not today. Not the Regulus you’d come to love, even if it began despite yourself.

Without hesitation you reach out, wrapping your hand around the skin now stained by dark magic.

Regulus let’s out a hiss at your touch and you feel him tense under your hand, afraid you’ve hurt him you start to pull away, “Does that hurt Reg?” You ask warily.

“Yes,” He spits out through gritted teeth, “But don’t let go please,” He pleads, raising his gaze to meet yours, “Please don’t let go.”

“Not gonna let go,” You promise, keeping your hold on his forearm tight.

Dipping your fingers under the strong bone of his mandible you turn his visage upwards to meet yours, heart breaking at the sadness and pain swimming in those beautiful grey eyes of his. Slowly you lean in before your eyelashes are brushing against the soft skin of his cheeks and your eyes flutter closed as you watch his do the same.

Your lips brush each other’s gently as your hand cups the side of his face, giving you complete control of the kiss as you keep the swipes of your lips light, you can just barely make out the taste of the pomegranate lip balm you’d given him as a part of your holiday gift to him.

“I didn’t wanna take it (Y/N/N),” He sniffles against your lips, “I don’t wanna be a Death Eater, I don’t wanna hurt you.” The sincerity in his voice has more tears welling in your eyes, you just can’t bear to see your beautiful boy in so much pain.

“Oh I know you don’t bubba I know,” You calm him, throwing a leg over to the other side of his lap so that you can perch yourself atop the hard smooth surface of his thighs. Gently pressing kisses along the canvas of his face you feel his arms wrap around your waist and the tips of fingers graze against your ass as his hands hover above it.

“Can I touch you please?” His words are barely audible but his desperation is loud and clear.

You grant permission as you lean forward to capture his lips in another kiss, this one more passionate than the last. Posing little, if any, challenge before letting your tongue delve into his mouth, quickly claiming dominance over his as you feel his palms clutch the globes of your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he holds onto you as tight as possible.

With care you slowly guide him onto his back as your lips trail from his down the column of his throat, in your journey down you leave sloppy hickeys along the delicate skin of his neck. Pulling away slightly you smile to see the various shades of purple and blue painted along his pretty ivory skin.

You know you’re going to have a real conversation about this later, what it means, what the two of you are ready to do about it but right now all you can think about is how you can make your pretty boy feel better, how you can show him that your love for him hasn’t changed. And there’s one way you know how to do that best.

“Do you want me to make you feel good Reggie?” You whisper against his skin as your lips ghost over his collar bone, drinking in his scent.

“Please,” He whimpers, “Need you.”

That’s all you need to hear before your hands are delving under the hem of Reg’s sweater, hands sliding against the smooth planes of his abs, your hands gliding over the occasional ridge of a long healed scar.

Sliding the hem up all the way to his collarbone you look down to see the beautiful lines of his chest and stomach. The scars you’ve become used to seeing a dark but faded pink now shine an almost brilliant purple as though the dark magic imprinted upon his arm had somehow interfered with scars caused by Walburga, most of them when he was much younger. You know for a fact that there are more ones on his back, deeper and darker from taking longer to heal.

“Come on pretty boy,” You coach, propping him up so that you can slip the soft sweater over his head before discarding it over your shoulder, “There we go, that’s a good boy.”

He lets out a low whine at your praising words as his hips thrust up towards yours which are perched directly atop them.

While removing your own sweater you smile, realizing it’s actually one of Regulus’ old Quidditch jumpers from the year prior. With no bra beneath your top your tits are left bare for Regulus’ viewing. His eyes gloss over as lust creeps into the stormy grey of his irises, they’re locked on your tits as though they’re the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.

“Do these hurt more than normal baby?” You ask as your fingertips graze over the raised scars on his chest, if the dark magic of the dark mark made his scars more sensitive you wanna be careful not to hurt him.

“A little.”

Frowning you lean down to press your lips against the puckered scars, your kisses light and fleeting as you trace the dark lines with your lips.

Dancing from one scar to another you hear him exhale deeply and the tension seems to be slowly leaving his body as he settles into the mattress and he becomes malleable under your touch.

“You’re so beautiful Reg,” You praise against his scarred skin, needing him to understand just how much you love him.

“I love you so much,” You look up through your lashes to see Regulus’ eyes already locked on your body.

“I love you too.”

With that your lips are ceasing his once more as you feel the overwhelming need to comfort your boy. Gently, you grind your hips up against his as you become lost in the kiss, savoring the feeling of his lips against yours before you feel a familiar bulge pressing on you.

Your hand ventures back down the hard muscle of his stomach before you bump against the bulge of his erection, straining against the soft material of his sweatpants. You palm gently over his cock as your face buries itself in the crook of his neck, giving him sweet, light kisses while teasing his throbbing member.

“Please,” Comes his choked pleas at being teased, “Please, need more.”

“Of course pretty boy,” You promise as you lift yourself off of him, giving him one last kiss at the waistband of his sweatpants before helping him ease off his bottoms and boxers.

Once he’s devoid of all clothing you too strip down so that you’re both bare naked, your eyes are fixed on the red, weeping head of his half hard cock, sitting against the inside of his muscled thigh.

He whimpers as your hand wraps around his member, pumping up and down his hardening length, brushing your thumb along the sensitive tip of his cock.

“Wanna be inside of you,” He whimpers, hands grappling for your wrist to stall your movements and pull you on top of him but all he succeeds in doing is making you stubble closer to him.

You release your right hand from his cock, instead taking his hand in yours while your unoccupied hands resumes stimulating his member.

“I know you wanna be inside of me, pretty boy, but I gotta get you hard first.”

“But I am hard,” He argues in a pretty little whine, and now that he mentions it you realize that he is harder than he was when you’d pulled him from the tight confines of his pants.

“Your cock’s so gorgeous,” You murmur watching the way he twitches in your hand, “Think you’re hard enough now, yeah?”

He nods his head, squirming as he fights the urge to buck up into your hand.

Making sure that he’s comfortable, propped up against the pillow at the head of the bed you brush away the hair that’s fallen into his face as you straddle his lap, the shaft of his cock pressing against the warmth of your cunt.

Lifting yourself a few inches off his thighs your help guide his prick to your entrance, slowly sinking onto him you allow yourself to take your time accepting each and every inch of him inside of you.

Reg’s eyes are glued to your pussy as he watches himself disappear inside of you, all the way down to his base. His eye brows furrow from the overwhelming pleasure that swims through his veins, sinking deep into his every nerve at the bliss of being completely surrounded by your warm pussy.

Pleasure shoots up your spine at the sensation of slowly becoming full, once you’ve finally taken every inch of him inside you you throw your head back, mouth dropped open as the breath is stolen from your lungs. It feels so good to be so full with him you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Good boy,” You say breathlessly, rubbing your arms up and down his flexing arms, fists furled with the sheets between them as he too adapts to the sensation that comes with being inside of you.

“You ready for me to move?” You ask once you finally become used to the full feeling.

Desperate nods answered your question, it takes you a minute to find your rhythm but soon you’re grinding his hips against his, lifting yourself slightly off his cock before grinding back down onto him.

Your movements are slower than usual when you fuck Reg, but after the terror he’d gone through in the past weeks you’re deliberate in your gentle movements.

As your hands grip the muscles of his arms you hear him take a sharp breath, your eyes fly open, landing on his face, your movements stalling before you realize that you’re clutching the newly marked skin on his left forearm.

“Oh baby I’m so sorry,” You apologize, loosening your grip on him as your lips frace the dark lines of the ink against his skin.

Seeing that mark on anyone else would’ve made you recoil, have ice shooting through your veins as fear petrified you. While you would’ve preferred never to see that symbol of hate tattooed into Regulus’ skin it didn’t evoke its usual reaction from you. The only fear you have is fear of the future, fear of what lies in wait for the two of you beyond the walls of Hogwarts, but it doesn't matter right now. All that matters is comforting your boy, all you think about as you press your lips to his mark.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear sobs break through Regulus’ lips, quickly you abandon the stain of ink , moving to cradle his head so that your tits are right in his line of vision.

“I thought you were going to hate me,” He cries into your chest, tears wet the soft skin of your tits.

“No baby, I’ll never hate you, not ever.”

You feel the wet warmth of his mouth brush against your right nipple, gazing down you see his tongue lazily circling the pebbled flesh and you’re reminded just how cold the room actually is but pressed up against Regulus it feels like your entire body is on fire.

“You wanna suck on my titty Reggie?”

He responds with a weak nod and quickly you’re easing your nipple into his mouth, helping him find the correct angle all the while stuttering your hips against his.

“You fill me up so good Reg,” Your praise, fingers tangling in the dark mess of curls.

At your praise he begins lifting his hips in times with your thrusts, helping you as you fuck youself on top of him, wanting so desperately to make you feel as good as you make him.

“There we go, that’s a god boy.”

“M’getting close,” His words are muffled by the soft flesh of your tit stuffed into his mouth.

You too are nearing your orgasm as your clit brushes against the hard bone of his pelvis pulling a sharp whimper from you. To better grant Regulus access to your breast you’ve settled on rolling your hips in circles, ceasing the up and down movement from earlier so as to not disturb him.

A familiar tightness is brewing in your belly as Regulus’ hands run up and down your back before gripping the globes of your butt, maintaining as much physical contact as possible.

“Go ahead bubba, go ahead and cum. Fill me up pretty boy, want your cum. Need your cum. Godric I love you,” You ramble, seizing his lips again, needing them against yours as you feel him cum inside you.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” He mutters as your cunt grips around him with the tell tale signs of your quickly approaching orgasm.

“Y’gonna cum with me baby?” You ask as you press your lips to his forehead, his mouth having once more found the plush of your breast.

“Yes,” He nods, “Please.”

You throw your head back in ecstasy as your orgasm washes over you, wave after wave of pleasure racing through your veins as you ride out your orgasm, continuing to move your hips as you simultaneously help Reg through his. Stars flash behind your closed eyelids as the pleasure building up finally releases, sending you into euphoria so intense it seems to cloud your every sense.

The second he felt your cunt squeeze around his cock it tipped him over the edge and as he lost himself in pleasure, rope after rope of cum releasing inside of you, he tried his best to match the movement of his hips to yours.

You flutter your eyes open as the warmth of his cum floods your pussy as you come down from the height of your orgasm, letting yourself collapse so that your chest is pressed up against his.

With your chests pressed so close together you notice the exact moment that your breathing syncs, feeling as Regulus’ arms wrap around your bare torso keeping you close to his body.

“How are you feeling?” You murmur against the ivory skin of his chest, keeping your voice hushed.

“Better. A little happy.”

Glancing up you catch the smallest smirk slink across his lips as he stares up at the vaulted ceiling.

“Happy?”

“You make me happy,” His eyes flicker to yours as he pulls you closer to him causing his softening prick to slip out of your tight hole. You both hiss as the cool air hits his cock and the cum he’d emptied into you begins flowing out yout pussy.

Regrettably you push yourself off of him, pulling his sweater over your head before waddling into the connecting bathroom, being ever so conscious about the sticky white mess between your legs as you wet a washcloth using warm water from the sink before applying it to the insides of your thighs. Ginger touches hastily cleaning up the excess cum before rinsing the wash cloth to take it to Reg.

“Hey pretty boy,” You coo upon reentering the room to find him in the same position you’d left him in, “You ready for me to clean you up?”

“You look so beautiful in my clothes (Y/N/N),” He responds instead of answering your question, pushing himself onto his elbows so that he can watch you, his black sweater enveloping you all the way to your lower thighs.

“And you’re just beautiful,” You smile, sitting next to him on the mattress. You aren’t lying, he looks absolutely gorgeous leaning back, mop of dark hair in tangled tresses, grey eyes glossed over, abs sheening with sweat as are his equally toned thighs. Merlin bless the poor bastard who invented Quidditch.

Dragging up his muscled legs your eyes settle on his softening member, just as pretty as the rest of him.

With care you make quick work of cleaning the cum off his cock, resting your hand on his thigh when he tries to squirm away from your over stimulating touch.

“I know baby, I know but I gotta get you all nice and clean for me.”

“Hurts,” He mumbles in a pathetic pout.

“I know it does pretty baby but look,” You say, pulling the cloth from his skin, “All done already.” Pressing a kiss to his temple you go to stand but you’re quickly pulled back down to the mattress by cold hands wrapped around the warm folds of your waist.

“Don’t go,” He mumbles into your hair as he keeps you tucked into his side.

“Just gotta go put the washcloth back Reggie,” You explain trying to slip from his hold but he’s not having it and just tugs you back against the hard planes of his chest.

“No,” He says simply before reaching over to the bed side table where he’d set his wand, mumbling a quick banishing spell the rag flew from your hand before flying into the bathroom.

Resting your head against his strong shoulder you yank a blanket from the end of the bed up to throw it around your bodies, nestled close together.

“You said you were happy Reg.”

“Mhm,” He responds with a noncommittal hum.

“What else are you feeling, love?”

You hear him take a deep inhale, as his own answer seemed to overwhelm him, “I don’t know. I’m scared, I’m really scared but not so much now that I know that you don’t hate me.”

You nod against his chest, you can only imagine how petrifying that thought must’ve been for him and you can’t deny the tug you feel in your chest at the idea of Regulus ever thinking you would hate him.

“I’m still terrified but I think I’m gonna be okay.”

“I know you’re gonna be okay Regulus, you are capable and strong and smart and the bravest boy I have ever met,” You can feel the blush radiating off of him at your words.

“Thank you (Y/N/N),” He mumbles bashfully into your hair once more.

You were telling the truth, if there was one thing that you know for certain its that Regulus is just as resilient as he has proven to be and if Walburga, or anyone else for that matter thought he was going to take this lying down. If they thought you were going to take this lying down, they have another thing coming. There is no doubt in your mind that Regulus will fight for what he knows to be true and if there was ever a point that he would have obeyed his mother’s every command without question that time was long past.

Reg isn’t to be underestimated. He’s just as every bit courageous as he’s proved to be over and over again. To underestimate him is to dig your own grave; and unlike Walburga you aren’t ready to count him out quite yet. On the contrary actually, your boy wasn’t about to take this lying down and even if it meant total self destruction, the two of you are about to raise hell.

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shroudcore · 3 years

Text

Speak now, or forever hold your peace. (Finale)

Summary: The ghosts may have left, but the wedding they officiated is not something to be easily forgotten. Will unsaid feelings remain hidden? Idia thinks so, after seeing you with your admirers.

Idia x GN!reader. Reader is MC, or takes the role of MC in this story.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Warnings: none

After that 3-star difficulty sidequest, it was finally time for the ghosts to leave. They were filing out through a shimmering silver portal to the Land of the Dead, which you joked about jumping into “for the meme”. Idia was quick to discourage it. The joke would’ve been funny at any other time than right now.

Each ghost made sure to give the newlyweds their congratulations. Each congratulation made Idia want to take off into the night, never to be seen again. It was beyond embarrassing. Unbearable. Way past his limit of social interaction capability. Things were getting way too much to handle for his now-empty Energy bar.

While Idia longed for the comfort and isolation of his dorm room, you were the one who thanked the well-wishers and said the goodbyes—from a safe distance, of course.

“When we return, I want you to meet our baby!” Eliza announced before she stepped into the portal. You and Idia shared a look. As if reading each other’s minds, you checked your schoolmates’ faces for their reactions—which did not disappoint. Different ways of saying “Don’t come back!” filled the hall, in varying degrees of anger and vulgarity. Before she disappeared for good, Eliza huffed and stuck her nose up in the air—an expression that tonight’s failed suitors knew all too well.

At her departure, the portal shrunk into a mere speck until it completely disappeared. Then came the loudest cheers of the night serving as Victory fanfare. It was all over! But before he went, Idia hoped to say goodbye and take a look at you in your suit one last time. Or maybe even ask you to hang out tomorrow, depending on his current Courage level.

While he silently rehearsed his thank-yous and good-byes, he wondered if you knew that you were still holding his hand. He decided not to mention it.

Unfortunately, his brief moment of (weak) celebration was cut short when he noticed that the now-mobile Groom Rejects were approaching. They might as well have red bars floating over their heads to warn him of danger. He froze, contemplating whether to:

> Bear it and stay with you just until he was prepared to say goodbye (+10 relationship points -20 comfort LV)

> Just run off on his own without saying anything, ignoring your calls. (-10 relationship points +10 comfort LV)

For now, he decided to stick with Option 1. Just a little bit longer.

“That was amazing!” Deuce exclaimed, rushing over to give you a high-five. You laughed and met other high-fives, low-fives, fist bumps, and head pats that came your way with that lovely smile of yours.

Suddenly, Ace rips you away from him. Suddenly, you weren’t holding hands anymore. The loud first-year put his arm around you and Idia couldn’t help but notice how easy and natural it looked. Meanwhile, there he was: someone who needed to rehearse his goodbyes.

Clearly, there was a huge level difference here and Idia was the one disadvantaged.

“Our hero!” Ace yelled, inspiring more cheers. The distance between you and Idia grew as your wave of admirers and friends swept you farther and farther away. He was an outsider once again, stuck watching the fun from the sidelines. Their eyes sparkled. Their mouths smiled. Their loud voices laughed and praised you and laughed with you again.

They loved you. And Idia was no different.

Everyone’s Friend and the Weird Shut-in. Was there hope?

“Brother, I’m so glad you’re safe!” Ortho’s voice cut through his stream of thoughts. Immediately, he feels the weight on his shoulders lighten.

He watched as his brother, his beacon of hope, made his way around your fan club until he eventually reached his spot. Ortho wouldn’t care if he looked like a loser, standing there awkwardly at the side all alone. Finally, he was saved.

My savior! “Ortho! Thank you, thank you…”

“No injuries… tense muscles… an increase in cortisol production,” Ortho muttered, frowning. “Are you okay?”

“No…”

Ortho nods. “We’ll return to the dorm, then. But before that, we should thank the Prefect.”

“Oh… right.” Idia looked over to you, still surrounded by your “fans” like the SSR character you were. You listened to Azul, who prattled on and on about something that was oh-so-interesting that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. And Vil judged your suit’s design, reaching out to fix something near your neck. You cracked up at something Floyd said. You posed and smiled beside Cater as he took a selfie with you.

His mind raced as it continuously spotted the students on his list and everything they did. What was so interesting about Azul? What was so funny about Floyd? Did you like Vil’s hardworking, confident attitude? Did you think Cater had a way with words?

He looked away.

“Ortho, I’m going back to my room,” he said with a heavy heart, admitting Defeat. He was underleveled, had zero energy, and zero SP (social points). He’ll see you… some other time. After his cry-sesh, maybe.

“Huh? Don’t you want to talk to the Prefect first?”

“I’ll just… DM them later,” he lied. In truth, all he wanted was to drown himself in a video game while he gorged on candy and tried not to think about you. Ortho’s eyes narrowed, but followed him as he sneakily left the hall anyway.

You’d understand, right?

Once he and Ortho were out, he looked back at the hall doors, hating himself for being too shy and cowardly to make a move. He imagined charging back into the room, wedging himself in between your friends, grabbing your arm, and pulling you away. Then he’ll kabedon you and—

Who was he kidding? He can’t do that, and you probably wouldn’t like that.

“It was terrible, brother. Nobody wanted to help!” Ortho said, and Idia thinks he didn’t need to be reminded that nobody liked him.

“When the Prefect and I reached Diasomnia, we expected them to reject us too…” he mused. “But Malleus Draconia agreed to help us! Can you believe it?”

“Wait… Malleus-shi?”

Ortho nodded enthusiastically. “Yes… because the Prefect talked to him… and then he cast a charm on them to help us ward off those ghosts! It was really nice of him.”

“I see…” Idia knew that you and Malleus were friends. But to actually help you and him? Maybe your relationship with the Diasomnia dorm leader ran deeper than he thought. Why else would he go through that trouble?

“The Prefect volunteered without needing to be asked, you know,” said Ortho, who he now noticed was observing him carefully. Idia tried to ignore the way his brother’s eyes lingered on him as they walked (floated in Ortho’s case).

“...I’m so glad their plan worked!”

Wait, what?

“Volunteered? Their plan?” All this time, he thought you’d been forced to do this by the Headmaster! You did always rant about Crowley promising you different sorts of rewards if you did jobs here and there. But… you got yourself into this mess… all for him?

Idia looked at the hand you held just moments ago and dared not hope again. Maybe you would have done this for anyone else in his place. Maybe you treated everyone the same, and it just so happened that he was the one kidnapped by a ghost bride.

Still, he felt bad for not doing as Ortho said earlier. It was too late to turn back, however, as Idia and Ortho finally reached the Hall of Mirrors.

“Finally… I’m so tired,” said Idia, meaning it in all ways. But as he put one leg forward to enter the door to Ignihyde, he heard someone’s voice, along with the scuffle of shoes against the floor coming closer and closer to where he and Ortho stood.

“Idia, wait up!”

Oh no. It’s you. Enter now! Enter now!

But no matter what his head told him to do, he remained rooted to his spot. He stood still despite his pounding heart, that elevator-like feeling in his stomach, and the blaring alarms in his head.

Object of affection at 5m…

Ortho was probably seeing his vitals going haywire and giving him that look again. He turned to look at his brother… only to not find him there.

Help… oh no…

2m…

“Hey,” you gasped out, catching your breath. “When I turned around, you were gone…”

Yeah, same. Just like Ortho…

No one said a word for a while. The silence was only filled by your heavy breathing as it slowly evened. Inwardly facepalming at himself, he decided to take the chance to tell you everything he should’ve said before he left.

But before he could open his mouth and apologize for leaving, (gods know he had too many things to apologize for after tonight), he was taken into a warm embrace.

OHMYGODSOHMYGODSOHMYGODSOKAYLET’SCALMDOWN

“I thought I was too late.” you mumbled into his suit.

At that moment, without anyone else around, nothing else mattered but the safety of your arms. And damn, how good it felt to be embraced. Did anyone else get these hugs from you? Idia didn’t think so. He hesitantly lifted his arms up and hugged back.

Looking up at the domed castle ceiling, he wondered what he did to deserve something this good.

It’s okay. I can have this. He allows himself to melt into your arms, head drooping down to rest against your neck.

“G-good thing you weren’t,” he finally whispered back, freezing as he heard you sob against his chest. Oh no, oh no, what do you do when your love interest is crying? Quick, quick, pull up the archive of romantic scenes from your memory.

“Hey, hey, I-I’m okay, you see?” he said, patting your back awkwardly. You let go after releasing another sob to wipe your eyes with your sleeve.

“Sorry I got your suit wet,” you said softly, turning your face away. “I’m really, really sorry about what happened there too.”

“About what?”

“The whole wedding thing...” You took a quick look at him but immediately dropped your gaze to the ground.

Idia blushed. “I-It’s okay! D-don’t worry about it… I-”

Come on, say more! Ugh… I hate myself.

You pulled at our vest and slipped something out of it—an envelope. “I… wanted to tell you everything through a letter.”

Tell me what?

“But… Eliza came and took you before I could give it to you.” You avoided his eyes as your fingers tightened around the white envelope. Idia’s breath hitched, expecting you to crumple it. But to his relief, your fingers relaxed. Then, as if it took all your courage, you handed it to him with a slightly shaky hand.

“It's old-fashioned, I know but yeah... just read it!”

In the hall’s silence, he could hear your breaths quicken once again.

“Th-That’s all I came here for. Goodbye!”

Before he knew it, you were running off. Your arm waved frantically from a distance as every step carried you farther, farther away. He lifted his arm to wave back but you never saw it. You were gone and all he had left was the letter.

His curiosity made him impatient. With fast and purposeful steps, he sprinted on the way to his room. What did he feel? Excitement? Dread? An unpleasant mix of both? His room, feeling farther than usual, was the only safe place he could experience whatever it was.

After a lot of walking and almost slipping over someone’s spilled soda (he cursed the shoes those ghosts made him wear. His very own would never fail him like that), he found himself in front of the doors, which slid open, revealing Ortho already inside.

“You left me there!” Idia huffed.

“Couples need alone time, brother,” replied his brother, innocently blinking.

“Wh-wha… we’re not a couple!”

“Hmm? I could’ve sworn the signs were all there...”

A blushing Idia threw off the silly coat those ghosts made him wear and threw it over his desk chair. He sat on the bed, fingers racing to open the envelope. Ortho watched with great interest as two sheets of paper covered in your handwriting slipped out.

Unfolding the first page, Idia took a deep breath and began reading:

Hey Player 1!

Sorry I couldn’t make it tonight last night. Maybe you can show me your new manga tomorrow? I know how excited you are about it. I’m writing this while Grim’s asleep. He’ll never let me hear the end of it otherwise.

I figured that this would be the best way to communicate my thoughts and feelings. This way, you won’t feel pressured to respond immediately. You can open and read it whenever you’re ready, in the safety of your room. I know it’s old-fashioned. But to me, a handwritten letter feels more personal—like I’m giving you a piece of myself. So here’s that piece of myself. Please, handle it with care.

Beware. I’m about to get sentimental and mushy and cheesy and everything you cringe at! I hope you read on, anyway.

First of all, I want you to know how much I admire you. Right from before we were friends, I was impressed by your intelligence and knowledge with technology. I’ve seen nothing like it back home. I always wondered why you hide yourself and those talents away. My curiosity drove me to want to get to know you. I’m glad I did.

You were closed off. To you, I was just another normie. Do you remember? Your dismissal annoyed me, so I challenged you to a 1v1 match. I thought I was good, but you crushed me. I guess that’s where it started: our friendship… and something else. Soon, I found more and more reasons to admire you. Honestly, I find more with each passing day.

I should have known, right from when songs started to make me think of you, that I was falling. I started to see you as, well, more than a friend. Your quick mind, your expressive hair, your soothing voice, your precious grin… your voice when you talk about things you love, your love of cats, and your candy, and your cold hands… Okay, I think you get the point. But if you have time, I could go on forever.

There’s something different in your eyes when you truly care. You say you’re bad at being sentimental and feel-y, but that’s okay! We express love differently. I see your love pour out in the way you perfect every detail on Ortho’s modifications, anyway. I’m sure he knows how much you love him.

I want you to know how special you are to me. You’re so amazing, Idia. I wish you knew that. I want you to know that.

I know it’s hopeless. You’re the young master to a noble house. I’m just… me. A homeless, magicless foreigner with nothing to my name. Nothing to offer but my feelings (and my superb gaming skills of course). I’m not asking nor expecting to be your special someone. But hey, I can be a top-tier teammate. A worthwhile BG opponent. A movie buddy. And most importantly—a friend.

Our time together has always been a highlight of my difficult stay in NRC. The times we hung out in your room were my refuge from the outside world’s demands. Somewhere I was untouchable and safe from harm. Safe from demeaning remarks. Even if you never get back to this letter and decide you never want to see me again, I will always treasure the matches we played, the movies we watched, the candy we shared, and the memes we laughed over.

That’s all of it, really. Please don’t sleep too late. Watch your sugar intake. Listen to Ortho. Take care of yourself.

Oh, and enjoy your new manga.

Your best raid teammate,

Player 2

Wide amber yellow eyes glistened as they repeatedly flitted over the words. A shaky thumb caressed the smudged ink from where a fallen teardrop marked the paper. Burning different shades at once, fire-hair slowly released itself from the tie it was forced into. Now free, it swathed Idia’s back in warmth like it should.

“Th-This can’t be real!” he sputters as he waved your letter around like he was fanning a bonfire. In a way, he was.

However, Idia knew his hair wasn’t the only thing that kept him warm. He stared at the letter and it stared back. But no matter how many times he blinked, the words remained the same. You felt the same.

“What have I done to unlock this route?” Idia clutched the letter to his chest, but noticed he was wrinkling it. “Nooo!” He quickly smoothed it over again.

“They… they like-like me!” Saying it out loud made it more real. It was a fact! It was true all this time! Thinking of everything you did tonight: rescuing him like a true hero, running after him because you couldn’t keep your feelings secret for much longer… he couldn’t stop himself from swooning.

“Like-like… did you mean love?”

“L-love?” Idia exclaimed. He suddenly felt dizzy, so he fell back onto his bed and talked to the ceiling. “It’s too early for that word!”

But he knew the effect which that word had on him didn’t go unnoticed by Ortho. Well, at least he knew now that Idia wasn’t suffering from an illness. Can love be considered an illness? Idia recalls a documentary that said it was. Back then, he ate that up. Love made people do crazy things, after all.

But ‘illness’ wasn’t an apt word to describe this dizzying happiness surging through him, was it? It was way too wonderful for a word like that.

“I’m so glad the Prefect finally confessed!” Ortho bounced happily, reflecting his brother’s joy. “I knew they would do it soon!”

Mouth hanging open, Idia looked at his brother. “Wait… you knew?”

“I’ve known for a while,” Ortho giggled. “Vitals can’t keep secrets!”

***

Contrary to plan, Idia didn’t touch his video games, nor gorge on candy, nor cry himself to sleep. Instead, he replayed the night’s events in his head over and over like a song he couldn’t get enough of. It had been two hours and thirty-five minutes since he read your letter. Two hours and thirty-five minutes since his world was turned upside down. In his reflection on the dark screen of his off tablet, he almost looked different. He saw someone who was admired. Wanted. Loved.

Was that what you saw whenever you looked at him?

Ortho told him what the next move was: asking you out. He was scared. You might have changed his view of himself a bit, but that didn’t mean he was suddenly ready to go the distance and conquer the world, or whatever those overenthusiastic extroverts say. The night was still too much, and maybe he still needed those three weeks of being a complete hermit.

Okay. Maybe with your help, I'll get there little by little.

Perhaps you could watch a movie in his room... Would you be okay with that? You always hung out with him in there. But what if you wanted to do something outside? Eh, maybe it all didn’t matter, as long as you were together.

When he put on his headphones, he knew which song to choose right away. There was one forgotten song in his music library that he couldn’t bring himself to delete. A love song. It wasn’t a bad one, because Idia would never keep a bad song in his music library. It’s just that the lyrics were too happy—its singer so blissfully in love that it amplified the loneliness that had always been there.

Now playing: “Immortal Flowers” — SERPINA

This time, it’ll be different. Tonight, he puts it on repeat. He listens to it with a head for once clear of uncertainties. Instead, he thinks of fluffy otome scenarios.

That date idea would have to wait. For now, he’ll imagine and dream of you, with your warm smile and open arms—skin basking in the glow of blue fire light.

THE END.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

There you have it! Thank you for reading. I had fun writing this 4-part series. Would love to hear some feedback!

Btw, the title of the song Idia listens to at the end comes from “Conversations with Persephone” by Nikita Gill. “What Hades gave me was a crown made for the immortal flowers in my bones.”

#twst x reader #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud #twisted wonderland x reader #twst fic #my work

219 notes · View notes

jotunn-loki · 3 years

Text

no penance due to innocence

FANDOM: tom hiddleston rpf, mcu rpf PAIRING: tom hiddleston/reader RATING: explicit, NS// FW!! WC: 4,544 WARNINGS/K¡NKS: female!reader, professor/student, daddy k¡nk, praise k¡nk, schoolgirl fantasy, age difference/age k¡nk, voice k¡nk, degradation, spanking, dom!hiddles, sub!reader, pain k¡nk, not a warning but hiddles in suit/glasses/beard

SUMMARY: Despite your best interests, you can't help but fantasize about your classics professor, Tom Hiddleston. But as it may seem, your thoughts may not be so fruitless after all...

NOTE: the title is a line from John Donne's poem "to his mistress going to bed" which is partially quoted in this fic--you'll see! imagine Hiddles reciting it hehe. also, i typically don't use "y/n" in my fics, but this fic does use "Miss Y/LN" (your last name) thrice! not in the heat of the smut but near the beginning and end:) enjoy!

It was nearly seven p.m.

Tom Hiddleston, your classics professor, stood at the front of the lecture hall, one hand wrapped elegantly around a remote clicker and the other adjusting his glasses as he spoke.

You loved his voice; everyone in the class did—the smooth richness of it, the authentic Britishness that was so short in supply at your American university, the elegance and intent he put into each and every syllable. He obviously was quite passionate about his subject, which made not only for a fascinating class, but an attentive group of students. You were sure that there was no one in the section who ever dared to not pay attention to his lectures, much less skip it completely. Why would anyone want to miss the crisp tightness of Professor Hiddleston’s custom-tailored suits or the soft unintentional growl in his voice when he read aloud a section from your readings? He was a talented actor in that regard, but you were glad he had never gone into such an industry...otherwise you wouldn’t be able to watch him in class now, listen to him, soaking in every bit of his perfection.

And that, truly, was the reason that you loved this class most of all. While you were ashamed to admit it, after the seventy-five minutes you spent in the Intro to British Literature lecture, your underwear was always slightly damp as you rose from your seat and tried to ignore your mortification as you passed by the man you couldn’t stop thinking about on the way out of the door, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you, Professor.”

It was the same now, and you could barely focus on the class’s content while Professor Hiddleston turned from one completely filled up white board to the next, giving you a splendid view of his glorious tight ass. You shifted in your seat in what you hoped was an inconspicuous way and turned away. This was getting out of hand. You almost were wondering if you needed to drop the class altogether, purely for your own sanity.

But then again—if every student in the class did that, there would be no one left in the section.

Now Professor Hiddleston was running a hand over his beautiful dirty blonde beard, thinking for a moment before he wrote the next name upon the board. John Donne, it read, and you suddenly remembered the poem you had been assigned to read the night prior. It was short, less than one hundred lines, which had lent for easy reading, even for the turn of the sixteenth century. But that wasn’t, of course, what had drawn your attention. The poem was unashamedly erotic, a scene about undressing, a mistress and her lover, vulnerability between them both.

And now, to your absolute undoing, Professor Hiddleston had decided that it was a good idea to read it aloud. You could barely breathe as he spoke, as he again, acted, the poetry, each line sending you further into a frenzy. Around you, the class held its collective breath as well, creating an unnatural silence. Not even a paper moved, nor did a pen drop.

“...shew / thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence / there is no penance due to innocence / to teach thee, I am naked first; why then / what needst thou have more covering than a man,” Hiddleston finished with a flourish, a slight smirk on those perfect lips. His eyes roved around the room thoughtfully, that smirk dissolving into an unabashed grin. “Quite the charmer, Donne thought himself to be,” he added with a laugh. “We can thank him for that.”

Suddenly, his eyes locked with yours, and you could have sworn that he swallowed as he looked at you. Or perhaps that was just a stupid hope. You twisted your lips and looked away abruptly, missing the narrowing of his eyes and the way his hand ran down his tie and fiddled with its tip.

Soon enough, class was over, the hour just passed, and you gathered your things, stuffing the poems you had printed out into your bag and rising from your seat with a grimace. Your body had found itself aroused. Again. Thankfully, now that your day was finished, you’d be able to make it back to the dorms with minimal consequence, and you knew it would be a few hours before your roommate to return, so you’d have a solid amount of time to...get your professor off of your mind.

But as you turned the corner from the descending steps between the rows of chairs towards the door, a voice cleared itself behind you. Heart pumping, you pivoted to find Professor Hiddleston standing there, one hand rolling up the sleeves of his crisp shirt up to his elbows, revealing lean but corded muscle there under smooth pale skin.

“Y-yes, Professor?” you asked him, trying not to let your voice shake. It was almost as if he could read your thoughts, sense that you were clearly horny and in need of leaving the fucking lecture hall.

“I need to speak with you privately,” he murmured, and you couldn’t help but clench tightly and swallow.

“About what, sir?” you asked.

Hiddleston smiled. “Just grades. Your recent performance.” Seeing your confounded face, he added, “Nothing serious, of course.”

Slowly, you nodded. “When should I come?”

You didn’t miss the slip there, the unintentional double-meaning, but as it would seem, neither did he, as Hiddleston’s pleasant smile slid into a heavily lidded smirk, one eyebrow raising.

No. It couldn’t be. Professor fucking Hiddleston—into you? Just another one of his sophomore students who was most likely taking the course solely for a humanities credit? Granted, you were not one of those—you loved classic English prose and poetry, but it was such a large class that most of them were not that into the subject.

“Right now,” Professor Hiddleston said then, gesturing for you to follow him. Eyes widening, your hand tightened around the strap of your bag and you waited for him to gather his teaching materials before you both left the lecture hall promptly.

His office was not far, only a few floors up. Luckily, you did not have far to go, as it was in the same building, and so you did not have to dwell in the anxious interim stage for long.

The office itself was spacious and graciously private, with a large modern window that looked out onto the urban campus of your university, and a shade that was currently rolled up to the top. There was a large mahogany desk as well, old-fashioned as you had expected, and a luxurious chair that sat behind it. A plush violet-colored rug laid on the floor as well, completing the look.

You had been purposefully avoiding office hours for this class all semester, unable to trust yourself in such close proximity to your professor. It seems that your goal had now been foiled by the man himself. Oh, well. Hopefully this would be quick, and you wouldn’t have to endure this torture for long.

Sighing, Hiddleston sat himself down behind his desk and rolled the chair away from it, hands steepled with his elbows on his thighs. His thighs... which were currently separated far apart in the most attractive manspread you’d ever seen, no matter what an oxymoron that may have been in any other situation. But not in this one. Not here, with Professor Hiddleston, alone.

This man who you could guess was around forty years old. This man who was probably over twenty years your senior. Unwittingly, the thought sent another stroke of heat down to your pussy. Oh, god. Biting your lip, you waited for him to speak.

He seemed to enjoy holding you in suspense for a moment, that infuriating grin still plastered across that handsome face. “You must have wondered why I called you here.”

“Yes, sir.”

At that, his grin disappeared, and something else crossed his face instead, something much darker, much hungrier. “I do love it when you call me that.”

You gulped. “What’s that, Professor?”

“Either of those,” he replied, that familiar growl filling his voice. “And you must know by now that I don’t give a damn about your grades. That is your own business...besides, you are doing excellently in my class.”

You couldn’t think of anything to say, so you just smiled and crossed your hands behind your back.

“No...you’re here because you are far too distracting. It’s causing me problems during lectures. That is an issue,” Hiddleston said, spreading his legs even wider.

“I...hadn’t noticed that, sir.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” he replied simply, that prim accent making it all the better. “I wouldn’t be a good lecturer if I allowed myself to be easily affected by a student...even if you are as stunning as you are.” His eyes flashed. “I wonder...are you doing this on purpose, darling?”

Mouth parting, you shook your head.

“Mm,” Hiddleston murmured, scratching the side of his beard slowly. “I don’t know about that. Are you sure?”

“Why would I be so willing to entice you, Professor?” you asked him, willing yourself not to collapse where you stood.

Hiddleston dropped his hand and ran it instead along the inside of his thigh. Your eyes widened and you had to avert your gaze. “Because you want me as much as I have lusted after you,” he said huskily in reply.

When you didn’t respond, throat too tight to speak, he stood, edging around the side of his desk. “Admit it, Miss Y/LN,” he said sternly.

He was so close to you now, just an inch away. You could barely intake breath—no, scratch that, you couldn’t breathe at all.

After a painful moment, you nodded.

“Say it,” he whispered.

“Yes,” you squeaked, eyes flitting to his, a bright, intense blue.

“Yes, what?”

Steeling yourself, you brought your hand to his chest. “Yes, Professor Hiddleston.”

“Good girl.”

You clenched again, barely withholding an audible moan. Still, Hiddleston had spotted your near slip, and he grinned, bringing one of his large hands to cover yours where it was placed on his chest and entwine both of your fingers. “Say yes to me, then. And I will give you what you so crave.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. “Yes, Professor Hiddleston. Please.”

“That’s my good girl,” he said again. “Now. Undress.”

You gawked at him. “Excuse me?”

Hiddleston snatched both of your wrists then, pulling you right to his chest so that your bodies were pressed together. “You do want me to fuck you, Miss Y/LN, don’t you?”

Quickly, you nodded.

“Then do as I say,” he hissed.

You complied easily, removing first your bag from your shoulders and then your light jacket. You hesitated only a moment before sliding your fingers under the hem of your shirt and lifting it from your head, exposing your skin to the slight chill of the room. Still, everything inside you was fire, and it only burned hotter as Hiddleston inhaled deeply, taking in the sight of your breasts, hidden only by the bra that cupped them gently. “So beautiful,” he murmured. “Just like I imagined.”

Your breath quickened at that. It was terribly gratifying to know that he had fantasized about you, his student, just as you had fantasized about him, your professor. So you smiled at him through your lashes, putting on a facade of demureness.

“Now, don’t give me that,” Hiddleston automatically smirked, grabbing your jaw and holding it tightly. He leaned in close to your ear and whispered, “I know how dirty your thoughts have been, my dear, and it would be a lie for you to pretend otherwise, wouldn’t it?”

Unable to help yourself, you whimpered. Beside your ear, Professor Hiddleston laughed. “Whore.”

You held your breath as he then unbuckled your bra, the garment in his hands looking like it belonged there—and leaving your breasts bare. “Professor,” you murmured as he leaned forward, cupping both of them in his large hands and placing a kiss to each nipple. “Professor—fuck—”

CRACK.

There was a sharp stinging feeling on your ass, and you realized that Hiddleston had just spanked you—actually spanked you—and was now leaning onto his desk casually again, this time with a stormy expression on his face. His chin tilted upwards in disgust as he said, “Such foul language. When have I ever tolerated that, little one?”

When you didn’t answer, he raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t rhetorical.”

“You didn’t, sir,” you said meekly, grimacing from the pain. You could only imagine what it would have felt like without clothing to cover the sensitive skin of your ass.

“Hence why I needed to punish you,” Professor Hiddleston said matter-of-factly, which somehow only turned you on even further. His confident nonchalance made you want to kneel before him and unbuckle those perfectly-pressed trousers, but you managed to hold yourself together.

It wasn’t long before you were standing before him naked, trying fruitlessly to hold in a tremble as Professor Hiddleston circled your body, eyeing every part of you. “So,” he said when he’d finally turned to face you eye-to-eye again. “You not only are extremely intelligent, but you are a goddess among humans. You look so innocent, but I know you aren’t. Not with those eyes.”

It was true. You hadn’t been able to stop yourself from looking at him the way you had been doing all semester.

“Intelligent, sir?”

Hiddleston smiled gently and stepped toward you, finally encircling you in his arms. His hands, placed firmly on your upper back, slowly slid down to cup your ass, pulling you against his form. You could feel the strain of his crotch there, and your heart pounded at the thought. You still couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“Yes, intelligent,” Hiddleston murmured, brushing a light kiss on your cheek, your jaw, your lips. “Your textual analysis of Much Ado About Nothing a few months ago was one of the best interpretations I’d ever seen.”

Had it been? You’d only been commenting about the way that it had impacted modern fictional tropes and set up socially acceptable gender roles in romance, but you supposed that it had been written in such a way that had greatly pleased Professor Hiddleston.

“Do not be so hard on yourself,” he said then, as if he could sense your thoughts. “Truly...you are a pleasure to have in class.”

You felt your body tense at the way he said ‘pleasure,’ for he certainly knew what he was doing. “Even if I am distracting to you?” you asked.

“Especially when you are distracting to me.”

With that, he pinched your ass firmly between two large fingers and you yelped, flinching into his arms. You felt the outline of his hard cock in his trousers again and squirmed against it, desperately needing friction. “P-Professor—”

He tsked quietly. “Such a cockslut you are, my little schoolgirl begging for me,” Hiddleston tutted. You felt your arousal even stronger as your mind filled with the fantasy he had planted there, imaging yourself in high stockings and a short skirt, a pure virgin teenager with no experience.

Luckily, that was not the case, but he was your professor, and if anyone found out that he’d fucked you, you’d both be in serious trouble. It only made the whole thing more exciting.

“Please, fuck me,” you whimpered. “Professor, I need you—”

“What did I say about foul language, little girl?” Hiddleston said sharply. “Or do you think yourself above such formalities and rules now that you are standing naked like a filthy whore in my office?”

You moaned, and without warning, Professor Hiddleston threw you against the dark mahogany desk so that you were facing away from him, clapping a hand across your ass again. Your eyes watered from the sudden pain, but you only bit your lip, loving every bit of it.

Hiddleston leaned over you so that you could feel his hardness against your body again and tilted your tear-stained face towards him. You watched him remove his glasses silently and place them beside you on his desk, smirking all the while. “You are going to count for me now, alright, my dear?”

You nodded, tensing your body in preparation.

And then it came without warning, his hand on your backside with a sharp cracking sound, leaving the feeling of fire against your skin. You cried out in pain, and Professor Hiddleston cleared his throat.

Oh. “One,” you whispered quietly. “But, Professor Hiddleston, won’t anyone hear?”

He let out a soft laugh at that. “I’ve been tenured here long enough that no one else of importance is in the vicinity, little one. But who knows…”

With a self-satisfied laugh, he spanked you again.

“T-Two,” you said.

Crack. “Three.”

Crack. “Four.”

Crack. “Five.”

With each spank, your voice grew stronger, more sturdy, and you relished in the sting of your ass stuck out behind you and caressed by your professor’s hands. He was rubbing it now, a gentle reprieve before he hit you again, this one harder than the rest.

You shrieked and gripped the edge of the desk, feeling the wetness of your cunt moistening your legs. “Oh, Professor Hiddleston,” you moaned. “Hit me harder, please, Daddy—”

The word slipped out of your mouth without expectation from either you or him, and you immediately stilled, feeling embarrassment cloud your senses.

“You are a kinky bitch,” Hiddleston murmured softly, and he ran a hand along the top of your head, even as you lay panting over the edge of his desk. It made you feel lesser, somehow, and you wanted that. You needed it.

“Be a good girl then, and take what Daddy gives you.”

The spank following was the hardest of them all, making you buck into the desk in all its force. “T-Tom!” you cried. You needed release, now, and him building you up was starting to irritate you.

“One more,” he said through gritted teeth, and you tensed as a final slap hit your backside, causing your eyes to water in pain as you heaved against the desk, nearly bringing you over the edge in and of itself.

“I can’t wait to see that bruise up nicely,” said Professor Hiddleston smugly, flipping you over as you let out a pained hiss. “And now that you’ve been adequately punished, I will give you what you’ve been longing for.”

You let out a long sound, something that was a mix between a contented sigh and a broken moan, and watched as he tore off his belt buckle and pulled out his cock, hard and weeping and flushed a very eager red. “Ready, darling?”

You nodded quickly before your nerves could get the better of you.

He raised his eyebrows at you expectantly.

“Yes, Daddy,” you murmured, still feeling the familiar tendrils of embarrassment creeping across your neck.

Professor Hiddleston—Tom—smirked and spread your legs with each of those gorgeous large hands, gripping the flesh of your thighs. Between them, you were on fire, evidenced further by the wetness dripping from your core.

“Oh, my dear,” Tom whispered with an air of disappointment, though it was impossible not to see how pleased he was. “You’re so wet.”

“Mm—” was all you could say. With him standing over you, eyes boring into your pussy and flitting back to your face every few moments it was all you could do not to scream.

Suddenly his fingers were upon you—within you, and you let out a long moan as he pumped them deftly, the other hand gripping his own cock. As you panted, completely at his whims, Tom grunted, his eyes fluttering closed.

But then, just as you felt yourself reach your peak, body begging to throw itself off into the abyss, he stopped. “Daddy,” you whined, pouting at him. “Why did you stop?”

“I had to, little one,” he murmured gently, running his hand along the inside of your thigh and sending shivers across your skin. But though you bucked your hips forward into his touch, Tom didn’t continue, only let out a smug chuckle. “I want this to take a long time, my dear. I want every part of your body to remember that I was here. I want it to know—I want you to know—that it belongs to me. Understand?”

You swallowed. “Yes, Professor Hiddleston.”

“Good.” The word was sharp, succinct, radiating with pure dominance. You clenched at the sound of it.

And unfortunately for you, your professor had witnessed that with his very own eyes. Immediately, you felt a sharp sting against the same spot on your thigh where he’d just been caressing, and you squealed. “Professor!”

“Whore,” he spat, pushing your upper body flat onto the desk. “I told you that you needed to be patient, didn’t I? Didn’t I?”

“Y-Yes, Daddy…”

“And you disobeyed me,” he replied calmly. “So you deserved that, little one.”

You let out a small sound of assent and he kissed your lips softly. “Now, let’s continue. You’re doing so well, my darling.”

He slid those fingers along the inside of your thigh and caressed the sensitive skin where your legs met your cunt, tickling your skin. You tried to hold in a laugh and failed, a small hiccup escaping your lips. Tom glanced up at you and smirked. “My poor little girl,” he teased.

You smiled at him and bit your lip. “Daddy?”

“Yes?”

You couldn’t help the whine that slipped into your voice. Honestly, it awed you. Less than an hour ago you were afraid to even make eye contact with Professor Hiddleston for fear of your own sexual desires; now you were sitting on his expensive desk bare naked with your legs spread for him and pussy dripping with unquenched arousal. Still, he refused to bring you release.

“Will you please fuck me?” you asked him softly, sweetly. “I need your cock, Professor.”

You could see the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he tried to hide the way your words affected him, So you pushed out your bottom lip and bared your breasts forward to him for good measure. “ Please.”

Where he had been gentle and sensitive a moment ago, Tom was no longer holding back. “What happened to ‘you need to be patient?’” you hissed as he flipped you over, bending you over the desk as he’d done before.

“Hush, my little whore,” Tom grunted as he shifted behind you, and you could feel the head of his cock nudging at your entrance impatiently. Hypocrisy at its finest, but you couldn’t care less. “You’re going to take all of me, and I will be merciless,” Tom whispered as he took your hands and pinned them beneath his own on the desk. “Do you understand?”

You nodded, difficult as the action was in your current position.

“No,” Tom said softly. “I don’t think you do.” He sighed dramatically as he pinched the spare skin on your hip, making you squeak in pleasure. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, gravellier...that same cadence he had when he’d read some of those poems. “You’re going to take every inch of my cock, and it’s going to be painful for you, my dear. But I’m not going to go slow, not going to rest and wait for you to adjust. And only when you’re begging for me, crying for me like the whore you are will I finally let you come.”

“Oh, Tom,” you moaned and he chucked. “Yes, that’s right, baby. Moan my name. I haven’t even entered you yet.”

You couldn’t even feel the embarrassment hit your mind; you were too fazed over with the anticipation of him fucking you. “Please—”

Then he was pushing into you, and you groaned in pain. He had been right—this was unlike any other man you’d previously fucked. He was large, but just perfectly so; you felt as if the pain inside your cunt should live there forever. His hips snapped as he thrusted into you again, and you pushed your ass into the air to get more friction. “Oh, Professor Hiddleston—”

“Yes, fuck yes,” he panted as his thrusts sped up, and he moved one hand off of yours to finger at your clit. Sensation flooded you, and you cried out again. You could feel the warmth and power of his body behind you, even through the now-sweaty formal shirt he wore. And you could feel the coolness of the desk against your skin, and the rising pleasure throughout your body. “Tom, fuck—”

“Remember what I said?” he growled. “Beg.”

You couldn’t resist. “Please, Daddy, let me come! I want to come so bad around your cock, Professor. Fill me up—please—”

He grunted in pleasure at your words, and you ground into his fingers where they worked at your clit as he continued to pound into you. Each thrust sent you higher, hitting your g-spot just perfectly. “That’s my good girl,” Tom cooed gently, such a contrast to the violet strokes of his body. “You’re doing so well for Daddy. See how well you take my cock? That’s right, little one. Keep grinding into me. Such a good whore—”

At that, you moaned, grimacing in pleasure. “Can I come yet, Daddy?”

“Not yet, my darling,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I need you to be louder for me. I need everyone to know that you belong to me. That you’re my little cockslut who’s only taking this class so you can fuck your professor like a filthy whore.”

“Please let me come, sir!” you cried, bucking into him. You let out a loud cry as he nipped at your shoulder, teeth digging into your skin. “Yes, my good girl. Scream for me.”

“Tom!” you shouted. A shudder coursed through you at the possibility of someone hearing you, but in your haze of pleasure, you could barely notice. “Professor, please—”

Finally, he chuckled, and his thumb pressed tightly into your clit. “Come,” he commanded in a low voice, and you did, gasping as you rolled against his touch and felt his cock find release within your walls and he cried out your name.

“ Tom ,” you moaned, eyes rolling backwards. “Oh, Tom… ”

“Such a good girl,” he whispered, caressing your neck with his free hand. “My sweet darling.”

You were both breathing hard, covered in sweat, and an utter mess against the rich wood of Professor Hiddleston’s desk. “I’m—I’m sorry,” you stuttered, coming back to your senses. “I...didn’t realize. This all happened so fast…”

But to your surprise, Tom only chuckled, helping you to stand and wrapping his arms around you. “No, my dear. This isn’t over yet.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he repeated. “I wouldn’t let you go so easily.”

You swallowed, feeling a pleasant flush spread across your body as you met his gaze. “So…”

Tom smiled. “I will see you on Tuesday, Miss Y/LN.”

As disheveled as you were, and most likely smelling of sex as you left his office, you couldn’t help the giddy feeling that had risen within you. You would see him again, and soon.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A/N: thanks for reading! comments, reblogs, likes - all appreciated! this fic is also posted on ao3 under the same name (via my username MavenMorozova). give it some love there if you’d like!

TAGS: let me know if you want me to make a taglist!

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x ofc #hiddles #tom hiddleston fanfiction #hiddles fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfic #hiddles x reader #tom hiddleston smut #professor hiddleston #fanfic by maven #mine #mcu rpf #tom hiddleston x yn

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cherienymphe · 4 years

Text

Rapture (Sherlock Holmes x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, loss of virginity

!!! DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU !!!

➥ {page breaks done by @firefly-graphics }

summary: taking on the case of the disappearance of your father, Sherlock Holmes finds himself drawn to you, the daughter who holds more mystery than any riddle he’s ever encountered

“Y/N, keep your chin up, dear.”

Swallowing down your ire, you listened to your mother and did just that, raising your chin and pushing your shoulders back. A soft breeze ruffled the skirt of your dress, and goosebumps erupted over your arms underneath your sleeves. You could hear your mother fussing over your sister, lightly scolding her for the dress she’d picked out, something about the color.

“We want to look our best for when Mr. Holmes arrives,” you heard her say.

You heard your sister let out a soft huff, having no desire to hide her annoyance. Those classes your mother made her attend weren’t doing much for her character, but she was young. No longer a child but not yet a woman, instead stuck in that place in between. You did not yearn for those days…

You did once, longed for the innocence and ignorance that clouded your childhood, but adulthood had long taught you that ignorance was not bliss. Ignorance kept people blind from the truth, and some truths needed to be known.

Your mother’s change in tone alerted you to the carriage that was being pulled into the yard. A soft sigh escaped you as it drew near, a far cry from your sister’s intrigue, eyes wide and neck strained in order to get a better look. The three of you were poised on the steps in front of the grand house, having been patiently waiting for Mr. Holmes’ arrival.

Sherlock Holmes.

The detective whose name was known far and wide was arriving to help none other than your family. Out of all of the possibilities that had taken up residence in your mind, the infamous Sherlock Holmes taking on the case of your missing father had never been one of them. You supposed that you shouldn’t be shocked that the mysterious disappearance of the wealthy patriarch had caught the man’s attention. It was all anyone could seem to talk about these days…

All three of you watched the mountain of a man step out of the carriage, but for three very different reasons. Your sister was curious, intrigued by this new person, a new puzzle to figure out, a thing to study and observe. Outside of father, your sister had never interacted with many males in her life. Your mother looked at the dark-haired gentleman like a beacon of hope, a savior to bring her peace in some form or another. You, on the other hand, you watched him like a snake would a hawk.

If you didn’t keep an eye on him, he could very well eat you alive.

“Mr. Holmes,” your mother rushed to greet him, and the contents of your stomach tossed at the relief you heard in her voice.

In her mind, he had already solved the case and returned your missing father to you. She was comforted by the detective’s mere presence, and you grimaced.

“It is an honor to have you here. Truly. You do not know what it means to me and my girls,” she told him, voice already shaking.

“It is no great deal to me, madam. I wish to find your husband just as much as you do, to bring peace and relief back to your household.”

You shifted on your feet, hands clasped in front of you as the low timber of his voice reached your ears. It was smooth, soft even, but no means wavering. His steady diction exhibited his refined background that you’d heard so much about, and you warily eyed him.

He towered over your mother, making the strong woman look so incredibly fragile to the point that it scared you. You suddenly had the urge to push him away. As your mother conversed with him, your sister tiptoed to your side, admiration in her voice as her lips brushed your ear.

“He is quite handsome, isn’t he?” she said, surprising you.

She had never expressed any interest in boys, but Mr. Holmes clearly struck something in her that even she could not ignore. As you ran your eyes over him, you found you were unable to deny the truth in her words. His features were indeed striking, the kind of face that artists begged to paint. His dark brows and hair complimented his eyes, strong jawline and pink lips moving fluidly as he talked to your mother. His curls gave a boyish quality to his otherwise manly countenance, and you had the brief thought of touching them, wondering if they were as soft as they looked.

“…and these are my daughters,” your mother’s voice reached you as she neared, the imposing man a step behind her.

Both you and your sister greeted him properly, your sister’s name falling from his lips as your mother honed in on her. You sent him a small smile when your mother gestured to you, and he returned it, eyes alight as she introduced you.

“This is my oldest, Y/N. My pride and joy,” she praised.

Your sister squirmed beside you, and you frowned.

“Mother,” you quietly admonished to which she quickly brushed off.

“Oh, hush. She will bring greatness to our name just as her father did. Rest assured, she will be a great help to you,” she told him.

He eyed you with something unknown as your mother continued to speak praises to your name, and you looked away, gaze landing on your sister instead as you took her hand. She had begun to shrink in on herself, and you swallowed down a sigh.

Your mother wanted her youngest to be something she was not. She wanted her to be you, but the young girl couldn’t ever be anyone but herself. And you didn’t understand why mother would want her to. It was a great source of insecurity and frustration for your sister, to constantly be compared to yourself, and it hurt you to see the adventurous girl make herself small.

“Do come in,” your mother ushered him inside.

Mr. Holmes followed her, and you and your sister him, your eyes never straying from his broad form. You’d heard of his skills, his observation, but of course you had never seen the man in action before. At first glance, it seemed like an innocent perusal, as if he were simply taking in the new scenery, admiring it. However, it didn’t take long to realize that he was taking note of every detail. Every plant, every painting that was askew, even the liquor cabinet, eyeing which liquors were consumed the most.

Your mother was prattling on about nonsense, and Mr. Holmes had already begun to work.

“Tell me, when did Mr. Y/L/N disappear?” he suddenly murmured, fingering a plant on a nearby table.

“Tomorrow will make it…what is it? Three weeks without him?”

She looked to the two of you, and you both nodded.

“Three weeks,” she confirmed. “We only noticed his absence the next morning, so it had to have been that Wednesday night. At the very latest, the early hours of Thursday morning.”

“…and you are sure it was a Wednesday?”

She thought for a moment before nodding.

“I’m sure of it. It rained all day the next day, finally making the ground soft enough for my dear Y/N to start her garden. She adores plants,” she told him with a smile.

Your heart sank to your stomach, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you realized what was happening here. Leave it to your mother to prioritize finding you a husband while investigating your father’s disappearance. Mr. Holmes’ gaze met yours, and you held it until he was forced to look away. At least she thought highly enough of you to think you worthy of someone like Sherlock Holmes.

All three of you watched him pace around the living room, a soft hum leaving his lips here and there. Again, he returned to that plant that he’d been fingering, eyeing the carpet beneath the table before finally looking to your mother.

“I’d like to take a look at the rest of the house.”

With a wide smile, she was all too happy to oblige. Your sister bid him goodbye with a soft smile, and you did the same when his eyes met yours, face falling as soon as he turned his back to you.

“Do you think he will find father?”

You glanced up from your breakfast to gaze at your sister, her anxious eyes already on you. You swallowed, wiping your mouth before offering her a shrug.

“Who is to say…”

“He must! He’s the best detective there is. He’s only been here for two days, and already he seems far more diligent than the others,” she quietly argued.

“I cannot argue with that,” you admitted.

You were unnerved by the unfamiliar man. He was indeed great at his job, and his acceptance of your mother’s offer to stay in one of the many rooms here only gave him more time and free reign to gather clues as to where your father could have gone. He spent the first day with your mother, having her recount everything she could remember, anything that could help. The next day was your sister, so you knew it was only a matter of time before he demanded your time and attention as well.

You didn’t like the thought of being alone with the man. His piercing eyes were scarily perceptive, taking note of much more than you could possibly give him credit for. They were ever watchful, and that unnerved you to no end. True to your suspicions, he entered the dining room just as you were finishing up, heavy gaze finding yours, and you bid your sister adieu.

“Your mother said that you went to bed early Wednesday night,” was the first thing he said as soon as you sat down across from him in the dimly lit living room.

The dark curtains allowed for little sunlight to peak through, and shadows casted over his aristocratic features.

“I did.”

He hummed, a faint smile on his lips, so small you could miss it if you blinked.

“Tired?”

“Extremely. I don’t sleep very well,” you honestly told him. “…and so I figured the earlier I rested my head, the earlier my eyes would follow suit.”

He nodded at that, eyes trailing over the room.

“Does gardening help with that?”

“…sometimes,” you answered.

“Does your mother or sister help out with that? Or is it just you?”

“It’s just me.”

His eyes were on yours again, gaze inquiring, yet guarded. He was probing for something, and you knew it was his job, but it filled your mouth with distaste.

“…so you are the only one who attends to the plants in the house?”

“Yes.”

He stared at you for a moment before releasing a small sigh. He stood, and you did as well, eyeing him as he paused at your movement before slowly beginning to pace about the room.

“I am here to help…Ms. Y/L/N.”

His voice reeked of well-hidden frustration, and you sighed as well.

“I know that,” you responded, briefly closing your eyes. “…and I am cooperating, am I not?”

He paused, and his eyes met yours again, flickering between your irises before humming.

“Indeed, you are, but I want you to cooperate because you want to. Not because you feel like you have to. I am merely here to help, to find your father’s whereabouts, so I want you to feel comfortable around me.”

“I am,” you lied.

He knew that you were lying, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by, but he let it go.

“Your mother and sister said that you all searched the grounds for him all day. Enlisting the help of the police for the next week and a half before the search was eventually called off,” he suddenly said, moving on.

“Yes. No stone was left unturned. My mother felt it was best to leave this in the hands of detectives, but the lot of them were…incompetent at best.”

Disdain and disgust coated your words, and Mr. Holmes eyed you.

“…and at worst?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, pursing your lips.

“Greedy perverts trying to get their hands on our money,” you admitted.

You threw him a humorless smile, and the corner of his lips quirked up just the slightest as he turned away.

“None of them sparked your fancy?”

He was teasing, and you fought back a smile.

“No. I don’t daydream about marriage, Mr. Holmes. Of course, it is what my mother wishes for me, and I know that I am to settle down eventually for it is the way of the world, but I am certainly in no rush. Marriage does not appeal to me in the slightest.”

It was the one wedge in you and your mother’s relationship: your lack of prospects. However, no amount of snide comments from your mother about your age would sway you.

“Surely, your parents’ marriage must have softened your heart just a little…”

When you looked up, his eyes were once again on you, something in them that you could not name, and you held his gaze, a fond smile on your lips.

“Their marriage was like any other, I suppose. Of course, they had the occasional spat over the most trivial of things like all married couples do, but they were happy,” you replied.

He simply nodded, gaze lingering before pulling his eyes away, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say reluctantly so. His casual interrogation that wasn’t really an interrogation didn’t last for much longer, and somehow, you felt more nervous leaving the room than you did when you entered it.

Your mother and sister did not seem to share your sentiments. Indeed, they were ever comfortable around the dark-haired man. Part of you wondered if the holes in their heart that were left by father were temporarily being filled by Mr. Holmes. Having a man around the house again surely brought some mild comfort to them, even if they knew it was only momentary.

They happily invited him to eat with you all, participate in small talk, even showing him your garden. You felt that it was all unnecessary, distracting even. Mr. Holmes had a job to do, and the sooner he left, the better. You didn’t know how much more of his analyzing gaze you could take.

It didn’t matter that he would be engaged in conversation with your sister or mother for his eyes always found their way back to you somehow. He wasn’t a man of many words, but it seemed that you were an exception. Your mother did not miss how he always attempted to draw you into conversation, get you to talk more. It was becoming rather tiresome to explain to her that the man was simply doing his job.

Hell, it was becoming tiresome to remind yourself of that. It was his job to pry, to observe, to snoop even. The day that you’d found him in your chambers, standing by your bed, gazing around with his hands folded behind his back, you’d almost suffered a heart attack. It took the will of God to remind you that he was a detective, and that he was simply doing his job.

Sherlock Holmes was doing what he was hired to do.

And that was the problem.

You could hear footsteps approaching from below, and you paused on your reading, sticking a finger in the page before closing your book. The branch that you’d chosen to lounge on was higher than the usual, and you craned your head ever so slightly to look down below.

Mr. Holmes decided to make himself at home beneath the tree, leaning back against the trunk. His suit jacket was gone, one knee bent, and you watched as the autumn breeze ruffled his soft curls. You blinked, wondering to yourself how he managed to look both intimidating and vulnerable at the same time?

“No one in town seems to have any legitimate idea of where your father could have gone.”

His voice traveled to you from below, and you chuckled before you could stop yourself.

“No, I would imagine not. Despite what they may think, none of the townspeople know my father, at all,” you told him.

You could feel his eyes on you as you descended, and you brushed your dress off when you finally made it to the ground. He looked up at you with such intrigue, brows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concentration. You cleared your throat.

“You’re staring, Mr. Holmes.”

He slowly blinked at you.

“Indeed, I am,” he said, rising to join you. “I do apologize. I was having a rather strong sense of déjà vu.”

Now it was your turn to frown in confusion, and he continued.

“My sister…she loves to hide away in a tree with a good book just as well as you.”

He ran his eyes over your face, drinking you in, and the hair on your arms stood on end.

“…you remind me of her in some ways,” he murmured.

“Well, she sounds like a remarkable young woman then,” you complimented.

“She is getting there,” he replied, a hint of pride in his voice. “Although, just like her, so much of you remains a mystery to me.”

You squirmed under his scrutinizing gaze, looking away from his narrowed eyes to walk towards your garden. You could both feel and hear him behind you, and you felt your face grow hot as the weight of his stare pressed down on you.

“You have a rather impressive garden,” he praised.

You looked to him, a small smile slow to spread along your lips.

“Thank you.”

“Crown Imperials,” he noted, and your smile fell. “They seem to be a favorite of yours.”

“They are. The bright blooms are so pretty to me,” you truthfully replied.

“You spend a great deal of time out here,” he hummed.

You bent down to finger a petal, a genuine smile on your face now.

“I find comfort out here. Looking at this garden, basking in its presence, puts me at ease. Flowers that bloom in the colder months, when all the leaves have fallen and the animals have scurried away to hibernate, symbolize rebirth to me. New beginnings,” you whispered, eyes unfocused as you let your hand fall.

You slowly stood, stomach flipping when your eyes met his as you turned around. His hands were at his side, broad form much closer than you remembered, and your eyes zeroed in on the way he flexed his fingers. Mr. Holmes opened his mouth to speak, but you interrupted him.

“I should get back inside to assist my sister with her studies,” you told him.

You bid him goodbye and scurried past him before he could utter a word.

The next night, you made your way downstairs in the darkness as you did every night. Your mother and sister were fast asleep in their rooms, Mr. Holmes having long gone to bed as well. With a soft sigh, you approached the front door, locking it with a resounding click. You pressed your hand against the wood, heart aching for your mother, pitying her even, before you turned around.

“Why do you lock the door every night?”

A scream threatened to escape your throat, but you swallowed it down as light flooded the foyer. You pressed your hand to your chest, glaring at the detective as he stood across from you…dressed for bed. You blinked at the sight of his bare chest, and you quickly looked away, face heating up.

“Mr. Holmes,” you slowly began, forcing your heart to slow. “…you frightened me.”

“You did not answer my question,” was his only response, and you frowned at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

He took a step towards you, and you resisted the urge to take a step back.

“Mrs. Y/L/N leaves it unlocked every night in hopes that her husband, your father, will return. She told me so, and you come down every night to lock it. Why?”

You heaved a sigh, guilt flooding you.

“…because it is sad. I hope for his return just as much as my mother, but I will not be so foolish as to leave me and my family completely vulnerable while we sleep.”

He didn’t respond, so you continued.

“My father, her husband, is God knows where, and I understand that she is worried, but she is beginning to lose all sense of reason ever since his disappearance. Someone must keep this house together,” you complained.

He eventually nodded at that, seeming to accept this, and your eyes fell to the floor, uncomfortable with his close proximity and inappropriate state of dress. Your eyes caught the end of your nightgown, and you realized with a start that you both were inappropriately dressed for this conversation. Especially one so late at night. You shuddered to imagine what your mother would think if she came downstairs this very moment.

You looked up, startled, when he stepped closer, and your throat felt incredibly dry all of a sudden. Your sister’s words that first day came back to you, and you thought to yourself that Sherlock Holmes was much more handsome than she knew. You took a step back, back grazing the door as you eyed his face, him doing the same.

“You brew medicine for your mother, making salves as well,” he suddenly murmured, and you frowned. “I saw them in her room. The herbs used to make them I found in the kitchen.”

Your frown deepened, unsure of how this was relevant to anything.

“I did not know she was unwell,” he probed.

You cleared your throat, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“She isn’t…unwell, I mean. At least…not really. As she said, it rained that Thursday after my father’s disappearance. She was worried and distraught and did not take note of the slippery steps. She fell, and the salve and medicine are simply to help with the bruising and the pain,” you explained.

He only hummed at that, and you made to move around him, a bidding of goodnight on your lips, but he blocked your path. You looked to him with wide eyes, heart beginning to race again, although you didn’t know why.

Even in the thin and exposing nightgown, you felt your body heat up under his heavy gaze, his eyes running over your frame in a way that you were familiar with. However, the disgust that normally coursed through you at such an action was nowhere to be found. Instead, something unfamiliar swirled in the pit of your stomach, and this scared you.

It must have been written on your face, that fear, or at the very least visible in your eyes for Mr. Holmes took a step back. You noticed that his jaw was clenched, face pinched in a pensive manner that was becoming all too familiar to you. He suddenly wished you a goodnight, and you did the same, feeling his heated gaze searing into your back as you ascended the stairs.

Sleep did not come easy to you. In fact, it smoothly evaded you for days, and the already dark circles beneath your eyes became even more prominent. Your mother and sister were used to your inconsistent sleep schedule, accustomed to the haggard appearance your face would take sometimes. If Mr. Holmes noticed, however, he did not mention it. Of course, that was a silly thing to think. He noticed everything, and it was no surprise to you to find him in the lounge room late one night.

The flames licked at the inside of the fireplace, casting a low light over the room. His daunting form was seated in your father’s chair, and neither one of you greeted each other as you made your way into the room. Sometimes on particularly trying nights, you liked to curl up with a book by the fireplace in hopes that it would lull you to sleep. You had a sneaking suspicion that Mr. Holmes knew this, hence his presence, and you sighed.

You didn’t wish to be alone with him, and you had every intention of making your way back to bed, but some part of you scolded yourself for your treatment of the detective. He was only doing his job, after all. You knew that your wariness of him was no fault of his, and you guiltily made your way to your father’s bar.

“Would you like a drink before I head back to bed?” you asked him, already reaching for a glass.

He didn’t respond, and you glanced up to find his gaze still on the roaring flames, a hand resting against his mouth, eyes thoughtful. You reached for one of your father’s more expensive selections just as Mr. Holmes spoke.

“He’s beneath the garden…isn’t he?”

You did not falter in your movements, but you could not stop the way your stomach churned, threatening to expel everything you’d eaten that day. You set the bottle down, and your hand shook around it. Your lips parted, but no words came out, and you snapped them shut, swallowing.

“I beg your pardon?” you eventually responded.

“I took on this case to pass some time really. It seemed simple enough to me. Your father had been murdered…that much was clear,” he quietly said.

Your throat felt incredibly thick all of a sudden, and your heart clenched in your chest, painfully so.

“However, it was only a matter of who.”

You felt tears spring forth, but they held off, collecting in your eyes as he continued.

“Your mother seemed the obvious choice, too obvious even, and I was proven right when I met her. She loved your father dearly, and I’d be a fool to think she could ever bring harm to him. I considered your sister next. Naturally. She is impulsive and wild, but that is precisely why she was ruled out. She’s not, how would my brother say it, refined?”

You briefly closed your eyes in defeat.

“No. Not like you…”

He stood to face you, and the tears finally spilled over when his troubled gaze met yours in the low lighting.

“She has not mastered the skills to truly be a lady. She has not learned to hold her tongue or hide her thoughts or school her features so that they are the picture-perfect vision of decorum and poise…to show the world only what you wish for them to see.”

His smooth voice did not bring you comfort, and you fought to hold his gaze as he neared you.

“…but you have. You’ve mastered it quite well, in fact.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out, only a shaky exhale.

“Many people in town mentioned your mother’s clumsiness. Her constant aches and faint bruises…bruises you’ve been tending to for a while…”

He stopped before you, eyes somber.

“He was hitting her. Probably much more than that. When did you first discover it?”

Again, words failed you, and he shook his head, a dark curl brushing his forehead.

“That tidbit is not relevant, so don’t bother to answer that.”

“Mr. Holmes-.”

“You referred to their marriage in the past tense. You lock the door at night because you know that he is never coming home.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Crown imperial is an interesting flower to plant, most people avoiding them because of the putrid smell. Of course, a flower like that would cover up the smell of decaying flesh rather nicely,” he mused. “I know it happened in the living room.”

Your eyes widened at that.

“That plant on the table…there’s hardly any soil in it at all, the only one in the entire house like it. That and the pinches of soil on the carpet beneath it tells me that it had been knocked over. It matches the few grains found in your sheets,” he explained.

You blinked at him.

“You were evidently in a hurry to clean it up and get back into bed. After all, it must have been rather early in the morning at that point… This was after you buried him correct?”

Reluctantly, you gave a shaky nod, confirming his accusations for the first time. He pressed his hand to his mouth again, the other on his hip as he paced, brows furrowed.

“The only thing I cannot seem to figure out is how you did it…”

“…belladonna,” you softly said, speaking for the first time that evening.

He looked at you, and you held his gaze, tears at bay for the moment.

“My father never misses a nightcap,” you told him with a shrug. “Large doses of belladonna can be-.”

“Fatal,” he finished for you, and you looked away.

“So…what happens now? Surely you mean to turn me in…hand me over to the police to answer for my crime,” you tearfully said.

He didn’t say anything, and the only noise in the room for a while was that of the crackling fireplace. Eventually, you heard him approach you again, and you flinched when his hands landed on your arms. Reluctantly, you looked at him, and his eyes flitted over your face, unsure of what to settle on. His thumbs brushed along your bare skin, and your throat bobbed.

“I should,” he whispered to himself, brows drawn together as he studied you. “I should turn you in immediately.”

He stepped closer, and you could feel his body heat, practically feel his heartbeat beneath his chest. His hands tightened on you for a brief moment before loosening his hold.

“…but I can’t,” he confessed through clenched teeth.

Confusion filled you, and your lips parted in shock. His eyes seemed to be drawn to the action, gaze lingering on your mouth for far too long.

“I…I don’t understand…”

He drank you in, gaze vexed, like you confounded him. One of his hands slid to your neck, fingers brushing your jaw, and you sharply inhaled, lips trembling.

“Even now…I still cannot figure you out,” he murmured to himself.

Your confusion grew, frown deepening, and you watched as he suddenly blinked, taking a step back. It took longer for him to finally let you go, and his face appeared strained, movements stiff as if it took everything in him to do so. He took a few more steps back, getting as far away from you as possible before he spoke again.

“There is no doubt in my mind that you very well could kill me in my sleep, but I trust that you won’t.”

Your eyes widened when he made to leave, and you called to him. He paused in the doorway, fists clenched at his side as he refused to look at you.

“W-what…what will you tell them? What will you tell my mother?”

Your voice was but a whisper, disbelief coursing through you at this turn of events. His shoulders heaved as he sighed.

“…nothing for you to worry about…Y/N.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of your name falling from his lips, and before you could process what he had said, he was gone.

“He…he’s simply run off?”

You leaned your head against the wall as you listened in on the conversation taking place in the dining room, and your heart constricted as her soft sobs reached your ears. You couldn’t imagine the feeling of fretting over someone for weeks, fearful for their wellbeing only to discover that they weren’t hurt at all. The opposite, in fact.

Only, it was a lie.

As you listened to Mr. Holmes spin the believable tale of your father running off with some mistress, you thought to yourself that the truth would have been better. Your mother could move past the truth. She could heal from the truth. How was she meant to heal from this?

You quietly pushed yourself off of the wall and made your way past the doorway. As you passed, your eyes caught those of Mr. Holmes, his heavy stare boring into you, and guilt tore through you as you caught sight of your mother’s distraught form.

No, the truth would have been far better. Your mother, the loving and strong woman that she was, deserved to know the truth, and you intended to give it to her.

Hours later when darkness fell, you found yourself outside, yanking out flower and vegetable roots. Thunder rumbled far off in the distance, and a light sprinkle of rain dampened your hair and dress. Tears soaked your cheeks as you dug through the dirt, sobs wracking your frame. You had buried him deep, and now that had come back to haunt you.

Or so you thought.

A startled gasp left your lips as firm hands yanked you to your feet from behind, and your eyes were wide as you were spun around to face none other than Sherlock Holmes. Lightning flashed behind him, illuminating his angry features, and you shrank in on yourself underneath his harsh gaze.

“What the devil do you think you are doing?”

More tears fell, and you shook your head.

“I cannot do this! I cannot go along with this lie any longer,” you told him.

His eyes softened, but his jaw ticked at your words.

“Y/N,” he sighed your name.

“Thank you for what you’ve done, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot bear to see my mother hurting like this over a lie. The truth…the truth will be much easier for her heart to bear,” you gasped.

You fought to get out of his hold, but he proved to be as strong as he looked.

“I cannot allow you to do this-.”

“Why not? You’ve solved the case! The great Sherlock Holmes figured it out, and soon my name and face will be plastered on papers everywhere as everyone learns what I did,” you cried.

“You were protecting your mother,” he argued.

“In the eyes of the law, I am still a murderess. I have reason to believe that you would agree with them,” you scoffed. “…why are you protecting me?”

He didn’t respond, and you huffed, jerking in his hold again, but he wouldn’t budge. The rain was coming down a little harder now, and your vision was blurry from both the weather and your tears. Your knees started to buckle as your movements slowed, and you would have collapsed to the ground if Mr. Holmes hadn’t been holding you.

He leaned you against your tree, and your fingers twisted into his rain-soaked shirt as tears skipped down your cheeks. He still hadn’t answered your question, and your eyes reluctantly met his. He looked at you like he had been looking at you for weeks, and that unfamiliar feeling returned…as well as the fear.

“You are not nearly as fragile as I initially thought you to be,” he quietly said, puzzling you.

He continued before you could voice your confusion.

“…but you are not nearly as tough as I thought you to be either.”

He reached up to brush his thumb over your lip, and you jerked, eyes widening at the action. Your heart felt like it was threatening to leap from your chest, and a thought suddenly occurred to you that had never occurred to you before.

“You have plagued my thoughts for weeks,” he confessed, making you freeze. “…entering my dreams the very moment I first had my suspicions.”

“Mr. Holmes…”

“Who would think that someone like you would be capable of such a thing,” he mused, genuine bewilderment on his features. “…and yet…I still want you so.”

Dread began to fester in your gut, and you pushed against his chest, but it proved to be useless. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes boring into your own.

“Sh-Sherlock,” you said, hoping that hearing his name from your lips would snap him out of it, knock some clarity into him, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

His fingers tightened, enough to make you wince, and his eyes fluttered close, a long exhale leaving him.

“Y/N,” he whispered your name like it was a prayer. “How do you manage…to be half heaven…and half hell?”

The words had barely left his lips before he fiercely pressed them against yours, startling you. A horrified gasp left you, and he clutched you to him, breathing you in as he moved his mouth over yours. He only seemed to take note of his actions when your palm met his cheek.

You stumbled back, hands grasping along your tree as he took a step back. His lips were swollen, hair damp and eyes troubled as he blinked at you. You pressed one hand into the tree behind you, the other to your chest as you stared at him in fear. Your chest was heaving just as much as his.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

He swallowed, at least having the gall to look ashamed. You stared at one another for a painfully long time, ruminating on what he’d done, the line that he’d crossed. You didn’t move, too afraid to, and Sherlock’s jaw clenched as he eyed you.

His hands curled into fists at his side, features twisted with a myriad of emotions that you couldn’t place. There seemed to be a struggle going on, and your lip trembled as he dragged his eyes over your wet frame, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His dark hair was damp from the rain, the strands curling around his ears and kissing his forehead.

His lips parted ever so slightly, and he straightened as his eyes finally met yours again. You watched the way his nostrils flared, a carnal hunger in his eyes that terrified you to the bone.

“Forgive me,” he whispered again, apologizing for something that he hadn’t done, but was instead about to do.

You turned and ran past your tree, but he was already upon you before you could even get in three steps. His muscular arms wrapped around you, holding you to him as he buried his nose in the crook of your neck, lips trailing kisses over your damp skin.

You reached back to tangle your fingers in his hair, attempting to pull his head away from you, but he only groaned against your skin. Fresh tears escaped, and you shuddered as he pressed himself against you, hard and threatening against your dress.

Your back met your tree, and Sherlock was quick in pressing his lips to yours. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, noises of protest escaping your lips as you pushed against him. You were sobbing when he finally broke the kiss, and you shook your head, pleas falling from your lips.

“Don’t do this,” you begged, knowing you were no match for him and accepting that pleading was your only chance. “Please, don’t- you’ll ruin me.”

Your eyes searched his.

“I’ll never be able to find a husband, to give my mother some form of happiness again after what I did. Let me make her happy,” you shakily whispered.

His brows were furrowed as he gazed at you, and his hands felt incredibly hot on your waist. The light rain had passed now, leaving only a partly cloudy sky and a bright moon to shine down on you. Sherlock closed his eyes as he pressed his forehead to yours, thumbs tracing patterns into your waist.

“…I suppose I will be your husband then.”

He gently shushed you as you cried, softly pressing his lips to yours. He didn’t budge no matter how hard you pushed against him, and you shook as he hooked one of your legs onto his waist. One of his hands pressed into the back of your head while the other tore at the skirt of your dress, all the while he kept you pinned between him and the tree.

It suddenly occurred to you that this was your punishment. This was your comeuppance for what you’d done. It didn’t matter that your father hurt your mother on a regular basis, murder was wrong, and you were being punished for it.

You cried harder when you both felt and heard him releasing himself, and the cool air you felt against your core told you that Sherlock had ripped away every barrier between you two. His lips were gentle on yours, and his entry did not differ from that.

He was slow in pushing inside of you, and you hit against his shoulder, mouth parted in a silent scream as he stretched you. Your nails dug into him when he could go no further, and a long moan lowly left his lips, satisfaction dripping from every note. You blinked back tears as he pressed his hands into the bottom of your thighs, keeping them at his waist as he held you to him.

He slowly moved within you, and one hand held onto him to keep from falling while the other dug into the bark of the tree behind you. He kissed you again, and you turned your head away. He let out a soft growl of frustration before pulling away from the tree.

You yelped and shuddered when your back met the cold damp ground, but your yelp turned into a gasp when he firmly thrust into you. It was a feeling unlike any other you’d ever known, and you squeezed your eyes shut, one hand fisted into his shirt while the other did the same to the grass.

You felt full, but it was an uneasy feeling, like you shouldn’t be full. Every drag of his member pulled a whimper from you, and your face crumbled when he pressed kisses to it, trying to bring some comfort to you while he had his way with you.

“You feel exactly as I dreamed you would,” he whispered.

You sniffed beneath him, core protesting his assault, no matter how gentle it was. You pushed against him again, but he gripped your hand, bringing it to his mouth, and a shiver traveled down your spine as he brushed his lips over the inside of your wrist. He held your gaze as he held your wrist to his lips, and the intensity behind his eyes scared you.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I have every intention of marrying you.”

Somehow, the fact that he was telling the truth scared you more than the thought of him abandoning you. He was going to take you away from your mother and sister, and then who would look out for them? A shaky sob escaped your lips, and he shushed you again, hips curving into yours over and over.

“No one will ever discover what you did. I’ll see to it,” he told you, kissing you again. “…and I’ll make sure your family is well cared for.”

His breath hitched, pace changing, and your toes curled on their own accord.

“Why?” you tearfully gasped as he nipped at your neck. “Why…?”

He paused his movements, holding himself inside of you as he looked down at you. You felt defeated, and the only thing left was confusion, bafflement at why you. He brushed his fingers over your tear-stained cheek, eventually ghosting them over your swollen lips. Sherlock looked at you like you were the most magnificent creature he’d ever seen, and your stomach turned.

“…so much of you is still a mystery to me, and even if I never figure you out…”

He brushed his soft lips against yours.

“…at least you are mine.”

tags: @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox @harryspet @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @trinittyy @hyoyeoniie @kellyn1604 @sherrybaby14 @jtargaryen18

#dark sherlock holmes #dark!sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #dark fic #sherlock x reader #henry cavill

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lukescaboose · 3 years

Text

So Into You

Hello everyone and Happy Valentine’s Day! I’m so excited to put this out into the world I’ve been working on it for almost a a year and its my first fic in nearly two years. I really hope you guys love it as much as I do and thanks so much if you choose to read it. love you all xx

Summary: Lauren and Harry are best friends who love each other and they both know it but Lauren is too stubborn to admit it.

What’s in it: Sugar sweet best friends to lovers with a healthy bit of smut. Black ofc.

Word count: 24.8k

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She couldn’t stop watching him from across the crowded dinner table. She admired him, his charisma and charm, his ability to dazzle a room without trying. She’d always loved that about him, way before she’d realized that she was in love with him anyway. It was his striking personality that had drawn her to him in the first place. Though they had never been anything more than best friends, Lauren was adamant to always let him know how much she appreciated that about him. And as she watched now she couldn’t help the small grateful smile from spreading across her lips. She was lucky enough to experience him for who he was and not because of the fame he had accumulated. Harry was everything to her. He reminded her that there were good people in the world, willing to give the shirt off their backs if it got someone else ahead.

Harry’s eyes met hers from the other end of the table, he offered her a smile and a silly face. She chuckled and looked away, her fingers coiling around the stem of her wine glass. She didn’t know anyone else besides Harry at this dinner party, but she knew how important it was to him that she’d be there. So she made an effort to make small talk with his colleagues around her but was easily lost when the conversation moved towards Harry’s business as the topic. She never cared for the limelight or wealth, her work dealt with children and the smiles she created were well worth it to her. Harry had felt the same, though his life had led him down a different path. His business created affordable living for lower-income families and he was very successful, though that didn’t matter to him.

Their aspiration for creating a change was how he and Lauren met. A benefit concert that Harry had put together drew Lauren’s attention and she brought some of her mentees. While the girls participated in the activities she wandered about to each vendor and learned about more ways to help within her community. It was when Harry had approached her that she thought her heart would lurch from her throat. He was incredibly handsome, dressed in a cream suit with a baby blue button-up undone at his chest. They talked, connected over their professions, and agreed to meet over dinner. It was no more than a networking opportunity, Lauren knew that a donation from Harry would secure a safe living environment for the girls at her group home. But when they met over dinner the conversation was endless and they talked until the restaurant was about to close. Harry had promised to make a donation to her home in exchange for her number. He was wildly attracted to Lauren, her dedication to her craft made him feel safe. She was ambitious, never righteous, and knew just how important her work was to the kids. He’d donate all of his earnings to her if it meant he got to see her again.

As much as Lauren was attracted to Harry she’d never mix business with her own personal life, she was very adamant about that. Harry didn’t feel the same way but settled for friends if it meant that she’d be in his life. So they’d meet up for drinks often and discuss the labors of their work life, but the more they’d see each other the easier it was to blur the lines between colleagues and friends. Soon enough they’d begun to go over each other’s places and share the intimate details of their lives. They enjoyed each other’s company, knew how many people in their line of work only cared about money. Harry and Lauren both used their heart in everything they accomplished. With Harry’s personality and refreshing outlook on life, it was easy for Lauren to fall into a friendship with Harry - so much so he became her favorite confidant. It was nice for Harry to find someone who wasn’t interested in piggybacking on the tails of his success. Lauren had shared the same vision he did, the reward was simply making a difference. Though if it were up to Harry, he’d put Laurens name on every deal he’d ever signed, at the end of every speech he’d ever delivered. She was very much just as part of his success as he was and he’d never be able to repay her. He couldn’t imagine where he’d be without her, probably wouldn’t have made it as far as he had. Lauren listened to every idea he’d ever had, adding her input to his three A.M. thoughts. Without her, he’d probably be the same twenty-two-year-old kid with a dream.

The dinner ended with Harry thanking his team for helping him achieve his vision. He made sure to give special thanks to Lauren, which had her smiling sheepishly at her dinner plate. Though he did that often, it never failed to make her cower under the stare of his colleagues. Harry smiled brightly at her from the head of the table reassuring her that without her none of this would have been possible. The opening of a new recreational center was Lauren's idea and she had pushed Harry way past his comfort zone when she presented it to him. The project was their baby and to see it come to light was something neither of them took for granted. Although Lauren wanted none of the praise or acknowledgment, Harry could never pretend as if this was all his doing.

Lauren watched as Harry greeted and thanked his colleagues for coming. She stayed back, wanting to be the last to speak with him. They were going out for celebratory drinks, Harry’s idea. As the final group made their way out of the restaurant, Harry engulfed Lauren in a hug. “Feels good huh?” He asked her, placing a small kiss to her temple. She pulled away from their embrace, grabbing his hand in hers with a nod. “Really spectacular, Harry.” She beamed up at him. “All thanks to you, love. Still can’t believe you shot down my idea of putting your name on the building.” He frowned. She shushed him with a laugh, pulling him towards the entrance.

Harry made sure to order Lauren’s favorite drink as she found a table for them to sit at. He brought the drinks back to her, ignoring the frown etched on her lips because he paid. He slid in next to her in the rounded booth, pushing her drink towards her with a smile. “Cheers to another advancement in the community and for all of your brilliant ideas.” He extended his glass to hers. She rolled her eyes jokingly at him but clanked her glass against his anyway. Harry grabbed her hand that rested on the table, capturing her gaze with his own with a bout of sincerity. “Thank you, Lauren, seriously. I couldn’t have done this without you.” His calloused thumb rubbed over the smooth skin of her hand and she smiled. “We make a good team.” She grinned. “You give me any more ideas and I’m putting you on the payroll.” He chuckled over the rim of his glass, earning himself another eye roll from Lauren. “M’just supporting your vision.” She reminded him, taking a sip from her beverage. “Our vision.” He corrected her swiftly. She smiled at him then, his kindness something she never took for granted. It was one of the reasons she found herself so desperately falling for him. He made it so hard for her not to want him in the ways that she did. She moved her hand from his hold and brought it to toy with her hair. She’d worn it natural tonight, the curls retracting when she let the strand free.

“Like your hair like tha’.” He remarks, eyes following the actions of her fingers. Her gaze follows his, the curl she’d previously been playing with in front of her eyes now.

“Thank you, took a long time.” She sighs, pushing the curl from her vision. He laughs, finishing the contents of his glass.

“I know, seen you on wash day plenty of times.” She chuckles, shaking her head. “S’my favorite though.” He finishes with a sigh. A compliment was never far from his lips when he was around Lauren. Most of the time he did it without realizing it, always wanting to share whatever was on his mind with her. Other times he complimented her just because he liked the way her eyes shifted after. He found it funny that she always acted as if she’s heard something that wasn’t meant for her. That only made him reassure her that he was in fact speaking to her. She was gorgeous and he’d always tell her, she deserved to hear it. Lauren’s palms always got sweaty whenever he did that. She had never felt so seen and acknowledged as she did when she was around Harry. He was always bragging about her, even if he was the only one to hear it. He’d always felt that things that were incredible needed to be celebrated - in this case, his “thing” was just a “who”. She smiles appreciatively, the melanin in her skin hiding the inevitable blush. He never failed to make her flush.

“You’re too kind.” She laughs, finishing the contents of her drink. The remaining ice hits the glass audibly and she sighs, settling back into her seat.

“Only to you.” Harry winks at her, fanning a fire inside her chest that only he could put out. When he leaves to grab them a refill Lauren lets out an audible breath. She always feels like she’s holding the air inside her lungs whenever she’s around Harry. His compliments and praise suffocate her to the point where she feels dizzy. And if this were the way she was to die she’d be more than okay with that. She had never felt this way in her entire life. Men and relationships came and went, but this one she felt everywhere. It was like he had cast a spell on her, consuming her thoughts with every waking word and she didn’t mind but always felt relieved when she came back to earth. He was just so charming, to the point where it was hard to focus on anything else but him. She knew it wasn’t only her that felt this way, Harry had a way about him that would captivate his company. He drew people in, that’s what he was good at, and for her, he’d never stop until she succumbed to his charm.

“For you, angel.” He slid the glass towards her, making himself comfy by her side. She smiles and thanks him, expelling the air between her lips after she swallows. “How’re the girls?” He asks, the tension is thick between them but he had grown used to it by this point. It was always like this, tense but comfortable, exciting even. Harry always looked forward to the times where they could be alone and catch up, even if he spent the majority of the time thinking about how beautiful she was. Lauren wipes the condensation from her glass onto a napkin, her eyes gleaming as she thinks about the girls from her job.

“They’re great.” She responds with a chuckle, “So wickedly smart those girls.” Her mind travels to her mentees and how they always kept her on her toes with their insightful questions. They were always changing Lauren’s perspective on things and sometimes she felt that they were teaching her more than she was teaching them.

“That’s great. And everything with the home is okay?” He queried and she nods with a smile.

“What about you, big shot? Any new news that I should know?” She shoves at his shoulder lightly, having read in the paper that he had opened a new development on the west side of town. He laughs lightheartedly, his hand reaching up to wipe over his mouth.

“I’ve been quite busy.” He shrugs then places his arm over the back of the booth. Lauren finds it difficult not to fall into his side. Even though she desperately wants to and Harry hopes that she does.

“I’d say.” She chuckles. She places her chin in her hand, turning her body towards Harry’s. He fights the urge to lean into her, always wanting to be closer than what she’d allow. “Proud of you.” She murmurs, brown eyes watching over his face. He smiles a dimpled smile at her and clinks his glass against hers as a thank you.

It's quiet for a moment, the bar is more upscale with very few patrons and Harry is grateful. Though he knows better than to think anything different, he almost lets himself believe that they’re on a date. Every moment spent with her felt intimate, whether those were her intentions or not, and most times Harry didn’t mind playing pretend. “You know,” He drags out the words, catching Lauren’s attention and she fights the urge to roll her eyes. Whenever he started a sentence that way a new idea followed.

“Why don’t you take a break for a while, H. Bask in the moment for a bit.” She sighs, gently placing her hand over his. Lauren had come to learn very quickly that Harry wasn’t very fond of rest. Unlike herself, he was always bouncing from one venture to the next. She always felt like she needed a month's rest after one big thing. Though they were polar opposites, they worked together and were always pulling each other out of their comfort zones.

“I know, love. Which is exactly why I booked us a getaway.” He grinned, that stupid grin that always made Lauren’s insides quiver. She furrowed her eyebrows at him, the confusion setting in after the initial shock. Harry gripped her hand that was already on his, squeezing gently as he beamed at her. “Know you’ve got some time off and I know how hard it is for you to actually distance yourself from your work. So, I figured, why not get away so you can actually take care of yourself for a bit.” He shrugs sheepishly and she continues to stare at him in bewilderment. Finding it hard to believe that he had actually done something like this. Not that this was something he’d never do, getaways were always something he’d bring up. But each time, Lauren would shoot it down with the excuse of work. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go, she didn’t trust herself to go. Now she had no excuse, no safety net to catch her when she was in this kind of predicament. The way he was looking at her with such hopeful eyes was enough for her to contemplate saying yes for a moment.

“Please, Lau” He pleaded when she was quiet for a moment too long. “You know how much we both could use this and there’s no better time. I’m stepping away for a bit since this project is completed, and I’d love nothing more than to run away for a bit with you.” She couldn’t help but smile softly at his words, even in the midst of her panic. There was no excuse good enough that he would accept, and she had no real reason not to go. Harry knew her boundaries and always respected them, she had no reason to believe that anything would change when they went away.

“How long?” she raised an eyebrow at him and his smile grew, knowing she was cracking.

“Five nights,” He felt giddy as his body leaned in towards hers. “Santa Monica, beach view, close to the pier.”

“Hotel?”

“Airbnb.”

Her smile grew larger as the excitement set in, just as Harry knew it would. She had mentioned one time, a feeble excuse to get out of a vacation, that hotels were just as strict as work. She hated the rigidness and that you could never make a hotel feel like home. She always felt like she was sharing her vacation with a hundred other strangers, the shared amenities alone were enough to make her stay as far away as possible.

“Fine.” She grinned.

“You’re gonna love it, I promise.” Harry went on to explain the intricate details of their trip. They would leave that upcoming weekend, all their expenses were paid for. And he was certainly not budging on that. “You wouldn’t even let me compensate you for the brilliant idea of a rec center, Lau. Let me do this for you, Lord knows you deserve it.” He sighed. He ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly, her stubbornness has always been something he could do without. He admired it at times, adored it others, but when it got in the way of him trying to express his appreciation for her, he hated it. She stuck her tongue out at him teasingly.

“I’m paying you back whether you like it or not.” She huffed, pulling her hand away from his albeit reluctantly.

“And I’ll match it and donate it to a foundation of your choosing, princess.” She crossed her arms over her chest like a child which only made Harry chuckle.

“Thank you, but I hate you right now.” She pouts.

Harry shrugs and nods his glass towards her, “You can hate me on the beach, darling.”

***

“All packed, lovie?” His voice echoes through the receiver as her phone lays on her dresser. She huffed, loud enough that she knew he’d hear it, whilst shoving random items into her dusty suitcase. It took her forever just to find the old thing. Mostly reserved for trips back home - which were few and far between - it was shoved in the back of the hall closet. She had made a list loaded with essentials to bring, but she wished she had cuter outfits to bring. It was stupid and she knew it, but despite how many times she told herself she shouldn’t, she wanted to impress Harry.

“Just about, wish I had some new things to wear. Meant to go shopping this week but got caught up at work every day.” She groaned, pulling a bikini from her bottom drawer. It was barely enough to be considered cute but it would have to do.

“Can always go shopping when we get there.” His voice sounded further away now, she reckoned he’d put the phone down somewhere as she had.

“And overpay ridiculously at some tourist shop? No thanks.” She chuckled, now going through her summer basket.

“I’ll take you to the nearest Target as soon as we land, how’s tha’ sound?” She laughed loudly, wishing she could smack away the smirk that was adorning his features inevitably.

“Oh I’ll be holding you to that, can’t possibly bring all my hair products on the plane.” The thought of that made her slightly nauseous. She didn’t want to pay for products that she wouldn’t be able to bring back home, but it was a small price to pay for a free vacation.

“Thought you had an appointment to get your hair braided today? S’that why I never got those pictures I asked for?” She could practically hear the pout in his voice, and it was moments like these that made it difficult to distinguish what their relationship really was. She was certain he had only meant that he wanted to see her hair because that is what any friend would want, but her mind allowed her to believe that he was genuinely interested. Which he was, but Lauren was too stubborn to see anything for what it truly was.

“I was getting butterfly locs, doofus, had to cancel last minute though.” She sighed at another added stressor.

“Can’t go tomorrow? Our flights not til 10:30 at night, love.” He was closer to the phone now, sat on the end of his bed, and thinking of any way to make things right for her. He didn’t want her to worry about her hair or anything else for that matter, which is exactly why when he booked the hair appointment he had also placed a deposit for the next day just in case anything should go wrong.

“Probably not, she’s definitely booked by now.” Lauren didn’t want to dwell on it much, though she knew how much she wanted that hairstyle. She could never find the time to get it done and thought it was perfect for a vacation of any sort.

“Give her a call tomorrow morning, bug. Doesn’t hurt to ask.” Harry tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, knew she’d flip her shit if she knew what he’d done.

“I’ll have to pay extra, it’s not even worth it.”

He rolled his eyes on his end, “About the same amount you’ll waste on hair products, I reckon. You want your hair done, go get it done.” He huffed, hoping that would do the trick, he had no other moves up his sleeve. She was quiet for a moment and he knew she was contemplating his suggestion.

“Fine. I’ll call her, but I don’t want to be let down again.” She picked at the lint on her carpet as she bit her lip and Harry tried his best not to chuckle.

“If it doesn’t work out I promise to help retwist your hair every night before bed, deal?” He smiled at nothing in particular, laying back against his duvet while thinking about just how soft her hair was. He even contemplated canceling the appointment just so he’d have the chance to be close to her.

“You’re impossible.” She laughed. The thought of not calling at all crossed her mind for a moment before she pushed it away, telling herself she’d revisit his words later.

They’d hung up the phone a bit later after Lauren promised to share the outcome of tomorrow morning. Harry was excited to revel in just how happy she’d be to look the way she wanted and he was happy he was able to do that for her. He’d do anything just to see her smile, the consequences he was sure to face for it were minuscule.

***

Just as he knew he would, the next day at around 2 o’clock he received a call from an angry Lauren. He quickly switched the call to video just to see her pretty face and couldn’t keep the grin off his own. She looked more gorgeous than he ever thought imaginable - though he thought that whenever he saw her - it was hard to focus on the irate nature of her tone. Apparently, when Lauren went to pay, the hairdresser spilled the beans that an English gentleman had already footed the bill, and had left a pretty generous tip. Which left Lauren flushing and dodging questions from her regular stylist with empty promises to answer her inquiries later. She rushed from the salon to call Harry immediately, her skin on fire with anger and simultaneously, appreciation.

“Well aren’t you a vision?” He interrupts her rant as soon as her camera connects which makes her stutter out a thank you in the midst of her rambling.

“You’re racking up quite a bill here, Styles.” She huffs as she gets into her car, and Harry can’t keep his eyes off his screen. He was sure that this vacation was sure to put the nail in his coffin but he didn’t mind. He had it bad for her and would do it again and again.

“S’ nothing if I get to see you smile.” He reminds her, rolling over in his covers. He was faintly aware of just how late in the day it was becoming but figured rest was best before a vacation where his thoughts and attention would solely be on her. He ignores the way she rolls her eyes, his eyes watching the golden charms wrapped around her hair. “Seriously though, your hair looks very nice.” He hums and watches as she bites her lip to avoid smiling.

“How’d you know what hair to buy, anyway? You didn’t even know what they were called.” She pesters.

“Oh, I have my ways, darling.” Truthfully he had asked for a detailed list from the hairstylist on where to go and what to buy. He insisted that he pay for her time but she told him he had already given her plenty, which didn’t stop him from tipping her slightly more than necessary.

“You make it so hard to be mad at you.” She scowled. Harry followed with a deep laugh, only wiping the frown from Lauren’s face just as quickly as it had formed.

“Because I don’t deserve for you to be mad at me!” He grinned widely at his phone, all consumed with her presence.

“That’s for me to decide, Styles. I’m not talking to you for the whole flight, swear it.” She nodded in agreement with herself, which only made Harry laugh harder.

“We both know I don’t need your response to talk your ear off, sweetheart.” And he was right, that was one of the things Lauren loved most about him, his rambling. She could be dead asleep and he’d talk just to hear his thoughts aloud and she truly did not mind. She couldn’t count the times she had fallen asleep to the sound of his voice whether it be over the phone or in person. In fact, she preferred succumbing to sleep that way. The slow forming words on rose-colored lips painted her dreams anyhow.

She’d made it the entire ride to the airport, the trek through security, and half of the wait for boarding without talking to him. A task that was easier said than done. He was purposefully bringing up topics he knew she loved to talk about, and reveled in the way her face would twist when she caught herself opening her mouth to respond. She was more than ready to give up the charade but knew his satisfaction was not something she wanted to hear about. So she persisted, busied herself with her emails, and ignored Harry’s remark about taking a break from work.

“How long y’gonna torture me like this, love?” His hushed tone against her ear had her shifting nervously in the uncomfortable airport chair. “Reckon everyone around thinks I’m just some lonely lad.” A cold shudder ran down her spine at his proximity and the feeling of his breath against the shell of her ear. She was frozen in her place for a moment, the tempest in her brain willing her to give in. She needed to stay strong, assert any type of willpower at this moment. She figured it was time to change the outcome of how these things usually go. He was pulling all his stops and normally this is where she’d cave. But Lauren wondered what would come next, although against her best interest. So she stuck to her guns. She slid further into her chair, crossing her legs to draw Harry’s attention, and continued to scroll. He huffed, his hair tickling her cheek as he dropped his head dramatically.

“Fine.” He slouched into his own seat, grumpily looking down at his own phone. His obvious pout was visible from Lauren’s peripheral and she found it difficult not to stare at it. Her thoughts reminded her that she was only punishing herself. So he had done a nice thing, so what? When’s the last time that anyone had been so thoughtful? The man had made two appointments and picked out braiding hair. But that was precisely the problem. Those were the reasons why she was as mad as she was. Harry had once again made it harder for her to distinguish the nature of their relationship. Then she was reminded that the only reason Harry was being kept at arm’s length was because of her in the first place. This then brought up the impenetrable fact that the relationship that they had built was too special to damage with self-indulgences. So the indifferent look on her face remained for just a while longer. Until they were seated next to each other, closer than could possibly be comfortable, she hated airlines for that. Unbeknownst to her, Harry was tempted to buy the first-class seats but knew better not to. No matter how uncomfortable he was in the tiny seats of economy-class.

“Can’t leave me lonely the whole trip, can you? I’m on my knees here, darling.” He pleaded, trying his best to meet her eye but she wouldn’t let him.

“You’re sitting actually.” She said pointedly, still making an effort to not return his gaze. He sighed in relief, dropping his head against her shoulder.

“Geeze, love had me dying.” He mumbled. “Thought I’d have to start singing to ya.” He slumped into his chair, making himself as cozy as possible.

“Wouldn’t have minded, know how much I love when you sing.” She teased, offering a small smile that tugged on the corner of her mouth. Harry flushed at her compliment, he only ever sang for her and his mum. He drops his head with a sheepish grin, fingers fiddling his rings for a second. Lauren softens deeper when she catches his diffident actions, knowing just how vulnerable he is about that area of his life.

She had caught him singing on accident the first time, they were making dinner in the kitchen of his place, one of his many playlists going in the background. She remembered chopping onions to ‘Sparks’ by Coldplay when she’d heard him. It was faint at first, barely audible over the music, but this enticed her to listen harder. She turned from her position quickly, walking to his side of the kitchen to grab the kitchen towel. She was happy he hadn’t stopped when she approached him and decided to not comment on it then. He was rather good, a lovely voice she’d noted. It was unlike Harry to not flaunt the areas he was rather good in and Lauren figured it was something he wasn’t keen on sharing. It wasn’t until he sang twice more that she spoke up. They were in her living room, the TV muted and a playlist of her own droning in the background. That was how they shared songs with each other, shazam’ing secretly in the other’s presence. Mac Ayres’s ‘Slow Down’ was playing softly and Harry began to sing absentmindedly.

“Y’know this one?” She’d said without considering it, closing her mouth quickly afterward. Harry looked at her guiltily, nodding with a small chuckle.

“Looked it up last time you played it.” He admitted. Lauren grinned, she always took secret pride in introducing Harry to new things.

“You’ve got a nice voice, by the way.” She scrolled down her timeline in an effort to not watch for his reaction, knew he’d be a bit embarrassed. Which he was, he’d never thought of the possibility of Lauren actually hearing him. He knew that it wasn’t unlikely that she had, he had become that comfortable with her he supposed. But nevertheless, the compliment had him turning crimson. She never said anything about it after that. She wanted him to be comfortable around her, a safe space like he was for her.

“Maybe I should sing more often if it means you’ll be mad at me less.” He chuckled, scratching his jaw in recovery.

“Maybe you’ll be so busy singing, you won’t be able to do the things you do that make me mad.” Lauren smiles a closed-lipped sarcastic smile which only makes Harry grin.

“Touche.”

The seatbelt light dings then, signaling their takeoff and their attention is lost from one another. Lauren turns to look out the window, her blanket folded over her legs. She wore shorts in preparation for the warm weather upon their arrival, but it was a terrible idea. Her thighs stuck to every chair she sat in and the peeling of her skin from the fake leather was causing irritation. Harry could see the grimace in her face whenever he extended his hand to help her up, and at first, he thought it was because she was angry with him. It was when she rubbed tenderly at the back of her thigh that he realized. He offered to buy her some sweats from the tourist shop but the scowl she’d made was enough for him to not push it further. That was exactly what had gotten him the silent treatment in the first place. Instead, he placed his courtesy airline blanket over her chair before she sat down. Lauren wanted to be mad that he continued to be unreasonably sweet to her even without paying for anything, but she was too relieved to care. She had also worn short sleeves - which was a rookie mistake - and was deciding if it was her legs or arms that would suffer. Harry had layered up and truthfully didn’t mind. Lauren unfolded the blanket and extended some to him with a small apologetic smile. He returned one of his own, lifting the armrest between them.

“Here get some rest, you had a long day today.” Lauren rests her head against his shoulder without a word, more than grateful for his offer. Harry rests his cheek on her head, inhaling her scent quietly.

***

“Wake up, love.” Harry puts the rental in park, reaching over to gently touch her arm. “Food will be here soon.” Lauren lifts her head from the window, groggy and disoriented. She groans, stretching within the small confines of the vehicle.

“What’d you order?” She grumbles, stifling a yawn with her words as she undoes her seatbelt.

“Chinese. Got that sushi you like too.” He smiles softly at her though she’s not looking. He had decided that he’d let himself play pretend for a while, figured it couldn't hurt to just let himself be. If that meant living in delusion for the duration of their vacation, then so be it. He’d be there waiting until she wanted to make it a reality anyhow.

The Airbnb was very quaint and sweet. Harry tried hard to find something that would feel like home for Lauren and still offered a nice view of the beach. He walked behind her through the front door, lugging a suitcase and waiting anxiously for her reaction. The layout of the space was open, not too much focus on the living room but rather on the kitchen that harnessed the view of the pier. Bright blues and grays decorated the home, deep mahogany hardwood adding just the right touch of home.

“Oh, H.” Lauren breathed, her eyes wide as she took in her surroundings.

“Do you like it?” He asks nervously, placing the suitcase by the door. There were more bags to be grabbed from the car, but he was enjoying the look on Lauren’s face far more.

“It’s amazing, Harry. Really, I love it.” She turns to him, sporting a smile larger than Harry has ever seen her wear, and he wishes he could make her smile like that every day for the rest of his life. His arms wrap around her figure when she embraces him, placing a small kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, I appreciate this.” She says, letting her fingers graze his face in their close proximity. Lauren smiles gently, hoping that her words were enough to express just how appreciative she really is. No one had ever gone as far as to consider the small details that were important to her. She was genuinely grateful to have a friend like Harry.

“Anything to see you smile, you know that.” He speaks softly, the pad of his thumb rubbing small circles at her back. He places a slow kiss on her forehead, letting his lips linger for far longer than they should before pulling away. “I’m gonna grab the rest of our stuff.” His tone is just above a whisper, and Lauren is too enchanted with him to say anything before he’s out the door and down the porch steps.

She was enamored by her surroundings, Harry’s sweet touch, and his words - things that would usually overwhelm her. But given her circumstances, she had never felt more cared for, the grave she had dug for herself had just become several inches deeper. She ran her hands along the cold stone of the large island, gazing into the darkness out the large windows. There was an alcove on the opposite side of the room that overlooked the scenery that was sure to be stunning in the morning, and Lauren was glad she had brought her favorite book along. She wanted to wait for Harry before going on a proper tour of the home, but curious eyes had her wandering down the long hallway. From what she had seen, there seemed to be no upstairs to the home and she was grateful. She hated homes that felt divided into too many parts. She decided to wait for Harry before checking the rooms out and made her way back to the kitchen. On the opposite side, there were large sliding doors that led out to a massive backyard with a pool that was lit up a light purple color. The air warmed her skin as she ventured outside, eyes resting on the patio set that would be perfect for breakfast in the morning. She made a note to wake up early so she could make breakfast for him. She’d already noticed that the cabinets and fridge were stocked full of groceries, surely something Harry had arranged, and she wanted to do something special for him.

“Gorgeous isn’t it?” His voice startled her, only bringing a smile to his face as he leaned against the doorframe. She turned to face him, a shocked expression on her face and he couldn’t tell if it was the view or his sudden reappearance that had caused it. Lauren shifted on her feet, looking back out towards the view where she could vaguely make out the shape of the sea. “It really is, Har. I can’t thank you enough.” She breathes, fidgeting with her fingers as she speaks. The thought of how much he must’ve spent on such a nice stay made her uneasy but she figured she’d just enjoy it, there was no use in arguing over it.

“The food’s here if you’re hungry, darling. After we eat we could go on a little tour if you’re not too tired.” He hums, twisting his rings around his fingers. He wasn’t uncomfortable with her around, only slightly surprised that he had even made it this far. He knew it would be a long shot to even get her to agree to come along with him, and it was nice to see that his efforts weren’t in vain. Harry honestly thought he’d take the trip by himself and sulk around the pier for a week. He hadn’t thought about what would happen if she actually came along with him, figured he wouldn’t get his hopes up with wishful thinking.

“That sounds lovely actually.” She sighs, her stomach growling at the mention of food and Harry offers his hand to her before leading her into the kitchen. Lauren ushers him to sit, telling him the least he can do is let her make his plate. They had similar ways of showing their appreciation for each other, though Harry spent way too much money. Lauren liked to do little things for him, pick up a book he hadn’t gotten around to purchasing, unloading his dishwasher every now and again. They were always subtle actions that she didn’t think Harry realized but he always did. It was the way those little thoughtful acts made him feel that had him showering her with gifts and his constant attention. Those things were priceless to him and everything he did was in an effort to repay her.

He remembered when he moved to Georgia after finishing college and how he felt like it would never feel like home. He had always figured he’d move back to England after school but there were more opportunities in the states for him. The first year was lonely, so he threw himself into his work and made friends that way, but nothing felt quite right. He always felt like a visitor until he met Lauren, she was his roots. Not the job, or his apartment, but her. As he watched her plate his food for him he couldn’t help but smile fondly at his best friend. She didn’t know it, but she was the reason he had stayed in Atlanta for as long as he had. Sure new opportunities had arisen for him in various places, but he only wanted to be wherever she was.

“Better than home, huh?” She said over a mouthful of food. They had eaten mostly in silence, tired from a long day of traveling. The silence was nice now that Harry wasn’t being forced into it. He nodded while wiping his mouth, chuckling at Lauren’s terrible table manners. “Only by a little, you know how good the food is back home.” He leaned back in his chair, pushing his cleared plate away from him. She nodded in agreement, setting her fork on her own plate and letting out a sigh of content. Harry moved to clear their spots but she stopped him, insisting that she’d do the dishes in just a bit. He frowned at her but she wasn’t budging, grabbing his hand in hers to keep him seated.

“You can throw away the garbage, but I’ll clean up. Let me, please.” She sighed, knowing that if she let him she’d never lift a finger the whole trip.

“Deal, but let’s do the tour first then we’ll clean and unpack its getting late.” It was a little after one in the morning and the pair were exhausted.

Harry kept her hand in his for the entire walk around the house, most excited when he showed her the courtyard, promising her it was more spectacular in the daytime. Lauren was in awe of everything he showed her, thinking that even if they never left this rental home her trip would still be well spent. He watched her choose which room she wanted, chuckling gently when her eyes widened at the size of the master. Complete with an en suite that encompassed a clawfoot tub she almost drooled at, she insisted that Harry take the largest room. Of course, he was prepared for the stubborn conversation that followed and in the end, Lauren’s suitcase was placed at the foot of the bed. She feigned a pout as she unpacked her bags, but Harry could see just how happy she truly was. His room was just across the hall, with an equally spectacular view just sans a patio. Harry didn’t care where he slept as long as she got everything she deserved.

“Afraid your bed is comfier than mine.” He groaned, pushing his face deeper into the mountain of pillows.

“Oh don’t start! I told you to take the room.” She stood at the end of the bed with her hands on her hips, a half-folded shirt crumpled in her fist. Harry laughed tiredly, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

“M’just kidding, love. I swear a cardboard box would be just as fine right now.” He yawns dramatically, reaching his arms above his head.

“Head on to bed then, H. Know you’re tired.” She hums, putting the last of her things into the dresser. She liked putting her things away even when on vacation, it made her feel slightly more comfortable with staying somewhere that wasn’t home.

“I should, shouldn’t I?” He sits up and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. She hums and makes her way towards the bathroom to wash her face. “Goodnight, love. I’m right across the hall if you need a cuddle.” He says sleepily.

Lauren smiles at him through the mirror as he stands behind her, placing a small kiss on the back of her head. “Might take you up on that, I can never sleep well the first night of vacation.” She sighs, rubbing her cleanser into her skin gently.

“Well if that’s the case I’ll just sleep in here with you tonight. Can’t have you tired on our first day.” He hums. She nods, more excited than she dared to admit out loud about sharing a bed with him. Sure they had plenty of times before after a night out or a hang out that lasted a bit too long. But it had been a long time since the last time.

“I’ll go get ready for bed, be back in a minute.” She nodded again without a word, finishing up her routine by brushing her teeth. She was slightly happy that she had made it around to do some shopping and had picked up a couple of cute pajama sets. The thought of wearing her oversized t-shirts on vacation wasn’t all that appealing and nice pajamas were always good to have.

A few moments later as promised, Harry was snug in her bed waiting for her. It was definitely a sight she could get used to but decided not to think about too much. She tossed her old clothes into her travel hamper that she’d neatly set up in the closet before making her way to the dresser. Harry watched her with curious eyes as she applied lotion to her skin, making a note that she always used that brand before bed, he was sure to buy her more when they got home. He watched as she put her hair up into her bonnet, giggling sleepily at how cute she looked.

“Literally takes you an hour just to get into bed, come on I’m sleepy.” He whines, sinking deeper into the covers. She laughs, assuring him that she’s almost done. She takes off her rings and places them neatly with the rest of her jewelry before climbing into bed and turning off the bedside lamp. Harry extends his arms to her, willing her to come closer and she obliges, settling softly against his chest. She doesn’t mind when he entwines their legs, twisting their bodies together so it’s hard to tell where his begins and hers ends.

“So happy you’re here.” He murmurs, his breath tickling at her ear. Lauren’s stomach swarms within itself as he pulls her impossibly closer, fingers tracing aimlessly at her back.

“Happy to be here.”

Untangling herself from Harry the next morning was one of the hardest things Lauren feels she has ever had to do. He was so warm and the way he groaned when she pulled away from him almost broke her heart wide open. When she was finally free of his grabby hands and pouty face she shuffled to the bathroom, promising that she’d only be gone for a minute. It was the only thing that the sleepy man would acquiesce, although she knew she wasn’t coming back. It was 8:30 in the morning, far too early for Lauren’s liking, but she was excited to cook in the beautiful kitchen down the hall. After sliding on her slippers she quietly made her way towards the door, looking back to see Harry cuddled up with the pillow she had previously occupied. She smiled softly, closing the door behind her.

Thirty minutes later, the bacon and eggs were cooking and a mountain of assorted pancakes sat prettily on a plate. Lauren sang along softly to Harry’s playlist as she cooked, carefully scrambling cheese into the eggs so they would be perfect. She had cut up some of the fresh fruit and set it up nicely in a glass bowl, everything waiting on the island to be brought outside. Harry wandered groggily down the hall, the smell of food pulling him out of his sleep. He wasn’t all too pleased when he woke up and Lauren wasn’t beside him. He had slept better than he had in a while last night and was looking forward to waking up with her in his arms. Lauren had felt the same, she wasn’t much of a cuddler and usually liked her space when she shared a bed with someone else, but it was different with Harry. With him, she didn’t feel smothered or overwhelmed, but safe and warm.

“You didn’t come back.” He pouts when he reaches the kitchen, leaning on the counter beside her.

She chuckles, removing the eggs from the pan and onto a plate. “Made you breakfast.” She smiles and the pout leaves his lips immediately.

“I know, woke up to the smell of it. Looks good, bug.” She swats his hand when he cheekily pops a diced pineapple into his mouth.

“S’just about ready, need your help taking everything outside though.” She says as she takes the bacon out of the oven. He nods and begins to fill his arms carefully. Lauren had already brought the plates and silverware out, along with the orange juice and glasses. She followed Harry outside carrying the eggs and bacon, taking a seat when everything was set up nicely.

“Thank you for this, I appreciate it.” He says once they’re settled and Lauren is done taking a video for her Instagram story. She sighs around a mouth full of pancakes, wiping her mouth when she swallows.

“The least I could do, really.” She looks out towards the yard, which was even more beautiful in the daytime. They could see the beach from here, the sun glistening on the ocean, and a breeze wafting the scent through the air.

“What do you want to do today? Didn’t really plan any activities for us so we can relax.” He shovels a forkful of pancakes into his mouth, fighting the urge to moan at how delicious they were. He always loved her cooking and was grateful that she cooked for him often.

Lauren shrugs indifferently, “Not really in the mood to go anywhere. I do wanna take a bath in that tub though.” She laughs.

Harry nods along with a chuckle, knowing that would be her answer. “Guess we could hang out by the pool then, sounds good to me.”

Lauren had stayed in the bath for longer than she had promised, just as Harry knew she would. She could see him go out to the backyard after about twenty minutes of soaking from the window adjacent to the tub. She watched as he applied sunscreen and laid out for a while, and knew it would only be a matter of time before he was knocking on her door because he was lonesome. Just as she predicted, five minutes later he rose from his chair and sulked inside. Lauren couldn’t fight the laugh as she rose from the tub, stepping out carefully. After drying off and putting her robe on she opens the door only to find him standing there, a pout on his rosy lips.

“I know, I know. I’m coming, sugar.” She breathes, chuckling at his sorry expression. This only makes his frown deepen, moving to the side as she steps into the bedroom. “I saw you out there, looked miserable.” Harry sits on the bed and she opens the dresser to find a suit, pulling out two before tossing the other back into the drawer.

“Always miserable without you.” He picks aimlessly at the comforter before twisting his rings around his fingers.

“You’re a whiny little thing, aren’t you?” She chastises him in a feeble attempt to not dwell on his words for too long. She was used to his behavior, knew how vocal he always was about the way he felt. But she was not used to hearing it constantly like she was, and it was becoming more and more difficult to pass it off for just friendly banter. They’d never spent more than 24 hours together, mostly Lauren’s own doing, and it was becoming easy to think he meant the things he said differently than she thought he had. It was nice to play pretend for a while, but she knew better than that. Nothing good would come out of fantasizing over someone she couldn’t have.

“Only when you take too long, bug.” Lauren shakes her head at him and goes to the bathroom to change, purposely putting a noticeable pep in her step. Harry laughs behind her, falling back to lay against the covers of the unmade bed. She had reprimanded him for that earlier, but neither of them had made any efforts to fix it.

When he sits up again his throat goes completely dry at the sight of her in her yellow bikini. He didn’t know much about women’s swimsuits, but he was certain this one was made for her. Unconsciously, he licks his bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth with his teeth as she rubs some sunscreen into her skin. He had seen her in a bathing suit plenty of times before, but that was before he’d fully come to terms with the way he felt about her. She always looked good no matter what she had on and he always was sure to tell her, even before she was the sun, the moon, and the stars to him.

“S’that new?” He said, shifting to rest with his hand behind him.

“Yeah, got it before we left. Do you like it?” She does a turn for him and he almost wishes she hadn’t. Her figure was full, hips and an ass to match. Her stomach had some give to it, creating a pudge that she always tried to hide.

Harry has to manually close his mouth before he responds, shifting in his seat. “You look gorgeous.” He smiles. He lets his eyes rake over her for longer than would be appropriate, but she doesn’t mind. Truthfully, Lauren had bought the suit with him in mind even against her better judgment. She was a bit nervous when she had tried it on because it wasn’t a suit that would hide some of her insecurities. She never liked the way her thighs would jiggle and her behind would shake as she moved, but she knew she didn’t have to worry about those things while around Harry. He always made her feel good about herself and slowly but surely she’d come to agree with him. It was a cruel thing to do to herself, and Harry, but she was enjoying his reaction.

“Thanks, we match.” She giggles, gesturing to his yellow trunks. He smiles a dimpled smile at her, standing up from the bed and towering over her.

“I don’t look half as good as you do though.” He compliments her again, unsure if he’s capable of keeping his eyes off of her.

She’s thankful for the melanin in her skin that hides her blush as she eyes her reflection in the wall mirror. Harry stands behind her, taking in their appearance. He liked that they were matching, however cheesy it was. He pulls his phone from his pocket and opens the camera, grabbing Lauren’s hip to pull her closer. The first few were regular vacation pics. It was when Harry bent down to place his lips to her cheek, that things took a different turn. Lauren was caught off guard, the smile on her face becoming genuine and one of her hands holds his cheek while the other is placed over his at her hip. Harry snaps a few shots, letting his touch linger before pulling away. They review the pictures together and once Lauren has decided on a favorite, Harry sets it as his lock screen. Her smile was wide, her eyes shut as he kissed her cheek. She was a perfect ray of sunshine and now he could be reminded of it every day.

“Oh, I forgot my sunnies.” She frowns as she digs through her bag again.

“Got them right here, love. Left them on the dresser.” He sits in the lounger next to her and pulls his own sunglasses over his eyes.

“You’re an angel.” She thanks him, putting on the frames and chasing the glare of the sun away. She’d made them Piña Coladas and they sipped idly to beat the heat.

The warmth was welcomed though, Lauren practically lived outside during the nicer months back home. It was nice to feel a warmth only the sun could provide. They laid in silence for the most part, Lauren’s mind adrift and Harry’s as well. She thought about the girls back home and how they were doing, and Harry mostly thought about her. He thought about ways to finally tell her, he thought about what the consequences of those actions may be. He thought about ways to make it so obvious that she couldn’t deny it any longer. Mostly he thought about a scenario in which she loved him back. That one was always the easiest to fall into and hurt way less so he stayed there. In this scenario, she couldn’t rip his heart out with rejection. In this one, she was there at home waiting for him, he was picking her up from work, they shared meals, they slept in the same bed every night. Even though they were sitting a few feet apart, he felt as if she was miles away from him. It was always like this and he wished that things were different. He wished for a life where she would let herself be, where she would let herself be happy. He knew more than anyone just how deserving she was of it, and he wished that she’d let him be that for her.

“Come swim with me.” He beckons when his thoughts become too much. He tries not to focus too much on the way her skin glows under the sun, her complexion radiant as if she were its favorite.

She groans as she sits up, and Harry extends his hand to her pulling her from her chair. He doesn’t let her hand go as they move towards the pool step, and Lauren uses him for stability as she tests the water with her foot. It takes her a minute before she adjusts to the water, and Harry follows behind happily once she’s in. He sings along to the music playing from the speaker as Lauren floats around on her back. She wishes there was a float or something so she could still catch some rays, and makes a mental note to stop by a shop tomorrow. The sound of seagulls and Harry’s voice relaxes her to a place where she feels likes she’s floating in a perfect nirvana. The atmosphere he’d created for them just what she desperately needed but would never ask for aloud. Harry swims closer to her when he becomes bored, calling her name softly to not startle her. She hums in response, blinking her eyes open behind her sunglasses, and sits up so she can tread water.

“What do you think about going out tonight? I’ve got some friends here and they wanna meet up for some drinks.” He pulls her closer to him by her wrist, dragging her to the shallow end and into his arms. She holds onto his forearms as she contemplates his question, mostly thinking of what she brought to wear.

She nods, “Would love to.” He smiles down at her and places a small kiss on her forehead.

“Then tomorrow we can head to the beach - the best cure for a hangover.” He smiles softly and she rolls her eyes.

“Plan on getting me drunk, Styles?” She splashes some water up at him and he chuckles, pulling her closer to his chest to stop her assault.

“Just a little bit.”

***

For the first time in forever, Lauren is grateful that she over packed. She had thrown more than a couple of evening outfits into her suitcase just in case they went out to dinner or frequented a bar for the week. She ditched all the blouses and things alike at home and opted to bring more revealing outfits because of the weather. The skirt she picks out is a pretty shade of blue and spandex material with a matching cropped top. She was also grateful she brought her comfy white shoes with the thick heel and open toe. They were her favorite shoes to go out in and were easy to dress up. They made her short legs look longer, and she always felt her best when she put them on. After doing her makeup she dresses, the slit up the side of her skirt adds the perfect amount of sex appeal and she feels she has never looked better.

She walks into the kitchen to find Harry sitting at the island. He looks away from his phone when he hears the sound of her heels clicking against the hardwood, and he swallows harshly when she comes into view. He himself was wearing cream slacks with a t-shirt tucked into them. His hair was pushed away from his face the way Lauren adored, he always looked much younger when he did that. He lets his eyes rake over her as she stands beside him now and her eyes watch him in bemusement.

“Y’look gorgeous.” He sighs, licking over his bottom lip when his eyes meet hers again and she smiles gently at him, giving him a spin as always. She mutters her appreciation and Harry pulls her closer to him, holding her at arm’s length to truly admire her. Innocent giggles fall from her full lips as he repeatedly tells her just how good she looks. He couldn’t help but notice how the material hugged every curve she had, the slit on the side showcasing her thick thighs that had Harry near drooling. Her ass is damn near perfect and her heels do wonders for her legs, and Harry knows that this might be one of the longest nights of his life. Lauren falls to his chest, hiding her face in his shirt, and he places a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“Car will be here in just a minute, lovie.”

The bar was more of a club and when the Uber drops the pair off, Harry grabs a hold of Lauren’s hand, bypassing the line towards the bouncer. Lauren wasn’t sure what his plan was but is pleasantly surprised when the bouncer gives Harry a nod and moves to let them through. Lauren can’t help but move along to the music as Harry leads the way through a crowd of people. The scene brings her back to her college days when fun was expected on every weekend and most weekdays. She admittedly missed going out and dancing, and was grateful that Harry brought her here.

They make their way to a booth where two other men are sitting, and they jump up as soon as they catch sight of Harry. They’re all jeers and hellos as they embrace and Lauren hangs back for a moment. Harry turns quickly, tugging her closer to his side as he introduces her. Harry had known these guys from college and would visit California often to see them. They were just as attractive as Lauren was expecting, all of Harry’s friends were. Micah was tall, a fade cut, and wearing a suit that seemed very expensive. His smile was warm and inviting, he seemed clean and sharp around the edges. His skin was deep and rich, he was fine. Seth was more on the leaner side, towering over both Harry and Micah. His blonde hair was curly and long, stopping at his shoulders. He too had a perfect smile and a deep charming voice that had nearly knocked Lauren off her feet when he greeted her. She thought quickly that these men would be fun to flirt with, but the idea was gone as soon as it came when she noticed the wedding bands on each of their fingers.

They sit at the booth for a while and conversation is easy as Harry gushes about Lauren and all that she was doing. Harry stands to order another drink for each of them once their’s expires, leaving with a kiss on her temple and a promise to only be gone for a minute. The two men share a knowing smirk behind their glasses unbeknownst to Lauren.

“He never shuts up about you, hasn’t in years.” Seth smiles politely and Lauren grins bashfully.

“He gets a little excited sometimes, yes.” She shifts in her seat, itching to get on the dancefloor.

The men chuckle and Micah swishes the content of his glass around. It was very clear to them that Harry still hadn’t made any advances and it was also obvious that Lauren felt the same way that he did. Harry returns just as Lauren is finishing up telling the guys about her life growing up in Georgia. He slides in with a grin, placing his arm around Lauren’s shoulders and pulling her close to his side.

“Hope these two haven’t bored you half to death, love.” He pushes her drink towards her and she swats at him.

“Better company than you, I think.” She smirks, pulling her drink to her lips. Harry clutches at his chest in fake hurt and his friends laugh.

“She’s just as brilliant as we expected. Feel like we’re in the company of royalty with the way you go on about her.” Micah and Seth are all grins as Harry tries to fight the blush from creeping up his neck. Of course, his mates knew just how bad he had it for her and he should’ve known that they wouldn’t let this be easy.

“What can I say?” He exasperates, “She’s just that perfect.” His hand finds Lauren’s thigh as he chuckles beside himself and she leans into him with a soft smile.

They go on like that for a while and their glasses remain full. Lauren can feel the effects of the alcohol she’s consumed and she listens in quietly as the men talk business. She was beginning to grow impatient with every song that passed, wanting to release her new energy on the dance floor. Her hand finds Harry’s at her thigh and she places it over his. He gives her a gentle squeeze and she hums, toying with his fingers. She fiddles with his rings for a while, and Harry looks down at her when the conversation slows.

“Y’alright, love?” He hums into her ear and she nods, glassy eyes looking up to find his.

“Wanna dance.” She harrumphs, taking a slow sip of her drink. Harry lets a small laugh fall from his lips, nudging her head with his nose.

“In a minute, yeah? Need to be nice and drunk for tha’.” She giggles drunkenly at that, and he squeezes her thigh again. “I’ll order some shots for us.” Harry announces to the table, “ This one wants to dance.” Lauren lets her head roll back onto her shoulders as she laughs. She downs the contents of her glass and dances in her seat when he returns. Harry does the shots fast, making a face when he finishes and Lauren giggles some more as Micah and Seth begin their banter.

Soon enough, Harry’s vision is cloudy and he feels the warmness in his chest engulfing him and he bids his friends good night when they decline the offer to join them. He’s pulling Lauren to the dance floor when he hears a song he particularly likes and she follows behind with a giggle, shaking her hips as she holds tightly onto his hand. They form a sort of circle as they move to the beat, the alcohol making their moves slightly untimely. Lauren finds herself gravitating towards Harry, and his hands reach for her hips to pull her towards his chest. She closes her eyes as she moves to the music, her head tipped back as she holds on to his shoulder. One of his legs is brought between her two as she rocks her hips, his breathing is heavy as he watches her. Their chests are pushed together as she sings along to the lyrics, allowing herself to let loose for a moment. He rocks his body into hers, matching her slow movements. Her hand finds the side of his neck after a few songs, tugging him closer to be heard over the loud music.

“I’m gonna go get another drink!” She shouts. Her inebriated mind allows her to let her lips linger for a moment and she doesn’t move away when he pulls back to look at her.

“I’ll get it, ‘ve got a tab open!” He leaves a lingering kiss behind her ear before they part and she’s left to dance by herself. Lauren didn’t mind dancing alone and lifts an arm over her head as her feet carry her side to side.

When warm hands hold her hips again, she doesn’t think twice as she dances. She falls back against his chest, moving her hips against him. They rock from side to side for a while, until he’s gripping at her thighs and whispering into her ear.

“Let’s go take this elsewhere.” He groans and Lauren jumps away from the unsuspecting partner.

The man is, in fact, not Harry, rather Harry is moving his way through the crowd towards the pair. He watches the interaction as he comes closer, nudging strangers slightly. The guy is whispering into her ear and Lauren is shaking her head profusely denying his advances. The look on the man’s face is one of frustration as he throws his arms around to argue his case. Lauren takes a step back and gestures to Harry when he’s in her view.

“Think I’ll take it from here!” He shouts, nodding in the direction of where the man should go and Lauren takes her drink gratefully. The man scoffs, muttering to himself as he leaves. Harry pulls Lauren back against his chest, bending down to speak into her ear.

“Should’ve known better than t’leave you by yourself! M’sorry, love.” She hums at the sound of his voice, a shiver raking down her spine.

Harry doesn’t like the feeling of jealousy that resides in his chest. Doesn’t like the idea that another had their hands on her, and he knows that it’s irrational to think this way, but he can’t seem to help it. He grips her hips tighter in his hands as she dances against him after telling him to forget about it. But he can’t seem to forget it, his empty hand runs along her side as he brings his face to the side of her neck. She extends her neck and he breathes her in, his nose dragging along the sticky skin. Her hand tangled in his hair and she slows her movements, dipping their bodies slowly as she continues to move her hips.

“You’re so gorgeous.” He groans into her ear, drunkenly kissing at the skin on her neck. She breathes in sharply, her eyes fluttering closed as he squeezes at her thigh.

She rolls her head to the side in search of his eyes, and he leans his forehead against hers. His drunken eyes are hooded and he can’t seem to look away from her parted mouth. She brings her drink up to her mouth as they continue to move, sipping the rest of it through the straw. Her inhibitions were low enough to let whatever should happen, happen and she couldn’t say that she would mind if they had. He turns her around in his arms and brings his leg back between hers. He drops his face near hers, his breath fanning over her lips. She bites her bottom lip and places her forehead on his as she whines to the music. His lips find her ear again and they brush over her skin when his head sways slightly. He pulls her closer to him by the small of her back, and he can just barely feel the heat of her center against his thigh.

Lauren’s mind is borderline incoherent from the alcohol and the way Harry was lighting a fire within her. Sure she had danced with many guys in her past, but this was intimate. The way he was grasping at her fleshy hips, beckoning her impossibly closer, this felt personal. He just couldn’t seem to get enough of her and didn’t know how much longer he’d have her this close. His fuzzy mind was telling him to go for it, and the option didn’t look that bad at the moment.

“So fuckin’ pretty.” He says into her ear, and Lauren bites back a whimper. She’s gripping at his shirt desperately and he brings his face back to hers, nudging her nose with his own. She lifts her chin slightly, begging him to go on and his eyes watch her. Hooded eyes, parted lips, she was totally blissed out and he’d be damned if he missed his moment.

He takes it. Slowly at first, lips grazing over hers hesitantly. She sighs into his mouth when his lips fully encase hers, soft and supple. They pull apart slowly after the first peck, eyes peering at each other partly in disbelief. Their attention is elsewhere than the club they were standing in, moving too slow for the pace of the music. His hand holds the side of her face as she leans up to look at him. Harry chases her lips again, closing over her bottom lip and tugging. Her fingers entangle in his hair to hold him to her and she presses her chest to his. Their kisses remain slow like their thoughts, pulling at the other’s flesh as eyes pry open slightly. Lauren takes the initiative and tugs at his hair gently, sliding her tongue into his mouth when he gasps. He groans into her mouth, his body alight with a fire he could feel burning through his being. She caresses her tongue over his languidly, pulling kiss after kiss from him. Harry pulls away and captures her bottom lip, kissing at it.

“Let’s go home.” He breathes into her ear and she nods, slipping her hand through his.

The Uber ride is all stolen glances and soft touches, an unspoken thing lingering in the air around them. As soon as they’re through the door Harry is kissing down her neck from behind. Lauren hums, falling into his chest as her hand still holds onto his.

“Let’s get ready for bed, yeah?” He mutters against her skin before releasing her and heading down the hall.

Lauren stands in her spot, astonished at his behavior but follows him anyway. He turns into his room without a word and she goes to her own, collapsing onto the bed. Her mind runs in circles when she closes her eyes, and she can’t bring herself to change her clothes. The heels alone needed to be unbuckled and she didn’t think she had the dexterity for that. Harry comes in after a few moments and chuckles at the sight of her.

“Supposed to be getting ready for bed, love.” He teases, sitting on the floor and grabbing her ankle. She sits up to watch him, leaning on her elbows as he places the heel of her shoe on his shoulder. He kisses at her soft skin on her ankle as his fingers undo the belt, massaging at the sore skin when the shoe is placed on the ground. Lauren groans audibly at the feeling, letting her head hang back as he continues. When the other shoe is pulled off he places her pajamas on the bathroom counter. Lauren takes her time changing and washing her makeup off, mentally preparing herself for what might happen. She giggles to herself at the thought that this was actually happening. She wasn’t sure if it was a good idea or not, but her mind had already convinced her that this was what she wanted. She doesn’t focus on the complications of what they’d started, her mind swims with unreasonable thoughts and she can’t seem to identify all the flashing warnings that she’d worked so hard on maintaining. Her rule was to never mix business with pleasure, and if she was being honest, the business aspect of their relationship had dwindled away so long ago. Now Harry was her favorite friend, her favorite soul, and she should take advantage of the opportunity.

When she comes out of the bathroom, Harry is sat on the end of the bed, fiddling with his rings. He looks up at the sound of the door opening and stands, making his way towards her. He grabs her hand when he’s close enough, and pulls her to him, spinning her so her back is to his chest. A loud giggle falls from her lips as he sways them side to side, planting small kisses to her cheeks.

“Ready for bed, love?” He hums, raking his fingers up her side. Her satin tank lifts slightly as he goes on and a shiver rolls through her, all she can manage is a nod. She puts her hair into her bonnet before climbing into bed, and his hands are on her again like they never left. Harry’s mind warns him to stop but he can’t seem to and he’s rolling over her and burying his head into her neck. She whimpers as he sucks on the skin, not enough to leave a mark but she’s gripping his hair nonetheless.

“Completely adore you, bug.” He murmurs against her jaw, pressing soft kisses to her skin. A small whimper leaves her lips and her eyes are hooded. She pulls him closer so their chests are touching, and turns her head to find his eyes. He nudges her nose with his, smiling slightly as she croons. When their lips meet he’s humming contentedly into her mouth. Hands grab at her hips, squeezing in anticipation, and her jaw unhinges enough for him to slide his tongue inside. Lauren rolls them over then, straddling one of his thighs as he lays against the pillows. Their kiss is patient as she hovers over him, her forearms resting beside his head and fingers tangle into his hair. A cheeky hand finds its way to her behind, groping a handful and pulling her up against his thigh. Their lips part when she gasps, her head hanging backward on her neck. Harry smiles to himself at the perfect vision before him, humming when his lips kiss right underneath her chin. She looks down at him through glossy eyes, pressing her hands to his bare chest as she moves over his thigh. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and places his hands around her wrists as she works herself against him.

“Such a dream.” He says. His words string together slower than usual, and if she weren’t privy to his drunken dialect, she’d have missed it completely. She bends down to place her forehead to his, kissing at his nose softly and his eyes flutter closed.

“So pretty.” She murmurs and moves to place her head into the crook of his neck, placing small pecks to the skin there. Lauren relaxes as his fingers trace patterns on her back and the world spins when she closes her eyes for too long. “M’so smashed.” She sighs, a giggle follows and Harry can’t help but laugh along with her. He rolls her off of him and leans on his side. His fingers graze at her cheek and she hums, nuzzling into his touch.

“Kiss me.” She whispers, her eyes peering at him through her lashes. He doesn’t hesitate to move in, placing his lips over hers gently. He can feel her sigh against his mouth, chasing his lips when he moves away. He watches as her face contorts with frustration and he kisses her again, even softer this time.

“Quite like kissing you.” His voice is below a whisper and she doesn’t think he meant to say it aloud. Her stomach swarms at his confession and she pulls her bottom lip into her mouth with her teeth to fight a smile.

“Won’t last long.” She sighs, slotting her lips against his once more. He licks into her mouth, swirling his tongue over hers, and huffs into her.

“What do you mean, pet?” His brows furrow and she’s chasing after him again, pressing a hand to his chest when he comes back to her.

“Have to forget about it tomorrow.” She sighs against his mouth, jaw hanging slack when he grabs at her ass again.

“And why’s that?” His teeth bite at her chin as he pulls her against him, eating up every whimper that falls from her sweet mouth. A particularly loud moan of his name has his eyes rolling back to his head, and his ego inflating. Praise from her was the only thing he ever cared about, it was all he ever thought about, and all his actions were done to please her. He loved her, way more than he thinks she loves him and he’s okay with that. He has no other option but to be.

“Because we’re just friends.” She breathes behind a moan and Harry doesn’t believe her for a second.

Friends don’t resist each other the way these two have been. There would be no reason to if they were truly just friends. She wouldn’t be melting into his touch, whimpering his name, tracing his tattoos when she thought he didn’t notice. He always noticed. He noticed the way she’d visibly relax when he hugged her, how her eyes averted his gaze when he complimented her. It was why he allowed her to steal his every breath, and consume his every thought. She was into him, and even though she fought it as hard as she could, she wasn’t fooling him.

“Best friends.” He ruts his hips into her, watching her eyes roll to the back of her head, and he kisses her cheek gently. Her hazy mind pleads with her to stop things, put a pin in them before they can’t take them back. She was her own worst enemy, sacrificing her own happiness for the sake of stability. There was no reason valid enough for her to deny him, but there she was, pushing against his chest and tugging his heart out in the same motion.

“We’re drunk.” She deadpans. Harry huffs, pulling her closer to him by her hip.

“Have been for a while now, sweetheart.” His lips search for hers and she succumbs, slipping her fingers through his hair.

She groans as his mouth works against hers. He tilts his head and she follows until he’s hovering over her. He liked to be in control, he didn’t like the bullshit that she was spewing at him, and this was certain to shut her up. Lauren had never been kissed like this in her life, and she can’t remember the last time she had spent this long just making out. In a way, she wishes she were sober, coherent enough to reminisce on this correctly in the future. She would be lucky if she could remember at all, and in some ways, she hopes she forgets.

“Harry,” She whines when their lips part for a second and he licks at the corner of her mouth before pushing his tongue inside once more. His forearm finds the pillow on the other side of her head, and Lauren is wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Keep whinin’ my name like tha’ and I’ll make sure you won’t be able to forget this.” He smirks against her mouth. She whimpers, nails scratching at his scalp. She’s pulling him closer to her, needing the weight of him to remind her of her reality. Though she wasn’t sold that it was a reality she would like to keep, she was certain that she would love him even more tomorrow.

“Jus’ gonna kiss you to sleep I think.” He hums, slowing their pace down and remaining in control.

This was the only time he was calling the shots when it came to Lauren, and he was gonna seize the moment in case it never came again. The alcohol in his veins makes his movements sloppy, leaving a trail of himself across her chin. She doesn’t mind, quite liked the desperateness of it all. He’s all teeth as he pulls at her bottom lip, releasing it to watch as it snaps back into place. He admires the way her drooping eyes watch him and he’s sure to put on a show for her. They’re quickly learning what the other liked and Harry silently prays he doesn’t remember this because he's sure the flashbacks would haunt him. He kisses her again, pulling away quickly to watch how her chin chases after him. Her lips are parted as he toys with her, nibbling and suckling as he pleases. Her breathing is slow as their lips move together, relaxation engulfing her. Small whimpers and moans fall from their lips as he continues, wandering hands familiarize themselves. When their kisses begin to slow he rolls them over so her head is tucked into his neck. All she can manage is a quiet hum and he shushes her, fingers tracing over her back.

***

Harry wakes before her, the sun streaming through the patio doors, bringing him to consciousness. Memories from the previous night flood his mind and he’s pulling Lauren closer to him. He remembers her hesitation, the way she had told him to forget the whole thing. He brings his arm up over his eyes, a headache pounding at his temples, and the mess he had created for himself wasn’t helping by any means. He breathes in her scent as she sleeps, dreading the moment her eyes open and the same realization floods her memory. Harry can’t decide what he would even say to her. Should he confess or act like he didn’t remember as she’d wanted? He wanted to bring it up to figure out why she had pushed him away the way she had. It hadn’t then, but it hurt to think about now. Rejection wasn’t something he experienced often, but it was still his biggest insecurity when it came to her. It was the reason why he had kept his feelings at bay for so long, and now he had gone and ruined everything they’d built. But it wasn’t as if she had rejected him because she hadn’t felt the same, she seemed pretty into it last night. But things always change when inhibitions are back in place, and the sun shines through the light of day. He decides that should she remember he’d tell her and if she doesn’t he’d redo it sober another time. Either way, if she doesn’t bring it up, neither will he.

The task is easier said than done, he’s nervous all through breakfast and as they pack for the beach he can’t help but stare at her. There was no possible way that she didn’t remember and if she had chosen to put their actions in the past, she was doing too good of a job. Lauren almost wishes she had forgotten, but Harry seemed to be playing it cool so she would too. She figured things would be easier this way, no one would get hurt and their relationship wouldn’t change. Except it had, and Harry was hurting far more than he would care to admit. She continues to pack their cooler and ignore his watchful gaze. It was hard enough to try to misplace the memory of his hands gripping her thighs, or the way he’d said her name. She tried not to dwell on the way her body fit so perfectly against his like they were made for each other. Or the way he kissed her like his life depended on it. But she wasn’t going to speak about it unless he had, just like she asked of him. Now that she thought about it, it was a stupid thing to ask of him, but she knew it would be for the best.

“Can you grab the sandwiches out the fridge, bub?” She asks, pulling her focus away from her thoughts. Harry turns towards the fridge without a word, tossing the sandwiches onto the counter before walking down the hall.

She pushes the air out of her lungs and stops her actions once she hears his door slam shut. He remembered, and he was pissed. He sighs to himself as he changes into his swim trunks. He thought the whole thing was just stupid and childish. He knows that she knows, and the way she could remain so nonchalant about it was bothering him. Was that all he meant to her, was he that easy discardable, had he misread their entire relationship? He knew he had fallen for her and he liked to think that she had too, but had she no feelings for him at all? Maybe she had meant what she said. That they were “just friends”. His stomach is uneasy and he doesn’t think that he can bring himself to face her. He needed a minute to calm the tempest in his mind, but he knew that wouldn’t happen with her in the room right across the hall.

“Are you upset with me?” Lauren asks after they’ve been sitting on the beach for close to two hours and the conversation is nonexistent.

They had barely spoken when he emerged from his room, only offering one-word answers to her feeble attempts at conversation. Their walk down to the shore was silent as he carried their bags and she pulled the cooler. She tried to not draw attention to it, to move on in the way that she knew that they should, but he was making it difficult.

“At you? No. At myself? Yes.” He says. Sunglasses cover his eyes and he doesn’t so much as glance at her. She huffs as she grows agitated with him, flipping onto her stomach to look at him better.

“We can eat lunch and talk if you’d like?” She offers. It seems that the only way out of this was through it and since Harry wouldn’t let her forget, she’d have to suck it up and have the conversation.

“You told me to forget about it, so that’s what I’m fucking doing.” He doesn’t mean for the words to sound as harsh as they had, and he regrets them as soon as they leave his mouth. It was probably best to talk about what had happened, but she had let him sit for too long, and his thoughts had gone from upset to angry. He doesn’t apologize and fights the urge to look at her when he sees her moving from the corner of his eye.

“Well, you’re doing a terrible job.” She bites as she sits up on the blanket. He looks at her then, a scowl etching its way onto his lips, and his temper rising.

“I’m so sorry I won’t discuss my feelings for you on some crowded public beach, Lauren.” His smile is mean, and she has never hated the way her name sounds coming from his mouth more. He seldomly called her by her name, always opting to use pet names or nicknames instead. She can’t seem to focus on anything else but the way he had said it. He had said it with such distaste, and the stupid smirk on his lips makes her blood boil.

“So I’m ‘Lauren’ now?” Her voice is just barely audible and even though he can physically feel his heart ripping in half, and can’t seem to stop. He keeps his eyes towards the sky, knowing that if he does look at her, he’ll be putty in her hands. That was exactly what he was trying to put an end to. The way she so effortlessly had played with his feelings, toyed with his heart, and threw it to the side when she didn’t want to play anymore. She had hurt him worse than any woman ever had, and he wanted her to feel miserable along with him.

“That’s how friends call each other, right? By their names?” He swallows roughly, closing his eyes as his skin heats under the sun. He can’t see her, but she’s shoving her things into her bag, making way for a quick exit. And before he even realizes it, she’s leaving him there and walking back to the house without another word.

Lauren could count the number of times he had been upset with her on her hands and never had he gone so far as to be purposefully mean. She didn’t know how to deal with him when he was like this, and she was upset that it had even gotten to this point. In her eyes, Harry had no reason to be upset with her, not to the point where he was being mean, anyway. Sure she can admit that asking him to put what they had done behind them was a stupid, drunken mistake. In an effort to protect her own heart she had damaged his and she felt awful. But that was no excuse for Harry’s childish behavior.

As she treks up the sandy walkway to their home his words bounce against the forefront of her mind. Behind his snarky smile, he had admitted that he did have some sort of feelings for her and she could pretend no longer that she had no clue what they were. She had spent so long convincing herself that she couldn’t be with him and had missed the signs that he was falling for her. All the walls she had set up to protect herself he’d effortlessly pummelled through, and had never given her reason to believe that she couldn’t trust him with her heart. She had been so blind to the way he had changed around her. The way it was so effortless to be with him, and the way that neither of them had any other love interest over the past two years. Lauren had always contributed that to their busy work lives, but it was time for her to be honest. The only other person she ever made time for was Harry and vice versa. The only person she ever dared to consider beyond herself was him. He was the first person she shared any exciting news with and the last person she talked to before she went to sleep at night. And as much as she would like to believe that she had kept it platonic, her actions showed a completely different Lauren. She was having her cake and eating it too, without the consideration of Harry’s feelings.

She sheds her things by the front door before retiring to her room for a bath. As she strips down she tries to rid her mind of all the times she should’ve made her intentions clear. But at the same time, her intentions were a reflection of what she really wanted from their relationship. She could admit to herself that she was in love with him, but when it came down to owning up to it, she was as lost as a teenager doing this for the first time. And in a way, it was her first time. She had never felt anything as intensely as she did when she was with Harry. She’d never suppressed her feelings this way. She was used to getting what she wanted and not caring about the consequences, but this consequence she felt everywhere.

Tears sting at her eyes as she soaks in the bubbles. Here she was sitting in a damn Airbnb on a trip that was perfectly planned and tailored to her liking, and she didn’t even have to ask for it. Harry had shown her time and time again just how much he cared about her and she told him to forget her in a moment that should’ve brought them together. It was selfish the game she was playing. Everything was on her terms. And even though she hadn’t meant for things to turn out this way, she supposes this is the way they’d been heading for a long time. They were both stupid. Stupid in a way that they’d tiptoe around their feelings for each other, taking whatever the other would offer and writing it off as a friendship.

The water isn’t warm enough to melt away the sinking feeling in her stomach. She knows she’s fucked up bad this time and doesn’t know how she could fix it. She could blame her drunken actions, but that wouldn’t dismiss the way they’d handled each other today. And of course, she knew that she’d bring it up somehow today, she was figuring a way to slip it into their non-existent conversation. She’d never be able to simply forget it and she knew that. She knew that when she’d woken up and his arms weren’t around her and she could still feel the indent of his fingers against her skin. God did she love the way he touched her. She loved how quickly he’d got her to fall deeper into his embrace, succumbing to his hands and turning her brain to mush. She supposes she liked that the most. The way she felt as if all the planets had aligned perfectly when his hands were on her body. Or the fact that said fingers had touched her everywhere except where she had needed him most. She was no stranger to his teasing, was privy to the mischievous glint in his eye when he had something up his sleeve. And she should’ve known better than to think that it wouldn’t follow him into the bedroom. Lauren is almost agitated with herself for not exploring that side of him a little more.

Not to overlook the way he had known exactly what to say, exactly where to touch to have her rendered breathless. Putty in his hands ready to accept the outcome of her fate. She had taken advantage of that when the time was so fleeting. Though she knew their situation was less about fault and more about their lack of communication, it was hard to not feel some sort of guilt. She was upset because she had unintentionally made Harry upset, and she often took pride in the way she knew how to please him. She was always the one to make sure he was having just as good of a time as she was, especially when she drags him along to do something she particularly likes. She knows just how fidgety he can be, and the seemingly mundane tasks that brought her joy would offer Harry anything but. But he always stuck them out, reassuring her that any time spent with her was time well spent. She likes to think that they do that for each other, checking on the other when brought outside of their comfort zone. There was something simple about their relationship. Something that had just come so easy. Lauren supposes that is what had made it so difficult to grasp what it was.

She can remember the fear that she had felt when her gaze had lingered on his naked chest for a second too long and she felt the butterflies erupt in her belly. At that point Harry had become like family, the initial shock of attraction had dwindled long before. She had figured that it was just lust anyhow and would subside the way those first feelings had. Except these feelings were nothing like the kind when you run into a cute guy at the grocery store. The way she had looked at him now had stemmed from her learning who Harry truly was. And once she had learned to love him because of all the attributes that made him who he is it was game over. She loved the way he rubbed at his nose when he was trying to make his words sound perfect. She liked the way he could be so calculated but so lax at the same time. She adored the way he thought of her opinion and considered her at times she’d liked to believe she would consider him as well. They had gotten along so well and she didn’t want to worry her mind with attachments and emotions. However, in that time she’d spent convincing herself that she couldn’t, she certainly had.

In some ways, she likes to blame Harry for the way she had dismissed his advances. It wasn’t as if the writing on the wall was so plain, after all. She supposes that if he hadn’t been so damn charming to anyone that had the pleasure of being in his presence for more than fifteen minutes, she’d be able to think more clearly. On one hand sure, the man who plans a detailed vacation has it bad for you. But on the other, that same man could light up the world and empty their pockets with so much as a smile. He was kind and thoughtful, and just good. Too good. The kind of good that makes you believe that your feelings that would undoubtedly bloom have sourced from delusion. And the months that Lauren had spent arguing with herself that he would do these things for anyone who so much as asked were exhausting. In that exhaustion, she had failed to make the rather impressive connection that she hadn’t asked. Harry had considered her and did for her simply because he wanted to. But when your pessimistic mind is so bent on making you believe one thing, the latter is easy to miss.

She doesn’t move from her spot in the alcove when she hears the front door open then close. The sound of the plastic wheels of their cooler rolling against the hardwood floors isn’t enough to turn her head, but it’s enough for her focus to be lost from her novel. She stares at the pages, the black ink swirling and becoming one haunting picture, wishing she could make herself small. He hasn’t noticed her presence yet and she can’t gauge his mood when his back is turned to her. Still shirtless, she notices the way his muscles move beneath his skin as he puts their uneaten food into the fridge. The extra sighs and huffs of frustration aren’t lost on her either, and for a second she fights herself from getting up and lending a hand. She remains stationary, though, her fingers flicking the dog-eared page. She’d read the novel more times than she could count, the one she holds now is her second copy. It’s the one Harry had surprised her with one Valentine’s Day after her’s had all but disintegrated from the seams. He claimed the holiday was a minor convenience of presenting it to her, but Lauren let the romance of it all cloud her mind in a Harry-filled fog. She took better care of this copy, always kissing her teeth when her old habits of folding the pages would surface. The note he had left in the cover, however, had melted her down to the bone and she swore she’d make this copy last forever.

For the sweetest girl with the heaviest touch, be gentle. H.

Admittedly for Harry, the few words he had scribbled into the paperback had far more meaning than what she’d figured. She’d touched his heart and transitioned his life. Her influence was just that. Heavy. Almost so heavy that at times he found himself wondering if he was wasting his “good years” pining after a girl who had no interest. He was savvy that way, leaving hints and tips that his heart burned for her, and almost every time feeling sour when things hadn’t changed. He wanted her to be more gentle with him. He at the time was still new to the way he felt about her, constantly thinking of ways to make it obvious. But obvious for Harry wasn’t obvious for anyone else. At least not to a girl who had convinced herself otherwise. He wasn’t so used to the uneasy feeling that swarmed his stomach when she went out on a date. Wasn’t accustomed to the way his heart would race when her fingers would dance along his shoulders. And he certainly wasn’t privy to the way he seemed to have lost all logical thinking when it came to her. Truth be told he’d give an arm and a leg just to see her smile but now that he could recognize how he felt towards her, that had gone beyond sensibility. He needed her to be gentle with him, to not shatter his heart because he knew he’d never recover.

Lauren is pulled out of her reverie, fingers still stroking the pages of her book as she reminisces. Her teeth bite at her lip as she waits for him to notice her presence. She was dying to say something, anything, but that couldn’t be done if he wasn’t willing to speak to her. At the same time, she’d be fine with saying nothing at all. She thinks to herself that she should’ve known better. Five days with just the two of them under the same roof should’ve had her running in the opposite direction. She should’ve expected lowered inhibitions and drunken words said without thought. But instead, she’d continued to live in the fantasy world that she’d created for herself. The one where she does as she pleases and expects Harry to move with her.

She holds her breath when he puts the last of their food away and closes the fridge door. She buries back into her novel, the words not making it past her eyes but she pretends nonetheless. She only looks up when she hears him gasp. He stands behind the island, palms pressed to the cold surface and a look of shock etched into his expression at the realization of her presence. She offers a shy smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes and tries to decipher if he’s still upset with her. He seems calmer if his face is any indicator, and his sunglasses are now pushed atop his head. Under any other circumstance, she’d take a moment to ogle his chest and the way his biceps flex as he pushes himself away from the counter. However she still takes a quick peek, her teeth still gnawing her bottom lip raw.

When she finally brings her gaze to meet his own she feels her nerves beckoning her to retreat to her room. Everything in her begs her to run away and forget the argument that they’d had. She hated confrontation, would rather forget it and move on than work through it. For most of her life that is exactly what she had done. Nothing was worth exerting that kind of energy into and more times than not, she wasn’t up for it. She liked to lay low, and would rather be someone’s peace than their problem.

She feels frozen in place as they gaze at each other. Suddenly the room feels much cooler than it had before and she’s unsure if she’s ready to face the can of worms that they’d opened. She wanted to tell him that she was wrong, that she was sorry, but she’d be fine if he’d decided to move on. But that wasn’t the kind of person Harry was. He was the stick to it and fight through it kind of person. He didn’t like mulling over things for a long while and would rather tackle the things that bothered him head-on. There wasn’t a chance that he’d decided to not bring it up and Lauren was bracing for the impact.

“Didn’t know you were there.” He mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans his lower back against the edge of the countertop. She nods stupidly, eyes shifting down to her book in her lap. Uncertainty swims through her like a sailboat caught in a storm, and she’s not ready for the waves to crash over her just yet. She’s sifting through the thoughts in her mind, trying to quickly form sentences that would convey her regretfulness. At the same time, her brain is muddled with thoughts and memories of everything that had led them to this moment. She can’t read him, his face is expressionless and his jaw is relaxed in the way that makes her palms sweat. Her throat is dry and she almost opens her mouth to speak before thinking better of it. The silence between them is deafening, she can feel his gaze from across the room as her fingers trace the title of her novel.

She looks up when she hears him moving around the kitchen, and he’s moving towards her still without expression. A grimace finds her lip when he sits beside her and she’s drawing her knees to her chest to make room for him. Harry sits down beside her with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest with his gaze out the back windows. He slides his body further into the cushions of the bench and another breath of air expels from his lips. Lauren eyes his profile suspiciously when he makes no efforts to speak, still silently gazing at the horizon of the ocean. It was nearing sunset and the sky had begun to paint itself a pretty shade of orange. Her favorite time of the day, where everything was touched by the sun, changing color to honor her beauty. In those minutes it was hard to think about anything besides the divinity of the sky. A moment of reflection, she’d like to call it. Sunsets always reminded her of just how big the world was but simultaneously she felt intense comfort. Everything just felt better. Everything was beautiful, everyone was kind, and nothing mattered. Something short of a small utopia.

But the way she felt right now was anything but. She admired the way the sun cast a glow onto Harry’s tanned skin and deepened the color of his hair. If it were any other moment she’d crawl into his chest to watch the sky change with him. Now she sat facing him, the sun turning her eyes golden and warming her skin. She thinks about the time they went to watch Memorial Day fireworks. Sitting atop the largest hill Harry knew to exist in Georgia. They got there early because he knew how much Laren loved to watch the sunset, and how much he loved to watch her. She remembers how his eyes kept shifting between the sky and her profile, and the way she’d looked at him when he had that funny look on his face. He smiled at her, the kind where his lips only parted a tad, and pulled her closer as the air began to chill. Her gaze stayed on his as best she could, a silent indication that she wanted to know what was on his mind. He hums, tangling their fingers as his eyes gaze over her features.

“Your eyes look like little pots of honey.” He smiled, tilting his head slightly. A smile pushes its way onto her lips as she turns away bashfully. He’s pulling her closer then, letting her hide her face into his shoulder. He can’t help but chuckle and place a gentle kiss to her hair. “So pretty.” He’d said. Lauren can’t forget the way he kept her hand in his the entire evening. She supposes she should’ve known then.

His fingers wrapping around her ankles pulls her back to focus. He pulls her feet into his lap wordlessly and Lauren relaxes. Even in the silence, she feels more at ease than she had all day. The pads of his fingers rub at her skin seemingly unconsciously as he appears to be deep in thought. Her eyes are fixated on the bridge of his nose and the dip of his lip and for a moment, everything feels okay.

“Suppose we should talk, yeah?” He murmurs, tearing his eyes away from the sky to let his cheek fall to his shoulder. She nods, humming when he squeezes at the sole of her foot. He knows she’s a bit nervous, can tell by the way her fingers haven’t stopped circling over the cover of her novel. He fights the soft smile that threatens to overtake his features when he realizes which book it is. He can barely make out the shadow of his writing beneath the lifted cover. His hands on her skin ground him, and the changing sky makes it difficult to stay mad at her. He regrets the way he spoke to her, more sorry than he could express about being cross with her. He knows that he could’ve handled it better -- should’ve handled it better, and mostly he regrets letting her walk away.

He opens his mouth to speak, but when his eyes meet hers it falls shut. He’s lost in the way her eyes glow in the sun, the warm brown shining, and for a moment he’s lost everything he was going to say. Once again his heart feels too big for his chest, his brain empties and everything seems insignificant. His body is enchanted by her, love overtakes him and he knows that he can’t let the opportunity pass him by. Before the silence lasts too long he’s running a hand up her leg and closing his eyes for a moment. “M’sorry about what I said earlier.” He starts, the low and steady bass of his voice cutting through the air. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that and I know I made you upset.” He’s fiddling with his rings when he finishes, unable to watch for her reaction.

“Harry,” Lauren sighs, her chin dropping to her chest as she grapples with the words she needs to say. Harry’s lost in the way his name sounds like a song falling from her mouth, and he’s humming unknowingly. His eyes find her face again and he’s almost mad at her for being so damn pretty.

“I’m sorry for telling you to forget about last night.” She breathes. Her palms sweat and her fingernails create half-moons on her skin. Her throat feels dry as she tries to maintain his gaze, willing herself to not be distracted by the soft features of his face and his apologetic expression. “It was a stupid thing to say, especially knowing it was the furthest thing from what I wanted to say.” She chuckles beside herself and Harry’s expression turns from sorry to perplexed. She’s twisting her ring around her finger with her thumb and the way her eyes stay fixed on his, he’s not sure if she realizes that she’s doing it.

He lets a beat pass when he realizes that she’s finished, and suddenly he’s inclined to pry. “What did you want to say?” He asks unassumingly, relaxing his expression slightly. Lauren pushes out a sigh, looking towards the setting sun for an answer. The gentle graze of his fingers on her shins eases her discomfort. She doesn’t look at him when she speaks again, and he can’t help but notice the way her skin gleams under the touch of the sun. “Wanted to tell you,” She breathes in deep, sucking the air to her lungs and hopefully mustering up some courage as well. “--Wanted to tell you that I’m completely enamored by you. And that I’ve never felt more cared for in my entire life and that terrifies me.” Her eyes are back to his on her last word and he takes in the way they’re glossed over, glistening under the rays of the sun.

For a second it feels as if he’s in a state of comatose. His chest is swelling and bursting and filling him with the warmth of a thousand fires that he thinks he might explode. The orange hue cast on her skin radiates around her and he swears she’s never been more beautiful. His smile threatens to split his face as he fully rests his cheek on his shoulder. He’s humming, pulling her legs closer into his lap and fighting the urge to wrap her up in his arms. Her words bounce around the forefront of his mind and he can’t focus on anything other than what she had said.

“I’m scared too, but only of letting you get away.” He says gently. Her brown eyes watch him carefully as he brings his finger to flick underneath his nose, and he’s looking at her again with that same bout of sincerity he had on that Memorial Day. She’s silent, the steady drum of her heart reverberates behind her ears and she feels as if the moment would slip away in a second. “I’m sure that I love you more than I’ve loved anything or anyone. And I’m sure that I’ve never felt this way before, which scared me at first, but now my only fear is losing you.” He breathes.

He’s unaware of the way her lip quivers slightly, and her hands ball into themselves. She feels as if her chest has been cracked wide open and every fear or worry that she’s ever had dissipates. Harry’s focus is on his hands, small remnants on a smile taint his lips. He loved her. Lauren almost wants to punch herself. What was all of this for? Why had she put up so many walls just to let him worm his way through? Why had it taken so long for her to realize that maybe, just maybe, he loved her too? She thinks she can blame it on her own insecurities, but even those Harry had made feel minuscule. She was worthy of love and worthy of happiness. That was all Harry had been trying to make her realize. She loved him. More than she knew what to do with but she was content that she got to try.

Without a second thought, she’s removing her legs from his lap and standing to her feet. Harry looks at her with shining green eyes, irises bright from the light of the sun. She moves to straddle his lap and his hands find her uncovered thighs with ease, humming at the feeling of having her close again. The smile on his face is bright, crinkling the corners of his eyes and dimpling his cheeks in the way that Lauren loved. It was the face he made when he was so ridiculously happy and needed a release of emotion. She brings her hands to the side of his face, a grin splitting across her face. The sun was almost beyond the horizon now, an amber hue encompassing their small sliver of earth. The final rays of the day caress the skin of her back, warming her to her bones. “I love you.” She hums and Harry is lost in the glow of her eyes and the crinkle of her nose as she smiles. He lets his eyes flutter shut for a moment, relishing in the way he feels right then. When she’s nudging his nose with her own, he opens them again and hums at the feeling of her skin on his.

“I love you.” He repeats, the skin of his lips brushing against hers and she sighs. He lets his hands trail up her sides and around her back slowly, up and down until they're under her t-shirt. He leans up to connect their lips softly, humming contentedly. He takes his time this time around, memorizing the way her lips slot over his and how her fingers squeeze behind his ears. He has nothing to prove now, no flashing club lights blurring his vision, no alcohol to numb his thoughts into oblivion. Everything was out in the open, into the universe, and blooming under the sunshine.

As his lips close over her bottom one he’s smiling softly and dropping his forehead to hers. He kisses his way along her jaw, pressing others to the lifted apples of her cheeks. Soft words of adoration fall from his mouth as he continues, and her jaw falls to her chest when he gets to that spot behind her ear. She’s mewling into his touch, raking her fingers through the long strands of his hair. He hums at the small pleas that fall from her lips and places a gentle kiss at her temple. “Not gonna run from this, this time?” It’s posed as a question but the look in his eye says otherwise, and he’s pulling his chin away when Lauren goes to slot their lips together. “Asked you a question, love.” The cool metal of his rings bites at the skin of her back and she feels her insides swarm with the change in the tone of his voice. She’s damn near whimpering as she moves into him again only to be met with his retraction. Her breathing is shaky as she strings her words together, maintaining his eye contact. “Not going anywhere.” She assures him, biting at his chin. Harry pulls her closer then, reconnecting their lips and biting at her top one. His hand moves from under her shirt to the side of her face, fingers squeezing behind her ear when he moans on his next breath.

She adores the way he kisses her with such fervor. Even as she leans over his seated frame, he commands her to follow his lead with every part of his lips and turn of his head. She doesn’t mind letting him work into her mouth and moans when his tongue slides over hers and finds home. He pulls her closer into his lap, a low groan reverberating in his chest when she sits on the becomings of a hard-on. Lauren hums into his mouth once again as she rolls over him and grips his hair a bit tighter. Harry pulls her bottom lip into his mouth, biting on the flesh before pulling a kiss from her. His palm is splayed across her lower back as she grinds against him and he watches her face with parted lips when he pulls away from their kiss. When he’s met with her golden eyes he can’t help but let his jaw hang slack for a moment. He takes in the small pants of air falling from her kiss swollen lips, and he doesn’t let the warm flush of her cheeks slip his notice. He almost whimpers at the sight before him, entranced with the pure unadulterated version of it. He’s vaguely aware of her hands slipping down his shoulders to his chest, fingers creating crescent-like shapes in their wake. His focus is blinded by the way she kisses across his jaw, familiarizing herself with the skin right below his chin. She nips there for a moment, sucking a deep bruise on the stretched skin and his eyes are rolling back into his sockets.

The selfish need to have her closer racks through him, and he reckons he’d never grow tired of having her this way. Both hands are back under her shirt, desperately tugging the fabric higher up her ribs. His eyes are a gentle plea of consent and she nods, raising her arms over her head silently. He kisses at her smooth brown skin, suckling next to a freckle he’d been eyeing all week. She can feel the short pants of his breath at her ribcage as the shirt is moved up towards her arms. His touch is light as he moves the shirt over her shoulders, green eyes boring into hers in an intense stare she can’t tear her eyes away from. Their eye contact is lost for a moment when the shirt is tugged over her head and Harry’s moaning against her skin before their eyes reconnect. She hadn’t felt it necessary to put on any kind of underwear after her bath. The task itself seemed mundane as she had dwelled on her once dreary thoughts. But now as the cool air hits her skin and her shirt is tossed to the floor, she’s sucking in a breath through her teeth and her nipples are pebbling. Harry doesn’t hesitate to envelope one of the buds between his lips, humming in satisfaction when her fingers tangle through his hair once more. She lets out a wanton moan as he flicks at her nipple with his tongue, rolling her hips against his in anticipation.

“Fuck.” That is all he can manage to breathe out when his hips rut into her on the next forward roll of her hips, and his bottom lip rests on her skin. Lauren brings her hand to the side of his face, admiring the little furrow between his brows. “So fuckin’ pretty.” He whines and pulls her back to him by her neck. He pushes their lips together in a chaste kiss and pulls away to watch her chase him. Her brow furrows and he offers a soft smile, lips slotting against hers softly.

“Want you so bad.” Her voice is just above a whisper but he catches it and the words turn his stomach in ways that he’d only dreamt about. He rests his forehead at the base of her throat in an attempt to bring himself down to earth. This was something that had never left the confines of his conscious, something he reserved for his alone time. “I’m yours. Always have been, pet.” He says into her skin, placing a gentle kiss where she’s swallowing harshly. Fingers cart through his hair softly, and she places a small kiss on his head. He turns his head to the side to catch her gaze, brown eyes shining in the lasting embers of the sun. The drum of her heart pounds beneath his ear and his hands find her hips to pull her closer to him. He watches the way her eyes flutter shut when his erection slides against her soft center. The material of his swim trunks is thin enough for her to feel the slight curve of his member and she can’t help but want to feel him completely. She seldom thought about him this way, the thought of it always got her too worked up to continue. But when she had, she had imagined every detail.

“Need you.” She exasperates, her head falling forward on her neck. He captures her lips between his own then, tracing his tongue along the curve of her, and sighing. He can’t think of a time where she had ever been more vulnerable with him, and as much as he wants to satisfy her every need, he wonders how much she’s willing to share. He hums against her mouth when she tugs at the roots of his hair, a whimper falls from her mouth when he pulls away slightly.

“Where do you need me, lovie?” His bitten lips brush against hers as he speaks, the low octave of his tone spurring her on. She turns her head, groaning against his cheek and he chuckles deeply. He moves his hand up her side, gliding over her rib cage and gently cupping the swell of her breast. Her breathing is shaky, mind muddled with nerves and desire. His fingers tweak at her nipple, pulling just enough to elicit a moan from her pouty mouth. “Harry-” She whines, her jaw hanging open as she tilts her head up towards the ceiling. “Need me to help you feel good, babe?” He hums and trails his nose against the length of her neck. She nods meekly, turning her head to capture his lips in a swift movement. Her hand finds the side of his neck when she feels him about to pull away, sucking his lip into her mouth before offering him her tongue. He grunts, kissing into her and letting her take control of his mouth for a moment. She moves her mouth against his quickly, a feeble attempt to distract him and he’s groaning as he submits to her. His other hand moves around her back until he’s gripping her ass, sliding her back into his lap with a sigh.

“Got to use your words, sunshine.” His grip is tight on her, stilling her movements and making her whimper desperately into his mouth. He was so hard, harder than he thinks he’s ever been in his life but he loves her this way. Needy, clinging to his shoulders and whining against his temple. “Make me feel good, H. Please.” She barely recognizes the sound of her own voice. He’s humming against her skin, tonguing his way along her throat. The hand that had played idly at her breast makes its slow descent down her stomach and in between their bodies. He plays coyly around the hem of her shorts, dipping his fingers in slightly to run across the smooth skin of her stomach. “Right in here?” He asks absentmindedly, watching her face as he pushes a single finger into the front of her shorts. They moan together, Harry in the realization that she wasn’t wearing any underwear at all.

“Fuck, yes.” She whines as the tip of his middle fingers collects her wetness before running up to her clit. She exhales a shaking breath, her hips grinding down on his slow-moving digit. He’s moving so slowly in a way that makes her brain fuzzy, and her eyes dilate under the shifting sun. “Want me here or do you wanna go to bed?” He breathes, soaking his finger in her as he pushes into her. Her back arched into his chest, fingers scratching at his scalp and she’s unsure if she could breathe let alone tell him what she wants. He’s pulling his finger away slightly when she doesn’t answer, green eyes peering at her as her eyebrows furrow.

“Here, love. Please, feels so good.” Her mouth hangs open as he’s pushing two fingers into her on his next go, groaning at the feeling of her squeezing him. His fingers reach places she could never reach on her own and she pants quick breaths as she rocks against his hand. His hand at her ass guides her with his rhythm, soft pleas fall from her lips when he curls his digits and scratches at the spongy spot within her.

“Look so fuckin’ pretty riding my fingers like tha’.” He moans, voice gravely with his own arousal just from watching her. His words rang through her ears, spurring her hips to come down on his fingers with every thrust. He had managed to get her so close to the edge rather quickly, and the familiar tingles shot down her spine as she neared her finish.

“So close, H.” She whines, dropping her forehead to focus on his eyes. What she sees instead has a deep guttural moan ripping through her chest and it takes everything in her not to screw her eyes shut. Harry had a hand down his swim trunks, squeezing and pumping at his length. When his eyes meet hers again, his mouth falls open in bliss his eyes a gentle plea for her to come for him. With his next thrust into her, he pushes his thumb against her clit, rubbing slow steady circles until she’s crying out his name in a way he decides that he loves.

“Make a mess on my fingers, baby. Wanna feel you.” He groans before pulling her nipple between his teeth and his fingers reach for that spot that he knows will bring her over the edge. Her hands claw at his shoulders as he sucks a deep bruise into the underside of her boob. When her legs begin to shake against his thighs he pulls his hand out of his trunks and cups her jaw to pull her mouth back to his. Their kiss is all brushing lips and deep moans as her orgasm rushes through her, tensing her body and he works her through it. “So fucking good for me.” He says against the corner of her mouth as she comes. His thumb slows its movements at her clit until she’s grabbing at his wrist when it becomes too much.

She places a soft kiss against his lips when she comes to, slotting her lips against his. His bottom lips rest between her parted mouth as she pulls kiss after kiss from him, eating every moan and whimper that falls from them. He’s pulling his fingers from her then, cupping his hand until he’s out of her shorts. She watches with wide eyes as he brings the digits to his mouth, sucking his middle finger into his mouth and humming at the taste of her. He keeps his eyes open, watching the way brown eyes focus on the way his tongue laps over his finger. When he’s had his share he taps his ring finger against her lips, sliding it through when they part with a groan that has his hips in search of her center. A slow fuck reverberates from his throat as he watches her through a lustful gaze. Her eager mouth sucks him in slowly, putting on a show for him, licking around his digit in a way she had only imagined she’d suck his cock if given the chance.

“Need t’be inside of you.” It’s a desperate whine, really. An airy plea that falls from rose-colored lips, tickles her insides and fills her with a warmth that blankets her soul. With a nod of her head and a whisper of, please he’s standing to his feet with her in his arms. He puts her down before spinning her in his arms, grabby hands caressing her skin as he nips at her neck. He’s pushing his hips into her as he grabs at hers, pulling her back to his chest. Her head is lulling against his shoulder facing the opposite way as he sucks a deep mark where her neck and shoulder meet.

“Just can’t get enough of you, bug.” His hands slip up her sides, cupping her breasts in both palms. “Pretty under the sun, like it was made for you.” He murmurs, voicing his thoughts into the open. She whimpers when his hands tug at her shorts, fingers dipping below the waistband. “Take ’em off.” She breathes above a whisper, placing her hands over his and pushing the tight fabric down her legs. He turns her around in his arms when she steps out of them, hands running aimlessly over her naked body. She’s pushing his swim trunks down his legs, keeping her eyes fixed on his. He watches her with a parted mouth as she drops to her knees before him and steps of out his shorts with a sigh.

Lauren can hardly keep her hand still as she wraps her fingers around his length, groaning at the feeling of him in her hand. His skin velvet smooth, the weight of him resting in her palm nicely. She kisses around his thighs, whimpering along with him as she spreads the precum around his tip with her thumb. A muffled shit falls from Harry’s lips as he tilts his head back on his neck, blowing a puff of air towards the ceiling. Her heart pounds behind her ears as she takes him into her mouth slowly at first, humming at the taste of him on her tongue. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment, savoring the way he felt in her mouth, how heavy he felt laying against her tongue and she can only imagine the way he would fill and stretch her. She holds the base of him as she circles around his tip, familiarizing herself with every curve and indent of his cock. Harry’s hand finds its way to her hair, bunching at the nape of her neck and she lowers her mouth on him with a satisfied sigh.

“Yes, baby suck me off like tha’.” He moans as his chin rests on his chest, which was beginning to glisten with a sheen of sweat. She places her other palm of his butterfly tattoo, nails creating crescents in his skin as she peers at him through her lashes. Harry knows that this can’t last for very long, not with the way her small hand stokes at his cock and her mouth swallows him deeper. He knows that if he doesn’t want to cream down her throat he should pull off soon, but the way her hand meets her mouth right under his tip when she’s rearing back has him shifting his hips forward towards her pretty mouth.

She finds a rhythm of stroking her hand and sucking him off, squeezing at the base of him when she got there. Harry can’t contain the sounds that fall effortlessly from his mouth, whimpering her name like a prayer as he watches her take him down her throat. She lets her wrist twist as she pulls upwards, releasing her mouth from him with a pop in an attempt to gain some air. He nearly loses it when she taps his swollen tip against her stuck-out tongue before she traces the vein that runs along the underside of his length. She kisses at his thighs as she wanks him, leaving small marks on his skin as she sucks. Her thumb swipes over his slit periodically as she keeps her rhythm, twisting her wrist and squeezing slightly when she reaches his tip. Harry’s curling his toes against the hardwood flooring, his hand feeling limp in her hair as he succumbs to her touch, chanting her name as she pleases him. He lets her go on for a moment longer before he’s pulling his hips away from her and meeting her eyes with a breathless pant.

“Got kinda close there, hm?” She asks as she stands to her feet again with a smile. He nods sheepishly, the words lost on his tongue and he presses his forehead to hers and she grasps at the fleshy part of his hips. She presses her mouth to his again, pulling up on his shoulders and he groans at the taste of himself and the stale remnants of her on his tongue. He brings her back with him as he sits on the alcove bench once more and she straddles his thighs, making a point to sit directly over his hardened length.

“Gonna be a good girl fo’ me and ride my cock?” He murmurs against her jaw, placing soft kisses to her skin. She nods as she lifts her hips, reaching a hand between them to grab his dripping length. She holds him there for a moment, letting him slip against her folds and brush at her clit, eliciting a moan from her lips. Harry groans at the feeling of her wetness coating his cock and anticipation swells in his chest because he knows his fate. He had dreamt of it more times than he could count. Thought of the way her walls would stretch open for him and squeeze against him as he sheathed himself within her. But nothing compares to the way it actually feels when she sits down on him, drinking him in inch by inch and whimpering a soft cry of his name. Her nails dig into his shoulders and he hisses, watching with wide lust-blown eyes as he disappears within her.

“Fuck, I love you.” He cries, bringing his eyes to find hers once more. Lauren finds his lips again as his chest heaves up and down against her own. “I’m so in love with you.” She whimpers against his lips when he bottoms out, filling her to the brim. God, was he big. Lauren thinks she has never felt so full in her life, never had she taken a dick as big as his and she needs a minute to just feel him. He kisses her slowly as she adjusts to his size, his thumb caressing the soft skin of her cheek as he lazily moves his tongue with hers. The initial roll of her hips has him moaning a filthy sound into her mouth, his other hand taking purchase of her ass. Her jaw unhinges and their kiss is lost as she does it again, lifting up slowly and rolling her hips forward when she comes back down. The hand on her face joins his other hand, his forearms resting underneath her thighs and holding her ass to guide her. The support allows her to rock her hips faster, bouncing along his length and scratching at his scalp.

“Taking me so well, baby.” He snaps his hips up to meet hers and all the air is lost from her lungs as she cries out. Harry’s lips find her neck, sucking evidence of the way she was making him feel into the clammy skin. She tugs at the roots of his hair as she moves faster against him, feeling the pit in her stomach knotting itself once more.

“Feel so full, H. Need you to fuck me.” The words sound so sinful falling from her lips, coated with an intense need for him. She knows there was no way she’d ever let go of this now, no matter what it took to keep it. He was hitting all the spots within her that made her legs shake and knees buckle, murmuring words into her skin that were only ever meant for her to hear.

He flips them over quickly, resting her head against the arm of the bench with his hand underneath to keep her safe. His other hand pulls her leg around his hip as he kneels over her and pushes his chest against hers. A loud cry of fuck expels from her lips as his hips come down against hers, deeper than he was in their last position and her fingers claw down his back, leaving marks in her wake that she was sure to admire later on. One hand tangles in the damp tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck while the other grabs aimlessly at the apex of his ass while he fucks into her, drawing himself out completely before pushing into her again.

“Need a proper fucking, yeah? Need me t’show you how much you mean t’me?” He pants against her ear, sliding his arm around her waist to hold her closer. His words further intensify to knot in her stomach, sparks tingling in her spine once more. She rolls her hips up into his, finding his rhythm and crying out when his patch of hair brushes against her clit. “Shit, Harry. I’m gonna come.” Her voice raises an octave towards the end and he’s picking up the speed of his hips.

“Can feel you squeezing me, bug. Hold on f’me.” The kisses he’s pressing on her skin are a stark contrast from the steady roll of their hips, his tongue tracing behind her ear before sucking on her ear lobe. The pulse of her walls around his cock has him twitching within her, the familiar feel of his orgasm building at the bottom of his spine. He’s not quite finished with her yet, wants to be enveloped in her warmth for as long as he can. He knows he’ll be spending the rest of their stay buried inside of her in every room of the house because he just can’t seem to think about a scenario where they aren’t doing this. And he’s mad at himself for not saying anything sooner because this was what he had been missing. He should’ve been making love to her repeatedly way before they even got to this point, but he figures that it made it better.

“Fuck, love want you to come.” He breathes against her mouth, hovering over her parted lips as his eyes stay locked on hers, supposing he’d be damned if he closed his eyes and missed the way her face turned when she comes undone. The snapping of his hips is relentless as she chants his name, willing her eyes to stay open as she fucks him back, welcoming the warmth that rushes over her. She tugs at the roots of his hair while simultaneously pushing him closer to her, breathing his name in airy sighs as she feels her orgasm peaking.

“I’m coming. Fuck, baby, I’m -”

“Come on my cock, love, need you to come.” He groans along with her as her legs shake and her orgasm ripples through her, squeezing the length of him tightly until his hips begin to stutter and he knows he can’t hold out for much longer. He holds her close as he works her through it, whispering sweet words against her cheek. “Tha’s it, love. So good for me.” The furrow between his brows is deep as he feels the start of his own orgasm building and numbing his legs. He grunts against her mouth as she holds him to her, working her hips as best she can as he rocks into her, bottoming out and staying there for a moment.

“Come on, H. Want you to come inside.” She whimpers, the fluttering of her walls enticing him to do just that. “Yeah? Want me to fill you up with my come? Gonna take it all?” He rambles behind a wanton moan, his muscles tensing with every word that fell from his lips. She’s crying out his name, begging for his load in a way that makes Harry never want to stop coming. With three more thrusts, his body tenses on top of hers, and she continues to roll her hips as ropes of come paint her insides. Her name falls from his lips as he empties his balls within her, and she watches the way his face contorts, his mouth making an o shape. She kisses his face softly as he comes to, heavy grunts leaving his mouth and his chest heaving against hers frantically.

It silent for a moment as they catch their breath, the sun has set beyond the horizon and a purple hue covers them. All that can be heard is their labored breath and Lauren carts her fingers through his hair as he softens inside her. She doesn’t want him to move, quite honestly. She has never felt closer to him than she does now, and she fears that if he moves that feeling will go away. Her heart pounds within her chest, her legs beginning to ache and she knows that she should clean the mess between her legs. Before she can move Harry’s slipping from her fold with a moan and grabbing her discarded t-shirt from the floor before bringing it between her legs. Harry laughs at the way Lauren scrunches her face as he uses her shirt to clean her up and he knows it’s only because it’s hers.

“Didn’t wanna move too far from you just yet.” He laughs and presses a kiss on the side of her mouth. She hums, wrapping her arms around his neck before bringing his mouth back to hers to kiss him slowly. When his tongue enters her mouth she sighs, relaxes into the cushions of the bench and all of her worry dissipates. There was nothing to worry about. Harry loved her and she loved him and time had proven that the only thing that had gotten between that was themselves. She was certain she wouldn’t let that happen again and as their kiss deepened, Harry’s thoughts mirrored hers.

“Love you, you know tha’?” He hums when they pull apart for a moment and she smiles softly, brushing the fallen hair away from his forehead with a nod. She repeats the sentiment and sits up, stretching her legs with a wince. Harry’s pulling her into his lap, unable to keep his hands off of her for more than a second now that he knows that he can, and Lauren sighs as she rests her head against his shoulder and watches out the window.

“We should take a bath, H. Think you broke my back near the end there.” A loud laugh pulls from his chest and he’s standing up with her in his arms. “M’sorry, love. Let’s go get you all put back together again.” He kisses her forehead tenderly and she can’t fight the smile that splits across her face. “Love you.” She sighs, burying her face into his neck as she crosses her ankles against his ass.

“Love you, sunshine.”

2.14.21

Masterlist

#so into you #hs #harry styles fic #harry styles x ofc #harry styles smut #harry styles x black #harry styles #harry styles fic rec #thehoclibrary #best friends to lovers #bestfriend!harry

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cosmiclatte28 · 3 years

Text

Baking! (Yuta x you)

a/n : heyyo it’s friday, let’s have some “me” time and enjoy some imagine with Yuta! Idea came from @yutahoes comment on previous post HOT PATCHED

warning : none! suggestive, how you ended up with a bun in the oven! (your beloved Nami), and of course 2020 was a baking year and I am more than willing to share you the recipe i am referring to for this story! DM me :D also i got a bit too carried away :) but it’s gonna be fun :D

tagging : @2-3-t-i @yutahoes @ailoveyuta

with that said.. enjoy your scene!

Ever since the pandemic started and staying at home becomes a mandatory rule, you and your fiance, Yuta have been trying to overcome boredom with all possibilities. On the first month of staying home, you two are very excited about having “leisure” time while working at home. Both of you are delighted by the fact that you don’t have to wake up early, drive in the busy streets, and you just have to slip into your proper clothes when there is a board meeting. Considering your job is a magazine editor, you have meetings but luckily not every day.

Second month, you start to do yoga and exercises with Yuta every time he is bored, and he has nothing to do. Well, his comeback is still in preparation, so he only comes for regular practice and always got home when your office hour ends.

Fourth months, you pick up a new hobby and because your magazine company needs to make a new fresh content that suits the situation, the team comes up with a baking page. You are assigned to make the content, including taking pictures and trying the recipes your team made. You also have to do the editing but there’s help with that. You take the challenge, though you never bake before you see this as the perfect opportunity to start a new hobby. Things were great, the content is rising in demand since the world is baking suddenly! You got your raise and you enjoy doing this until your silly ass fell from challenging yourself to a wild yoga pose. You hurt your arms, they are a slightly fractured and you cannot make your baking content for the first three weeks of recovery, but you are so irritated to just stay in front of the laptop and watch your other friend make the pictures and cakes. So, when you can no longer hold yourself back, you plead the director board to give you back the baking section and they did love your job so you won the part back.

“Yuta can you come home earlier today?” you question the man who already wears his mask and has his training bag ready on his shoulder.

“Me?? I guess I’m done after lunch, I only have to practice singing today. Why?” he asks you back

You put on your sweetest smile “Don’t you want to try baking? I need some help with the rubric.”

Yuta’s eyes twinkle, it’s been his wish to try baking but because of practice and the amount of tools to wash and lack of time he hasn’t been able to do it. Now that you are offering him, he thinks he can seize the opportunity.

“Okay, I’ll try, who knows NCT will have a baking vlog after this, might flex about my skills” he smirks and you only grin at his cockiness.

“Okay, you can go.” You push him away after kissing his cheek and blushing when he winks at you and disappear behind the door.

Today you just have to wait for the team to send you the ingredients and recipes. You wonder what you’ll bake today no, what Yuta will bake today.

He was lucky the baking procedure he has to do today is easy. Simple lemon cake and you manage to get good pictures of Yuta’s hands and the aesthetic bowls and whiskers. You manage to hold the camera with your stiff casted hand, but it works even when you look super silly.

“Oh gosh! This is healing.” Yuta exclaims when his first cake comes out of the oven nicely and with a good aroma. You quickly take pictures and once it’s done, Yuta has already cut a slice and pops it into his mouth. “Yummy, I am talented indeed.” He sounds so confident and you hate to admit, his cake is better than what you expect and knowing your husband, you know he won’t stop bragging about this, he might even go as far as trying more baking recipes.

Your nightmare comes true, once his promotional schedule with NCT is over, he comes home with a load of baking supplies.

“Yuta, what’s all of this?” you ask when you help him bring in bags of spices, butters, and decorating tools.

“My promotional week is done and I have our well deserved rest! I am going to be productive and bake for you every day!” he smiles like a little kid who just get a chocolate and you can’t say no to him.

“Oh no, not every day Yuta!” you joke as you help him organize the spices into the kitchen racks.

He brought different types of flours and sugars, even bought yeast and baking sodas. Oh he really is planning to bake!

“Well, I have to finish some works have fun baking! Make sure you wear the apron and don’t set the oven too high. Wash the bowls too okay.” You pat his long hair and skip into your room.

Yuta takes his time to shower, sing in the bathroom, check the internet for easy recipes and even compare recipes from different websites.

His choice finally is decided on the famous banana cake, it doesn’t require mixer and he notices you have bananas at home.

“Flour, bananas, eggs, butter…” he bends to take the things out and places them all on the counter. Next he brings out the bowls and whiskers and the rest of the stuffs he needs.

“Okay all set,” he rubs his hands and takes the apron you have. Yuta’s lucky he can use your apron well, (thanks to his small waist). “And where is it,” he walks to the living room to get his small rubber band and as he bites the rubber between his teeth you happen to leave your room to get some water.

“Oh!” you exclaim when you see a hot scene reveling in your eyes. If you bring something, you’d drop it already.

There under the golden hours of the sun from the window, Yuta is tying his hair up and his lip bites is not helping you. Not to mention the apron fitting him well. You kinda regret not buying a “cute” apron.

“Let me help,” you grin when Yuta fails to tie his hair. Somewhat in the middle of tying his hair we was surprised to see you gawking at him. He blushes a little when you step closer and take his hair into one bundle and expertly you tie the band around it.

“There you go! Neat and tidy.” You click your tongue and run a hand down his exposed biceps.

“You’re teasing me, aren’t you?” you playfully ask him this when you learn just how “dolled” up he is. In your apron, smelling good, looking hot, and smirking.

“As much as you want me to tease you, see that?” he points to the kitchen and you follow his finger direction “I am baking you cake.”

You lead him to the kitchen, cool yourself down with a glass of iced water and Yuta starts to busy himself with the recipes.

He starts by measuring the cups of flour, sugars, and spoons of cinnamon and baking soda.

You choose to observe him instead of coming back to your work. You’re glad you have saved your works earlier and don’t have to return for it.

Yuta looks super serious when he cracks the eggs and starts mixing them to the dry ingredients. You take note at how accurate he is, you learned about the small details about baking through your rubric.

“Need help?” you ask when Yuta starts to whisk the mixture together. He brings his bowl to his waist and with his tilted head and angled hand, he starts whisking the batter.

You have to hold yourself back when you see how he looks delicious right now. With an apron, a tied hair, tongue sticking out of his lips from focusing, his flexed arm and how he smirks at you. Gosh he’s the real cake here! You wonder how will he react if you suddenly come and bite him there on his neck which is inviting you to bite a mark there. Hey mark!

“No, I got this.” He winks at you and continues whisking the ingredients. Another minute passed by, he adds the mashed bananas and some cut apples for better taste. You focus on his actions but mostly enjoying the show he gives to you.

“You look hot.” You blurt that out loud as you secretly eat the choco-chips he will add later. “You think I look hot? You haven’t seen me whisk a whipping cream or make a meringue!” Yuta says as h places the bowl down and begin doing the next step.

You lean over the counter, eager to see what he is doing next. “Okay, all set just add choco-chips and stir and pour to container.” He smiles nicely to you, expecting to get praises or just a satisfied face. But all Yuta sees is your side smirk.

Yuta can always read you like a book, so without losing his cool, he checks you up from head to toe. He notices how you’re not focusing on him, biting your lips, and your ears and cheeks are as red as strawberries right now!

He connects the dots in his head and snaps his finger in front of your face. You jump in surprise “What?” you yell, clearly annoyed that your fantasy session is destroyed.

“No you’re staring at me too intensely! Stop it,” he acts like his innocence just got violated.

You click your tongue “Yuta, blame yourself!” you pull your hair in despair when you feel your body heating up more and feel tingles slowly creeping up.

Yuta is ignoring you when he shows off his flexibility by bending forward to put his container in the oven. “And that’s the right temperature, now we wait!” he tosses the mittens aside and leans his body to the table you’re seating at. He glances to the cup of water with only ice cubes left, he grabs it up and swirls it around before sipping the remaining drops.

“What are you looking at Princess?” his playful remarks are slipping from his lips. You bite your lips down and try to shake whatever idea you have in your head after seeing him drink the last drop of water like that is the best water in the world. His Adam’s apple bopping is not helping you at all, you lick your lips and lowkey will kill him for making this looks so yummy and advertise-able.

“Nothin’” you lie though it is as clear as day that you are “eating” him in your mind.

“You sure? You don’t look like that.” He says and then knocking the glass to his lips to take the remaining ice cubes in his mouth.

You nod your head and turn redder if it’s possible. Dang Yuta is clearly teasing you and you love it. “I-“ you can’t stop your sentence for the next thing he does is taking your lips there with ice cubes in his mouth. The cold sensation wakes you up from your day dream and you press your hands over his trained arms. He passes the cube into your mouth and you’re surprised with this new sensation. Oh Yuta and his surprises!

He continues taking you there until there’s no more cubes left and both of you are already breathing harder and the atmosphere has turn super hot. Next thing you know, you’re already on the sofa pinned down by Yuta as he teases you with butterfly kisses here and there.

“Yuta-“ you moan out his name when you have the chance, your hand pulls on his hair so he can stop kissing you for a while “Your cake.” You breathily remind him about the cake in the oven.

“Hm? My timer hasn’t gone off.” He ignores your attempt to stop taking you here.

“You want this right? Or do you want to eat me instead? You really look desperate earlier.” He nuzzles into your neck and gives some generous kitten licks there.

“Oh you were teasing me!” you defend yourself “Admit it.” You push him away to see his eyes and get the truth out, but Yuta is Yuta and he always has his way of making you lost. “No, I did not. You were this turned on by me, that you were having such sexy thoughts in the middle of the day.” His hand travels south and you already stifle a moan so he won’t be cocky about it.

He already plays with the hem of your pants, only seconds to pulling them away and eating you raw there, but his timer goes off and he has the biggest grin on his face, while you the biggest disappointment. “Yuta!” you’re already sounding so desperate, tears are forming in your eyes and Yuta only chuckles, he wipes your tears and stands up from between your legs.

“Oops! My bad, cake is done! Why don’t we try it when it’s hot?” he leaves you to turn the oven off and takes the cake out. He left you like that! All teased up and messy.

“Yuta- you will pay for this.” You groan before ignoring the pain from the edged pleasure and stomping your feet angrily to the kitchen.

“Come try this, tell me if this is good.” He offers you a forkful and you angrily chomp down on it.

“Bad.” You mutter, as you cross your hands over your chest but still chew on the delicious cake.

“Bad? This is so yummy! I can take this to the boys, and they’ll ask for more.” Yuta towers above you.

You pout “Fine, its yummy.” Your hand reaches out for some more bites, but you stop and shake your head “You. Finish what you did to me, or I cannot enjoy my cake.”

He giggles and in one swift motion already has you in his arms “Alright my princess, let me enjoy my cake instead!” he brings you to the room and you’re already giggly again, giving him kisses and playing with his hair.

You swear you will kill him if he only leaves you in the room and goes back to eat his cake in the kitchen, lucky you he did not do that. You both know that the cake will be cold once you’re done with the session but who cares when Yuta can bake more of them!

And that is probably how you end up putting a bun in the oven with Yuta!

fin.

#yuta x reader #yuta x you #yuta x y/n #yuta imagines #yuta scenarios #yuta fluff #yuta suggestive #yuta smut #yuta oneshot #yuta soft hours #yuta domestic fluff #domestic fluff #yuta #nct yuta scenarios #nct fluff #nct flirt line #nct yuta fluff #nakamoto yuta #nakamoto yuta x reader

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: fanboy!taehyung x artist!reader

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 13.7k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: still bitter about a scandal that ruined your painting career, you’re recommended a getaway by your therapist to a small island off the coast of seoul. expecting a tranquil location to wallow in self-pity, you’re startled when on your first night, you encounter an avid fan of your work. instead of annoying you for an autograph, kim taehyung ends up being the very thing you need to fall in love with art again.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: sexually explicit content, reader suffers from poor mental health but nothing serious, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise, that’s kinda it, it’s pretty soft tbh

The breeze is light here, broken by the gentle rise of the sand dunes behind you. It runs over your skin like water, a warm current that lasts long after the sun slips below the horizon line.

You sit for hours watching it, the tail of pinks and oranges and ochres that reflect thickly on the top of the water, the shallow crests of low tide. There’s a pull in your heart, a twitch at your fingers. The you a year ago would’ve had her paints out already, an easel with legs precariously shoved in the dry sand. The you a year ago would have been tossing up whether cadmium yellow or cadmium orange would suit the last slip of sun above the water, and whether you should wait til it was gone entirely to save making the decision.

Then again, the you a year ago would never have needed to come here.

The you today just waits, silently, you don’t even know what for. You’d been told this was a getaway. That you just needed some time to recover your muse, or some bullshit like that. But the more time you sit in silence and watch the sky blacken to navy and the stars prick the darkness with dazzling clarity, you think your therapist was wrong. How was this a getaway when all your problems were still festering inside you?

“Oh my god, Y/n L/n?”

You groan and sink back into the sand, head cushioned on the warm piles. Just your fucking luck. “You’ve got the wrong person,” you call out with eyes squeezed shut, praying the stranger will leave you alone. The last thing you needed was a green reporter or psycho fan to spill your location to the rest of the world. You can only imagine the headline. Disgraced painter Y/n L/n found hiding away on a tropical island eight months after she ruined the Met Gala.

“Oh my god, it is you! I’m a massive fan, wow!”

Fuck. At least there was a chance they’d keep quiet. You crack open an eye, staring up at the figure beside you, cast in shadow. From the glint of moonlight, you can see a crown of ruffled hair that’s a faded teal. It reminds you of the impressionist painting of a mountain lake that threw your work into the public eye. Just as faded as the dye on his hair, that time feels worn and aged, like from another life. A reminder of how far you’d fallen. “Look,” you confess lowly to the silhouette, “I just wanna be left alone, I’m not- I’m just here for a break from...everything.”

The figure shifts his weight in the sand, raising an arm to scratch at the back of his neck shyly. “I don’t mean to disturb you,” he apologises. With the slight breeze, his baggy clothes buffet around his lean figure and in the darkness he looks like some vengeful angel, towering over you with the moon behind him. But his voice is so soft, so genuine, so- so warm. Perhaps not vengeful, then, but definitely an angel. “You’re a hero of mine, I wanted to thank you for how much you’ve inspired me, saved me. Gosh, it’s crazy that you’re even here, I-”

“I’m sorry,” you force out, sitting up, wincing as grains of sand work their way down the nape of your neck, “really, I am. But I’m not the person you’re thinking of. Not anymore, at least.” You hate the way your voice rings out so thinly in the night air, nothing like the deep honey of his. You hate the way you sound broken.

He senses it too; he takes a step back, turns towards the dunes. “I should be going, I guess,” he murmurs. “For what it’s worth, I hope I see you around. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You don’t respond, wrapping your arms around your hunched knees and staring at the silver ocean until you can no longer see him in your peripheral vision.

—

It’s over a week before you see him again. Though you’d never admit it to anyone, you keep an eye out for the boy with the teal hair. There wasn’t enough light that day to make out his face but still, with hardly any people for miles, you hadn’t anticipated he’d be all that difficult to find.

Truth be told, there had been a deep curl of regret and dissatisfaction that took root inside you shortly after you left. He was just trying to be nice, and you could use a friend. Could use someone.

You had asked for privacy when your therapist began recommending a break, a getaway, but you hadn’t expected it to this degree. The place you were staying at was a rundown bungalow just behind the dunes, tucked away in a sliver of land where sand met forest, rising up into hills. The only people you saw were the employees that ran it: a maid that stopped by every day at 1pm, even though you had already made the bed and cleaned up after yourself; an older gentleman that delivered you fresh groceries every couple of days in his ancient-looking four wheel drive; and finally, the electrician you’d had to call out a few nights prior after the power went out.

The mysterious fan hadn’t been dressed like an employee; then again, it was long past the workday when he’d approached you. Mulishly, you find yourself lugging a picnic blanket and a pillow down to the beachfront every evening, monitoring every inch of the coastline that stretches around this edge of the peninsula.

It’s only on the ninth night, when you’re folding up your rough blanket with a disappointed grumble, that a sudden yap catches your attention. You whirl around, toes sinking deeper into the light sand, and gasp as a familiar silhouette approaches, stumbling down a sand dune to your left.

He hasn’t seen you yet; so focused on the tiny fluffball that tugs restlessly at its leash. It’s a lot earlier tonight than the last time you’d seen him, and there’s enough remnants of sunlight in the sky to cast him in a warm golden glow.

He’s in baggy clothes like last time, a long-sleeved white t-shirt with a v in the center, unbuttoned and sagging over the shoulder of the arm that’s getting yanked along, and some tan linen shorts. It’s hard to tell with how he sinks to his ankles in sand with every step, but he’s barefoot, almost sliding down the steep dune more so than walking.

You can’t hear him at this distance, but his lips are moving, parted in a boxy grin as he responds to the constant yipping of the tiny dog at his feet. He’s gorgeous, tanned skin to fit the honey of his voice - the voice you’ve been unable to shake from your head - and the roots of his hair are the colour of brown sugar, lightening into the dyed teal ends, whipping over his cheeks and neck in the seabreeze.

He turns off when he reaches the base, following his dog, who pulls in your direction, short bursts of energy that get cut off by the length of the leash. Your heart jumps, and you find yourself waiting in anticipation, breath caught in your throat.

But the moment he glances up and sees you, he halts in his tracks. Stepping back, his smile falls, bowing his head to you apologetically and pulling on the leash so that the small black-and-tan puppy at his feet turns around with him.

They start walking away from you, and you don't have time to think before you're calling out to him, jogging over with your blanket and pillow forgotten behind you.

He stops walking, though he doesn't turn, and when you finally come to a stop beside him, he keeps his head down.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday," you rush out, slightly out of breath, "I was in a really shitty mood, and I had kinda come here to get away from...everything in the first place. I wasn't expecting a fan, and I reacted badly. I'm sorry."

Even after standing still, you can't seem to catch your breath. You haven't seen him this close, in this much detail, and it makes the air catch in your lungs. His eyes are an intense burnt umber, dancing over your face with an unreadable depth to them. He's taller than you, but not bulky. Though his shoulders are wide, he's lean, with a narrow nose and soft cheeks. The wind plays with the ends of his hair, revealing glimpses of a strong brow. He's beautiful.

"I didn't mean to bother you," he says after a moment, and you almost jump at the timbre of his voice so close to you, "I should be the one apologising. I'll leave you alone, honestly. I can find another place to go for a walk, or go at a different time-"

"Do you walk here a lot at this time?" you interrupt, the euphoria of finally holding a conversation after so long loosening your tongue. "You haven't been back since that night."

He tips his head to the side, shoulder jerking when his dog impatiently tugs at the leash, quiet snuffles and yips of disapproval ignored in the air between you. There's a flicker of something in his eyes - surprise? Amusement? "You were looking for me?"

"I-" Your voice fails you, and you realise how pathetic you must look. Your shoulders sink. "I was... I wanted to apologise," you land on finally.

That strange flicker in his eyes settles into a grateful warmth. "I normally do, yeah, but I had to go back to the mainland to pick up this guy." With a genuine smile, he glances down to the ball of fluff that's now lying over his bare foot. "I stayed there while he got his first lot of vaccinations. You can pat him, if you want."

You can recognise that offer for what it really is; an olive branch. In other words, he's apparently not holding a grudge against you for being an asshole. You smile gratefully, crouching down to pat the tiny animal. "What's his name?"

"Yeontan," he answers cheerily. "he's nine weeks old!"

You coo, chuckling at the soft fur wriggling beneath your fingertips, at the wet nose prodding at your palm for more pats. "Yeontan..." you muse. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

You hear a sheepish laugh from above. "Your, um, your painting of the old barn in Icheon? There's a kennel that's beside it in shadow, but you can just make out the name Yeontan painted on the front. I-" He breaks off awkwardly, falling silent.

Your hand freezes, and you feel yourself slump from a crouch to sitting fully on the sand, still hot from the afternoon sun. Yeontan. A detail you couldn't even remember painting, yet he'd named his dog after it. The dog continues to cover your hands in slobber and stray fur, but you just stare at it blankly.

"I'm sorry," the man winces, tone low with defeat. "You probably think it's stupid. I swear I'm not one of those crazy obsessed fans! There was just..." His voice changes then, closes up to cut off any emotion. "I shouldn't say. Sorry."

Your shoulders slacken. "You don't have to keep apologising," you say softly. After a moment's thought, you push up off the sand to stand up again, grains clinging to the skin that's damp from the dog's affections. The handsome stranger's face is stricken, reluctant as he watches you get up. You miss the boxy smile he'd held when he made his way down the dunes. You wonder if he'll ever smile that way at you. "I wanna hear. What you have to say."

Hand flexing on the leash, he looks down at Yeontan and back up at you, eyes squinted slightly as the sun glares onto his face; a radiant, sharp orange. "One of the reasons I'm such a fan of your work is the emotion you can actually see on the canvas. I don't even know how to explain it, but I feel it. And with the Icheon barn painting - I actually saved up for years to buy the original - there's something so sad and lonely about that kennel, that patch of shadow. The rest of the scene is so bright and open, it feels like a party that the kennel wasn't invited to. I don't know, it's stupid. But I thought if I ever bought a dog, I'd name it Yeontan so that it wouldn't feel so alone." He faces the horizon as he speaks, wincing into the light, and a broken laugh bubbles out of his throat once he's done. "Like I said; it's stupid."

But you don't think it's stupid at all. "Did it work?" you ask instead, nose prickling as tears build behind your eyes. The more he spoke, the more you remember the painting. It was your last work before the Met Gala disaster, and after everything went down in flames, desperate online tabloids went back to it, citing it as a 'cry for help'. You hadn't really painted it like that though, not really. You'd seen that beautifully painted barn in the countryside when you were driving between cities to visit your parents, and was taken by the dilapidated dog kennel tucked just beside it. Painting it wasn't some sort of clue to your nosedive, but more like a solidarity with that kennel, the dog that once lived there. The story that had been forgotten. And to hear this man had seen it, had wanted to ease the suffering just like you had... The emotions inside you, ones that had felt so dull and monochrome, now churn inside you in indecipherable technicolour, too many to count. But you think one of them might just be hope. "Did- did getting Yeontan work?"

He's looking at you now. He stays silent for a moment, the softest smile tugging at your lips, and it takes your breath away, watching the colours of sunset play across his skin while his brown eyes seek yours out intensely. "Yeah, it did," he answers eventually, his voice almost a whisper. It's only once he starts speaking that you realise the two of you have moved closer inwards without realising, so that it would only take a half step forward to be pressed against him. "But I think talking with you has helped more."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. The whirlpool inside you settles, leaving you feeling lighter than you have in years. You don't know what it is about this man that makes you feel...sane again, but you want more of it. "I think talking with you has helped me too," you confess, voice lilting in uncertainty. "Can... can I see you again? I don't even know your name, but-"

"Taehyung," he answers immediately, and even with the fall of night, the sun well and truly gone, his eyes are bright. "I could come back tomorrow?"

Your toes flex in the sand fighting the urge to jump in relief. "Yes! Yes, I'd like that," you chime, a smile tugging at your lips. "It was nice to meet you, Taehyung."

"The pleasure is all mine."

You sleep well that night. You can’t remember the last time the peaceful rays of sun have woken you so gently, but you certainly aren’t complaining.

You’d spent the past week or so moping in your cabin until late afternoon and then moping on the beach. Only now, after finally meeting the boy again - Taehyung - you realise how much you’ve been wasting your time buried in your own thoughts. Now all you want to do is explore. You’d been told on the ferry over here that the island was only a few hours’ walk around the coastline, and that your cabin, a street of shops and a small village of houses were the only signs of life. No bar to drown your sorrows at. No club for finding faceless strangers to make you forget who you were for a few hours. All your coping vices had been replaced with open stretches of nature in all its colours; the cool grey rocky beaches on the southern shore, the lush greens of the hilly forests, the glinting turquoise of the sea, and open plains of pastel sky for miles and miles.

The walk isn’t particularly intensive, but it’s long, and your feet ache in their sandals by the time you reach the docks again, having marked a full loop around the island. The dock, empty this late in the morning, leads directly to the main street via a cobblestone path that weaves between dunes, flax bushes, fields and a skinny stretch of trees, and you follow it to the center of the island, resting in a small cafe.

There’s no free WiFi here, so you sip at a tall glass of homemade strawberry lemonade and watch the streets through the storefront window. From your seat, you can see the people wander back and forth, the odd few with kids, but almost all are retirement age. Slow-moving couples with walkers and canes, elderly men jangling the keys to their vintage cars (that surely didn’t have much road to drive on), women with age-spotted skin and heavy beaded jewellery.

You can’t work out how Taehyung fits in this picture. It’s almost impossible to picture him walking down the same street as everyone else; his dyed hair, clothes two sizes too big, tall and slender frame hurrying down with a dog leash in one hand and a grocery bag in the other-

Wait.

You straighten up, eyes widening as you watch the man himself pauses to let Yeontan cock his leg on a patch of grass by the intersection. Physically, he’s entirely incongruous with the rest of the villagers, but he looks entirely at home, glancing up to smile in recognition at every figure that passes by him. One goes so far as to reach up and ruffle his hair playfully as she talks, and his face brightens with crinkled eyes and a boxy grin, greeting her warmly.

The same feeling of longing and dissatisfaction stirs you from the other time you saw that smile. You want to be the one that makes him so happy. You frown, unconsciously chewing on the end of the paper straw. It’s too hot in here. There’s not enough ventilation, and with the sun streaming in, the heat just pools inside, sticking to your thighs and arms. That’s why you leave the cafe before finishing your drink. The heat.

The lady has left by the time you cross the street, and you fake a cough noisily as you pass him, eyes cast away but face turned so he’d easily recognise you.

“Y/n!” Your heart warms, keens at the calling of your name, and you turn to him, smiling broadly. Taehyung grins when Yeontan rushes over to greet you too, whole body rocking with the force of his tail wagging. “Fancy seeing you here,” he remarks, and you take in a deep breath of air, feeling lightheaded with his attention back on you.

“I decided to explore a bit,” you answer, eyes dropping down to the supermarket bag in his hands, white plastic taut and digging red lines into his palm with the weight of it. “Retail therapy?”

He laughs goodnaturedly, but there’s a flush of pink high on his cheekbones, standing out beside the strands of green that he’s tucked behind his ears. “It’s actually, uh, something for tonight. I didn’t know if you’d- If you still-” He breaks off his stammering with another laugh, this one more self-conscious, and the pink deepens to red. “I thought you and I could paint together. I bought us some materials just in case you didn’t bring your own.” You fall silent, mouth slack and parted in surprise, so he continues on, lifting up his hand for a moment, bag rustling, then changing his mind and letting it fall again. “There isn’t a proper art supplies store here, so it’s just from the toy store. I know you’re probably used to proper stuff, but a bad worker blames his tools, you know! Not that you would- that you’re a bad-”

“You paint?” you ask finally, ending his nervous rambling.

His whole body slackens a bit, like you’ve cut some tension from him, his head dipping down to break eye contact. “Um. I’m- learning,” he answers with an uncertain wobble to his voice.

You tilt your head to the side with an expectant smile. “That’s really cool. How long have you been studying?”

He swallows, looking up to send you a hesitant smile. “I, um, I studied the instructions on the back of a paint-by-numbers kit in the toy store. Just now.” His voice lifts at the end of each sentence like it’s a question, that same bargaining smile plastered on his face.

You let out a genuine laugh, the first one you’ve had in a while. In too long. “Is that so? I better bow down to the maestro then.”

“Hey!” he whines playfully, shoulders rocking forward like a toddler feeling sorry for himself. “I learnt everything I know so far just from your art. And did you hear that speech I gave you about The Barn at Icheon? That was pretty good, right? You have to admit, that was good.”

His hand, the one loosely holding Yeontan’s lead, reaches out to grasp gently just above your elbow as he speaks, rocking you slightly like he’s pleading for you to agree. You find a constant stream of laughter bubbling out of your throat as he does so, feeling so light in the sunny midday breeze. “Okay, okay, that was good,” you confess, “you get a point for that.”

Once your laughter subsides slowly, you find yourself looking up at him with a residual smile, the same of which is spread on his face, eyes glimmering with something fond. He waits for the air between you to fall silent, tongue slipping out just slightly to wet his lips as you hold his gaze. “Y/n,” he asks softly, your name like molten sugar on his tongue, thumb unconsciously rubbing at the sensitive skin in the crook of your arm, “will you paint with me?”

Though the thought of painting still sours inside your chest, with his skin on your skin and his smile just for you, you feel like you could do anything. There’s only one answer. “Yes, I’ll paint with you, Taehyung.”

Painting with Taehyung is less painting with Taehyung and more staring desolately into the middle distance as Taehyung decides to make the clouds purple, bottom lip sucked between his teeth in focus.

“Don’t overthink it,” he stresses for the millionth time, glancing over at your blank canvas, “I’m not judging you.”

But it’s not about him judging you. If it wasn’t for him, you don’t think a paintbrush would have ever found its way into your hands again, certainly not so soon. It’s just that- you feel an overwhelming burden, a historical pressure of all your mistakes before. If you put brush to canvas now and create a work of art, then was your complete mindblank for the Met Gala all for nothing? Though your therapist advised against it, you had rather become attached to the idea that you’d somehow gotten artistically injured somewhere, and that eventually you’d broken completely, irreparable. It made the constant white void easier. Your first death.

“Happy little accidents,” Taehyung says lightly, dipping heavily into orange and catching a dollop on his wide-leg jeans. Not noticing it, or not caring, he swipes the orange into the canvas in a wonky line down past the horizon line, forming the neck and body of what looks vaguely like a giraffe. “And, um, happy little- happy little trees. If you want we could turn around and face the forest?”

Though a glum cloud is settling in your stomach you flick him a soft smile. “So you watch Bob Ross too? I thought you said you learnt everything from me.”

Using the same brush, he scoops out some black, using a pinkie finger to mix the colours together inside the bristles, a murky brown. “Maybe just a little,” he admits, daubing rough patches onto the giraffe, half of them overlapping the edges of its body. There’s an endearing quality to his carefree worksmanship, and you can’t deny that his painting looks good, wonky lines and all. “But don’t worry, you’ll always be my first,” Taehyung adds, not looking at you but smirking all the same.

The double entendre isn’t missed on you, but still, as you sit on a picnic table right on the edge of the village, blank canvas in front of you, you can’t bring yourself to laugh at it. All you can see is the paint drying on the tip of Taehyung’s finger, the messy pots of basic acrylics, and the warm smile that doesn’t leave his face.

He’s having fun. How long has it been since painting has been fun for you? Annoyed, you grab the clear green plastic brush from the set, dipping it into black. Muscle memory tingles across your knuckles and down the muscles of your wrist, an instinct to hold the brush in a certain way, tap off the excess, but your frustration overrides it, and you take the paintladen brush and smear it directly across the center of the canvas, a gaping maw of glossy shadow that bulges on the lower edges, gravity pulling at the thick stripe. You go completely still once it’s done. Staring.

Taehyung looks over after a moment, watching you carefully. “Is everything alright? If you didn’t want to paint, we didn’t have to-”

“It’s terrible,” you interrupt, a frown marring your face. “I fucked it up.”

“You didn’t,” he chastises softly, pushing his canvas to the side and leaning over your shoulder. “It’s a promising start. Maybe the duck pond is black in your world.”

Your eyes slide lower, unfocused. “Maybe the whole ocean is black in my world,” you murmur.

He’s silent for a moment, unsure what to say. “Then how will the fish see?” he asks in a light tone, bumping your shoulder gently with his, but you just let out a broken sob, tears spilling over your cheeks like they’d been triggered by his contact. Taehyung’s mouth opens in a rounded o, eyes wide, and as the dam breaks, you feel an arm find your back, rubbing soothingly, and long, warm fingers wrap around the hand that holds the brush limply, cradling it. “We can fix it, it’s okay,” he soothes in a kind whisper, “here; it’s that mailbox now, yeah? And behind it is the candy shop-” His voice cuts off while he guides your shaking hand to the green, mixing it with white in the plastic pottle to make a pale pastel. You feel the pressure of the brush in your hand shift as he moves the bristles over the canvas in a roughly rectangular shape, but you’re unseeing, crying tears that sting like turpentine into that black ocean behind your eyelids, letting him move you.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, you curled in his embrace as he quietly paints for you, commenting on each step of the process so you know what he’s doing, even with your eyes closed. At one point, your energy leaves you, and you collapse into him, pressing your cheek against the stable warmth of his chest, heartbeat audible through his thin t-shirt. He doesn’t complain, just adjusting his stance to better support you and resting his chin on your head.

“I’m sorry,” you blubber thickly at one point, tasting salt.

“You don’t have to be,” he assures, “just keep breathing. Look; let’s put some trees in, hm? One for you and one for me.”

You open your eyes with a sniffle, feeling your hand lower in his secure hold, and you twist around your head to watch him dip the filthy brush in a green which has already been tainted by white and red in places. Your eyes follow it up again, until he fearlessly swipes in the graceful branches of the fir trees which cover the highest points of the island. You look at the rest of the painting, and a disbelieving giggle bubbles out of you, a smile across your face despite everything.

Unlike the mental image you’d been plotting in your head with the narration, this square of canvas has a line of slightly leaning buildings stacked beside each other tightly, colours smearing on the borders. In the middle of the uneven grey strip of cement down the middle to mark out the road, two trees stand proud, mostly green but with bleeding patches of muddy purple and brown too. Entire drops of paint spatter and run, creating a chaotic but vivid daydream of the end of the street in front of you.

“A lot better in your head, wasn’t it?” Taehyung asks knowingly. You laugh again, the last few tears pressed out of the corners of your wet eyes. “It’s okay,” he replies easily, “it was better in my head too. But the one in our heads is boring, don’t you think? If I wanted to see the street in front of me exactly, I’d just look up. Or take a photo. But nobody can visit this place we’ve painted. It’s just here, brand new because of us. I think I like that more.”

You sit up, wiping your eyes with a tired smile. “There’s no way you learnt all that from me,” you deflect, voice still raw from crying. “But yeah. I think I like this one more too.”

“I’m glad,” he answers softly, letting go of your hand and removing his hand from your back at the same time. You suppress a shiver at the sudden absence of heat. “I’ll let this dry and hang it up right beside The Barn at Icheon.”

You laugh again, sniffing away the last dregs of self-pity. “You better not,” you warn playfully, “as semantically poignant as it is, it’s an awful paintjob.”

When Taehyung smiles, it’s bright and boxy. And it’s just for you.

Time passes, but not like in the real world. Out here on this island, you start counting the passage of time by how many occasions you’d met Taehyung. Then, once you’ve seen him too often to count, you let yourself lose track of time completely, remembering only the moments spent with him like vignettes on a fragile chain.

The two of you always meet in the town or on the beach, speaking about everything and nothing. One day, while waiting beside the blue metal mailbox for Yeontan to pee (though Taehyung still insisted it looked better black) you tell him of the time you accidentally turned all your clothes yellowy-green after accidentally putting an apron in the wash that had an opened sampler of chartruese in the pocket. On a rainy afternoon when you’d gotten caught in the downfall walking through the forest, Taehyung told you, while wringing out rainwater from his rumpled maroon sweater, that he was meant to be studying agricultural sciences on the mainland, but his grandmother was sick and so he bought a place nearby to care for her.

“One good thing about being on the island,” he’d chimed cheerily, dark teal and brown plastered to his cheeks and forehead, “is that property is super cheap here. My grandma paid half and I paid half, and now the one-bedroom I live in is all mine.”

“But isn’t that sad?” you’d questioned, feeling the ground turn to mud beneath your shoes. “Living on the island, I mean? You should be in a big city, partying with your friends, living life. This place is like one massive retirement village.”

Taehyung had just shrugged. “My grandma likes it. And I like living for someone else, you know? Makes me feel good.”

Long after you’d gone home, warming up by the radiator in your beachside bungalow, those words had stuck with you. You wonder if, with all this time he’s been spending with you, he’s starting to live for you, too. You wonder if maybe that’s a bad thing.

But still, time passes in this hazy, episodic way. Money continues to filter out of your bank account each week you stay, but you hadn’t worried about your finances for years now, enough successful exhibits from your productive days keeping a healthy sum.

Though he never pushes as much as last time at the picnic table, Taehyung keeps you creating. Backs of napkins, tourism pamphlets, the kids colouring sets at the local diner. No matter how scrawled or indecipherable, the soft-hearted boy compliments your work all the same, slipping the scraps into his pocket with a joking promise that he’s going to frame them. Somehow, every unthought, unplanned line of ink or lead or pigment that lights the page feels like one less needle buried deep inside your heart, one small salve to ease the burden. You don’t know if Taehyung knows it, but in all the ways that count he’s a better artist than you.

When he’s around you, the world is lusher, more vibrant. Your time alone is grey and muted; a dull beach, an empty bungalow. With him, you feel like the sky is bluer and the trees are greener. The bonfire you sit in front of now casts an intense orange glow on everything around it, including Taehyung’s hands as he deftly impales marshmallows onto a skewer.

It’s cooler at nighttime these days. At some point, you’d both exchanged sandals for sneakers, t-shirts for sweaters. Taehyung seems to fancy heavy cable knits and thick trousers even in mild weather, and you wonder if he’d still wear clothing typical of an elderly gentleman even if he was on the mainland in a modern city instead of around the older generation on the island.

Tonight, you’d tried and failed a traditional Korean barbecue over the open flame. While Taehyung had shoved his cut of pork right into the fire, ending up with a charred outside and raw inner, you’d diligently held yours above the flames, turning and turning until the muscles in your arm screamed and you had to give up and admit perhaps the meat from the local butcher was cut too thick, and that a bonfire was good for nothing more than toasted marshmallows.

“This is where it’s at, this is it,” the young man enthuses confidently, each skewer laden with four or five marshmallows, bunched together, “dessert for dinner. The way it should be.”

You’re content to sit back and let him work excitedly, wrapping the edges of the picnic blanket low over your shoulders and lap. Though Taehyung is always devastatingly handsome, he’s the most gorgeous like this: focused in his element and surrounded by all the colours and textures of nature, a painting come to life. The heat of the flames is curling his hair lightly, making teal ends flick at his temples and the nape of his neck. His hair was growing out steadily, but still he chose not to cut it, and you can’t deny the length suits him.

“There’s more brown than green now,” you mention softly. “Soon it’ll look like dip-dye.”

Taehyung glances back at you over his shoulder with a rougish grin, shuffling around so he faces you fully. “What; is this your way of saying it looks bad?”

“No,” you defend with a pout, reaching for the near-full packet of marshmallows. “I’m just curious if you’re gonna leave it like that.”

Taehyung hums like he doesn’t fully believe you, and he leans over to shove his hand in the packet at the same time that you’re rummaging for the soft sweets, your knuckles brushing together. You shiver at the contact. Somehow, that’s been the first time you’ve shared skin contact since that day at the picnic table. Wide-eyed, you wait til he’s grabbed a bunch and pull your own hand away, empty and white with powder.

“Sorry,” he adds reflexively, but you just shake your head. How are you supposed to tell him that you liked the feeling of his skin on yours? Taehyung pops a pink marshmallow into his left cheek, letting it bulge and slur his speech as he gives you a broad grin. “You could dye it for me! My hair, I mean. Pick a colour.”

Against your will, you smile back, cheeks puffing at the thought. “I have no idea how to dye hair, Tae.”

Something flickers in his eyes when you say that, or maybe it’s the dancing flames reflected in them. He chews quickly, swallowing with a jerk of his jaw, and licks the rest of the white powder off his lips. “I bet it’s a whole lot easier than painting a picture.”

You scoff, but there’s no bite to it. “Oh, so you didn’t want me to paint one of my works on your hair, then? Don’t fancy Jeju Dusk on your scalp?”

Taehyung grins at the name, recognising the title of one of your earlier paintings - one that had been relentlessly criticised for its blending of techniques, something that later became your signature. “That’s my second favorite piece, you know? I have a print of it at home, and I saw the original in the Leeum Museum last year.”

You remember the director of the Leeum fondly. In your beginning years, he’d fought for your works to be shown in some of the frequent exhibitions they held. Even though you’d barely made a name for yourself, and had only recently moved to Seoul, Director Kim Namjoon took you in like a mentee and gave you a job himself as his PA. The experience you’d gotten there, as well as that vital exposure, had kept you business-savvy throughout your career, and once you were in a position to give back, you donated almost all of your original canvases to the museum in his name. Maybe one day you’d return home to Seoul and tell Namjoon of the boy who lived on a faraway island, the boy who taught you to open up again. Would Taehyung still be with you then? Though it hasn’t been long, it’s hard to comprehend a life without Taehyung. All you can visualise is a great absence, a lack. You banish the thought from your mind with a shake of your head, glancing back up to see the boy himself boldly setting a skewer of marshmallows on fire in the orange heat. “I hope that’s your one,” you joke weakly as he puffs out the blue and orange that lick at the blackening lumps.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my favorite work is?” he asks instead, ignoring your statement.

You stay silent for a moment, observing the way he discards the charred skewer in his lap and delicately toasts the other one, swivelling the base so that each side of the marshmallow stack warms to a golden brown. Once he pulls it out, he hands it to you with an expectant quirk of his brow. You take the stick with a slightly suspicious smile. “What’s your favorite, Taehyung?”

“Your next one,” he answers immediately, gaze locked on yours.

You blame the heat radiating off the bonfire for the warmth in your cheeks as you suppress a smile. “Alright then,” you say decisively.

“Alright what?”

“Alright, I’ll dye your hair for you.”

He grins broadly, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as he starts eating his thoroughly-burnt marshmallows. “Tomorrow,” he announces, melted strings of pink and white pooling in the corner of his lips. “Let’s meet at the convenience store and you can pick the colour.”

You smirk at the way he devours the toasted marshmallows with childish glee. “You’ll regret that when you come out of this with highlighter orange hair.”

He chucks his leftover stick into the grocery bag you brought your supplies in, letting himself collapse backwards onto the heated sand. “I think I could pull it off,” he deflects calmly. “Just you see.”

Breath taken away by the peace on his face as he closes his eyes, your mind works dizzily, desperate to find something to keep him talking, to keep this moment between you alive. “Maybe you could get a job as air traffic control. Or a streetlight. Just you wait; it’ll be orange orange.”

Taehyung’s face warms in a lazy smile as he hums. He looks so peaceful lying there that you’re tempted to join him, but you choose instead to shuffle back from the fire so that you can see his face better. His hair’s splayed out over the sand, and you can see the warm flickers from the bonfire play over his neck, his jaw, and the tip of his nose. Taehyung’s right; orange does suit him. “I had a dream, you know. Last night.”

You feel - with the gentle breeze and the silence of the sea surrounding you - that perhaps you’re in a dream right now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his low voice hushes, barely louder than the popping of wood on the fire. “We weren’t on the island, we were in Seoul. Your wing of the Leeum Museum.”

You laugh shallowly, not wanting to make much noise for a reason you couldn’t quite pinprick. “I don’t have a wing at the Leeum.”

“You did in my dream,” he defends resolutely, the beginnings of a boxy smile tugging at his lips. “Anyway, we were in your wing, and I remember being so confused because I didn’t recognise any of them. But you told me they were all new. They were paintings of m-” he cuts himself off a beat too late, lips pressed together.

Your heart falters, a rush of adrenaline that flows to the ends of your fingers and toes. You fight to keeo your voice steady. “Maybe it was a premonition.”

Resting on his stomach, Taehyung’s hands twitch, his fingers twisting together. His smile flattens into a tense line and his eyelids squeeze shut tightly. “I don’t wanna get my hopes up,” he admits quietly after a short pause of thought.

Looking back, you can’t remember your thought process, or where your boldness comes from. Maybe something about the way the moment felt detached from reality, a timeless bubble of the two of you that sat adjacent to your real life, separate from consequence. Maybe it was the brief glimpse of pink as he wets the inner seam of his lips. Maybe you’ve just wanted this for too long to think rationally anymore.

Whatever it is, you swallow past the dryness in your mouth, bend down, and press a kiss to his lips.

Taehyung goes completely still at first. You’re cross-legged on the sand, knees faced to his side, and when you kiss him, it’s on enough of an angle that you feel his nose brushing your cheekbone, and you can feel your hair falling down either side of your face like silken rain. He stays still, though, and you press a little harder, just for a moment, before his lack of response shatters your streak of confidence.

With a minute sigh of regret, you lift off of him, ready to sit up again and apologise profoundly. But before there’s more than a few centimeters of air between you, his hand is suddenly snaking around the nape of your neck, fingers slipping up into your hair as he pulls you back down.

When you collide again with a gasp, his mouth is parted, and his teeth scrape against your bottom lip with his urgency. Losing your balance, you throw your outside arm over him, palm plunging into the sand just beside his head, and let your upper torso rest on his his.

“Taehyung,” you sigh onto his lips, shivering when his free hand rests hotly on your waist, thumb slipping under the hem of your shirt to rub maddenly over the sensitive skin of your stomach. “Oh, Taehyung.”

His lips are sticky with the remains of the toasted marshmallows, and tentatively you seek out that sweetness, kissing deeper, letting your tongue slide over the pinkened skin. He holds you so gently, like you’re made of glass, yet his mouth on yours is pure fire, and your breath comes in little gasps, bursts of oxygen that only fan the flames higher. It takes you a few moments to realise the humming in his throat and the motion of his lips are words, so softly spoken, but once you do you slow your movements to a languid stream to better hear them.

“...so beautiful, I’ve wanted to do this for so long, I must be dreaming…” He speaks with his eyes half-lidded, like he doesn’t want to fully lose sight of you, uttering words between sweet kisses, strong hands cradling you so carefully. He presses his lips against yours one last time and moves his hand from your neck to your face, thumbing tenderly at your cheekbone. “God, I’m so lucky to be by your side,” he gasps. “And when you paint new works and attend exhibits, I’ll still be by your side.”

His words are sweet, but something about them strikes an odd note in your chest, and you pull back slightly, shaking off his hands.

He looks at you with wide eyes and swollen lips which are parted in a confused pout. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s my paintings,” you whisper disbelievingly, “isn’t it? That’s why you think you like me. You like my paintings, and you think it’s somehow the same thing.”

He frowns, shuffling back to sit up, further apart from you than you’d been all night. “No,” he says automatically, “I like you, I just… I think you’re talented, and I want to help you-”

“It’s not your place to help me,” you snap back, and Taehyung flinches. “I’m not some- some out-of-order printer that just needs some TLC to start pumping out pages again. You’re a fan, Taehyung, not a fucking therapist.”

He lets those words sit in the air until they sour, staring at you with eyes shiny and lips trembling. “I know that,” he says, voice cracking, “I know that. I just- Just because you had issues with the Met Gala exhibit doesn’t mean you have to run away and hide, you know?”

Your mouth falls open. “I… I didn’t have issues with the Met Gala, okay, Taehyung? I blanked. Every time I tried to paint something for the exhibit, it sucked. I hated it. And then, eventually, I stopped being able to paint anything at all. It was like I just- I just couldn’t. And the Director kept calling, but I couldn’t answer him because I was so fucking humiliated, and you get the day of the Met and the walls are empty because Y/n L/n is a fucking failure. So it’s not- You can’t fix me, Taehyung. I’m just broken.”

The fire spits, crackles, as it smoulders down, nothing more than hot coals that barely light the surroundings. Taehyung, face slowly darkening to shadow, doesn’t say anything. Just sits. Waits.

You sniff, looking down at your hands. “My point is, Tae-” and you scoff at yourself for using a nickname at a time like this, “You shouldn’t like me. I have nothing to give you anymore.”

Sand sticks to your bare legs when you stand, but you make no attempt to brush it off. Though it’s nearly complete darkness, you see Taehyung’s hair shift as he tips his head up to watch you. Rather than speak back, he waits in the pitch black of the extinguished bonfire and lets you go.

Later, in the unforgiving silence of your bungalow, you find yourself gravitating not towards your bed but towards your suitcase, to the small wooden chest of travel paints you had brought never expecting to use.

It’s easier to paint than to think on your regrets and mistakes, and so you let your mind go black, your palette filling with shades of brown, ochre and beige, as well as a single swatch of teal.

The entire next day sees you in a sleep-deprived fervour, the entire main room of your bungalow cleared out and transformed into a makeshift studio, paintings drying on emptied bookshelves, sheets of old newspaper covering the carpet covered in stray spots of colour, the kitchen bench housing your mismatched array of paints and tools.

After finishing your first painting, you’d collapsed onto your bed as the sun began to rise, too exhausted to wash the dried paint off your hands and brow. But it only took a few moments of rest before you felt yourself sinking into a glum quicksand, sucked in by all the emotions swirling in your chest. Suffocated by the sole image of Taehyung, sitting alone on the sand in the dark as you walked away.

So, you’d gotten up, fed the itch in your hands and picked up a brush once more, and let yourself be taken by the mindless haze of work, of colours and angles and perspectives, starting to paint the knuckles on one canvas while you waited for the eyes to dry on another.

Just after 10am, your housekeeper had knocked on the door, and you’d had to play sick so that she wouldn’t come inside. If they kept your deposit or charged you damages for a stray lick of paint on some surface, what did it matter?

You threw yourself so intensely into these paintings, that weren’t art so much as sighs of relief, or buoys in a churning sea. It was all too easy to let your mind latch onto the task of mixing colours, of choosing techniques, of mastering proportions. Normally, you’d work in front of a landscape, or take a photo and paint it later, wanting to get things right, but Taehyung comes to mind with startling clarity.

Soon, your bungalow fills with artworks - some painted on newspaper, or pages of a book when you run out of canvases. Vistas of those moments with him like clustered vignettes: his eyes with orange glints reflected in them from that night with the bonfire; his hands wringing his sodden sweater the day you got caught in the rain; a boxy smile, the first time he ever grinned at you like that; and finally, just as your hands begin to shake too much to hold the brush steady, a lone silhouette walking down a dune, tiny dog tugging at the leash in his hand. The memories flow in reverse, like some sort of undoing, a wish to go back in time and do things right, to be better for him, to do right by him.

When you set the brush down one final time, fingers trembling with exhaustion, it’s nearly midnight. You realise with a dull pang that you’d forgotten to go down to the township to buy Taehyung hair dye. You realise he probably wouldn’t have come down either.

Your face is stiff in places where swipes of paint have dried, and your hair is tangled, thrown up a half-hearted ponytail that keeps threatening to slip, but as you stare around the chaos of the room, at the fevered paintings of him, only him, always him, your heart knows what to do. Whether you like it or not, you can’t go back in time and start new, start fresh. But you can go forward, and you know exactly where your feet will take you.

Well, maybe not exactly, because you’ve never been to Taehyung’s house. But shoving on some sneakers and wrappin yourself up in a jacket, you figure you can find it. The island’s population was barely fifty, and all the houses were in the same sleepy neighborhood behind the main street.

It’s after knocking on exactly twenty-six doors that you realise maybe you should just ask if the stranger knew Taehyung’s address, rather than leaving when somebody unfamiliar answered the door. Shivering, even with the thick padded jacket you’re bundled in, you decide that the next house better be the last. If they didn’t know where Tae was, you could just come back and pick up where you left off tomorrow.

The street is so silent that your sneaker soles on the gravel fill the void entirely, amplified in the chilled night air. As you went on, and the moon passed the center of the sky, less and less people even opened their doors, some that did scolding you for waking them at such an hour. You’d feel bad, only your mind’s entirely locked on one single person.

The next house you reach is small, like most of them, but looks particularly well-groomed compared to most. A gleaming white postbox with the number 13B rests beside the driveway and footpath, both of which are bordered by lush, freshly-mowed grass, almost black in the darkness. Like a beacon, a single lamplight shines white-yellow above the front door, and your eyes ache with the warm brightness as you knock.

After fifteen or so seconds, you hear muffled movement inside, and straighten your back expectantly, mentally running through your speech. A light turns on behind lacy curtains to the left, and eventually a blurred silhouette approaches in the foyer, unlocking the door.

You put on your most sympathetic smile and take in a breath when it cracks, revealing an older woman in mismatching winter pyjamas. “I’m so sorry to wake you, ma’am, but I was wondering if you knew a boy called-” As your eyes search the old woman’s face, you freeze. You know those eyes. “K-Kim Taehyung?” you finish, blinking widely at the woman who somehow looks so familiar.

Rather than grumble about the time or huff, she smiles broadly, lips tugging up in a boxy smile. “Well, of course, he’s my grandson!” The smile drops, brows furrowing in concern. “Is he alright?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, eyes widening. “I- oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you,” you gush, her eyes crinkling fondly at your words. “Sorry, uh- yes, Taehyung is okay, I just-” You stop yourself, trying to steady your racing heart. “Mrs. Kim, you probably don’t even know me, but I did something bad and I need to make it right with him and I just… I think I’m in love with your grandson.” The moment you finish, something in your heart settles at the sound of the words lingering in the air.

She takes her time to reply, letting the words sink into her with a thoughtful sigh. “Darling, am I right in assuming your name is Y/n?”

You swallow quickly. “Yes, that’s right.”

She nods with a fond smile, a glimmer in her eye. “Then I think there’s something you should come see.”

“Inside?” After she waves you in and guides you to slip off your shoes and step into some house slippers instead, you find yourself awkwardly following her down a homely, perfumed hallway. “By the way, I’m so sorry for waking you.”

She waves it off before you even finish your sentence, sending you a kind wink. “No bother to me, lovie. I’m just glad you didn’t wake the dog.”

“The dog?” you mumble to yourself, before halting suddenly as Mrs. Kim pauses in front of a door, hand resting on the glass knob.

“My grandson’s been visiting me more lately, you see,” she explains, turning the knob to reveal a room in complete darkness, nothing inside visible. “He had so much to tell me and so much to do, became as hyper as a boy on Christmas morning! He told me not to go in here, but I couldn’t help myself.”

You step inside on her indication, breath caught in your throat as your eyes struggle to adjust. “I don’t understand…”

“Lovie, don’t worry about whatever went wrong with you two. You love him and… Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic, but it’s clear he loves you too.” And with that, she flicks the light on and the room comes into focus.

A barn. That’s the first thing you see. A painting of a bright, sprawling barn with a tiny dilapidated kennel in its shadow, wobbly letters spelling out YEONTAN. On the wall directly across from the door rests the original painting of The Barn at Icheon, close to a meter wide and half a metre high. The question of why he’d keep this prized possession of his in a random room barely bigger than a closet dies on your tongue as you turn, seeing the other walls.

A sketch of a bird you’d seen and wanted to show him, clumsily sketched on the back of a receipt with a pen from the lady at the grocery store checkout; a smudged map of your old neighborhood in Seoul that he’d made you draw on a napkin when you were explaining to him how far away the art supply store was; a tourism pamphlet that you and Taehyung had found on a park bench, drawing little Bigfoot silhouettes on the pictures of mountains and mermaids on the beaches. Every one of these thoughtless scrawls, careless scribbles and hurried drawings are here, each one framed or mounted like in a gallery, in order of the time they were made. You turn around slowly, barely noticing Taehyung’s grandmother in the doorway, giving you a knowing look. Finally, on the last wall, the trail of pieces disappear with a final creation, a canvas.

Feeling tears gather in your eyes, you look at the black smear of a mailbox, the wonky shops, the two tall trees incongruously planted in the middle of the street. And, in the bottom right corner painted meticulously in teal, the same teal as his hair, Y/n and Taehyung.

You let out a sob, turning back to Mrs. Kim. “Thank you for showing me this,” you make out in a voice thickened with tears, “but I really need to see him. Can you please give me his address?”

With a look of warm empathy, she steps forward to clasp your shoulders gently, maternally. “He told me about what happened, luvie. He doesn’t blame you.”

Trembling, you wipe the wetness from your cheeks and sniff. “He should,” you admit sullenly, “he’s too good for me. He’s been nothing but kind and patient and caring and all I’ve done is let him down.” Something occurs to you, and you frown in confusion. “Wait… Did he stop by and tell you?”

Her hands squeeze your upper arms comfortingly before dropping them and stepping back. “Oh honey,” she coos, and your heart stops as she steps aside out of the doorway, letting another, taller figure enter the room.

“Taehyung,” you whisper in shock, but before you can even comprehend his presence, his arms are around you, pulling you against his chest in a tight hug. You feel thick layers of pressure and worry evaporate off of you with a single moment, lungs filling with the familiar scent of him, body relaxing with his chin resting on your head and his arms cradling you. For what feels like a small eternity, you let yourself be fully enveloped in him, an indescribable catharsis of finally being in his arms once more. As your tears dry on the soft flanelette of his pyjama shirt and your fingers clutch at his back, you feel a thought transform into a certainty. “I love you, Taehyung,” you confess quietly, and his whole body shudders with a sob, arms tightening around you even more.

“I love you so much,” he confesses lowly, chest rumbling against your ear as he speaks. “And please don’t ever call yourself broken. You’re not. I didn’t love the art, I loved you. Because the art is a part of you Y/n, whether it’s perfect or not.”

“Tae,” you breathe shakily, his name the only word on your lips.

A soft voice comes from the hallway, Taehyung’s grandmother quietly excusing herself to “leave the two lovebirds alone.” You barely notice, lost in the way Taehyung gently rocks you back and forth in his arms, soothing you.

“I missed you,” you hear Taehyung whisper into your hair, nuzzling his nose gently.

Though you shiver at the feeling, you let out a teary laugh. “I saw you a day ago.”

“But it wasn’t the same then,” he insists softly, and a slow breath escapes you weakly. “It’s okay; you’re here now. You-” he breaks off to swallow, and when he speaks again his voice is much quieter, paper thin. “You won’t walk away again, will you?”

You answer by tipping your head up to look him in the eyes warmly, rising onto the tips of your toes so that you can reach his mouth, pressing a kiss against it tenderly. “Never,” you answer surely, “I promise.”

When he smiles, it’s beautiful - that big, boxy grin you saw that day on the dunes, that day you agreed to paint with him, and so many times since. But it never fails to make you melt, lips automatically returning the gesture. “Now,” he announces with a bemused lilt in his voice. “As much as I love this makeout session in my grandma’s closet, it is 2am. Shall we go get some rest?”

Sleep comes quickly once you have Taehyung’s arm around you and your face in the crook of his neck, and you let it take you, knowing you’ll have time to savor the feeling of sleeping beside him for many days to come.

You take him home the next day.

He hadn’t ever been to the bungalow before, but now there was something you desperately wanted him to see. You hadn’t cleaned up before you’d suddenly began roaming the streets of the island, and as he stares around at the chaos, you kind of wish you had. “It’s pretty messy, but…”

“No,” he deflects, mouth parted and eyes wide in wonder, “don’t apologise, this is- wow.” He steps further into the room, stepping over discarded paint tubes, dried canvases and uncleaned brushes. He takes a moment to take in each work. Every single one of them a snapshot of him. “How- When did you do all this?”

You bite your lip, loitering in the entryway. “From when I got back that night until I decided to come looking for you.”

He furrows his brow, fingers gently skimming the top edge of the painting that rests on the easel in the center of the room, the first one you’d painted. His teal growouts, his uneven eyes, the moles dotted so intricately on his face. Your Tae. “You haven’t been able to pick up a brush in months, and then...all this?”

“This was easy,” you say with a shake of your head, “it was easy because it was you.”

He turns, then, glancing at you over his shoulder with eyes brimming with affection. “You really love me.”

A disbelieving grin stretches across your lips. “The midnight confession didn’t make it clear enough?”

“It’s not that, I- I can read it,” he explains, stepping back over to you. “The Barn at Icheon is filled with loneliness, and a lot of your other works talk about fear or curiosity or patience. But this is all love. And it’s me.”

“It’s you,” you confirm with a soft smile, “I love you, Taehyung. So much.”

His eyes light up, then, a cheeky glimmer as his hand reaches out, gripping your elbow and giving it a playful shake. “If I’m your mojo then, you should paint something else today,” he bargains, “I wanna see your genius in action. The black mailbox sadly doesn’t qualify.”

Your mouth drops open in mock outrage, shoving his chest with a whine. “That’s not fair! You said you liked it better black.” Looking around at the disaster zone of the bungalow, you sigh. “I also don’t think I have any paintable surfaces left. I missed the housekeeper so I’ll probably get a fine as it is.”

“Use me, then.”

“Haven’t I painted you enough?” you fire back, but Taehyung just shakes his head emphatically.

“Paint on me. Here,” he says, and his hands leave yours in order to find the hem of his shirt, peeling his shirt off and tossing it into a far end of the room. “A big old waterfall, right down the middle. Rock pool at the bottom.”

“Stop it!” You blush fiercely, hands coming up to cover your cheeks as your eyes feast on his chest, the smooth planes and taut skin, a beautiful golden bronze. “Taehyung…”

For the first time, he doesn't press further. Instead, his shoulders sag, teasing facade slipping. "I'm sorry, you don't have to. I'll stop."

Inexplicably, you find yourself wanting to prove you aren't fragile anymore, unbroken just as he'd insisted you were last night. "I can do it," you protest, stepping away from him to fossick for some usable brushes. "Lie down, then."

Taehyung freezes. "Uh. Yeah, yeah, okay, gimme one sec, I'll just-" With the enthusiasm of a boy having his first kiss, Taehyung hunkers down on the newspaper-covered carpet, shuffling some tools and tubes and palettes out of the way. He looks beautiful like that, chest rising and falling shakily with anticipation, warm brown eyes widened on you. "You don't have to paint a waterfall, you know," he assures hurriedly. "Whatever you do will be perfect."

Heart leaping at his words, you feel a streak of confidence deep inside you, and instead of sitting beside him, you straddle his hips with a newly-filled palette in one hand and a brush in the other. "I want you to guess," you announce from above him, eying his chest and wondering how the colours might fill the space. "Guess what I'm painting. It'll be fun!"

Taehyung's throat bobs with a harsh swallow, nodding quickly. "O-okay, yeah, let's do that," he agrees weakly.

You smile warmly, and begin dipping into a forest green, coating the tips of the bristles. Bending down, you mark a single point of green on the top of his chest, just below his collarbone. The moment the cool paint touches his skin, Taehyung shudders, eyes falling shut. "Okay?" you check. He nods again, chest heaving, and so you continue tracking colour, gradual swoops downwards. Each drag of the brush makes Taehyung's breath catch, and you watch as goosebumps break out on his bare arms.

"Feels nice," he mumbles, lips barely moving like he didn't even intend to speak.

Your lip twitches, but still you focus, topping up the brush whenever the lines became too spotty. After trailing down to just above the level of his belly button, you raise the brush again, starting a new form on the other side of his chest, this one smaller. "Any idea what it is?" you question, but Taehyung just sighs airily.

Once you're finished with the forest green, you wipe your brush off on the edge of your palette and go for a deeper shade, pressing in shadows under each swipe of green. It's once you're working on the bottom half of the second structure that you begin to feel a hardness between your legs, the point where you're straddling him. Shocked, you look up, but Taehyung's covered his eyes with the back of his hand, face turned to the side with reddened cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he croaks out once he feels you stop. "Didn't mean to."

With a fond smile, you lean down, careful not to smudge the wet paint, and gently kiss the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitch and his lips part in surprise, but he otherwise stays still. "It's okay," you soothe, "if it's any consolation, I feel the same way right now."

Like a switch is flipped, Taehyung lifts his hand and tucks his chin, looking down at where the two of you are pressed together, then back up at your face. "Seriously?"

You laugh warmly. "Taehyung, I love you and you're currently lying beneath me, half-naked, writhing every time the brush touches you. Of course I'm turned on."

His cheeks flush hotter and he bites his lip. "You can- you can keep going. Keep painting."

Obediently continuing to fill in the shadow across his stomach, you grin. "Still no guesses on what I'm painting? I'm almost done, you know."

He cranes his neck down further, but the angle prevents him from seeing much. "Some-something green? I'll be honest with you, my focus really isn't-fuck!"

You suppress a laugh as he shudders, hands reaching out to clutch at your pants. Having finished the shadow, you'd mixed a paler green to add some light points on the tops, and one of those swipes had just happened to land across the top of one of his nipples, already stiff from arousal. You continue dipping colour here and there, smirking at the paint that covers the dark brown of his right nipple.

"You tease," Taehyung complains with furrowed brows. "Fuck, that felt good. Please tell me you need to paint the other one too."

You hum in mock thought, transferring your brush to the hand with the palette so that you can reach out, swiping a thumb over the sensitive flesh. Taehyung's whole body jerks, his hips beginning to grind under you, the dull friction pulling a pleasured sigh from your lips that's blessedly drowned by his drawn-out moan. "Why the pout, Tae? This was your idea."

"Next time I'm holding the paintbrush," he promises, hips moving slowly beneath you, eyes lidded as they focus on you, "then you won't be so cocky."

His words send a hot rush of arousal through you, and you rock your hips unconsciously, swallowing a moan. "Next time," you repeat breathily, "but for now I'm almost done."

It only takes a few more touches of pale green, followed by two vertical strokes of brown, before you're putting your tools aside, and standing up off of him.

Taehyung groans in complaint when your hips leave him, his casual grey sweatpants tented and a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Where are you going?"

"Come see," you guide, tugging at his hand. "I have a mirror in my room."

He gets up, palming himself with a pout before following you down the hall, pulled along by your interlocked hands. Once in front of the mirror, Taehyung lifts his eyebrows at just how wrecked he looks. Bottom lip swollen from biting at it, hair mussed and sticking up, and a burst of green slowly drying on his torso. "It's...trees?"

"It's us," you explain softly, "like that painting we did together the first time." From beside him, you reach around to gently tap each figure, two tall fir trees, the one on his right taller than the one on his left. "One for you and one for me."

Before you can pull your arm back, his hand comes up to flatten yours against his chest, hands going cold where the paint is still wet in places.

"Tae, you'll smudge it."

"Y/n," he said slowly, head turning to look at you, eyes brimming with affection, "will you let me make love to you?"

Your breath catches, and rather than trusting your voice, you nod wordlessly.

With a deep exhale, he bends down and joins your lips with his, a hand coming up to bury itself in your hair, keeping you close. His lips are hot against yours, passionate and wanting, and your stomach warms with desire. Clumsily, your fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it as far as you can before you have to break apart from him, flinging it away once it clears your head.

"The bed?" Taehyung pants in the moments his mouth is free, and you nod, shucking off your jeans before getting onto the mattress in just your bra and panties. "God, you're beautiful," he chants, "how did I get so lucky?"

He slips out of his sweatpants and joins you sitting on the edge, but your eyes linger on his face, the way his eyes soften and crinkle when they meet yours. "I'm the lucky one," you reply simply.

You shiver when a large palm runs up your bare thigh, warm and grounding. "Can I go down on your first?" he asks with a pleading gaze.

You laugh weakly. "I'm definitely the lucky one." In confirmation, you lie yourself back, scooting so your head rests on the pillows.

Hand now having slid down your leg to rest over your ankle, he wraps his fingers around and lifts it off the bed delicately, your knee crooking and legs parting. Smoothly, he slips himself in the gap, lying on his stomach and letting your raised leg rest on his shoulders. With eyes heavy on you, he leans forward slowly and licks a strip over your clothed pussy, a dull kiss of friction across your clit. You groan, head lolling back, and he takes it as his initiative to continue, sucking at the juices that have dampened your panties until the whole crotch is wet, your thighs shaking slightly with your increased sensitivity.

"Tae, please," you breath out, "I wan' more."

A finger slips below the hem of your panties, just over your hipbone. "Should we take these off?" You nod with a needy whimper, lifting your hips to give him easier access.

He sits up to slide them down your legs, calmly spreading your thighs again when you get the self-conscious urge to close them. With only your bra on, you feel so vulnerable, but rather than scaring you, you feel at peace, so happy to be having this moment with Taehyung.

When he shuffles back into place again, he takes his time, his warm breath tickling your inner thighs. At your needy wiggle of your hips, he chuckles and rubs soothingly at the top of your leg where it's crooked over his shoulder, finally dipping his head again to lick at you.

He starts out maddeningly light, the very tip of his tongue flicking slowly over your clit, tentatively venturing out to dip between your folds. You reach out for his hand, needing something to anchor you, and he smiles against you as he interlocks your fingers, keeping you grounded.

"So good, Tae," you encourage, moaning openly when his tongue trails lower and dips between your folds, over your entrance. "Fuck, so good."

Rather than answer verbally, Taehyung doubles his efforts and begins to speed up, lapping at your core and suckling your clit.

Every breath is a moan or a whimper, overtaken by pleasure, but you let yourself drown in it, letting Taehyung eat you out like a man starved. With one hand on your upper thigh and one entwined with yours, he's got no fingers free to play with you, but expertly he brings you to your peak with just his tongue, thrusting it inside you as his nose nudges at your clit.

When you feel your orgasm quickly approaching, your moans heighten and your back begins to arch, hips grinding against him desperately. Taehyung chuckles, the sound vibrating against you and making you shudder, and his hand slips high to press against your waist instead, holding you in place for him. Your thighs tense around him, praises and curses and his name spilling from your lips incoherently.

It's one last nibble at your clit, pulling it into his mouth and dragging his tongue over it, your vision whites out with the force of your orgasm, jerking beneath him and crying out wantonly, overcome with pleasure. He works you through it diligently, groaning as you come down from your high with weak shivers, his tongue never ceasing until you push at his head from oversensitivity.

He lets your leg down carefully, kissing his way up your bare stomach, the swells of your breasts and your throat until his lips are on yours and you can taste yourself on him, feel the ends of his hair tickling against your cheeks.

"That was incredible, Tae," you pant out, feeling boneless beneath him as he takes charge of the kiss, tugging at your lips and licking into your mouth. "I need you," he gasps, and you moan throatily when his clothed crotch grinds against your bare core, the fabric of his underwear catching on your sensitive clit. He's hard, probably painfully so, and all you want is to feel him inside you.

Desperate, your fingers slip behind you, arching your back so that you can deftly release the clasp of your bra, pulling it off hastily before reaching for his underwear. "I need you too, Tae," you plea, "please hurry."

His fingers, slightly cool from the air, slide down your stomach and between your thighs, making you jump as he slips two inside, thrusting them slowly. You're still sensitive, and his mouth falls to your ear, hushing you and pressing encouraging kisses to your temple as you whimper. "Doing so well for me," he praises, "just gotta make sure you're ready, okay?"

"O-okay," you make out, sucking in a breath when he pulls out and presses a third finger inside you, picking up his pace. Gradually, the prickling overstimulation warms into pleasure again, and you rock your hips to seek more friction, free hand coming up to wrap around his neck and shoulders, holding him close.

With no bra on, your full chest is flat against his, and as the paint dries it drags over your nipples, making you arch your back, seeking out the friction.

The warmth between your legs tightens with the extra stimulation, and your breath begins to catch, feeling another orgasm oncoming.

"Close?" Taehyung murmurs in your ear as he widens the gaps between his fingers inside you, scissoring to stretch you even more. You nod hastily, moans getting stuck in your throat, pushed out with every gasped breath. Taehyung hums in response, and you whimper when you feel his fingers slipping out of you completely. Before you can protest, the blunt head of his cock slips between your sopping folds, Taehyung running it up and down to coat himself in your slick.

"Fuck, yes, please Tae, I'm ready," you babble, legs lifting to wrap around his hips, attempting to pull him in closer.

He chuckles, but it's cut off prematurely by a hissed breath of pleasure as he lines up and begins to sink his length into you, a delicious feeling of fullness after his fingers left you so empty. Taehyung enters you slowly, letting you adjust, and you feel completely enveloped by him; his voice in your ear, his hand in yours, his cock inside you.

"Need you, Tae," you whine once he stills, bottomed out, "please move."

"Are you ready?" You wiggle your hips with a groaned yes, arm tightening around him as he pulls back. He stops when just his head still rests inside you, pauses for a moment with a moan as you clench around him, and then plunges back in with one slick thrust.

You cry out, satisfied smile stretching tiredly across your face as he finally begins a steady rhythm, favoring deeper thrusts that make your toes curl. "Yes, Tae, so good!"

"God, you're still so tight," he groans throatily, "so good for me."

On the edge before, you find yourself close after only a few minutes, and you tell him with a shaky breath. Taehyung lets out a relieved exhale as he continues to thrust into you. "Thank fuck," he huffs out, panting a word at a time, "I'm not gonna last, you drive me crazy."

You press your head against his, nuzzling at it as you unwrap your arm from around his shoulders, instead seeking out your clit for the needed friction to push you over the edge. The added stimulation has you clenching, and Taehyung swears desperately, his pace picking up but shuddering as he gets close.

The two of you pant loudly into the otherwise silent room, filling each others' ears with whimpered moans and slurred praises, until you finally catch the tip of your peak, and with one final drag of his cock inside you, you're falling apart, not suddenly and violently like the first time, but rather a slow, hot wave of pleasure that works its way out from your core, down to your toes and fingertips, clenching tightly around Taehyung until he curses and spills inside you, shuddering through his release.

"I love you so much," you whisper once you come down from your high, a contented exhaustion seeping into your bones.

"I love you too," Taehyung says with a final press of his lips on your temple.

---

"This one's gorgeous. I love the broad lines on the ocean compared to the texture of rocks on the shore. This is at the island, you say?"

You hum in confirmation, smiling at your old friend. "You should see, it, Joonie. There's this little cluster of houses and shops right in the middle but the rest is just open nature. Forests, beaches, everything in the middle. I go there every year."

Kim Namjoon, Director at the Leeum Museum in Seoul and avid nature buff, takes one last look at the landscape canvas and grins. "Ah, twist my arm..." You follow him as he moves down the line of mounted canvases, stopping at a familiar portrait. He furrows his brows and cocks his head. "I feel like I've seen this guy before, something about the face... He didn't have green in his hair though, I must be confused."

You laugh at your friend, spying a shock of red through the swathes of people. "You have seen him before," you explain, catching the figure's eye, "you would have seen him here tonight."

In front of you, Namjoon raises his brows. "Oh, really? Who is he, then?"

Over Namjoon's shoulder, you watch Taehyung approach, turning heads with his scarlet dye. He gives you a wink, and you grin back. "He's my husband."

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