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#I also picked up come horse jaw bones she had too

colleenmurphy · 1 month

Text

"Little pig little pig come out come out wherever you are..."

The taunt in her reedy smoked over voice sent a chill down the blue eyed man's spine. He knew he never should haven laid a hand on that sweet doe eyed woman he'd picked up. Now here he was running and hiding for his life from her screwball bestie that most assuredly had a record of some sort not to mention more land acreage than God himself. Joel Benson was essentially being hunted for sport tonight and it was by his own hand. The fact that he was hiding like a rat in what looked like to be a barn or workspace of some sort both enraged and terrified him. Hell, this dizzy bitch enraged and terrified him. He didn't even remember her name.

"I've just realized something..."

That hippy dippy breathy put on voice was to lure him out of his hiding spot but he thought himself smarter than that. He watched her, unblinking in case she moved and her eyes seemed to lock onto him like a heat seeking missile.

"You don't even know who I am."

In her right hand the tall Irish woman carried a steel rebar handled shovel spray painted neon safety green, most likely to scare him. It wasn't working.

"Or what I am.."

With one swift swipe she had a bench cleared as the shovel head came down with a clang like a sword or a guillotine blade. Benson gulped. Her long ink black hair felt from her claw clip framing her milk white face. Directly over his head she cleared the second bench causing him to dodge out of the way of broken wood and tools. Backing up towards the last bit of corner he could he tried to keep his back against the wall, under his left foot he felt a crunch and knew he'd given his position away. It was at that moment the dark haired witch turned and saw him in all his glory a wolfish grin graced her face and she was hot on his heels as he tried to run from the barn. Too busy looking for a place to run he failed to see the gigantic figure coming out from the right about to head him off by holding out a massive hand until it was too late and his face connected with it. Stars and flashes filled Joel's head as he crashed to the ground back first as the deep voiced figure loomed over him blocking out the full moon. His world was spinning as he heard church bells somewhere off in the distance. The stone faced figure was male this time, also with long dark hair. Joel remembered as a kid reading about viking berserkers, wrap this fella up in furs and give him an axe and he'd be ready was all he could think until the behemoth smiled coldly at him flashing his pearly white dangerously sharp canines at him. Somewhere off in the distance he heard horses hooves as a procession of vibrant jewel toned clad figures rode up towards the crux of the turn off deeper into the woods. There had been others out there looking for him. Sitting gently composed and side saddle atop a cream colored pony adorned with damn near every bloom he could ever think of was Helene. Her long chocolate colored curls were adorned with a flower crown of myrtle ,white roses and somehow candles had been intertwined into the flowers and she glowed like the sun.

"Don't look at her. You're not fit."

Were barked at him by the still unnamed woman. She had somehow changed her clothes. Gone were the jeans and t-shirt, instead she was dressed in gossamer grey robes and crowned with her own ring of blood red roses. A grab for his face caused him to startled and for her grab at him harder. Her crimson nails digging slightly into his flesh as her green eyes bore into his soul.

"You could have had so many wonderful things if you had only treated her correctly. You were given time to correct your actions and you chose not to."

For the first time Joel found his voice.

"So fucking what, bitch?"

The crunch of bone and agonized pain shot through his lower jaw as she simply tapped him. The half strangled scream of pain didn't startle one of the horses or any of their riders as they looked on at the spectacle before them. Back down on his back in the dirt again he grabbed at his face.

"You'll do to remember my name is Colleen."

The dark haired green eyed woman spat as her Goliath henchman grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to his feet. The man's hand hit neatly around Joel's skull leaving him with a feeling that he could crush his very head like a grape, he just chose not to or was waiting for Colleen to give the command. He could see her a bit more clearly now. Her robes changed yet again this time to glimmering ghostly white and jingled merrily as she turned to grab hold of her own horse's bridle to climb up astride it. She too sat side saddle atop her mount, an ethereal white version of some sort of Arabian bedecked with it's own garland of blood red roses that nearly overpowered him. The horses's eyes glimmered in the moonlight as it studied him.

"Do you know why you're here tonight?"

He hadn't so much as heard the words as felt that as the gargantuan man holding him in place asked him the question that he'd been wondering this entire time. The pain in his lower disappeared as Colleen reached down and touched his cheek. The bone had knit itself back together ever so neatly Joel wouldn't have believed it had he not heard it in his own head.

"What the fuck are you?"

A callous grin crossed Colleen's features as she bent forward on her horse reaching up to stroke it's mane, greatly resembling a large cat sunning itself on a windowsill and thought of her answer carefully.

"Something that it much older than you could ever hope to be and very disappointed in the human world."

A shiver went straight up Joel's spine as Colleen's henchman, Lord Petrus of the Green, let him go for a moment he dared not to move for fear of having his head caved in by that large hand.

"Still doesn't answer much. Looks like a theater troupe that's down on their luck."

A ripple of anger crossed her face and a rumbling snarl was heard behind him. He knew in that moment that he had royally misstepped. Did he hear drums and chanting?

"Release the hounds!"

Snarling barks and the occasional howl were heard as kennel doors were opened and the dogs released.

"There are no actors here, Sir. Only a hunting party looking to put a wrong right. Just as you harmed our Lady of the Spring you'll receive it ten fold."

Lady of the Spring? Helene. It all made sense now. The shovel Colleen had been holding had somehow changed into a rather ornate looking sword and was being carefully carried over by yet another tall lean figure. He recognized this fellow as the tattoo artist from down on Grafton street.

"Thank you, Micajah."

The hounds sounded closer now, somewhere to the left a horse whinnied and another stomped it's hoof impatiently.

Somewhere in the distance he heard a crow call to him, then another and another until a murder circled overhead nearly blacking out the moon, all beckoning him to run.

The telltale sound of a a sword being unsheathed made Joel's blood turn cold. His feet took him blindly through the woods as he heard the familiar jingling hoof beats keeping time with his heartbeat. The overpowering smell of roses made him gag as he looked over his shoulder he saw a sword flash the emerald in the hilt glowing as brightly as it's owner's eyes as she pursued him.

"If the dogs don't get you I will."

#@aristobun #forgive the Drabble I've no idea where it came from but here we are!#I'm thinking Colleen is having a bit too much fun torturing Mr. Benson in all honesty #Spotify

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biggest-stupidhead · 3 years

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hello love! can i request erwin x fem reader smut where they're quite the opposite, and after a mission they're tired and just fuck (maybe in the woods or something) because they're so stressed but also because they've been wanting to do it long before? like everyone feels the tension between them except they don't wanted to admit it? thanks! i love your blog. 🥺✨

Hey babes, of course! Thanks for sending this one in, I love writing for Levi but I need to switch it up sometimes lol.

Warnings: lowkey hatefucking, intercourse obvi, fucking in da woods, wrap it before u tap it!, unprotected sex.

Summary: Erwin is selfish, but it’s okay because you are too.

Word Count: 2.4K

Your breathing was uneven as you hunched over, chest rising erratically. Your blades were dull and gas was running low, you tapped on the cans ruefully, the dull din signaling how empty the canisters truly were. You were just starting to regain your senses when the sound of hoofbeats startled you. Hange tugged the reins of her horse, the beast turned its head and bared its teeth when she pulled so harshly on the bit.

“Excellent work! That was a clean cut.” Hange complimented as she smiled wryly down at you. You nodded and lifted your fingers to your lips and whistled for your own mount.

“Thanks, it was a big one too. I’ll have to find the supply wagons though, gas is almost gone.” You said as you tossed the dulled blades off to the side and slide the handles of the gear back into the scabbards.

“Ah you’ll have to work on that.” Hange said, her head swiveling to keep watch while you waited for your horse to return. A few moments passed before the sound of your horse trampling through the foliage alerted of its return. You caught it by the reins and threw yourself onto its back.

“Let’s return to the formation then.” Hange said, once again roughly jerking her horse into the right direction, you close on her heels. The two of you rode through the trees at break neck speed, trying to make up for lost time. You finally managed to make out the sight of Erwin and Levi, their own steeds galloping back in the direction of the wall.

“What’s going on!? I haven’t caught my titan yet!” Hange wailed when you reunited with the other pair.

“Too many casualties.” Levi quipped, expression sour and hands bloodied. You rolled your eyes and clutched the reins harder.

“We just need a few more minutes, let’s not call it off yet.” You insisted and Hange exclaimed excitedly at the shared sentiment.

“Won’t be possible, we can’t risk loosing more lives. There’s been enough bloodshed for one day.” Erwin’s voice was tense and his blue eyes were icy as he shot you and Hange down.

“I don’t see why it matters, if we already have lost most of our men...why not push onwards?” You weren’t sure if you really felt that way, or if you were looking for a fight. You were well aware of how Levi felt about losing his men, and how little Erwin truly cared about loosing lives. You knew that was what separated the two of them, Erwin only cared for his own selfish goals, although he hid it well. Levi on the other hand truly cared for the soldiers, and wanted victory for humanity.

“Shut your filthy fucking mouth.” Levi hissed, gunmetal eyes dark and jaw tense as he bit back his words, waiting for Erwin to tell you off.

“We simply don’t have the means at this time.” Erwin said simply, eyes trained forward. You glowered at him, you couldn’t deny that you held some malice towards him, for his seeming lack of empathy towards his men. But could you blame him? You had joined the scouts for your own selfish desires as well, he just had the power to ensure that his desires were acted upon.

“Very well.” You growled, leaning into your horse’s neck as the four of you picked up the pace. Erwin lifted a flare gun and fired the signal into the air for retreat.

The march into the gates and through Shiganshina was brutal as always. The citizens murmured of their wasted tax dollars and the waste of human life. You silently agreed with them, glaring at the back of Erwin’s perfect blonde head. You wanted nothing more than to scream at him, maybe even slap him, then you’d fuck- wait no. Not that last part, you shook your head in an attempt to rid the vulgar thoughts from your mind.

The castle was notably vacant when you arrived. Having lost so many men, the grounds were less busy than usual. You wandered around, having already put your horse away and assisted with the unloading of the excess supplies. You were grateful for the summer breeze, the last rays of light poking through the trees. You wandered off towards the thicket of trees that rested between the castle and the mountain range beyond.

The sounds of the forest seeped into your bones and reminded you of your home, your family, why you had originally agreed to this regiment. You were so caught up in your own thoughts, you almost didn’t hear the twig snapping off to your right. You whipped your head towards the noise, catching the flash of blonde hair and a stark white dress shirt.

“Following me?” You growled, turning to face him fully, Erwin’s cold blue eyes shone in the dim light.

“To an extent.” He shrugged nonchalantly and you bristled at the admission.

“Come to ravage me?” You pushed, wanting a reaction from the usually stoic man.

“Not exactly.”

“Then what? You men are simple creatures after all, only so many motives behind your dull eyes.” You bit, unable to keep the frustrations from your tone. Erwin’s thick brows pinched together at your words.

“I came to tell you that....I want you to be a squad leader.” Erwin’s jaw ticked as he waited for your response. You let out a scoff of disbelief, eyes shining with mirth.

“Why? Because I showed a fraction of the coldness that you display?” You hissed, marching across the small amount of space between you and attempted to get in his face. Although it was difficult seeing as how tall he stood.

“Precisely.” Erwin’s voice was a bit airy, eyes now seeming to shine with something besides the cunning that usually resided in them. You narrowed your own eyes and let loose a growl fisting the front of his shirt as you considered your options.

If you accepted the position, you would be no better than him. But then again were you really any better in the first place?

“I’ll do it.” You released him and took a step back, determination gleaming in your eyes.

“I knew that you would.” He smirked, lips curling into an annoying grin, making your stomach flip.

“Could this not have waited until morning?” You asked, eyes drifting to the last glimmers of sunlight that spotted the forest floor.

“I suppose it could have...but I wanted to see you before then.” You wrinkled your nose in disgust, earlier suspicions proving true.

“Oh really?” You huffed with a dramatic roll of your eyes. Erwin’s expression darkened, and he took. a step forward, invading your space. You stood as tall as you possibly could, not wanting to let on how nervous you really felt in his suffocating presence.

“I wanted to ask you...why you are so bent on challenging my authority.” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement, putting you on the ropes. You glowered at him, his chest bumping yours, prompting you to take a few healthy steps back. Which you did, until your back met the rough bark of an oak tree.

“Why should I listen to someone who holds no regard to human life?” You snarled in response, but it felt more like a yelp, your heartbeat picked up as his hand gripped the tree, trapping you between his towering figure and the large tree.

“I can’t help but wonder if it could have something to do with the way you stare at me….” His breath tickled your face as he craned his head down, your cheeks lit up as you blushed.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You denied, although it was true, you had developed a bad habit of seeking out his form in the dining hall. Watching him too closely during meetings. He was attractive, that was an undeniable fact, but the resentment that you held for him had always prevented you from seeking out anything more than the professional relationship that had been established.

“I know you do, I’ll only offer this once and never again. I’ve had this on my mind for a while now, if you aren’t interested then we can pretend that this never happened.” He paused, gauging your reaction as you looked up at him in shock.

“I want to fuck you. Right here.” He pointed his finger towards the ground and his eyes flashed with an animosity you’d never seen before.

“H-Here?” You stammered, unsure of what to think, but the ache between your thighs was quickly overcoming your senses.

“Yes.” His other hand slid up your side and rested over the strap of your gear over your breasts.

“What will it be then squad leader?” He hummed as he toyed with the buckle. You swallowed thickly but managed to nod curtly, not wanting to verbally admit your attraction to your commander.

“Use your words.” He ordered, tugging harshly on the strap, pulling you flush against his chest. You gasped, head tilting up to meet his cold gaze.

“I….want you to fuck me commander.” You grew more confident with each word, and you could see the pleased smirk curling over Erwin’s features.

“Glad we finally agree on something.” He huffed, fingers easily unbuckling the strap and then deftly unbuttoning your blouse. As he did so he walked you back against the tree, he left your shirt on, instead favoring unbuttoning your trousers. You gripped his jacket as he slid his hand down to cup your pussy. He chuckled at how wet you were, his large fingers gathering your slickness before slipping into you. You let out another gasp and pushed his jacket off of his shoulders, he withdrew from you to help you undress him as well. You only got to undo his pants before he pressed his lips to yours, tongue pushing past your lips.

He leaned down and scooped you up, hands supporting the backs of your thighs as he used the tree to keep you steady. Your head hit the tree roughly as he continued to attack your mouth, you could do nothing but open your mouth to meet his lips. He slid one of his hands up and gripped the waistband of your pants, pulling them just below your knees, it was a bit of a struggle due to the position he had you in. But you got there eventually. The air felt cool against your exposed sex, and you found yourself blushing crimson as he pressed you harder into the tree so that he could free his cock. You bit your lip in anticipation as he finally managed to pull himself free of his pants.

He pulled away from your lips, eyes lidded and clearly focused on lining himself up to your entrance. You hissed when the head of his cock slid effortlessly along the length of your pussy. Finally he pressed the tip inside of you, pausing as he shifted to grip both of your thighs and gain better leverage.

“Erwin please.” You whimpered, rocking your hips in an attempt to get him to fully sheath himself.

“Beg for it.” He hissed, breath hot against the shell of your ear before his tongue darted out and licked a stripe up the side of your neck.

“I-I need you so bad, please I need you to fuck me.” Your hands clawed at his shoulders as you used your core to keep yourself upright and legs spread for him.

“Good girl.” He growled, finally snapping his hips and sheathing himself in one thrust. You groaned at the fullness, walls stretching to accommodate his size. His own breathing seemed to grow more erratic as he began to rock his hips back and forth. Your back burned from the friction of rubbing against the tree behind you. There was no doubt about you having some kind of scratch in the morning.

You threw your head back against the trunk of the tree as he picked up the speed, hands roaming up from your thighs to your ass, you clenched your legs to wrap around his waist. Your muscles burned but the coil that was building in your stomach kept you motivated, wanting nothing more than to cum over his cock.

He grunted as you twitched around him, his hips somehow seemed to gain more speed, nose burying between the space between your neck and shoulder. You felt him leave a wet kiss there before sucking harshly on the skin. You tilted your head in the opposite direction, giving him more room as he lapped his tongue along the newly exposed skin.

“E-Erwin I think that-”

“Wait.” He snarled against your throat, biting it a bit roughly, you moaned wantonly at the action and dug your heels into the small of his back. His cock stroked along the rigid spot inside of you and you nearly screamed, barely containing your orgasm as he had asked you to. He struck that spot relentlessly, hips meeting yours harshly as he pounded into you.

“Just like that.” He groaned as he pushed you flat against the tree, using all of his strength to keep you there as he drove into you.

“Please Erwin let me cum.” You sobbed as he bit your collarbone, his dick twitched inside of you at your plea, he pulled back, icy eyes locked on your wrecked face as tears rolled down your cheeks.

“Only since you’ve been such a good girl.” He growled, and reached down between your legs, you tightened your grip on his shoulders to make up for the lost support as he pressed his calloused finger to your throbbing clit and rubbed tight circles. Your legs twitched as you felt the coil snap and your cunt clamped down around his dick. He hissed at the sudden tightness and groaned as he came as well. You felt the warmth trickle out of you as he pulled away. He held you up as you shook, coming down from the high he had given you.

“See what we can do when we work together?” He chuckled darkly, hand toying with your bra as you clung to his neck.

“Keep dreaming eyebrows.” You huffed, pulling away from him and shakily pulling your pants up. He tucked himself back into his pants and picked up his jacket from the forest floor.

“See me in my office tomorrow and we will discuss your promotion.” He called after you as you marched back towards HQ, cheeks burning from the interaction you’d just had with your commander. You threw your hand up dismissively, trying to ignore the dark chuckle he let out when he saw how flustered you were.

Maybe he wasn’t all that bad after all….

221 notes · View notes

mcmoth · 3 years

Text

BOIS

The aro c!Tommy propoganda is done.

Here:

Friends can be Home, too

Summary:

Love. The thing that supposedly drove the world, that made everyone happy. He thought he knew love. But maybe… maybe not. Maybe there has been something deeply, intangibly wrong about him this whole time, and he hadn't even known. Not to this extent.

'Cause he knew before. Knew it in the unease in his bones, and the panic in his brain, and the annoyed buzz in his chest. But… but he had doubted.

He couldn't doubt anymore.

A journey of introspection, self doubt, and realizing you're not alone.

Or read on ao3!

Warnings: swearing, internalized arophobia, which includes self doubt, a bit of self hate, that sort of stuff. Also, this will have like, mentions of attraction and all that stuff, and Tommy gets pretty confused, so if you'd like to avoid that? This isn't the fic for you, ig. Btw, as a reminder, this is all set in the dsmp universe and is not about the irl people in any way.

Now onto the fic!

Welp.

Tommy sure is ready to stab someone right now.

Well, not really. More accurately he wanted to run, or shrivel up into a fucked up raisin, or snap, or just exist in darkness right now. Because there were his two best friends, cuddling on the couch. And he was sat there, next to them, supposed to be enjoying movie night.

It's not like he wasn't happy for them. They can do what they want, he reminded himself, again and again. They're just expressing their love, they're just close, and Tommy has to stop being such a fucking oddball about it. This wasn't weird. It wasn't weird.

And he could even see Ranboo giving him looks, probably about to ask something stupid. But if he made any comment, expressed discomfort, that would just be him being a dick and a weirdo. He's not going to ruin this for them. He just has to… to ignore it. To ignore it. He can do that. Yes.

“You alright, Tommy?”

Tommy's jaw snapped, he could feel his teeth grinding, and the couch was feeling all too small. So with a fast raise to his feet, he stumbled away, throwing a brash “fine" Ranboo's way, something burning deep in the pit that was his chest.

It was fine. It was fine. Why wasn't it fine? What the fuck was wrong with him??

Maybe he was just…

Jealous.

***

“I think I have a crush on Hannah.”

Tubbo and Ranboo stilled. The silence was… bad.

“oh?”

Tommy gulped, anxiously crinkling the chip bag he got from targay. “Y-yeah.”

Tubbo hummed. “I've never seen you interact with her much. When… did that start?”

Tommy's mind buzzed, and he resisted crushing the food in his hands, reclining heavily against the backrest of the bench. “I-I don't know, uh, recently? I guess? She's just… nice. She uh…. Has pretty hair? And she gave me a flower once! That was just, swe- uh, poggers of her, so. Yeah. I just think… yeah.”

Tubbo nodded, head tilting. “Do you think she likes you back?”

Tommy's eyes widened, and he didn't know why he laughed, but he did, and when he responded, he himself was taken aback by the hiss accompanying the words. “No!! She- why would- no- no, I mean… m-ma- I don't know??”

Ranboo swung his tail. “She better not. I mean, how old is she?”

“What does that matter?”

Ranboo stared. “You’re a child. Technically.”

Tommy bristled. “Fuck you, I am a big man! I'll kill you!”

The conversation moved on after that, and Tommy, somewhere along the way, quickly got lost. Head filled with cotton, electricity running through his veins, feeling horribly, oddly, humiliated and strangely… dissatisfied.

They didn't care. And he just felt more confused than ever.

…Why did he even do that?

***

Tommy was walking, grass up to his knees, a lead in hand. When he reached the village, he tied it to a fence, patting his borrowed horse before placing feet on the path, comforted by the gravel crunching beneath his feet, the feel of the sun on his neck. He looked around, at the wooden houses and half stacked stalls and idle chatter. He looked around and he thought.

He thought back to older days. This was… strangely nostalgic. Walking alone, in an unfamiliar town, the vastness of the world enveloping him in it's many potentials. He still wasn't sure when he felt better. Running around on the streets, just trying to survive, noone by his side, weak but naïve, hopeful. Or now, with some people to care for and trust, a place to return to, enough food in his pack, but shouldered with the weight of a dozen betrayals, life slipping past him three times too many. In a sense, he was still just trying to survive. Everything was so different now, yet the same.

He supposes, one thing that remained, was the sense of loneliness.

He grasped the front of his shirt, taking in the beating of his heart, looking at the strangers mingling amongst themselves. At the pairs, at the couples, at the families, sharing laughs and smiles, a contrast to the furrowed brows or tired amusement of shopkeepers and the idle folk visiting them.

He had always wanted a family.

…there was one way to get a family.

Someone to share laughs with. Someone who would comfort you. Someone who would take your hand, or hold you through the night, and never even leave. Someone who promises to stay.

It was a nice thought.

So why was it so hard to conceptualize? To imagine, to picture someone actually coherent, to look at a person and go – yes. I want to be your partner.

...eugh. just that sentence made his whole nervous system do a double take.

But why? Why? Was it the betrayals? Was it some fucked up self conscious mind shit? Was that it? Was he just fucked up in the head? Maybe.

Maybe.

But as it is, he knew he liked girls. He did. He liked them. They were… they were nice. Like Niki, who smelled of baked goods, and had a soft smile, and who had once given him a hug when she found him crying during the revolution, and who looked very nice in dresses. Or Puffy, who had made him a pickaxe when he asked for one, and who opposed Jack in stealing his hotel, and who offered him therapy, and she had really cool horn rings. Or Hannah, with her red flowers, and pretty builds, and the way the nature seemed just a bit more lively with her around, and her laugh was bright with mischievous intent that he could empathize with. They… they were nice. Yeah. Most girls were so nice.

So why… why hadn't he found one that he could. Actually picture doing… anything. In his head. No kissing, no dates, none of that… shmuck. It was just… he could see many girls his age running around, just now, in front of his eyes, many running through his mind as he searched his memories. None of them… no. And he tried thinking of boys, but that didn't… no. Not that either. …Enbies?

No… no, nothing… nothing felt. Good. None of it felt good, he just felt sick, he just felt weird, he didn't even feel dirty per se, but more like he was charting into foreign grounds, into something alien, and none of the thoughts he forced to visualize behind his eyelids, fleeting from how quickly he shut them out, felt like him. It didn't feel like him.

His fingers trembled, his chest felt tight, throat choked, and his head, on his shoulders, heavy and woozy and oh so muddled. He felt his heart race. Was… was that it? Maybe that was a sign. People said heart racing was a sign of attraction. Was there anyone in particular who did that? Maybe he was wrong – he was not lacking or messed up or broken, he just had buried the feelings so deep below his ribs, underneath fabricated doubts and trauma and the disconnect he had with reality and relationships in general, and once he got over those barriers, and just found someone, he would experience that joy that everyone spoke about. That closeness. He just had to… allow himself to get closer. To know more people, know them better.

That was… that was probably it.

But no matter. He raised his eyes, his senses coming back to him like the wind blowing his hair out of his eyes, blinking at the noise around him.

After all, he still came here for a reason.

***

“Yeah, I like these ones the best,” Tubbo said as he handed Tommy the various colored discs. Tommy nodded, smiling as he sorted through them, writing down the names in his notepad, feeling little stones dig into his elbows. Tubbo joined him fully on the ground, laying down next to him. “What do you need these for, anyways?” he blinked, and there was a smirk growing on his face. “Are they for… someone?”

Tommy furrowed his brows, staring at the other. “What?”

Tubbo chuckled nervously, waving his hand around as he stumbled over his words. “You- you know. Like a gift? Are you going to… to try to, get someone?”

Tommy’s stare just became sharper, becoming even more confused. “What??” What the fuck was he talking about?

“You know, like a- a date?” Tommy blanked. “Cause- you know, you've been talking about girls a lot lately, and I just thought-"

“No.” Tommy interrupted, feeling numb. “No, it's not for a fucking girl.”

“Oh.” Tubbo laid on the grass, clearly uncomfortable. He began to tear up the leaf he had picked up. “Sorry, I just thought- I'm not really good at this whole thing… sorry for assuming. W- …what is the reason, then?”

Tommy sighed, thankful for the topic change. “It's for… you know how I’m going to therapy?”

Tubbo hummed in affirmation.

“Puffy suggested that, since I like music, I should like, indulge in that, use it to calm myself or give myself something to do, that junk. So I’ve just been. Collecting, I guess.” He looked over the list again, then closed the notepad and sat up, discs in hand. “I wanna build a place where I just keep all the records, maybe I’ll even sell the ones I don't like. Good business practice, you know?”

Tubbo brightened. “Oh! That sounds really cool! If you need help with the building part, I can help you, by the way!”

Tommy looked at Tubbo's grin, so sweet and infectious, and his heart thawed, thinking of working with Tubbo again, building towards something together. It was a nice thought. “Alright.”

It would be nice to be with Tubbo again.

***

Tommy felt miserable.

This… this was miserable. He didn't know why. It really shouldn't be – it was just music. He was just sorting through all of his music, picking ones he liked, picking ones to comfort him, he loved music, it was fine, it just…

Why did so many of the songs have to be about love.

It made him feel angry and hurt and alone in a particular way that was so familiar and yet so utterly different. Because when he felt alone before, he fought with himself the same, he sunk into the thoughts of being unlovable or broken or undeserving of company, but at least he could understand it. At least he could look back now and think “Dream was a bitch" and that would be some solace. At least he could have hope that even if he was unlovable, he could still love. Love others. Try to seek others. Even if he never got that back.

But now, hearing all the poetics and sweet confessions that were in such abundance, something that sounded so passionate and revered, so integral, it was like looking into another reality he didn't, couldn't, understand, and suddenly, he felt more alien than ever before.

And most importantly, how fucking stupid that was, that the thing that made him feel that way was love.

Cause he knew before. Knew it in the unease in his bones, and the panic in his brain, and the annoyed buzz in his chest. But… but he had doubted.

He couldn't doubt anymore.

God….

He laid on the ground, head to the cold floor, the record still spinning. The noise bounced off the dark wooden walls and into his skull, grating and aching. He covered his ears, messed up his hair, breathed in and out. In and out. What was wrong. What was wrong.

The record fell to silence. Then it started back again, as it automatically swapped out. Next.

His fingers felt restless, his whole body did. He tapped his skull, feeling the thumps echo. Breathe in, and breathe out. Breathe-

“-ow will I ever know you enough to love you, if you're hiding who you are?

Don't ask me to explain-"

He startled, his breath catching. This disc was scratchier than the others. It felt different. Something in him drew in the lyrics, head loud. He blinked.

…He's not hiding. Is he? Hiding what? He’s- no. Just- Breathe in-

“-Who are you hiding from, across the table with a penny in each eye?

Don't ask me to explain, don’t ask me to explain-"

His breath escaped, arms trembling as his body froze. He didn't understand. He couldn't explain. He wanted to cry. Something was unravelling.

“I'd like to marry all of my close friends, and live in a big house together by an angry sea,”

He sobbed.

He did, he thought, with surprise, as the tears fell.

“Am I the devil's marbles don't move on without me,

Who will be watching my body when I sleep?

Who will I believe in?”

Something… yeah.

Something happened.

Because suddenly, all that stress, all that confusion, all that loathing, was detangling, and the tears ran deep, ran painful, silent, wheezing screams escaping as the sobs continued. He couldn't breathe. His chest was tight. His head swam, and he felt oh so light headed. Light. He felt light. Happy. He felt alive.

He felt understood.

He- he wanted that! He could- he wanted to live with his friends, with Tubbo with Ranboo. He wanted to stay as friends. He wanted them to protect him, to be able to trust them, to be able to protect them in turn, he wanted to reside with them, he wanted to sleep amongst them, to have them watch over him, safe, he wanted to wake up in the morning and see the sun rise with then, he wanted to have casual dinner with them, he wanted to grow old together with them. As friends. As friends.

Friends.

What a lovely thing…

He could… he could live with his friends…

He could build a family with his friends.

And he didn't even care at that moment that he didn't know how Tubbo and Ranboo would feel about that. He didn't care whether they'd want him at their house, whether they'd want him around at all. He didn't even care, at that moment, if he couldn’t join them.

Because he realized that it was a possibility at all. Just the prospect, just the thought, the realization, that spending your life, being intimate, finding a stable ground, with your friends, not romantic partner, was possible, that it was possible to not be able to feel otherwise, that it was shared by other people, who wrote this song, who sung it, who had thought about it…

It meant he couldn't be that alone after all.

“It's so easy to lie to myself,

And pretend that I could love you, but I can't"

And oh so comforting it was, that he couldn't.

***

“Ey, Ranboo! Bitchboy!”

Ranboo suppressed a smile, an exasperated sigh hissing through his teeth. Tail swishing, he glanced to the other boy, who was down below, standing in the snow.

“C'mere!! I gotta give you something.” He yelled.

Ranboo raised a brow, but complied, closing the window he had been looking out of. After making a quick detour to check on Michael, he made his way down the stairs and stepped out of the doorway and into the light. Tommy bounded to him, big grin on his face. He seemed jumpier than usual. Ranboo smiled in turn. “what is it?”

Tommy opened his mouth, then closed it, instead going to rummage through his bag. What he took out was a… box? “Here, fuckboy.”

Ranboo winced, taking the container. “Don't call me that.”

“Why, what does it mean?”

Ranboo stared. “Just…. Don't.”

Tommy blinked, laughing nervously. “o-okay.”

Moving on, Ranboo inspected the item in his hands. It was medium sized, and made of simple, but elegant, smooth black wood. On the top, there was a leather sign embedded in it, with the word Beloved stitched into it. His ears flickered. This seemed… awfully nice. “What’s in it?”

Tommy scoffed. “Just open it, you twat.”

Ranboo, with a glance, could see the anxious way Tommy was holding himself, seeming impatient and uncomfortable. So he wasted no more time, and clicked open the surprisingly sturdy iron latch after a moment of struggling, and what awaited him inside was…

“…Discs…?”

Ranboo held his breath, fingers twitching as he held the gift. …was it a gift?

Tommy was staring at the ground. “Yeah. You know, I’ve just been traveling around, collecting, and I wanted to…” He seemed to shake himself lightly, hands wringing. “I wanted to give you some, I guess. That… yeah. These are yours.”

Ranboo was stiff, still perceiving the actual gift in his hands, that looked hand made, that was hand picked, that Tommy had worked to attain, just to give to him. His tail curled, and he carefully, delicately closed it's lid and hugged it close to his chest. “I… Thank you. Thank- O-oh wow…”

Tommy scowled. “You look like a fish. It's not a big deal. Just… take a listen sometime, won't ya?”

“Y-yeah!” Ranboo reverently nodded, cursing the way his eyes felt misty. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll definitely listen, and cherish it. Thank you, Tommy.”

Tommy curtly nodded. “Alright. Pog.” And then, he was turning around, walking away with a quick “Share it with your family, too, some day. Bye.” Thrown or his shoulder.

And then, he was gone.

***

Tubbo heard music down the hall.

Ears tilting towards the pleasant sound, he skipped with bare feet over to the source, evening light casting warm glow through the windows as he went. When he arrived, to what was Michael's bedroom, he found Ranboo on the couch, curled gently over their son, head resting on his little head as he seemed to just… listen, wistful. Michael was listening too, letting out a little yawn as he turned his head to snuggle even deeper into his parent's warm embrace. Tubbo smiled softly at the scene.

Quietly, he patted over to them both, Ranboo eventually noticing him and watching him as he did. Tubbo buried a hand in Ranboo's hair, and the other leaned in. “What are you listening to?”

Ranboo didn't rush to explain, letting the comforting silence fill the space. When he spoke, it reminded Tubbo of soft flower petals and honey. “I didn't know Tommy's music taste was so…”

Tubbo blinked, turning to the disc lazily turning on the jukebox near them.

“-But in the end, I don't really care what you think,

Cause the bottom line is you make me happier than I’ve ever been...”

“wholesome.” He chuckled, fondly.

Tubbo hummed, unsurprised. “Tommy gave you these?”

Ranboo leaned more heavily in the couch. “Yeah. I don't know why, but…”

Tubbo's smile only deepened as he thought. Slowly, he replied, “I think he just wanted to show you he cared.”

Ranboo seemed to lose his breath a little, looking up at the other. “You think so…?”

Tubbo carded his fingers through Ranboo's hair, looking past Ranboo's twitching ears. “Tommy doesn't do things like these without reason. If he gave you something, it’s safe to say you mean a lot to him. He doesn't like to show it, usually, but… that I know.”

Ranboo stared at the turning of the discs, breathing softly. His tail curled around Michael. “Oh.”

Tubbo sat down at his feet and joined in.

Hearts warm, they laid there and listened until the sun had cast it's last rays and the jukebox no longer had a melody to spin.

***

Tommy sat behind the counter, feet on the counter, just trying to eat his discount chips while some people were being dumb children.

“Stop throwing the fucking food! I'll have to clean this up later!” He whined, to which Tubbo and Ranboo just threw him a glance, Tubbo’s apathetic and Ranboo's at least vaguely guilty, before Tubbo went right back and threw another gummy worm Ranboo's way.

Tommy scowled. “Seriously. At least pick them up and eat them.”

Ranboo made a face of disgust. “I'm not gonna eat candy off the floor, Tommy.”

“Yeah, some of us don't eat mud, Tommy.” Tubbo added.

“There’s no fucking mud here! It's a clean floor! You can totally pick them up and eat them, what the fuck!”

Tubbo raised his brows, staring. “Okay, then go and eat them, trash boy.”

“Okay, that's it.” Tommy raised to his feet, left his chip bag on the table and ran to Tubbo. Tubbo squawked, crawling onto the armchair he was reclining in to curl into a ball around his bag, but Tommy just threw himself onto the armchair with him, trying to reach for the candy. Which, considering the position, it was more like he was half-tickling, half hugging the other more than anything. “Give me that.”

Tubbo just burst out laughing, trying to hide deeper into the couch, attempting to kick the other away. “St-Stoppp!”

“C'mon, you disobeyed my shop's rules, I’m just confiscati-"

Something hit his head. Tommy stilled.

Ranboo peeked from behind his own candy bag, before digging into it again.

Tommy laid off of Tubbo slightly, raising like a puffed up cat. “Ranboo, you fuck!”

Tubbo laughed again, and Tommy was about to go on a murder spree, only for all the commotion to halt when they heard a sudden 4th voice.

Michael.

“Oh shit.”

Ranboo sighed. “He's awake. C'mon.”

Tubbo sighed as well, rolling out of the couch and dragging his feet towards the source of the oinks. “For the record, this is not my fault.”

Both of the other boys gave him the stink eye, but in the name of preserving needed ceasefire they held their tongues.

Michael was sitting up in Tommy's bed that resided in the backrooms, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and hiccuping. Tubbo reached for him, lifting him up. “Aww, did we wake you up? I'm sorry, little bossman.”

Michael clutched Tubbo's shirt, muttering something in piglin.

“He's asking what all that noise was.” Tommy quickly translated, before turning his eyes back to the kid and saying something soft in piglin back. Michael listened, seeming to quiet a little.

Ranboo, gathering that it was an affirmation, smiled and took one of Michael's hooves gently. “Yeah, we were just having fun. Do you want to have fun, too, Michael?”

Michael’s big eyes widened, and he wiggled in Tubbo's grip. “Ye! Ye!”

They chuckled, and Tubbo transferred his hold of Michael to Ranboo, who led the way in making it back to the front of the shop, chatting with his son all the while.

Tommy bumped his shoulder with Tubbo's as they walked, but didn't say anything further. Tubbo bit back a grin.

The next hour was spent feeding Michael and letting him listen to some new discs. Tommy even remembered he had some records that were in piglin, some songs, some stories, and put them on, which seemed to enrapture Michael quite a bit, immersed in the new voices and tales and familiarity. The three boys let him sit in Ranboo's lap and get lost in his own world, residing on a couch together and quietly chatting, around them comfortingly dark walls, bookshelves and the smell of wood and candles.

Eventually, the conversation steered.

“You know, Tommy, why don't you join us?”

…huh?

Tommy blinked, willing his breathing to restart and for the words to come. “W-what?”

Tubbo looked at him with warm eyes and a trepidant smile. “Like, how would you feel about coming to Snowchester? Live with us?”

Ranboo waved his hand. “Of course, you don't have to! But we just thought, you know, if you'd like a bit more, uh, company…”

“We want to be with you, is all.” Tubbo added quietly.

Tommy's heart raced, and he only blinked more, hands clutching the fabric of his pants. “B- be with me… are you…” he gulped down the butterflies clogging down his windpipes, still trying to understand that this is real. “are you sure…?”

Ranboo grinned, patting Michael's head idly. The piglin looked up at them. “Yeah! You're family, Tommy, after all.”

Tubbo tilted his head. As Tommy was still struggling to respond, he assured, “You don't have to if you don't want to, big man. No pressure.”

Tommy laughed, weak and breathless, but bright. “No, I-I’d- I'd really want that, but…” he gestured, trying to put his worries to sudden coherent sentences. “wouldn't that be… awkward? Like… you two, just, l-lovebirds," he chuckled clumsily, “and then there's… me, just, there?”

Tubbo shared a look with Ranboo, then turned back and laughed. “You won't be a third wheel, if that's what you’re asking.”

“Yeah, it's not like we’re really romantic partners, even, it'll be fine.” Ranboo said.

Tommy stilled.

Blinked.

“Uhw- what?”

The other two tensed, Tubbo quickly glancing at his husband before grimacing, thinking deep on how to explain it. “You know, we… we're not really… romantic? We just decided to marry? But we're… not platonic either, it's…”

“I-It's something inbetween. Queerplatonic is the word? I think?”

“It's hard to explain-"

“There's- there's a word for that? And you were- Like. Friends? Living together, this whole time??” Tommy reeled, head in hand.

“Well, not exactly friends, or at least, with how we decide to label our relationship, but… yes?”

“Oh my-" Tommy slumped forwards, now both of his hands holding his head upright, just. Breathing. “Shit. What the fuck. I…” he laughed, wrecked.

Tubbo and Ranboo stared at him, uncomfortable. Tubbo frowned. “Look, if you… if you're gonna say something, I’d rather-"

“No- nono, it's…” he raised his eyes, slowly, like coming out of a cave and into the light. His words tripped upon his tongue, but he was so eager to know. “So you two don't want… romantic partners?”

They blinked. “Not… particularly, no.” Ranboo replied. “…are you okay?”

Tommy laughed. It sounded stilted even to his ears, senses muddled as he was wrapped up in his own head, his own elated feelings, his heart nearly bursting at the seams. “I-I’m not alone.”

Tubbo stared, but then his eyes softened. He sighed, and his smile was immensely gentle, while looking at his friend. “Oh, Tommy…” Ranboo, beside him, wilted the same.

Michael, inbetween them, looked at all three of them silently.

“…Do you want a hug?” Tubbo quietly offered.

Tommy quickly nodded, slumping into Tubbo's side and burying his face in Tubbo's soft hair, not even caring for the way one of his horns poked into his cheek slightly. He held the other, and Tubbo held him. He felt the end of Ranboo's tail drape over his leg.

With a delicate tone and worn vocal chords, he quietly, and simply, admitted. “I'd love that. I'd really love that. Living with you three.”

Tubbo tightened his hold.

That night, Tommy fell asleep not alone, but with his two other closest people, his family. Safe, warm, with that insistent nagging at the back of his chest cavity, that told him he was alone, that he was wrong about himself, that he never even knew himself at all, finally silenced.

He had never felt more at home.

167 notes · View notes

xxdragonwriterxx · 4 years

Text

🔥The Secret Compartment🔥

~~~

“Oh come on, Erwin! I know you’re just as curious as I am!” Hanji whined, leaning with her palms flat against the Commander’s desk, her eyes shining behind her glasses.

“Hanji, it would be wrong,” Erwin said with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“Who cares about moral principles? Levi is out for a few hours, this would be the perfect time to do it! You know there won’t be another chance like this again soon, we need to take advantage of it and see exactly what he is hiding from us!”

Erwin met Hanji’s excited gaze, knowing she would not drop this until she got what she wanted. He sighed again, trying to fight off the headache that was forming against his skull. About a month ago, both Erwin and Hanji had noticed a locked drawer attached to Levi’s desk. The pair always knew that their friend was a private person, but it was the only drawer that had a lock on it. There was even one time when Hanji had burst into his office without knocking, only to see him quickly and violently slam the drawer shut with a glare in her direction. They had questioned him on it, only to be met with annoyed scowls and complaints about everyone sticking their noses into his business.

Erwin would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious, but his anxiety over what would happen if they were caught overwhelmed his desire to see the contents of that drawer. Hanji, on the other hand, had been tailing Levi like a dog with a bone, nearly foaming at the mouth as she continuously attempted to get a sneak peek.

“Come on, Erwin. I can almost guarantee you that it’ll be worth it. Levi could be hiding anything in that drawer. It could be embarrassing things he did as a child, or a secret about his life, or a guilty pleasure he’s hiding. There might even be a diary or journal of some sort in there!” Hanji said.

“I don’t know if I even really want to read Levi’s diary, Hanji. That thing could have anything written inside,” Erwin said.

Hanji threw him a look and Erwin crossed his arms with a frown. Damn, this woman was persistent.

“We might even be able to use whatever is inside as blackmail if he ever tries to threaten us again. Like when he threatened to tell everyone about the time you got drunk and started going on about creating a new order stating all of the women in the Corps have to sleep with you,” Hanji said, a wide grin spreading across her face at the sight of Erwin’s paled features.

“Fine,” Erwin said. “But if we get caught, I’ll feed you to your titans. After Levi is done breaking off both of his feet in our asses.”

Hanji squealed in excitement and grabbed the Commander’s hand, dragging him with her to Levi’s office. Erwin fought against the nervousness that was clawing in his stomach as he pulled out the ring of keys he had for every office in the Corps, found the one meant for Levi’s door, and put it in the lock. Hanji pushed past him and into Levi’s office as soon as the door was unlocked, looking around with even more excitement than when she was working on her experiments.

Wasting no time, Hanji moved over to Levi’s desk and bent down, pulling a hairpin from her done up bun. The crazy scientist picked at the lock, her tongue sticking out as she concentrated on moving the pin within the gears until a loud click sounded throughout the room. Erwin shuffled from foot to foot at the sound, the Commander glancing at the door from where he stood awkwardly in the center of the immaculate office.

“You better make sure that everything is put back exactly where you found it or he’ll know,” Erwin said with another glance at the door. He knew Levi was in town for the afternoon but he was still expecting the short raven-haired man to pop up out of nowhere, as if he knew his private belongings were being messed with.

“Erwin…”

The sound of Hanji’s voice, filled with awe and surprise, made Erwin turn to look at her. She was holding what looked like a large, leatherbound notebook, her mouth agape and her eyes wide and sparkling. Despite the anxiety that was still gnawing at his gut, Erwin’s curiosity won and the Commander slowly moved around the desk to crouch beside Hanji.

“Told you it’d be worth it,” Hanji said with a smirk as she tilted the notebook for Erwin to see. Erwin felt his jaw drop. It was a sketchbook, a beautiful sketchbook that nearly gleamed from the tender care Levi had obviously subjected it to. The leather was smooth and cool against Erwin’s calloused hands and the pages were soft to the touch.

“I didn’t even know Levi liked art, let alone that he could draw, especially like this,” Hanji said, her eyes shining as she looked down at the sketches on each page. Some of the pages just had small little doodles while others had full scale scenes and portraits, all of which were immaculately detailed. One page held drawings of kittens playing around, while another was a giant drawing of all of the superior officers standing at attention in a large field.

Neither of them could believe it. All of the drawings were stunning, each mark carefully constructed and purposeful. They probably wouldn’t have believed they were Levi’s drawings if it weren’t for his signature at the bottom of each page.

“Holy shit,” Erwin breathed when he came across an image of Levi’s black stallion, Azriel, the sketch so realistic that he could almost feel the animal’s fur through the page.

“Yeah,” Hanji murmured in response as she continued to flip through the book. Erwin tore his eyes from the drawings for a moment to peer into the unlocked drawer, reaching in to study the wide variety of pencils, paints, charcoals, and colored pencils that lay neatly at the bottom.

He had only been looking at the art supplies for a moment, when Hanji’s breath caught. The Commander automatically looked up at the door, fear lurching in his gut at the thought that Levi had come back, only to find that the door was still shut firmly. Looking down at Hanji, he saw she was grinning like a cat, her gaze flashing with mischievous intent as she looked at one of the pages. Erwin refocused his attention on the sketchbook and grunted in surprise when he saw the drawing in Hanji’s hand.

It was a drawing of (Y/N) (L/N), one of their fellow superior officers. (Y/N) was a Captain in her own right, leading her own squad of efficient warriors that rivalled even the famed Levi Squad. She was a well loved soldier, her compassionate personality combined with her ability to make almost anyone laugh making her a very popular member of the scouts. Despite her vibrant personality, she was also known to be a very talented soldier with a cool headed approach to conflict and a strength that often surprised most people who met her. She refused to take bullshit from anyone, and wasn’t afraid to release the filter on her barbed tongue when necessary, easily putting people in their place.

The drawing was downright gorgeous, by far the most beautiful out of all of the drawings in the book. He had used color when drawing her, one of the very few sketches in which he did, the image coming to life with the splashes of color and detailed features. The image looked as if she could turn her head and wave at them right then, the drawing so realistic it was breathtaking. In the drawing, (Y/N) was laughing, her eyes closed and her head tilted back slightly, her (h/c) hair cascading behind her. Her lips were parted in a wide grin as she laughed, one of her hands just barely touching her chin, as if she had been trying to cover her mouth only to give up when the giggles became too intense.

Hanji and Erwin looked at each other, their eyes wide with shock. Levi had done many portraits throughout the entire sketchbook, even having drawn some of Erwin and Hanji, but this sketch of (Y/N) was by far the most detailed, the most realistic. It was clear that Levi had spent hours upon hours drawing her, each stroke of his pencil done with immense love and care.

The two officers were quiet as Hanji flipped the page, their shock mounting somehow higher as they found more drawings of (Y/N). Hanji ran her finger through the pages once, flipping through the rest of the used pages to find that all of them were of (Y/N). Going back to the page they were on, Erwin and Hanji admired each illustration. Some of the drawings had color just like the first one they found of (Y/N), while others were just black and white, albeit no less detailed.

There were sketches of (Y/N) standing in a sparring stance, riding her horse, shouting down a noble, wielding a sword, reading a book. All of the drawings in the rest of the sketchbook were of her doing different things, each drawing lovingly crafted to make them look as realistic as possible.

Erwin’s eyebrows shot up into his hair and Hanji let out a surprised squawk of laughter when they flipped to one drawing of (Y/N) in a very suggestive position, her (e/c) eyes half lidded and filled with lust, the love in her gaze shining at them even through the page. She was laying down, her hair splayed out on top of the pillow, with her arms crossed over her exposed breasts. A sheet was covering her lower half, but it was hanging tantalizingly low on her form.

Hanji cackled as Erwin covered his eyes and quickly ripped the book from her hands, tearing to the next page, his ears turning pink at the sight of such a provocative image of one of his Captains. Hanji laughed even harder when the next page contained a similar image, this time with (Y/N) leaning back in obvious pleasure, her eyes closed tightly and her mouth open, her palms splayed flat on the ground behind her, her lower half disappearing off the edge of the page.

Erwin dropped the book as if burned and turned away, his face flushed. Hanji snickered at his embarrassment and grabbed the book again, looking at the few pages of (Y/N) in different arousing positions. Despite the inappropriate theme of the sketches, Levi seemed to keep it relatively modest, never drawing anything that exposed the most private places of her body, merely hinting at it rather than drawing it in detail.

Hanji motioned Erwin back over when she finally got through Levi’s “personal” sketches, finally reaching the last drawing in the sketchbook. The final sketch was a beautiful illustration of the pretty Squad Leader staring out the window, her chin resting on her palm as she watched rain slide down the glass pane. There was a single candle on the table with her, the darkness of the night held back by the small circle of flame, her face accented by the light of the candle, her skin colored with a honeyed glow.

“Wow, Levi sure has been busy,” Hanji said softly as they admired the picture.

“I’ve been busy doing what?” A gruff voice suddenly said, causing both officers to freeze, their eyes wide with terror as an icy feeling of dread shot through their veins.

The pair looked up to see Levi leaning against the door frame, not yet aware of what they were doing due to his desk obscuring his view.

“What the hell are you doing on the floor? And why are you with Shitty Glasses, Erwin? I thought you were busy filling out all of those proposals, which was why you couldn’t come with me into town.”

When neither of them answered, Levi pushed off of the wall and strode towards his desk, a scowl of annoyance on his face.

“Oi, did you two hit your heads or something? What are you doing in-”

Levi stopped dead, his face draining of color when he rounded the desk to find Hanji holding his sketchbook open in her lap, both of them pouring over the pictures inside. He glanced at the drawer and saw the hairpin still sticking out of the lock, the metal bent to jack open the gears.

His eyes flew over the drawing they were looking at, his most recent one of (Y/N) looking out at the rain. Embarrassment washed over him then and he closed his eyes as he realized they had looked through the entire sketchbook. He felt a dark rage bubble up in his chest, boosted by his embarrassment. When he opened his eyes again, they were hard and filled with fire.

Erwin and Hanji both flinched at that look, shame flooding over them as they both glanced down at the book in Hanji’s hands. They knew they shouldn’t have done this. Hanji didn’t regret opening his locked drawer but once they figured out what he was hiding they should’ve put it back. Obviously he had hidden it in that drawer because it was his private book, something he wanted nobody else to see, and for good reason.

“Levi I-” Hanji started only for his nearly feral growl to cut her off.

Levi leaned down and snatched the book out of her grasp and hoisted it under his arm, throwing a deadly glare in their direction. He turned to move the sketchbook somewhere else but paused when he realized there was no other place he could put it without other people noticing it. His locked drawer had been the one safe place for it, the one place where nobody was supposed to be able to reach it.

Levi ended up pacing in frustration as he frantically searched for a place to put it, to no avail. The raven-haired man eventually collapsed onto the couch in the center of the room, sliding the sketchbook onto the coffee table in front of him and putting his head in his hands. He had no idea what to do. He didn’t even want to look at the two people he thought were his friends, not just because he was furious with them but also because of the shame that was hammering against his heart. They had to have seen all of the drawings of (Y/N). There was no way they didn’t if they had reached the end of his filled pages. Which meant they had seen everything.

He had never meant to draw her like that. He honestly hadn’t meant to draw her at all, afraid that if he did, it would be admitting to himself the feelings he had for her. But even though he fought it hard, he eventually succumbed to the urge to draw her when he saw her laughing at a joke he had told her, the moment so perfect he just had to put it on paper before it faded from his mind. He guessed that must have been the moment of his downfall, because after he had drawn one picture, he felt compelled to do more until his sketchbook was filled almost completely with drawings of her.

The more he drew her, the more time he spent around her, his mind subconsciously watching for more perfect moments to paint onto a page, his feelings for her growing until he was completely in love with her. The drawings had gotten more suggestive, his hand moving as if it had a mind of its own as his hunger for her grew. He had never crossed the line of drawing her completely exposed, not wanting to shame her like that, not when they weren’t even in a relationship, but he had gotten pretty close when his hormones started controlling his hand rather than his brain.

Even though he had never been vulgar with his illustrations, he knew what Erwin and Hanji must have thought when they saw it. Knew how disgusted they must be with him after seeing such things in his sketchbook. He feared they might even tell (Y/N), warn her against him so she wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Levi clenched his fists. He knew Erwin and Hanji had never done anything like that before, they were his friends and had always supported him, even when he pretended to hate it. But that was before they saw everything.

“Levi?”

Levi ignored the sound of Erwin calling his name, keeping his hands cupped over his face in mortification. Levi tensed a little when he felt Erwin and Hanji sit down on either side of him, but still refused to look at them, afraid to see the condemnation in their eyes.

“Levi, look up please. We are genuinely sorry about looking through your sketchbook,” Erwin said softly.

Levi looked up to throw him a filthy glare before he leaned back into the couch cushions with a sad sigh, his eyes closing as he fought the shame that reared up in his chest. He felt like throwing up. Or beating Hanji and Erwin to a pulp. Or both.

“They’re, um, really beautiful, Levi. I didn’t know you could draw like that,” Hanji offered.

Levi scoffed.

“They are! Seriously, they look like you could walk right into them. I didn’t even know you liked drawing but here you are with a book full of masterpieces,” Hanji said incredulously in response to his obvious doubt.

“Oh come on, Hanji,” Levi said, piercing her with his stare. “I know you saw them, don’t play dumb. You saw them and now I feel like a perverted bastard.”

“There’s nothing wrong with drawing (Y/N), Levi. You did a wonderful job, really made her look beautiful,” Erwin said, resting a hand on Levi’s shoulder.

“Sure, there is nothing wrong with drawing her, but there is something wrong with drawing her, like that,” Levi snapped wholly embarrassed.

“Levi, relax! You did it because you love her and it is your personal sketchbook, not meant for any eyes but your own. We know you struggle with expression, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. This was just your way of expressing those feelings, an outlet. We were never meant to see it, I’m sorry that we ever did,” Hanji said, her eyes full of sympathy for her mortified friend.

Levi looked at her, doubt still swimming in his eyes.

“It’s true, Levi. Not only that, but you have real talent. I never would’ve thought of you as an artist but you know what you’re doing. Why did you hide this from us? I think it’s really cool that you know how to draw so well,” Erwin said.

“Because it is a useless passion to have,” Levi said. “I am Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, fighting to save the human race in a world filled with man-eating monsters from hell. Being able to draw pretty pictures is pointless; I can’t exactly kill titans with a pencil. The only reason I ever let myself do it in the first place is because I need to distract myself with something mindless sometimes.”

“What are you talking about!?” Hanji squawked. “This is the coolest thing ever! Can you draw another picture of me? I think I need to have more of an obvious presence in that sketchbook.”

Levi scowled at her but sighed softly at the relief that washed over him as the bespeckled woman lightened the mood.

“No, I am never drawing you ever again, Shitty Glasses. I only did that once because I was feeling sick and wanted something to help me throw up.”

Hanji pretended to act offended, gasping dramatically and placing her hand against her chest.

Erwin chuckled at the pair and patted Levi’s shoulder comfortingly. Levi sent a weak glare in his direction but the Commander knew he was grateful.

“Hey, speaking of an obvious presence…,” Hanji said, a borderline evil grin creeping onto her face. “You have the hots for (Y/N).”

Levi growled something Hanji chose not to hear and smiled even wider.

“Why didn’t you say anything? You know she is one of my best friends, I could’ve set you guys up!” Hanji said.

“That is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” Levi said. “I don’t trust you to not do something embarrassing on my behalf.”

Hanji scoffed at him and sent him a playful glare, one that he returned followed by a choice hand gesture.

“Well, now that we know, why don’t you confess to her? From the dates written on all of your drawings, you’ve been dealing with this for a while.”

Levi coughed awkwardly, obviously uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. “I don’t know how,” he mumbled.

“What are you talking about, Levi? You have it easy. Most people would have to buy flowers, or food, or do something else to get the source of their affections to notice them, but you won’t have to do that. You have everything right in front of you. Just give her one of your drawings, and she will surely get the message,” Erwin said with a knowing smirk.

“That’s a great idea! I’m sure she’ll absolutely love one!” Hanji squealed, clapping her hands together like an energetic toddler.

Levi thought for a minute, leaning back against the couch cushions. It could work. He had never purposely shown his drawings to anyone, but maybe trying something like this would be enough to win her heart. Nervousness wormed its way into his gut as he thought about it. What if she hated it? What if she didn’t care, turned him away without a second glance? What if she thought it was creepy or flat out didn’t like the drawing? Levi swallowed.

“Do you really think that would work?” Levi mumbled. “I do not want to fuck this up. Even if we can’t be together, she is one of the few people I call my friend, and I do not want to ruin the relationship I currently have with her because I’m inept at flirting.”

Hanji nodded enthusiastically, her glasses sliding down her nose at the movement. “Oh definitely. She’s going to think they are stunning! And we can be here to help you, if you want us to. Which one do you think you would give her?”

Levi looked at both Erwin and Hanji in turn, rolling his eyes at their identical cheshire grins. He figured he must be crazy, absolutely fucking insane, but he really could use their help, as much as he refused to admit it out loud.

Regardless of his attempts to hide his desperation, Erwin and Hanji saw right through him, their grins spreading wider as Levi scowled at them.

“Alright…,” Levi sighed, getting up from the couch and making his way back to the open drawer, making Erwin and Hanji arch their eyebrows in confusion when he passed by the sketchbook still resting on the coffee table.

“I’ve had this saved for a while. I didn’t want to put it with the others, it’s my favorite one.”

Erwin and Hanji looked up to see Levi pull out the bottom of the drawer to reveal a hidden compartment. The pair watched curiously as their friend pulled out a piece of paper that was significantly larger than the rest and turned it around for them to see.

“Well? What do you think?” Levi demanded.

____________________________

(Y/N) was walking back from the Mess Hall with her friends when a young scout came running up to her, claiming Captain Levi needed to see her in his office as soon as possible. She smiled brightly at the cadet and thanked him, before turning to her friends and waving goodbye, changing her course to head for Levi’s quarters.

(Y/N)’s stomach fluttered with butterflies as she got closer to his door but she quickly shoved them down and shook her head. She needed to focus. He was probably wanting to talk to her about the upcoming mission and what her plan was for her squad since she had missed the last meeting with the other superiors thanks to an injury she received when she saved a rookie cadet during ODM training, resulting in her crashing into a tree.

She chuckled to herself at the memory of Levi furiously chewing out the cadet afterwards. She had felt so bad for the poor kid, it had been an accident, but Levi had been no less upset by the fact that she got hurt. The thought sent more tingles up her spine and she growled in frustration, forcing herself to push her feelings to the back of her mind.

Her head finally cleared when she reached his door and knocked, smiling to herself when she heard his deep voice grant her entrance to his office. When she opened the door she found Levi facing away from her, watching something outside his window, Commander Erwin and Squad Leader Hanji standing along the far wall of the room. (Y/N) raised her eyebrows at the sight of them but saluted without hesitation, smiling when Erwin waved her off with a chuckle.

“I’m assuming because the two of you are here that this is about the details of the last meeting I missed?” (Y/N) asked, closing Levi’s door behind her with her foot.

Hanji smiled so wide her cheeks hurt as she shook her head. “Actually, no. Levi wanted to talk to you about something. Erwin and I were just leaving.”

Erwin nodded in agreement and pushed off from the wall he had been leaning against, his own lips twitching as he fought the grin that tried to run across his face.

(Y/N) watched them in confusion as the pair walked around her and left the room, Hanji’s barely concealed giggle echoing in her ear when they passed. Arching an eyebrow at her two fellow senior officers, (Y/N) eventually dropped it and turned back to Levi who so far, had not said a word.

“What’s up with them?” (Y/N) asked, trying to ease some of the awkward tension that had filled the room.

“They’re just idiots,” Levi said, but something about the way he said it seemed off. Maybe it was the lack of conviction. Or maybe it was the quiet, almost hushed way he said it, as if he wasn’t thinking about the odd behavior of their two friends at all, too lost in his own world to pay attention. (Y/N)’s brow furrowed in concern. This was not like the Levi she knew, something was wrong.

“Hey, Levi, what’s going on? You don’t sound like yourself.”

Levi tensed. Damn her for being so observant. He should’ve known she would automatically pick up on his off behavior. She had always been able to read him like a book, it was part of the reason why they were so close, why their friendship worked so well. (Y/N) had always been able to figure out exactly how he was feeling or what he needed at any given moment, why would this be any different?

“(Y/N),” Levi started, taking a deep, shaky breath as he tried to ignore her intense gaze on him. He knew she was worried, but her eyes on him were making him feel nervous. He almost wanted to bail, to claim it was just to help her recap on the meeting she had missed. He even had half a mind to bury his sketchbook, never to be seen again. It would hurt him, to lose that book, and despite what he said, he did love to draw, and having that taken away would be difficult, but at least he wouldn’t have to go through all of this anxiety.

But then he thought about (Y/N). She was standing right there, waiting for him. She had always been by his side, always caring for him, even when he felt he did not deserve it. She made him feel so loved, so strong, so hopeful. He knew that if he didn’t tell her how he felt now, it would drive him to insanity. He had to do this. Clearing his throat, he started again.

“(Y/N), I called you in here because I have to give you something,” Levi said.

“Really?” (Y/N) asked. Now she was really confused.

“Yes.”

“Okay, thank you Levi. What would you like me to do?” (Y/N) asked, keeping her voice soft and steady. It was obvious he was struggling a bit and she wanted to make him feel as comfortable as possible.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” Levi directed.

(Y/N) followed his orders and closed her eyes with her hands held out. She was worried about him, and even a little bit frightened for herself, but she couldn’t deny the curiosity that was gnawing at her gut. What could her fellow Captain have to give her other than reports to finish, or a sword to fight with, or a cup of tea?

She was surprised when she felt something very light and thin land on her opened palms. Her brows furrowed in confusion but she kept her eyes closed, waiting for him. Levi paused once he had rested the picture in her arms. He knew she was waiting for him before she opened her eyes but he couldn’t help but hesitate for a minute. This was it. The moment of truth. Either she was going to love it and his dreams might finally come true, or she was going to hate it and he was going to lose the best thing to come into his life. Taking a deep breath, Levi leaned against the wall as he told her to open her eyes.

(Y/N) gasped loudly when she opened her eyes. In her hands was the most beautiful drawing she had ever seen. It was a picture of her, so realistic she felt as if she were looking in a mirror. In the image, she was sitting bareback on her dapple grey mare, Danika. Danika had her head up and her ears forward, looking off to the side of the page while (Y/N) leaned against her neck, her chest touching her horse’s withers and her arms on either side of the mare’s neck. In the sketch, (Y/N) had the biggest smile on her face, her eyes shining with a brilliant (e/c). Her (h/c) hair looked as if you could reach out and feel it through the page, the strands blowing in the wind.

Levi didn’t say anything as he watched her take it in, crossing his arms and subconsciously biting his lip as he waited for her response. He had drawn this image of her ages ago. It was one of the first few he had drawn of her and it was by far his favorite. He had known that day, when he was striding across the courtyard headed for the training ground, and he turned to see (Y/N) riding Danika, smiling as if she were the embodiment of happiness, that he was head over heels in love with her.

He had even abandoned his idea of training to rush back to his office, eager to put the picture of her in his head onto paper. It was his favorite one because it captured the exact moment he truly came to accept his feelings for her. It was the one he had always saved for when he was having a bad day, keeping it separated from the others so he could find it easily whenever he needed it, just the sight of her making him feel better.

Suddenly, tears formed in her eyes and Levi felt his panic rise. Oh gods, she hated it. He never meant to make her cry! He had thought it might bring her the same level of joy he got from seeing it, but instead he had just made her sad, or disgusted, or angry. He honestly couldn’t tell which one it was, not that it mattered, it was obvious she was offended by it regardless of the specific emotion it invoked. Maybe she didn’t like the way he had drawn her. He thought she looked absolutely stunning, but maybe he had accidentally accented certain features she was self conscious about? Maybe she hated her smile? Maybe she just didn’t like having her fellow Captain drawing her like a creep when they weren’t even in a relationship?

Levi quickly moved to take it from her, apologies spilling from his mouth like a river. He didn’t even know what he was saying, he was sure he was just blabbering about nonsense at this point, but he didn’t really have the mind to care as he grabbed the drawing from her and moved to put it away. He was even planning on throwing it out after she left. He absolutely adored this drawing but if she hated it, he would not make her more uncomfortable by stashing it for his own desire.

“I’m s-so sorry, (Y/N), I’ll just get rid of it,” Levi said, cursing himself for stuttering. “I didn’t mean to make you upset, I just thought-”

“NO!” (Y/N) shouted, making him look at her in shock.

(Y/N)’s eyes were wide as she looked at the drawing in his hand. She had honestly been rendered speechless when she first saw it, overwhelmed with the tsunami of emotions that had crashed over her. She knew he struggled with expression, so the fact that he had gone out of his way to draw her as a form of confession had brought tears to her eyes, her heart throbbing with her love for this man.

(Y/N) had loved Levi ever since they had become good friends, laughing at his surprisingly funny dry humor, ranting to him when her squad was annoying her, holding him when he had no one else to go to and life just got too hard. But she would’ve never guessed in a million years that he returned her feelings. She had just assumed her feelings would forever be unrequited and forced herself to enjoy what they had, loving him in secret. But here he was, holding his heart out to her, offering her his love and affection in exchange for hers. She almost panicked when he snatched the drawing away, thinking he had offended her with it.

“No…?” Levi asked hopefully, uncertainty sparkling in his breathtaking silver gaze.

“No, don’t you dare throw that masterpiece away,” (Y/N) said firmly, brushing the tears from her eyes.

“So you…, like it?” Levi asked.

(Y/N) finally managed to pull herself together, clearing away the love induced haze that had clouded her brain and striding up to him confidently. When she reached him, she gently took hold of the hand not holding the drawing with both of hers, her eyes meeting his gaze. She blushed at how close she was to him, and had the urge to look away when his intense hues settled on her, but she held firm. She knew he was uncertain, she had to show him exactly how she felt without hesitation, otherwise he would think she was pitying him.

“I love it, Levi. It is one of the most gorgeous things I have ever seen. I can tell it took you hours with all of the detail and color and expression. It looks so real, like looking in the mirror. It is the greatest gift I have ever gotten, from anyone. Thank you.”

Levi sucked in a breath at her words, his eyes wide. She really thought all of that? He had hoped she would like it but he did not expect this reaction at all. In the back of his mind, Levi made a mental note to thank Hanji and Erwin after this was over.

“You really think so?” Levi asked.

“I know so.”

Levi swallowed thickly. “Does that mean…, you accept my confession?”

More tears pricked (Y/N)’s eyes but she nodded enthusiastically, calming his fears and making him release a breath of knee-wobbling relief. He barely had a moment before she launched herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she hugged him. Levi was a little stunned at first, but eventually slid the drawing onto his desk before wrapping his arms around her tentatively, still getting used to the contact.

“Yes, yes I accept your confession, Levi. I have loved you for a long time, I couldn’t be happier knowing that my feelings aren’t one sided.”

Levi’s heart jolted at her confession. “I love you too, (Y/N).”

___________________________

(Y/N) hummed happily as she skipped around Levi’s office, cleaning around the room while she waited for her boyfriend to get back from his one on one meeting with Erwin. Her heart fluttered as she thought about the surprisingly sweet, socially awkward man she was so damn lucky to call her own, smiling widely while she cleaned.

Their relationship was definitely still new and they were both slowly figuring each other out but (Y/N) had to admit, these past few weeks had been the best of her life. She had been surprised when Levi had confessed to her, but had been even more shocked to discover how long the man had harbored feelings for her, his actions around her telling her exactly how he felt about finally being able to call her his.

(Y/N)’s smile got bigger the more she thought about him and the slightly flustered yet determined way in which he doted on her in an utterly Levi fashion, using his blunt manner and dry sarcasm to fly through his inexperience. (Y/N) moved over to his desk and began to meticulously clean the already polished wood surface as her mind wandered, not really paying much attention to the items on his desk except to gently shift them to give her more space to clean. When she was finally done, she was about to move to another spot when she caught sight of Levi’s third drawer opened just slightly.

With further inspection, it looked as if the drawer had been slammed shut quickly, the rough movement causing the door to bounce back open a little in the process. Under normal circumstances, (Y/N) would’ve just closed the drawer and kept cleaning, but the sight of a leatherbound book caught her attention, her curiosity peaking. Glancing around her to make sure nobody was around, (Y/N) quietly shimmied the drawer open more and grabbed ahold of the book, opening it to lay flat on her lap.

The more she looked through it, the more her face changed from shock, to awe, to wonder as her eyes drank in each stunning drawing in his sketchbook. (Y/N) bit her lip when she reached the middle of the book, her system flashing with heat and surprise at what she saw. Carefully closing the book, (Y/N) slipped it back into the drawer and pushed it closed before standing and making her way to the door like nothing had happened, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she left his office.

_______________________________

Levi looked up when the door to his office opened later that night, a small smile flashing across his face at the sight of his gorgeous lover standing in the doorway. She smiled back at him and sauntered over, her eyes bright as she took in his casual appearance. In (Y/N)’s opinion, Levi looked amazing in everything, but seeing him in a pair of black comfy pants and a loose sleep shirt was hard to beat.

“Are you almost done?” (Y/N) asked once she had made it to him, leaning her hip against his desk.

“Yeah, just finishing up with these last few reports and then we can go to bed. Feel free to head in there whenever you’d like to though,” Levi said.

“Oh, I’ll wait,” (Y/N) said with a coy smile that made Levi pause in his writings. He had never seen that look on (Y/N)’s face before, at least, not in real life. His mind flashed him an image of one of his more provocative drawings of her before he quickly shoved those thoughts to the side, shaking his head a little to clear his mind.

“Do what you want,” Levi said, forcing himself to turn back to his reports.

(Y/N) settled herself on his couch and turned around to face him while he worked, admiring him from over the armrest. Her smile only got wider as she allowed herself to really look at him, his beautiful features making him seem almost painfully attractive.

Levi tried to keep focused on his work, wanting nothing more than to finish up quickly so he could cuddle with his amazing girlfriend, but he kept getting distracted. He could feel (Y/N) staring at him, her eyes on him making the hair on the back of his neck stand up, his nerves tingling. Levi grit his teeth as he attempted once again to read the same sentence he had read twelve times already to no avail, her intense gaze setting him on fire.

‘Focus, idiot! Fucking focus!’ Levi chastised himself despite the hot coil of want that was swirling in his gut. He was trying to be considerate of her and the speed she had set in terms of the physical side of their relationship, but he was finding it harder and harder to appear unfazed when she wouldn’t stop watching him with that expression on her face.

Finally, Levi slammed down his pen and looked up, his scowl deepening when he saw (Y/N) smile innocently at him and his frustration. Forcing himself to take a deep breath and steady his heartbeat, Levi glared half-heartedly at his lover.

“Why the fuck are you staring at me like that, brat?” Levi asked.

(Y/N) smiled even wider and stood from the couch, her hips swaying enticingly as she made her way over to him. Levi could do nothing but freeze in his chair, his breath caught in his throat when she slithered over his thighs, making herself comfortable on his lap. His heart rate skyrocketed when (Y/N) leaned forward, her lips lightly grazing the shell of his ear, her warm breath on his skin making him shiver.

“I saw something, maybe I shouldn’t have…,” (Y/N) said coyly.

Levi froze at her words, panic flooding his system as he thought about his sketchbook. He had no idea how she could’ve found it, but there was nothing else she could be talking about, since he had nothing else he actively kept from her.

“You did?” Levi asked nervously.

“Hmmm,” (Y/N) purred against him. “I did.”

“(Y/N), I am so sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I don’t even know why I drew those pictures of you. I just really love you and I guess it got out of hand but I am so-”

(Y/N) placed a finger to his lips and rolled her eyes affectionately at her lover’s uncharacteristic rambling. Levi immediately stopped talking and waited impatiently for her to condemn him, his face flushing slightly with embarrassment.

(Y/N) leaned in and surprised Levi by capturing his lips, encouraging him to relax until he finally gave in, the tension melting from his muscles as he kissed her back with a quiet groan. When she leaned back, Levi was looking at her with half lidded eyes, his silver hues sparkling with love and wonder for her. Her heart clenched and she smiled genuinely at him before it turned sultry, making Levi’s heart flip. Leaning forward again, (Y/N) nibbled lightly on his earlobe before speaking.

“Next time, Levi, draw me without the sheet.”

815 notes · View notes

soyforramen · 3 years

Note

If I'm not too late, for the writing prompts: 9 and/or 47, dealer's choice

· “Just tell why you did it!” “Because I’m in love with you, okay!”

· You’re my ex but I think I still have feelings for you

Angst below, in an AU timeline...ish

It felt like a fire had lit up her lungs, the smoke crawling up her throat and choking her until her breath rasped out into the cold night air. Behind her, Jughead stumbled, his breathing coming like tidal waves. Betty spared a quick glance at him as she yanked at his arm and pointed to the ridge beyond.

“Just over there,” she lied.

It was becoming easier and easier to lie to him.

On their way up the ridge her feet slipped in the muddy wet leaves. Her knees hit the ground and her teeth rattled hard enough to see stars. Jughead slipped an arm around her waist and dragged her up the rest of the hill, his breath erratic.

It was another ten minutes until they finally reached Archie’s car, the only one in the Sweetwater parking lot. Not many people went hiking at 4 a.m., let alone to go chase down a kidnapped ex.

Thunder rolled above them, the vibrations lingering deep in her bones, and they leaned around the car. Jughead’s hand were on his knees, his breath gasping and desperate. His wiped at the water trickling down his face and coughed hard. Betty kneeled on the ground, hands grasping at the loose asphalt as she forced herself to focus on counting rather than what she’d encountered tonight.

“What the hell was that for?” Jughead wheezed.

Betty shook her head, still unable to talk through her sore throat. She let out a slow breath – 1, 2, 3, 4 – and breathed in again.

“Why’d you try and save me?” he yelled over the thunder. A crack of lightening illuminated them and she was startled by the intensity in his eyes.

“Did you want me to leave you back in there?” she shot back. Stars colored her eyes as she tried to stand, and she listed to one side, grasping for the car to keep her balance.

Jughead snarled and paced towards the far end of the parking lot, ignoring the pouring rain around them. From his limp, Betty assumed he had a Charlie Horse. Betty wanted to chide him about not taking care of his body, about his inability to treat it as something better than a dumpster for all his repressed feelings. It wasn’t her place, though. Not anymore.

Besides, it seemed cruel to point out, especially after he’d been on the verge of being tortured –

“I don’t need your help,” he said when he returned, his words still punctured by small gasps. “I had everything covered.”

She snorted and stood up to face him. A chill ran through her as the wind picked up, but she diverted the movement into massaging at her damaged wrist. Jughead, still as perceptive as ever, didn’t miss her wince. He reached towards her, his eyes fixed on her wrist. Realizing what he was about to do, he stopped short and bent over to retie his shoe.

Even from this angle Betty could see how thin he was.

“I’m sure you did,” she said. Even as the adrenaline seeped out of her body she still couldn’t keep the acid from her voice. “That great, big escape plan of yours was going swell, though I’m curious as to what you were planning after you got chained up in the basement and held to the wall with duct tape. Or did I miss something when I broke in?”

Half her words were covered up by an angry burst of thunder. Perhaps it was for the best; they’d both been through a lot. Or, perhaps it would have been better to put it all out there, fight out their anger until there was nothing left remaining.

Jughead’s lip curled, and Betty knew he’d caught enough.

Betty narrowed her eyes. Despite everything, she still didn’t know whether to trust him. There had been too much time between them, too much space and anger and - Not to mention his aliens and her serial killer.

“You can’t drive stick with a broken wrist.”

“It’s not broken,” she said petulantly, her lip pursed like Juniper’s when she didn’t get the last cookie.

Knowing that he was right, she dug into her coat pocket, angry with Jughead and herself. Another gust of wind blew through their wet cloths, and they huddled into the cab of the truck. As the engine turned over, Jughead scrubbed at the window with his damp shirtsleeves, trying to break through the fog that had followed them. The water streaked across, unable to change, and he gave up on the idea. With a grunt, he shifted into drive and turned towards town.

“Stupid,” he muttered, and Betty side-eyed him.

Her first instinct was that he was talking about her, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping. After everything she’d done tonight, and he still couldn’t think anyone could care for him. Betty stared out of the window, her fingers pushing and prodding against the delicate skin on her wrist, revealing in the sharp jolts of pain and irritation. Eventually the pain cleared through her fog of anger and she realized he was likely talking to himself.

“Just –“

Jughead stopped, cursing under his breath. They came to a blind curve, halfway under water, and he shifted to first gear. As they crept along Betty’s eyes began to shut. She could feel her muscles relaxing as the adrenaline wore off, and the only thing that kept her awake was the potholes in the road. In the flashes of lightening above them, she could see Jughead’s jaw clenching as he worked to keep something in check.

Fine, she thought idly as darkness consumed her. Let him be mad. It wouldn’t be the first time he didn’t want to be near her.

She was startled awake when the engine stopped. In front of them was the Andrews’ home, normally bright and cheery, but in this light it was eerily still in the pouring rain.

“He’s not home tonight,” Jughead said flatly. “You can stay in his room. Unless you want to go home.”

Betty shook her head, trying not to let her fear overtake her. The house was empty and would be for the next week. They still hadn’t heard anything about Polly, and Alice had taken the twins upstate to try and get their mind off of it. After tonight (any night, every night, ever since – she cut off that particular voice, struggling to keep that terrible week out of her head), the last thing she wanted to do was to be alone.

The thought sent a shudder through her and she wrapped her arms around herself to try and keep the chill from sprinting down her back.

Jughead nodded, still staring straight ahead. He’d pulled the keys from the ignition and was now jangling them in his hand. He opened the car door and stepped out into the rain, not seeming to care whether Betty followed him or not. She scrambled out of the car, towards the front door and slipped in after him.

She held her breath, waiting in the long stretch of dark, for the lights to turn on. When they did, it was nothing more than Archie’s living room, still messy and smelling slightly of old clothing and pizza.

Jughead stalked towards the kitchen, his face set in an emotion she couldn’t discern anymore. A gut feeling told her it was because she was a stranger here, one who was encroaching not only on his ‘investigation’ but also on his personal space.

“I’ll make coffee,” Jughead said gruffly. “Take a shower or you’ll catch a cold.”

The way he’d said it, matter-of-factly and without any emotion behind it, contrasted so sharply with the fact that he’d remembered. He remembered, and wanted to let her know he’d remembered that she was prone to get colds when it rained. These little things twisted the knife deeper into her back and she tried not to think about her last foray into this home.

“Thanks,” Betty said softly.

She barely glanced at the mirror when she stepped into the bathroom. A thick cover of mud coated her lower half, while leaves had taken up residence in her hair. Her wrist, still throbbing and sore, was a swollen bright red. As bad as she might have looked, Betty revealed in the metaphorical duality of it all. Long ago, she might have said she was a good person, untouched by the corruption of life. Now, though, she felt as dirty and broken as she looked.

Pity about the boots though. Real suede apparently didn’t mix well with the more wild side of life. Betty didn’t dare think about what it would cost to buy Veronica a new pair.

The pipes groaned as the water warmed up. Peeling off her clothes was a chore, the damp, clinging clothes didn’t want to cooperate. The wet slap of them on the floor was a loud echo as she stepped into the shower.

The warm water was practically sinful after tonight. She let it cascade down her skin and shut her eyes to the world around her. Every inch of her body felt sore and bruised. She dreaded even thinking about how she’d feel tomorrow.

A draft of cold air sent goosebumps along her skin and Betty stilled. She trusted Jughead, of course, and yet…

The door shut again, and she peered around the curtain to find a set of clothing on the counter. Her heart stopped when she recognized a grey S from so long ago. Reluctant to let it out of her sight, Betty pulled the shower curtain to. He’d always had a bad habit of forming sentimental attachments to things, to items that had no right to such kindness.

But to have kept that shirt all these years? To have kept her shirt? Surely not. Surely her eyes, tired and sore from lack of sleep, had deceived her.

The ghost of her guilt churned again, deeper this time. A sharp pain went through her stomach – of guilt? regret? hope?

Betty picked up the bar of soap in her uninjured hand and scrubbed at her skin, hot tears running cold against her cheeks. Careless. She was always so careless with everything worth while. Archie’s hands ghosted across her skin, his lips, his whispers they both knew were lies. She was only looking for an escape, not another well to get trapped in. This time, though, she couldn’t think of a single way to escape.

A sob broke from her lips, and then another, and another. She shoved her fist against her mouth and curled up at the bottom of the tub. It was all she could do to keep from breaking up. A part of her, the one that saw reason, was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier tonight when she’d seen Jughead half-conscious with a red welt on his forehead. His head lolled absently against a support beam. His hands tightly bound with duct tape. Tight enough they were turning purple. Those stupid glasses lay at his feet only to reflect the beam of her flashlight onto the chains that bound him.

Images, real and imagined, flashed before her eyes. The well. TBK laughing above her. Polly, bound and gagged in the back of a cab. The twins, facedown in Sweetwater. Squeeky Fromme’s dead eyes staring up at the night sky, milky and flat. Jughead’s hands –

Betty shook her head, trying to shake the images away. No, that hadn’t happened, she chanted internally. It’s not real.

Not this time.

Long after the water had run cold, Betty finally came back to herself. Her movements were slow and forced; her head felt uselessly full of cotton. With a groan, she stood up and gasped as pins and needles threw her back to the ground. Unable to do anything, Betty turned off the water, gritting her teeth as she waited for the feeling to come back into her legs.

Into her life, even.

Now, with only the steady drip of a leaky faucet to keep her company, Betty heard just how quiet it was in the house. The wind blew outside, stronger than ever, but it seemed as if the house itself had gone into hibernation. Jughead had likely gone to bed, she realized. Or maybe he’d been smart enough to know he should see a doctor after all.

Perhaps that would be best. Then they could both pretend tonight had never happened and go back to the chilly detente they’d found themselves living in.

With an anticipatory wince, Betty hauled herself up and out of the tub. As she reached for the towel, she realized that the shirt loudly proclaimed ‘El Royale Gym’ in bright red letters. She scowled at the dancing rooster, ordering it to be something other than it was. Clearly, though, she’d been wrong.

Roughly, she pulled the shirt over her head, her damp hair catching at the collar, and stepped into the gym shorts. Why she put herself through this, why she tortured herself with something so impossible –

“Coffee’s on the counter,” Jughead said when she stepped out. His fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes never leaving the screen.

At least some things never changed, she supposed. Even that, though, rang hollow after what they’d been through tonight.

Betty wrapped her hands around the mug, grateful for something to occupy herself with. She sipped at it a moment, giving him the chance to say something. Do something. When he didn’t, she didn’t know whether she felt relief, or disappointment.

It wasn’t until she reached the stairs that he finally spoke.

“Just tell me why you did it,” he said.

She hesitated, knowing that this was her own personal Maginot line. Crossing this would mean the end of one life, and the beginning of another strange reality, one where she would have no control.

“Why did you come after me? Why didn’t you call Sheriff Keller, or Archie, or –“

“Because I’m still in love with you,” Betty said. Her voice was no more than a soft sigh, but it was enough to bring about a sudden calmness.

The calm before the storm, she thought morbidly. Whatever would happen now, whatever was said…

She waited, counting to a hundred. When he didn’t say anything, she set the coffee down on a side table and went to Archie’s room, shutting the door softly behind her.

(Part 2 here)

#bughead fanfic #prompt #riverdale #but instead of saying art i'm saying angst (with the long a like ahngst)#pretend i'm posing like that art dude from the iron giant

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bopbopstyles · 4 years

Photo

ROSE COLORED GLASSES: PART TWO

SERIES RATING: R (cursing, smoking, alcohol use, violence, PTSD, and sex)

WORD COUNT: 27k (will likely crash on mobile - use desktop!)

CATEGORIES: boxer!Harry, gang/mob!Harry, 1920s!Harry, Peaky Blinders!Harry (?)

As the daughter of the most powerful man in Birmingham, there were expectations of Cicely King: an advantageous marriage to save her father’s business, for one. But Cicely had never been one to follow orders. So when she woke up after an accident in the home of Harry Styles, the illusive boxer, she took it as an opportunity to escape her life. What she didn’t intend on was falling in love with him.

MASTERLIST | PART ONE | INSPO TAG | TALK TO ME ABOUT RCG

a/n: and just like that...it’s over! thank you for the love on part one, and for reading part two. i’m so excited for you all to read this one! thank you @hsogolden for making this beautiful banner, and thank you to @bfharry @harrysclementines @stellarboystyles and @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading this, ilysm!

historical notes: i’ve got a couple of things to alert the public of for this story. 1. this story is set in Balsall Heath, Birmingham, UK in 1920 or so, and i did as much research as possible on the area, but it is by no means all accurate. imagery and descriptions of the neighborhood are largely my own. 2. Church Hulme was the name of Holmes Chapel until 1974, so it is used in this story. 3. Wutherford doesn’t exist and is 100% a figment of my imagination.

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕✨

Cicely practically ran all the way to Josiah’s. She had been there only a handful of times before, usually by accident when she was out with Harry and he told her he had to stop by. The first time she had met Josiah, she was apprehensive, unsure what to make of the man standing behind the oak desk across from her, a cocky smile on his face. He reminded her of men she had met dozens of times before, men too big for their britches, as her father said. But then he spoke to Harry, and she could see how much he cared for him, despite the tension between them. She suspected it was more on Harry’s end than Josiah’s, the result of trustworthy people being few and far between in his life. Josiah might have been brash and rough around the edges, but Cicely didn’t mind that too much. He was nothing but kind to her, polite, told her that if anyone fucked with her they would answer to him, and it was a promise.

A promise she intended on holding him to.

She rapped on the glass of the door in the pattern she had seen Harry do, bouncing up and down on the toes of her boots as she waited for the door to open. When it did, it was Clara, the secretary who had offered to take Cicely shopping if she needed to. “Cicely?” She asked, and then took one looked at the panicked expression on her face and opened the door wider. “Harry’s in with Josiah.”

Cicely pushed past her and took the stairs two at a time, thankful she had spent her life doing unconventional things like riding horses and running around on the estate rather than embroidering in the parlor. When she pushed open the door to Josiah’s office, she was panting from racing through the house, and the conversation in the room immediately cut out. Josiah, Jack, and Harry were sitting there, their faces all turned to her in surprise.

She had taken an especially strong liking to Jack, who she knew was Harry’s closest friend and confidante. He was everything his brother wasn’t in the ways that mattered—soft spoken, a kind smile, warm eyes. But she could tell he had another side to him, one that made people cower in fear when he entered a room. It was a side she was relying on.

Her eyes swept right to Harry’s, one hand resting on the door jamb and the other on her stomach as it rose and fell with her breath. “My father,” she said, breathless. “He found me.”

“Fuck,” Harry responded in an exhale, rising from the chair he sat in and coming to her side. He pressed a palm to her cheek and his eyes criss-crossed her face as if he was checking for damage. Thankfully, there was none. “What happened?”

She gripped his wrist as she told the story, describing the scene on the front steps and the way her hair stood up from the policeman’s gaze. “I just know it,” she told him earnestly. “He figured it out and he’s not going to waste time before he gets here.”

“What do you want us to do?” Josiah asked, leaning over the oak desk and looking her straight in the eye. “I hate William King enough to do just about anything you me to do, all ya have to do is say the word.”

Cicely considered it. She knew he would kill her father if she asked, and while she hated her father with every bone in her body, she didn’t want him murdered in cold blood. That would leave her mother alone on that estate and it would be hard for Cicely to run from everything, since she was the sole heir to the family name, the business, everything. Even though she wouldn’t be in charge—her father had seen to it that she would fall to her husband, and until she married the second in command of the company—it still meant that she couldn’t abandon ship. Her mother would never forgive her, and even though her mother had done countless things that were unforgivable, Cicely still loved her. Far more than she did her father, at least.

“Don’t kill him,” she said, stepping around Harry’s body so she was facing Josiah head on. “But don’t let him make me leave. Threaten him with force and protect Harry at all costs.”

“Don’t need protectin’,” he muttered behind him but she ignored it. To her, he was the one thing worth saving when everything went to hell and no matter how good he was at fighting someone, her father had an affinity for guns. And Harry refused to carry one after the war.

“You will if bullets are involved.” Josiah reached for the telephone, picking up the receiver and dialing for the operator. “Sergeant Petty, Birmingham Police, please Miriam.”

Of course he was on a first name basis with the operator, Cicely thought to herself. She felt a hand on her lower back, and she rotated her head just enough to catch Harry out of the corner of her eye. He was tense, she could see it in his eyes, the way they were partially looking at her but also spacing off, the crease between his brows and the tightness of his jaw. “Harry,” she whispered, quiet enough that no one else in the room could hear. “I’m going to be okay.” She didn’t really know if that was true, but she needed Harry to believe it. When he was like this it was hard for him to think straight, and she needed his mind in order to make sure she stayed out of her father’s clutches.

“I…” Harry sighed, his gaze shifting to the floor. “Are you sure ya want to stay?”

The thought of letting her father take her home hadn’t even crossed her mind when she saw the policeman in the street. Instead, her thoughts revolved around how to make sure she could stay with Harry, how to keep them safe from her father. The prospect of returning to the hell that was her home, her life, her predetermined future, was enough to make her nod her head. “Positive,” she told him, and his eyes lifted to hers.

She could see his jaw relax, his eyes clear and really look at her. He was better.

“Petty, I need to know if some of your men have been working for William King.” Josiah was speaking into the phone, a hand open on the desk, resting on a collection of papers. “And when is that supposed to take place?” His eyes shifted to Cicely, then Harry, and finally rested on Jack. His brother shifted in his seat and picked up a cigarette from the box on the table, then pulled a lighter from his pocket. “Keep everybody away from the area, ya hear me? Every man that you can keep out of the area, do it. No, I’m not telling you shit.” Josiah slammed down the receiver and downed the rest of the glass of whiskey on his desk.

The fast that it was eleven in the morning hardly seemed relevant.

“Your asshole of a father has the city police out on patrol for ya. Seems someone got a sighting of ya and tipped them off that you were at Harry’s, in Balsall. He’s comin’ to collect ya tomorrow at eight o’clock.”

“That’s in less than 24 hours,” Harry said, the hand on her back forming into a fist that she wished she could unfurl.

Josiah grabbed the bottle of whiskey and refilled his crystal glass, and then two others. He pushed them towards Cicely and Harry before saying, “Just means we got a lot of planning to do.”

Jack dropped Cicely and Harry off at the house at half past six, after the plans had been put in motion and there was no going back. Josiah had told them to let him and Jack handle it, to stay inside and out of sight, and that they’d post a few men outside to keep an eye on the house in case her father decided to surprise them a bit early. With a nod to Harry and a kiss to Cicely’s temple, Jack drove off, leaving Harry and Cicely behind on the street. It was empty, everyone at work or out running errands, just a few children out on their porches up the block.

Harry unlocked the door quietly and Cicely followed him inside. They hadn’t spoken for all of the car ride from Josiah’s, Cicely because she didn’t know what was going through Harry’s head, and Harry because he was too angry to think of words. As he moved through the house, Cicely could tell he was angry. The way he sighed sharply and lit a cigarette, clenched at the table as he studied a wall, before pacing back and forth in the hallway, a hand roughly running through his hair. She stood next to the stairs, watching him, unsure what to say.

These were the moments when Cicely was reminded how much of Harry she still didn’t know. She had never seen him angry, at least, not like this. This was a kind of anger she couldn’t wipe from his body with a wet rag, or push away with a kiss to his forehead. It was anger she was wrapped up in, although not her fault, something she couldn’t fix without hurting them.

It was Harry who spoke first, in a shocking change. He turned to her, chest heaving. “Don’t wanna lose ya,” he said, staring daggers into her soul.

Cicely moved finally, through the distance between them, her boots clicking on the worn floorboards. “I don’t either,” she whispered, pressing a palm to his cheek. She ghosted her fingertips over his eyelids when they fluttered shut at her touch, and tried to memorize his face. The fading bruise on his jaw, the curl of his hair by his ears, the harsh lines of his cheekbones, how soft he looked in moments like this. Her thumb shifted across his face and brushed over his lip, running along the tender skin there.

His eyes fluttered open at the contact, his anger replaced with a desire Cicely had grown used to in recent days. The darkening of his pupils, the way his gaze focused on her lips as he looked at her. “How,” he began, not meeting her eyes, “have I only known ya for a week, but it feels like an eternity?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, voice soft in the house. All she could hear was the sound of their haggard breathing and the tick of the old clock in the sitting room. “It feels like you were made for me. Like I’ve been waiting for you.”

Hands found her hips, his fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirt. Cicely took a step towards him, their chests nearly touching, and in a breath, found his lips with hers. Her fingers curled into his hair like she knew he liked and held him close to her, memorizing the way his lips tasted, how it felt to have his nose slotted against hers, the press of his body against hers and the heat of his palms on her hips. It was a dream she never wanted to wake from.

In a moment, Harry took a step towards her, forcing her backwards, and then another, until her back was pressed against the wall underneath the stairs. She arched her back and a sound left Harry’s throat that was somewhere between a laugh and a growl when her breasts pressed against his chest, the fabric of their shirts brushing against each other harshly. Their lips fought one another, Cicely sucking on his bottom lip and Harry biting softly down on hers and making her giggle. When his tongue licked into her mouth, she flicked hers out to meet him, the sensation like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Her hands explored the expanse of Harry’s back, fingers curling into his shirt, his jacket a long forgotten memory. When his lips dipped to her neck and her nails darted into his skin, he gasped by her ear, the muscles in his arm flexing as he formed a fist against the wall. She wanted his skin, his bare skin, to see his tattoos and his piercings and investigate every corner of his body. After his matches she was allowed snippets of time, but it was always pressured, people wanting to talk to him before they left, Harry still recovering from the fight. But now, he was here and hers, no one else waiting for his attention, his body bent over hers as he nipped at the spot just below her earlobe.

“Can you take off your shirt?” Her voice was quiet in the room, and Harry’s head lifted at her words.

He leaned back slightly and Cicely watched in rapture as he pulled the hem of it from his trousers, and then slowly over his head. A necklace she had never seen before—a cross—fell to his chest and she guessed she hadn’t seen it because he couldn’t wear it during fights. So she took this opportunity to investigate, her fingertips running down the silver chain until they reached the pendant.

“I thought you stopped believing,” she said, her forehead resting on his jaw as she surveyed the necklace. She could see his chest rise and fall, the roll of his stomach as he sucked in air sharply when her fingers ghosted over his skin.

“Started wearing it again a few days ago,” he murmured, bending his chin so he could rub it against her temple. The feeling of him nuzzling at her skin made her smile, the softness of Harry never ceasing to surprise her.

He had such a hard facade up and most of it was all lies. A protective mechanism that resulted from years of pain and one big betrayal, one she hoped she could kick to smithereens. Tentatively, she touched his nipples, loving the hiss that filled her ears at her touch. “Why is that?”

She felt his fingers brush through the ends of her hair, the loose curls having fallen from the stress of the day. “Found somethin’ worth believing in again.”

Their lips reconnected with a fervor Cicely had experienced before between them, but something was different this time. And urgency to the way their hands gripped one another, the way Cicely stopped thinking and let her body react in the way it wanted, her hips pressing up against his, the brush of their most intimate places making them gasp into one another’s mouths.

Cicely wanted more. She wanted to see every inch of him laid out below her, to run her fingers over his skin and discover which spots made him gasp. She wanted him to see her and do the same, to tell her all the thoughts bottled up in her head. But more than anything, she wanted a moment to remember forever, so that no matter what happened tomorrow, she could hold onto the memory of this night.

“Harry.” His head lifted, eyes finding hers in the soft glow of the hallway light. “Can you take me upstairs?”

He brushed his thumb across her cheek tenderly. “Ya sure?”

“Yes.”

With that word, Harry’s hands drifted from their home on her hips down her skirt-covered thighs. He tugged at the fabric, pulling it up so that he could touch her skin, and then gripped the back of them. With the flex of his arms, he pulled her up, her legs easily wrapping around his waist so that he was carrying her. In this position, their lips were level and Cicely took full advantage, smothering his face with soft kisses that brought out a rare smile on his face as he maneuvered them up the stairs gracefully. She knew Harry was strong, the sight of his body taught under her hands as he carried her made her understand how truly powerful he was.

He knocked open the bedroom door with his hip and Cicely took in the room they had shared for the past few nights, curled up under the covers together. She had chased away his nightmares in this bed. Even though her bed at home might have been more comfortable, she had never felt so at home between any sheets like she did in Harry’s.

Delicately, he dropped her onto the duvet cover, and Cicely held him to her, forcing his body on top of hers. Their foreheads knocked, but they didn’t mind, Harry’s hands finding the space on either side of her head to support himself, and her fingers dug into the flesh of his stomach. She loved having free range over his body, touching him as she pleased, watching how his features contorted in front of her with every press of her palms. Her skirts were rucked up, trapped under his knees, and she wanted them off, the material heavy on her body.

“Can you help me take this off?” She asked him, squeezing his skin to get his attention. He had been sucking a spot on the base of her neck, which as much as she enjoyed the feeling of, she wanted her warm skin to be free more.

Harry’s gaze scattered over her body before reaching her face. “All of it?” She nodded and he shuddered, hesitant hands pulling at the cotton blouse that was tucked into the waist of the skirt.

Cicely sat up so he could pull it over her head, and when it was gone Harry stared at her for seconds that stretched into a minute. Her brassiere over her breasts, straining from her heavy breaths, her soft skin, unmarred from a life without disease and violence. There wasn’t a mark on her, and Harry marveled at the beauty of her body in front of him, wondering how he could have ever been so lucky to have found her. Then, he reached his hands around her to where the clasp laid, eyes searching hers to make sure it was okay before he pulled the material away.

When he bent his head, tongue running over the sensitive rises of her breasts, Cicely gasped, her fingers moving from the covers to his hair, holding his head to her skin. It was a sensation she didn’t know how to describe and it sent shockwaves through her body. Then he moved to her other nipple and she moaned, desperation on her vocal chords.

“Skirt?” He murmured into her skin, and Cicely mumbled her approval. Her skin was on fire and she just needed it all off, to let the cool air rush over her. With deft fingers, he undid the buttons at the back of the skirt, and Cicely laid back so he could slide it down her legs. Every inch of skin that was revealed made Harry’s breathing quicken, the sight of a woman nearly naked in front of him one he hadn’t encountered since before France.

It was almost embarrassing how desperate he was for her in every single way. He wanted to make her moan, to hear his name on her tongue, to make her squirm, to make her cry out in ecstasy. But he started with moving down her body, pulling from his memories what he wanted to do to her, show her. “What are you doing?” She asked, confusion evident in her tone.

“Want to taste ya,” he mumbled, a kiss pressed to her hipbone where the line of her underwear laid. “Make ya feel good. Is that okay?”

Without hesitation, Cicely nodded and Harry ducked his head down, his eyesight level with her center. He decided to keep her underwear on, not wanting to rush her too fast. Tentatively, he brushed his forefinger over her underwear and Cicely gasped, eyes watching his every move like a hawk. She didn’t know what she ached for, but she just knew she didn’t want him to stop. And when he darted out his tongue and swiped it over her clothed center, his name fell from her lips in a prayer.

“Goin’ to pull these to the side,” he told her, not wanting to catch her by surprise. “Stop me at any time if ya want.” He waited for her nod before continuing, pulling the edge to the side to reveal her wet pussy waiting for him. “Fuck,” he exhaled, the sight of her overwhelming him. “Beautiful, every inch of ya, know that?”

The giggle that left her mouth quickly turned to a gasp when he licked over her, the tang of her like a holiday meal, one to be treasured for the rest of the year. He was tender, not wanting to hurt her, brushing circles and lines up and down her sensitive flesh. When her fingers moved from his shoulders to curl through his hair, he smiled into her skin, the signs of her pleasure making him proud. He was hers, and she was his. In this moment, it was as simple as that.

“Harry.” She pulled his roots and Harry couldn’t help the groan that he let out onto her flesh, the vibrations making her thighs clasp around his head. When she went to pull them away, Harry stopped her, holding her thighs close as he licked up and down her again, kitten licks to her bud. “Oh my God,” she said. She went to clasp a hand over her mouth but Harry gripped her wrist, holding it to the bed.

“Wanna hear ya,” he mumbled. “Don’t care about the neighbors.”

Cicely decided she didn’t either, because the prospect of having to think about anything but the tension rising in her belly would have overwhelmed her brain. His tongue felt like heaven on her skin, the warm wetness making her thighs tense. She worried she was hurting him but Harry seemed to like it, so she didn’t stop, just tugged on his head to keep him close and moaned. The sounds leaving her body were ones she had never heard before, but they became her favorite things, wanting to experience Harry drawing them from her for the rest of time.

He pulled away for a second, replacing his mouth with his fingers, and looked to Cicely’s face. The rise and fall of her breasts made him want to rut into the bed but he held back, wanting the moment to be all about her. “How d’ya feel, love?”

“Good,” she said in a rush, her voice raw from panting. “Um, tense? I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Hmm,” he hummed out, returning to her folds, “that’s good, Ci.” The nickname had appeared a few times in the past few days and it fit perfectly in his mouth. He loved how it made her smile, eyelashes flutter as she looked down at him.

He held her eyesight as he licked her skin, wanting to watch her unfurl in front of him. It was like a boxing match in a way, reading his opponent to know the moment he was desperately waiting for, using his instincts to change his actions to draw the reaction he wanted. He darted his tongue to her slit and she bucked into him, so he hesitantly pressed at her slit, wanting to open her up a bit for him. He wasn’t small, he knew that, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. She hummed in appreciation, so he continued, the feeling of licking inside of her making him grip at her skin in an attempt to hold himself to Earth. Her head tilted back, long neck exposed to him and he wished he could be in two places at once—at her neck and in between her legs.

When his tongue got tired, he replaced it with one of his fingers, Cicely moaning at the feeling. She watched him in rapture, the feeling of his digit inside of her alighting every part of her body. It was unusual, but not bad—she wanted more, in fact. She could feel herself reaching a precipice, of what she wasn’t sure, but she knew she needed more. “More.” Harry looked at her, questioning, and she nodded. “Please.”

Harry responded by curling his finger, twirling it inside of her to reach every inch of her and a quick motion over her bud. She could feel herself tightening around him and at first she thought it was bad but he mumbled how good it felt into her skin, so she let herself do it again. She could feel that edge racing towards her like she was flying, and she struggled to keep her eyes open before giving up, eyelids drifting shut and her head tilting back again.

Her hips bucked, the tension rising, and then with a brush to the spongy spot inside of her, she snapped with a cry of his name. Harry didn’t let her go, pushing in and out of her as she fell apart, kissing her inner thighs. Watching her finish was like a movie to him, one he would’ve paid his life’s earnings to see just one more time. Her cheeks glowed, eyes wide, chest rising with quick breaths as she calmed down. Slowly he pulled his finger from her and she hissed at the loss, Harry giving her a small smile as he sucked his finger dry so her juices didn’t get all over the duvet.

“I…” She didn’t have the words but Harry knew. “Come here,” was all she got out, and Harry responded in a flash, his body moving up hers immediately.

Their lips reconnected and the taste of her on his tongue made her crave more. Her legs wound around his waist and Harry grunted when her bare center brushed over his still clothed dick. He pulled back and brushed a hair from her forehead. “Ci,” he said softly, “I need you to tell me what you want.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “You,” she answered, fingers gliding down his back. “All of you.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to—“

She pressed a finger to his lips that silenced him immediately. “I’m sure.”

He kissed every inch of her face, heart cresting at the giggles that spilled from her mouth. Her fingers threaded through his hair and she pulled his lips to hers, Harry sighing into the kiss. Kissing Cicely was a euphoria he had never known before. It made every other thought in his brain fall to the wayside, which was exactly what he needed.

Suddenly, Cicely was tightening her knees at his hips and using them to rotate him. He fell to the side, his back hitting the duvet, and the sight of Cicely hovering over him made him twitch in his pants. “Is this okay?” Cicely asked, her fingers ghosting up his chest.

“Yes,” he replied, breathless from the feeling of her touching him. He could feel her everywhere, smell her, hear nothing but the beat of their hearts in the room.

Cicely gazed down at him, his chest rising and falling below her, the tattoos that littered his body. She wanted to trace each and every one of them, memorize his inked skin so that it filled her dreams. She started with his hands, ghosting over the silver rings that adorned his knuckles with her lips, Harry’s eyes never leaving her face. When she kissed the cross on the skin between his thumb and forefinger, Harry couldn’t help but brush the pad of his thumb over her lips. She parted her lips, a coy smile on her face, and with a tenderness he didn’t know someone could have, captured the tip of his thumb in between her teeth.

She didn’t know where the surge of confidence came from, but with him she didn’t worry about what someone might think. Her thoughts were filled with him, the rest of the world gone for the moment, her mind only focused on what would make his breath catch in his throat. Inching up his forearm and then his bicep, she alternated between open-mouthed and soft pecks to his skin, tracing the outline of the rose with her lips. She scratched delicately at the ship on his bicep, a caress to the sails, and thumbed over what he informed her was Hebrew. Then, she drifted her hands across his shoulders, pulling at his tense muscles before she dipped her head, sponging a kiss across the A, then the 17Black, the two crosses, and then across her favorites—the swallows. His silver cross laid between them, stuck to his skin with sweat, and when she sucked the heavy chain into her mouth, Harry exhaled her name in a moan that made her grin.

“Feel good?” She asked, voice heavy with desire. Harry nodded, not trusting his voice to be able to properly describe the sensations running through his blood. Feeling her lips on his skin was licking a fire through him that rivaled the pits of hell.

And then, Cicely reached her favorite addition to Harry’s body—the barbells tucked through his nipples. Up until then, all she had done was touch them, but remembering how it felt when Harry licked her breasts, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like for her to do the same. So she bent her head and tentatively brushed her tongue over his right nipple.

Harry bucked into her, his grip on her waist tightening to a pressure she hadn’t felt before. “Ci,” he groaned, eyes wide at the sight of her on top of him, mouth suckling on his pierced nipples. It was torture, and one he would happily submit to for hours on end.

She licked at the buds of his nipples, and then in a circle around them, tweaking the barbells under the pressure of her tongue. It was her new preferred method of pleasuring him, she thought as she watched his features contort above her. Watching him squirm and pant her name, begging her for more, had her squeezing her knees around his hips. When she accidentally rolled into him, she dug her nails into his shoulders at the sensation, moans tumbling from both of their mouths.

“I love them,” she mumbled as she licked over his left nipple, the slick of her saliva glistening on his skin.

“Yeah?” Harry didn’t know what else to say, his throat was raw and dry from his being unable to close his mouth.

“Mhm,” she murmured, the vibration sending shockwaves through him.

“Fuck,” he groaned and tugged softly at the strands of her hair. “Ci, I’m not—fuck, love, ya have to stop.”

Her head bounced up at that, eyes meeting his. “What’s wrong?”

Harry could feel a blush creeping across his features, trying to search for the words to tell her he was going to come in his pants if she kept this up. It had been too long and he was sensitive, so sensitive, and the feeling of her hips softly rolling into his by accident and her lips on his nipples and her fingers curling into his skin was sending him into another realm. “I’m not going to last if ya keep going,” he said, trying to explain.

Cicely glanced down where their centers were resting just inches from one another and then back to his face. “Oh.” Then, she moved like a cat down his legs, kneeling between them. Her fingers tucked into the buttons of his trousers, and with Harry’s help, she pulled them down his long legs. Cicely’s eyes widened, taking in the sheer size of him. She had never disrobed a man before, but she was expecting him to wear underwear like she was, only…he wasn’t. So he was exposed to the air, his dick red and throbbing against his stomach.

Harry must have been able to sense her apprehension, because he sat up, drawing her attention to his face. “Can you roll over for me, love?” He wanted it to hurt the least amount possible, and also not to overwhelm her, so he decided her on her back and him over her would be the best position.

She nodded, and crawled up, letting them switch positions on the bed. Fingers brushed across the top of her underwear and she watched as Harry pushed them down slowly, exposing her most intimate areas to his eyes. If it hadn’t been Harry, maybe she would’ve felt uncomfortable, but under his gaze she felt adored. He sat on his knees between her legs, and brushed a finger lightly over her folds, her skin sensitive under his touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said under his breath, almost as if he was just speaking to himself, awestruck by her.

Using her ankles, she pressed him closer to her, wanting to feel his skin against hers again. “Harry,” she murmured, reaching for him with her hands. “Want you.”

It was if the air had been sucked out of the room when those words fell on Harry’s ears. Cicely laid out on the bed in front of him, her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow, lips red and puffy from their kisses, her breasts rising and falling with every breath. The press of her ankles on his lower back had tugged him closer to her, so her thighs were wrapped around his waist, his dick just centimeters from her. “Okay, love, I’m comin’,” he said, leaning over her body and caging her between his arms. “It might hurt at first, so I’m going to go slow, hmm?” With his words he pressed soft kisses to her cheeks, wanting to help her relax as much as possible. “Stop me if it’s too much, don’t wanna hurt ya.”

“You couldn’t.” Her hands found his cheeks and she pulled him in for a searing kiss, before pressing their foreheads together. “I’m ready.”

Harry reached between them, palming his dick in his hand, tugging a few times, but he didn’t need much. Pleasing her had brought him nearly to the brink, and her touching his body had practically had him melting in her arms. When he brushed his tip over her slit she whimpered, and Harry brought their lips together when he pushed just the tip inside of her.

He barely held back the curses that begged to fall from his mouth, not wanting to make it all about him. He just searched her eyes, their faces so close there was just a hair’s distance between them, waiting for the pinch between her brows to soften. The pain wasn’t as bad as Cicely was expecting, but it wasn’t quite good either—somewhere in the middle ground. She just wanted him to move, to get it over with, almost. She had never been good with prolonging something, pain especially. “Move,” she murmured against his lips.

Harry’s eyes fluttered shut at the thought, but then opened to make sure he could see her face, check in with her as he moved. “Promise me you’ll tell me to stop,” he asked, a hand brushing at the hair on her face.

“Promise.”

With that, Harry pushed the rest of the way inside in one motion, Cicely’s head tipping back as a low moan ripped from her throat. He stayed there, fully inside of her, his arms shaking on either side of her head as he tried to hold it together. Her hands pressed into his sides, fingers digging into his muscular back as she adjusted to him. It was an overwhelming feeling, being filled with him, unlike anything she had ever experienced before. She didn’t know how to describe it, but it felt so right, especially with him.

It was like her body knew what to do, though, because once the initial burning feeling had subsided, her ankle pushed into his lower back, just centimeters from the top of his ass, and he pushed slightly deeper into her. Moans fell between them, Harry gripping the sheets for something to hold onto. “Want me to move, love?”

“Mhm,” she mumbled, her lips surging up to find his.

And so Harry did. He pulled out, the feeling of her walls gripping him like a vice making his eyelids shut, and then back into her, losing himself to the feeling of being this close to her. One of her arms draped across the back of his neck, the other around his chest to keep him close to her as he pushed into her, deeply and slowly. He peppered kisses down her neck and across her collarbones, bathing in the sounds of her pants and breathy moans.

Cicely couldn’t focus on any one particular thing, just the feeling of him filling every inch of her in a way she didn’t know she was missing until this very moment. She had always dreamed of her first time being with someone she loved, and when Harry kissed her eyelids tenderly, she realized her dream had come true. When his hips swiveled into her, the angle changing slightly, Cicely’s head tipped back, her neck bared to Harry.

He didn’t let the opportunity pass him by—he was on her exposed skin in seconds, covering her with kisses and nips. “God, ya feel like heaven,” he mumbled into the crook of her neck when she clamped down around him, knees pressing into the sides of his stomach. “How’d I get so lucky to find ya, hmm?”

“I’m the lucky one,” she said, licking her dry lips and ducking her head down. His ring-clad fingers pushed back her hair and she tried to commit every one of his features to her memory forever. The tender touches of his hands on her skin, the antithesis of who everyone else knew him as. The cracked skin over his knuckles, still healing from a rough training day, the yellowing brush on his ribs from the fight two nights ago, the cut on his lip she had washed and kissed better. The searing gaze of his hazel eyes that felt like they managed to know the depths of her soul, regardless of how long she’d known him for. “H,” she whispered, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

His hips stuttered and his head drew back, his whole body coming to a stop above her. “Ya—what?”

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” she repeated, pulling at the hand that rested in her hair so she could kiss the tips of his fingers. “I know it’s fast, but…”

Harry shook his head at her, and at first she was worried it was too much too quickly, that she’d messed up. But then he lowered his forehead back to hers, and the words he uttered were so quiet she almost missed them. “I love ya,” he uttered, low in her ear. “No thought or falling involved.”

They were words he had never said to anyone else before, other than his family, and even those he hadn’t uttered in years. They were rusty on his lips, his tongue untrained in how to form the sounds. But when they landed between them, they felt right. So, utterly, effortlessly right. Harry couldn’t hide from her—he never could. She swept into his life and in a flash had ripped his strongest defenses to bits, battled her way into his heart. And perhaps it was silly to fall in love with a girl who was the opposite of who he was supposed to, but who gave a fuck anyways? She was meant for him—created for him to love, and he for her.

Cicely swept his lips to hers, tugging him into her in a kiss unrivaled by the ages. And then he pushed back into her, their moans passing between them in the tunnel their open mouths had created. She grappled at his skin, trying to find purchase, and Harry was barely holding on. “Closer,” she whimpered to him, “want to be closer.”

They were already skin to skin, but Harry knew what she meant without her having to spell it out. His hands tucked under her torso and he pulled her up, sitting back on his calves so she was sitting in his lap. His thighs burned, but he didn’t mind, because the way that Cicely keened when he pushed into her had him determined to bring her to an orgasm right there. Her legs draped around his, arms around his neck, their lips meeting and parting, the closeness she had craved successfully found.

“Oh my god.” Cicely gripped the ends of his hair, her head dropping to his shoulder as her body began to shake in his arms. “Harry.”

“Ci,” he mumbled, one of his hands drifting up to brush under her hair and thumbs running across the back of her neck. “Can ya look at me? Wanna see ya.”

Her head lifted and their eyes met, Harry staring deep into her as her legs shook around him. She could feel the knot in her stomach tightening and tightening, her grip on the moment beginning to fray as the euphoria she had experienced earlier bubbled back. All she could do was hold onto Harry and focus on the feeling of him inside her, brushing a soft spot deep inside of her. She could have sworn she could feel him in her fucking stomach, and it was a feeling she never wanted to forget. “H,” she panted out, their noses bumping as he pushed into her. His name was all she could think of, the only words she could conjure.

His hands splayed across her back, holding her torso to his. “Let go for me, love, okay? I’ve got ya.”

Perhaps that was all she needed—permission—because when he said it, the knot in her belly disintegrated, Cicely reaching a high unlike the one from earlier, a scream falling from her throat. More intense, one that had her toes curling and her whole body vibrating in Harry’s arm. Harry couldn’t hold it together anymore, the feeling of her clenching around him too much. With a bit of fumbling he was able to pull out of her, and his eyes fluttered shut as he came, a bit on her stomach, a bit on his. Her name was a prayer on his lips, repeated over and over again in the quiet of the room.

When he opened his eyes, she was looking at the mess he had made. Without hesitating, she reached down and her fingers swiped at his sticky ropes of cum on her skin, and then she lifted her two fingers to her mouth, gently licking. “Fuck,” he panted, the sight sending his body into overdrive. “Gonna kill me, know that?”

Cicely just giggled in his arms, and then surged forward, reconnecting their lips, the taste of his cum on her lips, but Harry didn’t mind. He just wanted her, every bit of her, every ounce of the love she would give him. When they pulled apart, she ran her fingers across his rings before pressing a peck to the corner of his mouth. “Wanna have a bath?”

His head bent to her chest and he sighed. “Don’t wanna go to the pump,” he mumbled.

She echoed his sigh, fingers brushing through his hair at the nape of his neck. “I forgot you don’t have running water.”

“Sounds bloody magical right about now,” he said, and she laughed, the sound filling his heart up to the brim, pieces of love falling over the edge. “How about I clean us up and we get some sleep?”

“Hmm,” she murmured. “Perfect. But only if you promise not to hog the pillow again.”

“S’rude,” he said, letting her fall back onto the duvet cover, her legs untangling from around him. He missed their presence immediately. “They are my pillows and all.” Cicely laughed again, and Harry moved from the bed, a rare smile gracing his face, one meant for her and only her. As was every single one of the smiles that had found his face since she came into his life—all for her eyes only.

The air was heavy when Cicely and Harry stepped outside at a quarter to eight the next morning. His fingers were intertwined with hers, the desire to be constantly touching after last night overwhelming both of them. Harry had on his nice jacket and his best pair of trousers, but he still paled in comparison to Cicely, who managed to make Nellie’s clothes look like they were made for her. She had combed her hair and washed up as best as she could, but she still knew her father would comment on her appearance, her being unkempt and dirty, although she didn’t care all that much. She wasn’t planning to go with him anyway.

After last night, she was Harry’s in every meaning of the word. Mind, body, and soul.

Josiah and Jack stood just past Harry’s front step, Josiah smoking a cigarette and Jack looking at them with an intensity that reminded her of Harry. “Mornin’, lovebirds,” Josiah said in an effort to keep the mood light but no one laughed. “Hope we’re feeling feisty this morning.”

Harry squeezed her hand, a reminder that he was there. They’d talked about this morning when they were curled up in bed last night, tracing one another’s naked skin. How nervous she was. This was going to mean she was cutting herself off from her family, for all intents and purposes. Giving up her name, her title, her standing. Even though there wasn’t much money left, her family still had an immense amount of power, power she had grown up knowing she would one day inherit. Now, within a matter of a week, she was prepared to give it all up for a better life. Perhaps her father wouldn’t see it that way, but for Cicely, she would rather live a life filled with love, than one that made her feel like a prisoner in her own home. She refused to become her mother.

“Remember, no killing him,” she told Josiah at the sight of the revolver tucked into his waistband. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Talk, right,” Josiah mumbled, but she ignored him. Her gaze instead fell to their surroundings. It was eight o’clock in the morning and most days it would be bustling, but today the street was silent. There must have been an order to stay inside, or to vacate the area in case things went sideways. She was thankful for it, she didn’t want children possibly put in harm’s way. But that didn’t mean it felt normal, because the sound of a quiet Balsall Heath was unsettling, the sight of empty streets except for the men who Josiah and Jack and brought with them.

There were probably twenty-or-so men, all with their J pins on their lapels, revolvers in their hands. Their eyes rested on Cicely and Harry, she realized, not on Josiah and Jack. “Is this going to be enough?” Harry asked behind her, reading her mind.

Jack was the one who replied. “Didn’t want to risk bringing out a full brigade and it turning to shit without them gettin’ a word in.”

It made sense. Her father would respond to fear more than anything else, and if he felt cornered or threatened she was screwed. “Cicely,” Harry murmured, and she turned. He was tense, she could see it in the way he held his shoulders and she couldn’t say she felt any different. “What do you want me to do?”

It felt unusual for Cicely to be in charge in a situation like this, and she could tell he felt helpless. Unable to use his fists or his body, giving over all the control to her. “Stay next to me,” she told him. “And please, for the love of God, don’t get hurt.”

As Harry was about to respond, no doubt with something snarky, Cicely heard the sound of cars on the road. Her head turned and Harry stepped from his spot behind her to next to her, their hands still connected. The black police cars emerged from the fog, out of place on a street that mostly saw horses and the rare car—usually belonging to Josiah. But this time, there were at least ten, and Cicely’s heart began to race in her chest. What if her father wasn’t planning to just talk? What if in an effort to keep Harry, Josiah, Jack, and their men safe, she had put them all in danger? She heard the cock of a pistol and knew the men were anxious, and she didn’t blame them.

The cars stopped in a massive clump, car doors slamming in the quiet morning air as they climbed out. Her eyes scanned for her father, his gray hair and tall stature that put up a strong facade, but was secretly cracked straight through. And when he appeared, her gut twisted.

It was the first time she had seen him in a week, but the feeling of dread at the sight of him hadn’t left her. The memories of the words he had said, the things he threatened still echoed in her brain.

“There he is,” Josiah muttered, before taking another puff of his cigarette and then a swig from his flask, despite the early hour. “C’mon, boys.”

The men moved immediately, creating disordered rows around Cicely and Harry, an aisle of sorts standing in front of them. “Ready?” Harry asked her, his voice soft.

She nodded, and dropped his hand, wanting to appear as strong as possible when she faced her father. The mud of the street squelched under boots as she stepped off the stoop, but after days in it it didn’t bother her anymore. She could tell her father hated it though, his eyes on her as she moved towards him, the fog parting around her figure.

William King commanded a presence. His height and size towered over many, the graying of hair did nothing to disguise the fact that he was a striking man. Many of his features Cicely had inherited, namely his high brows and the set of his mouth, and when they stood next to one another it was plainly obvious she was his daughter. She had always despised it. He wore a simple black suit, as usual, a tie her mother had probably insisted he wear hanging from around his neck, his cufflinks glinting. He looked rich, as usual, even if he wasn’t. Perhaps it was his appearance that drew people into his circle, or the way he had with words, the stories he could spin in seconds to earn approval and trust. Cicely had seen it all her life and it made her sick.

So when he said her name, it drew bile in her mouth. “Cicely,” he said, a fake kindness she saw straight through. “Hello, darling.”

“Father,” she replied tersely, stopping a few yards away from him. “There was no need for the police, you know.”

“Oh?” Her father glanced around at their surroundings. “I’m not so sure about that, considering the ruffians you’ve decided to bring along.”

Cicely heard some muffled noises behind her, and she knew it was Jack keeping Josiah quiet, an outburst doing nothing to help the moment. “I felt the need to protect myself.”

William scoffed. “From who?”

“You,” she replied simply, cocking her head to the side. “So, Father, why are you here?”

He rolled his eyes before looking to the policeman next to him—someone high up, she imagined. “See what insolence I have to put up with?” Then he turned back to her. “To retrieve you from whatever games you’ve gotten yourself into this time.”

“This isn’t a game.” Cicely’s voice cut like glass through the morning fog and Harry watched her in awe. She had known Cicely was strong, but to see her pushing back against her father, one of the most powerful men in Birmingham in addition to welding immense control over her life, was a scene he would always remember. “I left because you were going to force me into a marriage I don’t want, and I ended up here. And I’m staying.”

William stiffened at her words. “Stay? Here? In this slum? With him?” He pointed at Harry, who just stared at him in response. Jack’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, as if to remind him to stay calm, that Cicely wanted him to stay out of it as much as possible.

Cicely could feel a familiar anger boiling inside of her, the same one that had made her run out of her home in the first place, mount her horse, and ride away, despite the coming storm. “It is not a slum,” she said firmly, “and I am far happier here with him than I ever was living with you.” Her father flinched, the prospect of being dressed down in public, in front of people who were supposed to respect him, was the bane of his existence. Which was exactly why Cicely forged on. “I am done being your pawn in a game to recover the wealth that you lost at the gambling table. I don’t care about the business, about my ‘duties’, all I’ve ever wanted is to be happy. But you couldn’t even give me that. You want me to marry Clifford Stevens to save your business, you want to use me as your pawn. And I’m done.”

The air was silent when she finished speaking, her father shocked into silence at her outburst. Although she had spoken back before, never quite like this, and never in public. Her father looked at her with an unparalleled fury, and she could feel the tension rising between them. There were many times in her life when she had been afraid of her father, and this moment specifically might top the list. Then her father spoke, and Cicely’s world dropped out beneath her.

“If you want to give up your life, your name, your title, so badly, then how about I send you away? Lock you up and tell everyone you’ve gone insane?” He waved his hand around at the neighborhood and then continued, “it wouldn’t be much of a lie, either. After this stunt, I am quite concerned for your mental well-being.”

It took every strand of willpower in Harry’s body to hold him back from slamming William King to the ground. The suggestion that Cicely was insane was the farthest thing from the truth. If anyone was destined for the asylum, it was him—the dreams that plagued him and the fears that gripped his body. But Cicely…

She felt arms wrap around her waist, and she immediately knew they belonged to Harry. The feeling of his body against hers, the warmth of his hands on her body, the security they offered, managed to blur the edges of her simmering anger towards her father. Just as she was about to respond, she heard Harry’s voice.

“How dare you?” Harry asked, tone so even that the delivery was chilling.

William King just laughed, a bone chilling one that made Cicely tense in Harry’s arms. But he refused to be afraid of a man who had done nothing but harm to the woman he loved. “How dare I? What about you? What could you possibly have to offer my daughter, other than a life on a shit-covered street and nights spent in dark warehouses where you beat the life out of people?” His words struck a chord in Harry, the insecurity in himself that he had tried to push away for so long, but the moment William said them, they were out in the open. “At least I know what’s best for her.”

“You have no idea what is best for me,” Cicely said, her voice rising. “You have never known!”

“Cicely King, that is enough,” William said, an exhausted sigh echoing in her ears that reminded her of every fight with her father she had ever had. “Either you come home with me, or I send you to the asylum where you can live out the rest of your days wondering if this little rebellion,” he spit the word at her and it made Cicely see red, “was worth it. It’s up to you.”

But Cicely shook her head. “I’m not doing either of those.”

“Fine.” Her father nodded to the policeman closest to him, and suddenly everyone was moving, a blur of black uniforms coming straight for her. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to do this, but you give me no choice.”

Suddenly, Cicely was being wrenched from Harry’s grip, a policeman’s hands on her stomach tugging her away from Harry. A scream left her mouth as Harry was pulled by three different policemen, their hands tugging his arms behind his back. She could see the fear and confusion on his face—Harry hated when people touched him who he didn’t know, it sent him to the memories of France, and she knew this and the prospect of him being in pain because of her made her heart clench.

“No, stop, please—“ Sobs wracked her body as she watched the police, who had more men than Josiah, surrounded his men from all sides, effectively disarming them. It was a disaster of epic proportions. “Harry!”

Harry watched helplessly as Cicely was carried away from him, her legs kicking at the policemen who held her, her beautiful face covered in tears. “Ci, it’ll be okay, love,” he said, trying to stop himself from crying as well. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. It had changed so quickly, the men coming for him faster than he could move, the number of them more than he could manage despite his strength.

But Cicely screamed his name again, wrestling in the arms of the policemen. And then, as she watched Harry get pushed towards a police car, she knew what she had to do. “Daddy, stop!” Her father turned at the sound of the childhood nickname she hadn’t used in years. “Daddy, please, I love him,” she said, words a whimper in the chaos.

But William King wasn’t moved. “No you don’t.”

“Daddy, wait!” She screamed at him, so loudly that anyone inside their homes would know exactly what was happening. “Let him go and I’ll do it. I’ll marry Clifford.”

That hard her father grinning ear to ear. “That’s more like it, sweetheart.” He waved at the policemen, and they immediately dropped Cicely, her feet hitting the muddy ground with a squelch.

She rushed towards Harry, ignoring the onlookers, and swept her hands over his face. His beautiful, loving face, that taught her how to feel like a real person. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her forehead resting on his chest, right above his heart.

Harry’s arms caged around her, holding her close to him, basking in the feeling of her fingers curling into his shirt under his jacket. “Remember what I told you last night?” She nodded. How could she forget? He had told her he was in love with her. “No matter what happens, that won’t change.”

Her lips found his and they could feel the tears on one another’s faces, the memories of their hushed confessions filling their minds. Harry tried to commit to his memory the feeling of her lips on his, the way she fit against him, how she breathed into his mouth. “I love you,” she said so quietly he almost missed it amidst the commotion. “I love you so much, Harry.”

“I know,” he replied, kissing her nose softly. “I’ve always known.”

Cicely felt the arms on her before she heard the words around her. Men telling her it was time to go, her father’s voice reminding her of her promise. In a flash, Harry lifted his cross necklace over his head and slipped it over Cicely’s, the cross hitting the middle of her chest. “I’ll come back,” she said, eyes never leaving his as she was wrenched away from him, policemen holding each of her arms. “I promise.”

Harry watched helplessly as the love of his life was shoved into her father’s car, William King’s triumphant grin making him sick to his stomach. He watched, unmoving, as the car turned around and pulled away, Cicely’s face plastered to the rear window, her hand pressed to the glass.

Watching her drive away was perhaps the hardest thing he had ever experienced.

But once she was gone, the feeling of being alone was worse.

Cicely spent the first week that she was home shut up in her room, refusing to speak to anyone but Polly, her ladies maid who left her meals outside her door and drew her baths. Even then, though, Cicely didn’t say much. She filled her days with books and art and looking outside at the grounds, studying the trees and the sky. When Polly asked her questions, which she did every time she got a good look at Cicely’s red and puffy face, Cicely had no words to give.

How did she put into words what it felt like to have her heart ripped out of her chest?

To say goodbye to the one person who finally understood her?

To have just memories and his necklace, one single physical reminder of him?

To find more joy in sleep than being awake, because in her dreams she saw him?

There weren’t words for that kind of pain. There weren’t enough words in the English language to describe it. So instead of trying, she just sat in the cold metal tub in silence as warm water rushed over her head, her arms wrapped around her knees while her tears were washed away.

Harry couldn’t sleep. Cicely was his key to sleep, her presence and the smell of her hair, her arms around his body, her hushed words when he had a nightmare, pulling him from the depths of his brain. Without her, sleep had become his enemy, just as it was before her.

He saw her everywhere, it felt like. The golden blonde of her hair, blue eyes, the curve of her hips and the straight posture of her body. Every time he saw a woman with the same wave to her hair or a voice that made him like of Cicely, his heart would flip and for a split second he would let himself dream that it was her. But it never was.

Instead of feel, he drank. He drank glass of whiskey after glass of whiskey to dull the pain that flowed through him, sometimes with Josiah or Jack at the pub or in the office, other times on his own. He almost preferred to be alone, because it was in the depths of those moments that he saw her, heard her voice, her laugh in his ears like she was right there. Harry chased those moments, the ones where she was with him, because they brought him some semblance of peace—a peace he had only found once, and that was with her at his side.

Before the drinking started everyday, he boxed. He was training every day without fail, hours on end that left his body exhausted beyond anything else he had experienced before. His trainer, Freddie, kept telling him to stop, that he was going to hurt himself, but Harry didn’t care. In fact, he almost wished he would hurt himself, because it would make him feel something other than the depths of despair that currently consumed him. It was only when he was boxing that he could forget her, forget what her father had made her do, forget the look on her face when she was ripped away from him, forget the way she tasted and felt under his hands, forget the sound of his name on her tongue. Every other time of day, the memories haunted him like a shadow.

Harry had lived with shadows before. The difference was that this time, he didn’t want them to go away.

After a week, her curiosity got the better of her. So she got dressed with the help of Polly, a light blue dress pulled over her head and buttoned up the back, her hair brushed, Harry’s cross necklace tucked under the neck of her dress. When she entered the dining room, her mother and father both looked up from their breakfasts, a look of surprise on both of their faces. Her mother’s spoon hovered above her boiled egg, her father’s eyes darting up from the newspaper he was reading.

“Cicely,” her mother said, voice soft. “It’s nice to see you, dear.”

Cicely didn’t respond, just took her usual seat across from her mother, and took a sip of the tea that one of the maids brought her. When her breakfast was slid in front of her, she tapped her spoon against her egg, the sound of the metal on the shell the only sound in the room except for the crinkle of the newspaper pages. “Father,” she finally said, “may I see the paper?”

Her father lowered the paper slightly, enough to show his interest in his daughter’s request. “What for?”

Secretly, she wished to see if Harry’s matches had been reported on, as they sometimes were. She wanted any mention of him, the chance to see his name written in print and not in her own hand, on newspaper and not in her journal. “I’ve been removed for too long and I’d like to be caught up on what I’ve missed. You know how much Clifford likes to talk about the news and the markets.”

Her father seemed unmoved by her reasoning, lifting the paper back to its former height. “That is nothing to trouble yourself over. Just let him talk, he’s not seeking your opinion.”

Cicely looked to her mother for support, but she found none. Her docile mother just looked back down at her breakfast, the clink of her silver on the plate as she picked up her fork. “Can I see yesterday’s paper, then? Is it in your office?”

William King huffed and set down his newspaper. “When did you find an interest in the news? While you were living in the slums?” Her mother flinched at the word, but Cicely didn’t give him the pleasure of a reaction. “You know you do not enter my office and this is no different. You have no business with the paper, so go back to your breakfast unless you have something decent to say.”

Polly might be able to get a copy for her, she thought to herself as she resigned herself to the rest of her breakfast. There was probably a copy delivered to the servant’s quarters that she could see, even just for a few minutes. In actuality, the news of the world was meaningless to her—she was interested solely in Harry. There was no way for her to contact him, since she had never even thought to learn the telephone number for Josiah’s and there was no way she could manage to sneak a letter out of the house to him. She needed something to know that he was okay, living his life, still out there.

“Clifford is coming over for dinner tomorrow evening,” her father said, closing the paper and letting it rest on the table. “You will be there, Cicely.”

Cicely suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She wished she had never left her room, stayed in there for at least long enough for Clifford to come and go without her having to see him. “Is he going to propose?”

“I’m not sure,” her father replied. “But if he does, you are to accept.”

She looked to her mother for support, for insistence that she needed more time to adjust back, that there wasn’t a rush, but she offered no such support. She just took another sip of tea and looked out the window at the gardens.

“I know,” she told her father, because there was nothing else to say. There was no sense in fighting it—it was the only way she got her father to let Harry go, and she had no doubt that if she didn’t follow through her father would just have him arrested all over again. She set her napkin on the table, suddenly no longer hungry. “May I be excused?”

“Yes,” her father said. “But don’t try anything, Cicely. Just because you’re home doesn’t mean that you can do as you like.”

As if she ever had been able to. “I know,” she said, pushing back her chair and standing up. She needed to get out of the house, needed to be able to breathe again, needed quiet to silence the thoughts swirling in her brain. With a glance to her mother, she left the room, on the hunt for Polly before she went for a walk on the grounds. She found her in the hallway leading to the downstairs where the servants quarters were, a basket of sheets in her arms. “Polly,” she said, her maid turning to her, apron swirling.

“Miss!” Polly’s chest heaved. “You scared me. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Does the staff get a copy of the Birmingham Gazette?” She asked, leaning against the wall, voice hushed so others didn’t hear.

Polly nodded. “Every morning, miss.”

“Could I have this morning’s, possibly? After everyone is done with it, of course.”

Polly’s eyes widened., but then she nodded. “Of course. Should I leave it in your chambers?”

She gave her maid a smile, as she knew how controlling her father was. “That’s perfect. Thank you, Polly.”

“Of course, miss.” Cicely turned away, boots clicking on the floor as she made her way through the grand house to the rear, where the doors to the gardens were. She grabbed her shawl just in case there was a morning breeze, and pushed open the heavy glass doors, the cool dewy air wrapping around her.

Her mother was obsessed with the grounds of their home, the illustrious Wutherford House that had been in the King family for generations. When she had married William King, she took on the role of mistress of the house wholeheartedly, hiring more gardeners and setting them about the task of reshaping the topiaries and cleaning up the old fountain in the middle of the main garden. The old trees hung over the back section of the garden and her mother had put in a small bench for reading, which was Cicely’s favorite spot in the house. There was a wide clearing for games, which was used mostly in the spring and summer whenever they threw garden parties for their wide circle of friends.

As Cicely walked through the garden, her shawl pulled around her to protect against the chill in the air, she knew that perhaps she should care more about the fact that her family would love Wutherford without her marriage to Clifford. The truth was that as much as she loved the gardens and the wooded green space surrounding her home, the hills she spent years learning to ride on, the house itself just held bad memories for her. The prospect of having to return to this house for holidays and birthdays with a family led by Clifford Stevens made her stomach turn.

She had stopped caring about the future of her family the moment she discovered that their impending ruin was the fault of her father, and rather than take any responsibility, he shoved that role onto Cicely. The obvious answer to their problems was for him to stop gambling on every horse race and card game he encountered, to focus on the business, which, if he worked at hard enough, would turn a higher profit. Instead, he drank more, gambled more, and told Cicely she was to marry Clifford Stevens and make them all rich again.

The leaves rustled from the wind, and Cicely shut her eyes, inhaling the smell of freshly wet grass, the heavy scent of rain in the air. For a moment, she let herself picture walking out of Harry’s home in Balsall Heath, the smell of. manure and coal hanging low in the air, mixed with the sweetness of the bakery at the end of the street. She wiped at the tears that slipped from her eyes at the image, and then opened them, thrusting herself from her imagination and back into reality. A reality she despised.

She made her way to the little bench under the tree, and sat down, her boots crunching over the gravel. Was there any way for her to return to Balsall Heath, to Harry, to the life she had lived there? It was a question that she had turned over in her head for the past week, conjuring up different scenarios and ways to escape, to get to Harry. But the truth of the matter was that she didn’t really know how to get to Balsall Heath. She had been unconscious on her way in, and crying too hard to see much of anything on her way out. Birmingham was a mystery to her outside of the wealthy areas where her friends lived, and those were far from Harry’s home. She didn’t even know his address.

It was moments like these when she was struck by how little she actually knew of him. The surface-level bits, at least, the insignificant information you learn about someone upon first getting to know them. Instead that, she knew his heart, his mind, the things that plagued him at night and kept him going through the day. She knew about his family, about his past, about how he didn’t know what the future held, because thinking of it made him sad. The parts of him that mattered she knew, and she knew intimately, just as he knew hers. She didn’t care all that much about the other bits, if she was honest. Other people might, but she didn’t.

“Miss.”

Cicely’s head bounced up at Polly’s voice, her maid making her way towards where she sat. In her hands was a paper, folded neatly. “Oh, thank you, Polly.”

Polly handed her the paper and did a small curtsy before walking away. Cicely unfolded the inked pages, and turned the pages, ignoring all the major news. She was searching for a very specific name, a specific mention that would give her a bit of hope to hold onto. It was a long shot, she knew that, but it still was something.

And then she saw. it. His name in a headline, a short mention toward the back of the paper. Harry Styles—Knockout Again! She sighed in relief, that he was still winning. Her eyes glanced over the words, reading the story quickly. It wasn’t much, just a short mention of his match, that he had won every round and ended with a knockout. She didn’t know the name of his opponent, but that was no surprise, she usually didn’t. He had told her the names of many of them, but he didn’t usually fight them multiple times over a short period of time—Josiah was pushing him at the moment. Harry had told her that Josiah wanted boxing to be one of his legitimate streams of income, to take it out of the warehouse and into bigger venues, making it posh and civilized rather than for the working man. In order to do that, he was raising the stakes, the caliber of the fighters.

Cicely brushed her fingers over his name, mouthing the word Harry aloud just to remind herself how his name sounded. Then she touched the cross pendant through her dress, the silver sat comfortably against her sternum. She missed him with every bone in her body, but she was powerless to change her situation. She had let him go in order to protect him, she told herself for the millionth time that week, and she just prayed he would stay that way.

Harry, Josiah, and Jack were sitting in Josiah’s office with an open bottle of whiskey and a crystal glass in each of their hands, the radio turned low in the corner. Most of the office had all gone home, and if Cicely had still been with Harry he would be home with her right now, not sitting in a stuffy office with his friends, smoking and getting drunk. In the week that she had been gone from his life, he had found himself spending more time with Josiah and Jack, craving human company to fill the space she left behind. Before, Josiah had gotten on his nerves, his dangerous streak bothering him after his time on the front lines.

But now, for some reason he craved it a bit. Craved the impact of a fist on his body in the ring, liked the idea of teetering on the edge of safety and risk. So when his glass ran out of whiskey and he leaned in to refill, he cleared his throat and Josiah stopped telling a story about some girl he had met at a pub the previous night, a barmaid who caught his eye.

“I want to do more,” Harry said, the amber liquid falling into his glass.

“Do more?” Josiah asked, his feet that had been sitting on the desk kicking off, body moving forwards to lean towards Harry. “D’ya mean doin’ stuff outside of boxing?”

Harry nodded and then snatched a cigarette from the box on the desk, and lit it quickly, a well practiced motion. “Need a bit more than just the ring.”

Josiah shrugged at him, taking a long drag of his cigarette before tapping the ash. “This have anythin’ to do with your girl?”

Jack was silent in the other leather chair, his eyes flickering between his brother and Harry as they spoke. “Just…need a distraction,” Harry explained.

“Well,” Josiah said, opening up a folder on his desk, cigarette dangling from his lips as he looked at the papers. “You could join us at the races on Saturday. Could use some extra muscle in case things go south.”

It was a racing day, a day when many bets would be happen and Josiah would be there, ready to manage them all as well as the crowd. He had gained control of the race course outside of Birmingham just a few months ago and had already made a killing, his love of horses, fine clothes, and gambling finding a perfect home on the course. Usually there wasn’t much trouble—a few rowdy men refusing to pay their debts—but Harry knew it was mostly Josiah finding something for him to do that would take his mind off of things. “Are ya expecting anything?”

“No,” Josiah answered, “but ya can never be too safe. In or out, Harry?”

He looked to Jack. “You gonna be there?” His best friend nodded, and so Harry agreed. “Might need to do some target practice,” he said, taking another sip of his whiskey. “Haven’t used a gun in a while.”

For most people, target practice in the dark in the middle of Balsall Heath might not have been possible, but for Josiah and his associates, it was a normal routine. They went to the docks where extra guns were stocked, and set up targets yards away. Josiah squared up to the target, lifted his gun, and with a cigarette dangling from his lips, he took his shot, the bullet ringing through the air around them.

It wasn’t a fear of the sound of guns that made Harry refuse to carry a gun. That didn’t trigger the memories and the darkness that swirled through his brain. No, it was the feeling of the weapon in his hand. The gun felt like a long forgotten memory in his palm, the cold of the metal unusual against his skin. His rings clinked against it when he gripped it, and his eyes darted over the mechanisms, reminding himself of the steps that had become second nature during the war. Harry did let himself consider if he wanted to fire the gun or not, he just let his whiskey-clouded brain take over, flicking off the safety and stepping up to the target. It was natural to him, the way he lined up the weapon and pulled the trigger, his body absorbing the recoil.

The minute the bullet left his gun, his nostrils filled with the smell of blood and death, the wet earth of the field where he had laid, shaking and struggling to reload. The memories flickered through his brain, quick flashes of his present and past parallel in his brain. Jack’s voice is what roused him from his daze, a muffled, “Har?” that had his mind clearing to the moment at hand.

Maybe it was the whiskey in his veins, dulling his mind to the memories, or perhaps it was the fact that when he had aimed his gun he imagined William King, his smug face staring back at Harry as he ripped Cicely away from him. Either way, the experience of shooting the gun was not as bad as it had been the previous times he had attempted—all of which were in the direct aftermath of the war. Perhaps it was just time that let his brain run normally? Harry didn’t mind it, the numbness that he felt once his mind settled, the smoke clearing so that he could properly focus on the dimly lit docks, tin cans set up yards away. His eyes flickered to his target, curious how he had done, how much he had forgotten in the time he had spent abstaining from guns.

A perfect bullseye.

Cicely’s skin crawled the second her eyes set on Clifford Stevens, his perfect blond hair slick against his scalp, a smirk set into his face and his blue eyes staring up at her as she descended the stairs. She had hoped that seeing him wouldn’t be as bad as before, that she could convince herself he wasn’t the most horrible man, but the minute he leaned in to say something to her father and he laughed, she knew that would be impossible. Any man her father approved of was the devil in her book. She wished that they had invited other guests because perhaps in that situation she could’ve escaped him, even just for a few minutes. Laughed with her friends in the corner about how disgusting he was, the sly look in his eyes that made her want to curl in on herself.

But instead, it was just her, her parents, and Clifford. Her mission for the evening was to avoid being alone with him. If she could do that, then perhaps he wouldn’t propose to her right there and then, perhaps she could put it off for a bit longer.

“Cicely.” His voice was too sweet and she put on a fake smile, trying to act nicely towards him. “You look lovely tonight. I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”

Her eyes flickered to her father, realizing that he had probably told Clifford she was ill for the past few weeks rather than the truth—that she had run away from home and had fallen in love and lived with a man. Unmarried, to top it all off. That fact on its own would’ve caused enough scandal for her to be undesired by nearly every eligible bachelor in their social circle, so of course her father had lied. It just pained Cicely that she would have to lie, too. “Thank you,” she answered finally, before adding, “We missed having you over.” Her mother smiled at her, encouraging her praise of Clifford, and Cicely tried not to gag at the curling grin on his face.

During dinner, she pretended to be interested as Clifford talked about his business and her father peppered him with questions. She spoke only when directly asked a question, which thankfully for her, wasn’t often. She missed the days of quiet conversation with Harry during breakfast or curled up in his bed, his hands running through her hair. She missed everything about her time with Harry, but most of all she missed being touched in the way he did—with kindness and desire, petting her skin and squeezing delicately at her hand when she squirmed in his grip. As Clifford laughed at something her father said, she couldn’t help but wonder what intimacy with Clifford would be like. Would he touch her like Harry had? Would he be so kind and gentle with her?

Something told her he wouldn’t be. When she snuck glances at him, not wanting to give him the pleasure of knowing her eyes were on him, she noticed all the things he didn’t have that Harry did. The rings on Harry’s fingers that clinked against the crystal he drank whiskey from, the tattoos that littered his body, the soft smile he would give her when no one else was watching, the stone cold gaze he gave everyone else. His green eyes, soft curls, slightly disheveled shirts because he couldn’t sit still for long. If he had his way, she knew he wouldn’t wear a shirt half the time, but she had a feeling that Clifford loved his posh clothes, the way they told everyone how much money he had. Harry didn’t care about money, as long as he had enough to live comfortably.

“Are you all going to the races on Saturday?” Clifford asked, setting down his glass of wine.

William looked to Cicely’s mother, before back to Clifford. “No, we don’t have tickets for this week.”

“You should come with me then.” His smile is directed straight at Cicely and she tries not to scowl at him. “I have some extra tickets that you could all use.”

If one were to guess if Cicely liked the races, they would probably guess that she did, considering she loved horses. However, the races were her father’s favorite venue to place bets, which meant he was going to get wildly drunk and lose money and be in a terrible mood. A mood that Cicely and her mother would have to deal with at home, which was the last thing she wanted to do that night. But Cicely wasn’t the one who made the decision. It was her father. Who immediately raised his glass and accepted, and then took a long sip of his wine.

After dinner, they all retired to the sitting room, her father pulling two cigars out of the box on the table, handing on to Clifford. Cicely and her mother sat on the couch, nursing glasses of wine and trying to find the painting in the room interesting, despite seeing them every day.

Then, all of a sudden her father stood up from the chair he was reclining in. “Mary,” she said to Cicely’s mother, “would you join me in the other room?”

Her mother took William’s outstretched hand. “Of course.” Cicely looked at her mother in panic, knowing exactly what was happening. They were leaving her alone with Clifford and from the small smile on his face, his intention was to get down on one knee in front of her. She had hoped she would have more time, a few weeks or even days to make her brain forget Harry and accept her fate, but it looked like her father didn’t feel that was necessary. He wanted Clifford’s money and wanted it now.

When the door shut behind her parents, Cicely looked to Clifford, who was sitting opposite her, leaning into the couch with one ankle propped up on his knee, a cigar between his fingers. “So, Cicely,” he said, inhaling from his cigar when he paused, “we’ve been getting to know each other for the past few months.”

She inhaled, holding her breath slightly as she listened to his words, a pressure in her chest building. He sat up, uncrossing his legs and setting his cigar in the ashtray. He reached out for Cicely’s hand, and despite not wanting to, she took it, his soft skin feeling wrong against hers. She wanted Harry’s callused fingers and healing knuckles, marks and scars from a life lived. Instead, she had the hands of a man who only knew how to hold a pen and sign his name.

They stood in the middle of her living room, Cicely’s heart beating rapidly not in excitement, but dread. “In that time, I’ve come to the conclusion that you would make the perfect wife for me.” His words held no fondness of feeling and Cicely noticed it immediately. No mention of love or caring for her, just the perfect wife. When he dropped to one knee and pulled a box out of his pocket, Cicely held back the desire to run from the room and stayed standing, holding in a scream.

“Will you marry me, Cicely King?” He opened the box then, a ring glinting in the low light of the room. The massive diamond that was set into the band would’ve impressed most women, made them excited to show it off, but for Cicely it was just a reminder of what this marriage was: a business transaction.

She didn’t even look at his eyes, because she knew if she did she wouldn’t be able to say yes. And she had to say yes. It was for Harry, for the man she actually loved, for the man she wished was on his knee in front of her. She had no choice, truly.

“Cicely?” He asked again, voice harsh and urgent, demanding of an answer.

“Yes,” she said, letting go of a breath. When he slid the ring onto her finger, she finally looked at him. The smug look on his face, as if he had won a prize. It made her sick. The ring on her finger felt like a rock dragging her to the bottom of the river and she just hoped she would come up for air.

Clifford stood, sliding the box back into his pocket, one hand clasped around Cicely’s. At his full height, he towered over Cicely, but not in the way that Harry did, where it made her want to curl up into his body. Clifford’s height felt intimidating, as if he was trying to make her shrink simply with his existence. When he pressed his hand to her cheek and said her name, she held back the reflex to flinch, and let her eyes close as he leaned in to kiss her.

His lips felt foreign to her in every way. They were rough, and they pushed and prodded at hers in a way that was hurried. It was wet, as if he was trying to swallow her lips and she struggled to figure out how to get out of the kiss, how to pull away without making him angry. But she couldn’t stand it, because she was supposed to be kissing Harry. She was supposed to be smelling his cologne and whiskey and an underlying scent of gunpowder and sweat. Instead, her nostrils were full of cigars and overly sweet cologne and pomade for his hair. Her fingers found his wrist and pulled enough to allow him to release her, and she stepped away slightly, creating some space between them.

He was breathing heavily and she just wanted to escape. “You’ll need to come to my house next week and meet my family again, but this time as my fiancée,” he said. “I think you’ll get along well with mother.”

If she was anything like her son, then she was sure she wouldn’t. “I’m sure I will.”

“Cicely?” The door behind her opened, and her mother and father were standing there, excited looks on each of their faces.

“We’re engaged,” Clifford said quickly and Cicely’s chest tightened at the words. He lifted her hand which was still in his, showing the gaudy ring on her finger.

“Congratulations, son,” her father said, making her way towards them and shaking Clifford’s hand with enthusiasm before turning to Cicely. He kissed her forehead, a demonstration of tenderness she hadn’t experienced since she was a child—if she ever had. Apparently all she had to to get her father’s acceptance was become engaged to one of the wealthiest bachelors in Birmingham.

Her mother was the one who saved her, pulling her into a hug that allowed her to let go of Clifford’s hand finally. She was able to take a breath of fresh air, escaping his dreaded cologne for a moment. “I’m feeling quite tired,” she lied to her mother when she pulled away. “I think all the excitement has gotten to me.”

“You’ve only recently recovered,” Clifford cut in. “Perhaps it’s the illness?”

“Nonsense,” Cicely’s mother said. “She’s perfectly well, just tired from the day. You should go to bed, darling.”

Cicely nodded, taking a few steps away, before realizing she should say goodnight to her fiancé. “Goodnight, Clifford.”

He gave her a terse smile, one she returned with an equivalent lack of tenderness. “Goodnight, Cicely.”

She didn’t wait a second longer before walking out of the room, holding back the tears long enough to reach her rooms. Once the door shut behind her, she collapsed to the ground, pulling the cross out from under her dress, and holding it tightly as she wept for her future.

Harry was supposed to be moving through a couple rooms at the tracks, keeping an eye on the betting and the crowd in general. He had been placed in the more posh area since it was less likely to get violent, and because he was polished enough looking that he fit in—especially with his suit on so his numerous tattoos were hidden from view. He maneuvered through the large ballrooms, music and chatter around him as people drank their glasses of champagne and ate snacks that the staff served. People seemed to disregard him, their eyes not lingering on him longer than a passing glance, and Harry didn’t mind it. It allowed him to blend into the background and focus on his job, which was watch people closely.

He had a gun tucked in a holster under his suit and he tried to ignore it, pretend he couldn’t feel the cool graze of the metal when he moved, but it was a hopeless endeavor. So he distracted himself with a whiskey and looking at people’s clothes, and creating stories in his head for all of the wealthy patrons who he didn’t care enough about to properly learn anything about.

He pulled out his silver pocket watch and checked the time, before shutting it and downing the rest of his drink. Time to move to the other room. He set the glass on the bar, nodded to the bartender, and exited the ballroom, letting the door shut behind him. He moved down the carpeted walkway to the next room, where there was yet another bar and fewer card tables, more space for dancing. This was the room he disliked, because it was louder and more rowdy.

Pushing open the doors, the thrum of the band music surrounded him immediately. He stepped inside and let his eyes sweep the room as he moved to the side, preferring to anchor himself in the space before getting another drink. Josiah had also pointedly told him not to drink too much, so he was trying to pace himself, although he liked the feeling of the glass in his restless hands. Women crossed in front of his path, guided by male dance partners, the swirl of skirts and laughter rolling through the air.

He was two steps away from his target location—an empty space against the dark walls of the structure, void of any patrons—when he saw a flash of blonde hair that had him faltering. It was as if all of the air in his body had been sucked out, the moment his eyes fell on her.

It couldn’t be her, the rational part of his brain screamed. There was no way it was her. He had been seeing her ghost for the past two weeks, a ghost of the woman he loved, and there was no way she was here. Not now. Not like this.

But then she turned and perhaps it was the weight of his gaze that had made her turn, because she immediately found his eyes across the packed room. Blue eyes that made his heart rattle, parted lips that made him want to fall to his knees, the slope of her neck that he wanted to adore with his mouth.

Cicely.

It was her.

Her in a red beaded dress, her hair perfectly curled in a wide brimmed red hat to match, eyes wide as they studied one another. Harry couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Someone bumped into him but he just mumbled a Sorry under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away from her. How long had he dreamed of this moment, of being in the same room as her, breathing the same air as her, being able to reach out and touch her skin?

Under her gaze, his skin burned. The memories of their last night together, the gasps and moans she let out when he touched her, the curve of her hips and arms wrapped around him as he pushed inside of her—the memories invaded his mind immediately. The need to touch her suddenly was a aching desire inside of him, something he couldn’t ignore or wish away. It was going to eat away at him if he didn’t satisfy it. He needed to hear her voice, to touch her cheek, to kiss her red-painted lips.

He wanted nothing more than to cross the distance between them, push aside every person that stood in his way, and take her into his arms, to let himself be drowned in the smell of her perfume. But he couldn’t, because to Cicely’s right was her father, who thankfully hadn’t noticed Harry, but that was unlikely to last long. To her left was another man, whose hand grazed Cicely’s back in a way that had Harry’s skin prickling and knuckled clenching. A woman was standing next to William King, an older lady with the same shade of hair as Cicely’s—her mother, he presumed.

How was he going to get her alone? He looked around the grand ballroom, which he still couldn’t believe existed. He had never encountered such exaggerated wealth before, but Cicely probably lived in it every day. Towards the back of the room he noticed a red swinging door, which servers were coming in and out of. There would probably be restrooms back there, ones the regular patrons wouldn’t touch. Ones he could speak to her in.

Keeping her eyes on his, he nodded to the red swinging door. She glanced at it, and then back at him, before nodding ever so slightly. That was all Harry needed. He was moving immediately, weaving through the crowd with purpose. He didn’t look back to see if she was following, he knew she would come once she could get away, and until then he would wait for her. Hell, he would wait for her anywhere for however long it took.

He pushed open the doors and moved into the narrow hallway, narrowly missing a collision with a server and a silver tray. “Watch it!” The server said, brushing past him and into the ballroom. Harry sagged against the wall, taking a deep breath before moving slightly farther down the hall and out of the doorway. His eyes searched for a restroom or even a coat closet, some place where they could talk privately. Finally, he saw the small sign for the restroom a few yards down the long hall.

With a shaking hand, he thumbed over his rings, twirling them on his fingers to distract himself from waiting for her. He itched for a cigarette, for something to do with his hands while he waited. Eyes were trained on the swinging door, which trumpets and band music swirled out of, the pop of champagne every once in a while. Where was she?

Then, as if conjured from a dream, the doors swung open and she stepped through them, hands falling to her sides when she saw him. It was as if time stopped—they were just a few feet from one another, a thread pulling them to each other, knotting their hearts together. His mouth was dry, words gone, mind blank. The very presence of her blinded him as if she was the sun in mid-afternoon, so bright that he had to shield his eyes as he stepped outside.

She was in front of him and she was stunning.

But then she spoke, and Harry forgot how to breathe. “Harry,” she said, her words soft and delicate amidst the chaos around them, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

He surged forward, capturing her head in his hands, cares about who was around flying to the wind. His palms cradled her jaw, and before he pressed his lips to hers, he caught a glimpse of her eyes fluttering, a small smile on her face before her kissed her. Her lips tasted like champagne and her and it sent his brain spinning. The tenderness of her fingers on his wrists, holding him close to her as he kissed her, as he remembered what she felt like against him.

She parted her lips slightly and licked at his bottom lip and Harry couldn’t help but quietly moan at the sensation. “Ci,” he mumbled, parting ever so slightly, the nickname he had been wanting to say for so many days finally resting on his tongue.

“Hi,” she said, eyes twinkling as he took a hesitant step back so they could look at each other properly.

Her hand brushed at his jaw and the heat of her skin against his, the prodding of her fingers sent sparks through his body. “There’s a restroom down the hall,” he murmured. “I know it’s horribly improper, but I—I need to talk to ya.”

She just nodded, securing her hand in his, a smile meant just for him on her lips that he desperately wanted to kiss again. He led her down the hall, darting around servers who littered the hall, his fingers slotted between her gloved ones. Her small purse hung from her wrist, swinging between them as they moved.

When they reached the restroom, Harry pushed open the door, pulling her inside and shutting it tightly behind him. It was all levels of improper, but Harry couldn’t find it in him to care. His fingers left hers only to slide the deadbolt on the door, leaving them in a locked room, their chests both heaving as he found her eyes. “Cicely…” He couldn’t even find the words as he brushed his fingers across the rise of her cheekbones, watching in rapture as her eyes fluttered shut at his touch. When she leaned into his touch he knew nothing had changed—that what they felt two weeks ago when she was ripped away from him was real. It was all real.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, hands running up the length of his suit-covered torso, making him inhale sharply. She was so close, pushed against the door, his body towering around her, caging her between his hands that were pressed against the door.

“Josiah runs the betting and security,” he answered. One of his hands pushed a strand of her hair back, the feeling of the soft strands between his fingers making his heart soar. “Been a bit off lately, needin' more action than usual, so he thought this might be a good fit.”

Her eyebrows furrowed at his words, a sharp contrast to the way her fingers curled edged under his suit jacket. “Action? Why do you need more action?”

How did he explain to her that her leaving had destroyed him? Made him want to hurt everyone in his path and fighting wasn’t enough to keep the edge off? “Fightin’ isn’t enough,” he struggled to say as her fingers drew circles over his shirt-covered stomach. “Not since…”

“Since I left,” she finished, glancing up from his body to his eyes. “I understand.”

Harry’s eyes fell to where her fingers laid on his chest, his suit jacket long since pushed open. His gaze caught on something that was new, something he didn’t remember—a large diamond on her ring finger. “What’s that?” He asked, voice rough in his throat as he stumbled over his words, barely able to process what it meant.

Cicely lifted her hands off of his chest immediately, her expression changing from one of joy to frustration. “It’s an engagement ring,” she said softly, avoiding his gaze.

He swallowed slowly, her words ringing in his ears. “Clifford? Already?” She nodded, and Harry took a step back, suddenly needing space from her, space to process what that meant. She was engaged—she belonged to someone else now. “Congratulations, then.” His voice was venomous and he knew it was cruel, but he couldn’t help it. He was jealous, horribly jealous, that the diamond on her finger wasn’t from him.

“That’s not fair,” she said, shaking her head. “You know why I had to accept.”

“Do you love him?”

His words fell heavy in the room, his heart pounding as he waited for her response. He didn’t think she did, but a part of him was begging for an answer, for reassurance that she still loved him. “No,” she said confidently. “I despise him.” Then she pulled at the neck of her dress, her fingertips sliding across a metal chain, and when she pulled his cross free from the confines of her dress, his heart stopped.

The cross he had given her because it was the only thing he had to give. “You—you’re wearin’ it.”

She stepped towards him hesitantly, reaching out her hand, the one without the ring on it, to slide her fingers between his. “Of course I am.” Harry studied her, the rise and fall of her breath, her red lipstick slightly smeared from where his lips had captured hers, the glint in her blue eyes under the soft lighting of the room. “I still love you.” Her voice was barely a whisper in the room, but to Harry it was a deafening roar.

It was all he needed to kiss her. He hauled her against his body, finally feeling the curve of her flush against him as he kissed her. Her hands curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging softly on the strands as their lips slotted together. His fingers dug into her skin through the fabric of her dress, and all Harry could smell was her perfume and soap, the perfect combination that would haunt his dreams for nights to come. Their noses bumped and she let out a soft giggle, which only made Harry want her more. He tugged her bottom lip into his mouth, a whimper filling his ears in reply.

“I’ve missed ya so much,” he said, ducking down his head to leave a string of kisses down her neck. She moaned, a sound that Harry would play on repeat for the rest of time, and pulled at his hair, making an utter mess of it he was sure. He couldn’t find it in himself to care though. He would let her ruin him any day of the week.

When he nipped at the curve of her neck, she let out a slow and breathy, “Harry…” and it had his mind tumbling. He turned her so she was pressed against the countertop, the stability of the counter behind her allowing him to gain some leverage against her.

But she took it a step further. Her hands left his body and pressed against the top of it, lifting her body up onto the counter and letting her legs fall open. The action had Harry searching for restraint, because the sight of her sitting on the countertop, chest heaving as she looked at him, had him aching for her. With a glance for approval, he pulled up the hem of her dress, running his hands along her calves as he moved it. When it reached her knees, he was finally able to slot himself between her legs, and the feeling of her bare calves winding around his waist made his head drop to her shoulder. “Ci,” he murmured, pushing at the sleeve of her dress to expose some of her shoulder. “What do you want, love?”

“Everything,” she answered immediately, brushing the hair back from his eyes tenderly. “Anything. You.”

He kissed her skin softly, a contrast to the exchange they were having, but it was all he wanted—to tenderly touch her body. But, unfortunately they were in a bathroom at a horse race and if she spent too much more time in here, her family would come looking for her. “Not now,” he said, forcing the words out of himself because it took every bit of restraint to say them. “Your family is probably searching you already.”

“I don’t care,” she said, pulling at his chin so she could pepper kisses over his skin.

“But I do,” he told her, thumbing across her cheek. “When I have ya again, I want to take my time and I want ya in my bed, not on a washroom counter at a race track.”

She ducked her head into the crook of her neck, her soft breaths filling his ears. “When will ‘again’ be, though? When will I see you again?”

“Do ya want to see me again?”

She chuckled and the sound made his heart soar, as cheesy as it sounded. “Of course, you pest.”

“Love, you’re engaged.”

In an instant, she pulled the ring off of her finger and let it drop to the counter. “It doesn’t matter—you’re the one that I want. You know I don’t want to marry him.”

He tucked her hair behind her ear and lifted her head enough to be able to meet her eyes. “I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to, but if ya wanted to come back to Balsall Heath, I’d make ya mine.” Harry hadn’t thought about marriage all that much, but the minute he saw that ring on her finger the only thing he could think of was how he wanted her to be his wife. He wanted her until the end of his days.

Her eyes widened, reaching her hands up to grasp his wrists. “You would?”

“Yes,” he answered, confidently. “Would you like that?”

“Very much.” She pressed her thumb across the inside of his wrist gingerly, a tender trace that had him weak in the knees. “How am I going to get to you? My father won’t let me leave the estate.”

Harry leaned back slightly, the wheels of his mind turning a mile a minute. “Think ya could sneak out at night?” She considered it for a moment and then nodded. “I’ll use one of Josiah’s cars and meet you a few yards away from the house tomorrow night at two in the morning, okay? I’ll need you to get to me, but if you can do that, I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I can do it,” she replied, a blazing fire in her eyes of excitement that he shared. “I’ll try and bring some of my clothes if I can.”

“Bring anything you’ll want.” He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips softly. “You’ll be with me for the rest of your life if you want to be.”

“Mrs. Styles,” she whispered, and the words had him hauling her into him for a deep kiss that rattled both of their souls. “What if my father comes after me? What if you get arrested?”

Harry just shook his head. “Leave that bit to me. I’ll talk to Josiah and Jack, we’ll figure somethin’ out. You just focus on sneakin' out.”

Cicely nodded. “I love you, Harry.”

He kissed her once more before he answered her. “I love you too, Ci.”

Harry tried not to watch her walk away, but after feeling her skin under his, it was impossible not to. Especially when he thought about how she was going to be his for the rest of time.

The moon hung high in the sky the following night when Cicely rose from bed. She had packed her bag after Polly left her for the evening, a small duffle bag with her favorite dresses—one of which was all white—a collection of undergarments, and some precious family heirlooms her mother had given her. At the bottom of the bag was a photo of her family, just for memory’s sake, and her journal. The last thing she needed was money. Harry hadn’t asked for any, but she didn’t want to be reliant on him. She would need a new wardrobe of clothes and the least she could do was contribute.

She pulled on her dress, a deep blue she hoped would blend into the night and tugged on a light coat to keep out the cool night air. With a last look at her beloved room, the draped canopy and plush rugs, she shut the door behind her, her shoes clasped in one hand and her bag in the other. The house was silent as Cicely crept down the halls, avoiding all of the spots that creaked, and descended the stairs carefully. Her ears were focused on any sound that could suggest she had woken someone up, but so far, she was in the clear.

At the base of the stairs, she turned right, heading into her father’s office. She knew the code to the safe by heart, having learned it at fifteen when she wanted a new dress but her father refused to pay for it and she had watched him flick the combination. Since then, she’d snatched cash from it every once and a while, the code never changing. Tonight, she hoped, would be no different.

Her father’s office smelled of cigars, and she padded across the carpeted floor to his large oak desk. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with books he had never read covered most of the walls, the other space occupied by painting her mother had picked out. The only things that her father had selected for the space was the cigars on his desk and the pens he used to sign his name. She dropped her bag to the ground and knelt next to the black safe, running her fingers across the metal. It was cool to the touch, just as she remembered it. She glanced around the room to ensure she was alone, before flicking the combination of numbers on the dial.

It clicked softly, and she pulled open the door, stacks of cash and a few gold bars sitting inside. She ignored the bars, and instead grabbed two stacks of fifty pound bank notes, and then turned around to slide them into her unzipped bag. When she turned, though, she found her mother standing in the doorway.

“Mother,” she said, chest rattling from the surprise. “I—“

“I know,” her mother replied simply. She pulled her robe tighter around her nightgown, her usually perfectly coiffed hair limp around her face. “I won’t tell him.”

Cicely looked at her mother in disbelief. “You—you won’t?”

Her mother shook her head and leaned against the doorjamb. “I know you don’t want to marry Clifford. You haven’t wanted to marry a single man we’ve introduced you to since you came out in society. But then you go and you meet a man who we would never approve of, and you fall in love.” Cicely made a sound of interruption, but her mother just gave her a sad smile. “It’s okay, darling. I’m not mad. I’m nervous for you, for your future, but I am not mad.”

It had never occurred to her that she was seeking her mother’s approval, but now that she had it, it was as if a weight was lifted from her shoulders. “I love him, Mama.” She used the name for her mother that she had used as a child, and hadn’t since then, and saw her mother immediately soften.

Her mother moved from the doorway and made her way to Cicely, cupping her daughter’s face in her hands. “Fight for him, you hear me? Fight for the love you feel. It doesn’t come around often, but when it does, you have to fight for it, no matter how hard it gets.” Cicely brushed at the tears falling on her mother’s cheeks, and she realized her mother hadn’t touched her like this, with such tenderness, in years.

“I will,” she promised.

Her mother kissed her forehead, shutting her eyes as she did it, and then pulled away. “Will you write? You can address it to Polly and have her give them to me. I just,” she faltered, brushing a hand against her daughter’s hair, “I want to know you’re alright.”

Cicely nodded. “I’ll write as soon as I can.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a better mother to you.”

The words splintered Cicely in two, because although most times over the past year especially she had been disappointed in her mother, she had been the light of her life before that. She had been the bright spot in a dark house, a kind touch and a lingering kiss on her forehead when she needed it. “I love you,” Cicely told her simply, knowing that was what her mother needed to hear.

Her mother, ever the woman of few words, simply replied, “I love you, too.” Then, she stepped away, giving her daughter a lingering last look before she turned away. She left the room without looking back, her white nightgown curling around her ankles as she moved.

Cicely was left alone in her father’s empty office, tears prickling her eyes.

But she wasn’t done in the office. She had a plan on how to keep her father’s hands off of Harry, because she knew he wouldn’t rest if she just left—he’d come after them both. Her father, though, underestimated her. He always had and it would be his downfall.

Cicely turned back to the still open safe, and lifted the base of the safe—something her father definitely know she knew about—and pulled out his personal ledgers. The ones that had records of his gambling debts, his personal assets, and of the true wealth of their family. She knew that these were the one thing that truly scared her father, that the world would know the truth of his wealth, of his status, that his family was nearly broke and his business about to go bottom up. That he owed money to what seemed like every man in Birmingham and the surrounding area, and he was barely staying afloat.

She folded the ledgers in half, and stuck them into her bag as well, before finally shutting the safe and turning the lock. Then, she grabbed a pen and paper from her father’s desk and began to write.

Dear Mother and Father,

Don’t come looking for me. I don’t want to be found.

If you do, I’ll send a copy of your ledgers to every paper in Birmingham and London, and everyone will know the truth about your family.

Yours,

Mrs. Cicely Styles

She used the name purely to make her father mad, but also because it brought her immense joy to scratch her future name in ink. She would be a King no longer.

After folding up the note, she tugged Clifford’s disgusting ring off of her finger, and placed it on the note, leaving both for her father to find in the morning. With that, she picked up her bag and her boots, and left the office, making her way through the silent halls of her childhood home, pausing only a few times to take her last looks at her favorite paintings or rooms, to memorize the walls she had called home.

Outside, the air was heavy in the early morning hours, and she was thankful she had put on a coat. She bent down and pulled on her boots, lacing them tightly, and then tugged the door shut behind her, the lock clicking softly behind her. With her bag in her hand, she descended the steps of her home, taking the unlit path to the main road, the crunch of the gravel under her shoes keeping her company as she walked.

She only hoped that Harry had kept up his side of the deal, that he was there waiting for her. Deep in her gut, she knew he would be, but a part of her was still nervous as she walked down the drive. But she thought back to the way he had looked at her in that tiny restroom, the shine in his eyes and red puffy lips from kissing her, the way his fingers gripped her hips, how he told her he would make her his. There was no way he wouldn’t be there.

When she made it to the road, the moonlight was her only guide. She turned right, then left, and then she saw the faint outline of a car on the road a few yards away, just as Harry had promised. It was on impulse that she began to run, the muddy road definitely getting her skirts dirty, but she didn’t care. Harry was a few yards away, freedom was barely out of reach. The wind rustled through her hair and her bag banged against her calves as she ran to him.

And then he was there, leaning against the hood of the car and gazing at her in awe. “Ci—“ She cut him off with the impact of her body falling into his, her lips colliding with his. He found her immediately, hands coming up to cup her face as they kissed, a deep yearning in her body finally fulfilled with him. “You did it,” he said when she pulled away, brushing at her cheeks with his knuckles.

“I did,” she answered with a triumphant smile, “and I stole some money and insurance.”

“Insurance?”

“My father’s personal ledgers—records of his debts, of the family and business finances.”

His eyes widened, and then a rare smile peeked out. “My brilliant girl,” he said. “Now come get in the car.” He took her bag from her hands and walked to the boot, placing it securely inside while she slid into the passenger side.

Instead of turning the car around and heading back in the direction of Birmingham, Harry drove forward, north in the direction of Manchester. “Where are we going?” She asked, turning to look at his face, barely visible in the dark blanket of the night.

He reached his hand over to her that wasn’t on the steering wheel, and tucked his fingers between hers. “We’re goin’ to the sea.”

“The sea?”

He nodded. “Josiah told me to get ya and get out of town for a bit. Let it settle down with your father.”

The idea of Harry, a seaside town, and no worries sounded like heaven to Cicely. “How far is it?”

“A few hours,” he replied. “Go to sleep, love. I’ll wake you when we’re there.” She settled into the seat, which wasn’t all that comfortable, but with Harry holding her hand, she fell asleep almost immediately.

They rented a room in a little hotel on the sea, bright blue walls that made Cicely smile when they stepped inside. She stood in front of the window, which faced the water, the waves lapping at the shore as the sun rose. Harry didn’t know if he had ever seen a more breathtaking sight.

He dropped their cases on the floor, and shut the door behind him, flipping the lock. The sound had her turning around to face him and Harry’s chest tightened immediately. They were finally alone, alone in a room with a bed and no one would be interrupting them. For a few moments, they just gazed at each other, taking in one another’s presence. Harry’s eyes trailed down Cicely’s body, memorizing the slope of her nose and the planes of her shoulders, the curve of her waist and length of her legs. Her bare knuckles, void of her old engagement ring. A silver chain peaked out from under her dress, a reminder that she wore his necklace, a symbol of what she had helped him believe in again.

Every cell of his body seemed to scream with desire, after two weeks of being without her. Even though they had had only one night together, it was a night he would never forget. From the way Cicely gazed at him, undressing him with her eyes, he had the suspicion that she had thought about it just as much as he had.

The orange and pink hues of the sunrise fell across the walls, casting her in a glow that likened her to an angel, and Harry decided it was an apt comparison. To him, she was an angel in every sense of the word. “Cicely,” he said, her name falling lightly in the room.

“I need you.” Her words cut through him like glass, sharp and gravelly as she hadn’t been awake for long, and honest. “H, I need you.”

When she repeated the words, Harry was moving in an instant, crossing the distance between them. His hands wound through her hair and pulled her towards him, their lips meeting in a sigh. Without the pressure of time, Harry decided to take his time with her, wanting to savor every moment. So he kept the pace slow, nibbling on her bottom lip and licking into her mouth languidly, inhaling every one of her whimpers and gasps as if he only got air from her. Perhaps he did, though, because when he was touching her it felt like he could finally breathe again.

She tried to speed up the kiss, tugging at his lip with her teeth, but Harry refused. With a hand cradling her jaw, he held her in place as he kissed her gently, a tenderness flowing from him that he only knew with her. Her hands curled into his hair and scratched at his scalp, finally settling into the pace Harry set, and the sensation had his skin puckering with goosebumps. One of his hands fell to her hip, pulling her closer in, so he could feel the bend of her body against his, and it made her let out a breathy gasp.

That was when Harry was done with slow. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, he could tell from the way she clenched the back of his shirt, holding him tightly to her. So he turned them slightly, and stepped towards her, directing her backwards to the bed in the center of the room.

She fell to the feather duvet cover in a puff of air, a soft giggle escaping her that made him suck on her jaw. She scrambled at his back at the feeling, it being her sweet spot, the one that made her crazy. Harry knew and used it to his advantage, wanting to hear every sound he could pull from her. She was like a band all in one person, the combination of every type of instrument and sound to create one, beautiful song. A song he would listen to again and again.

“My boots,” she mumbled, nudging at his nose. Harry glanced down and realized she was right—she still had her boots on. They were hanging off the bed, obviously because she was trying not to get the duvet dirty with mud. He squatted down immediately, fingers deftly untying the bows at the top of her lace-up boots.

Her eyes found his as his fingers pulled at the laces, tugging them free from the holes. Her tongue darted across her lip, taunting him as she wet it, and Harry leaned in and kissed her ankle in response. When she squirmed, he did the same to the other ankle, loving how she shakily exhaled, body craving more. “Better?” He asked, pulling them off fully.

She nodded, eyes watching him lazily. There was a calmness to the moment, a difference from the last time he undressed her. That time they were desperate to discover each other, the culmination of days of tension. Now, they were desperate, but in a different way—to be simply be close again.

His fingers slid up her calves where her stockings covered her skin. Skin he desperately wanted free. “Can I take these off?”

“Please,” she said, her lip tucked between her teeth.

Harry pushed up the hem of her dress, revealing her knees and then the milky white of her thighs, where her garters laid. With deft fingers, he unclasped them, releasing her stockings. He inched them down her legs, kissing each centimeter of exposed skin and basking in the pants that left her mouth. He left her stockings on the floor, and then tugged off her garters, not wanting a single scrap of clothing on her when he made love to her.

“You,” she said, voice ragged with desire.

He cocked his head, cheek resting on her thigh. “Wha’?”

“Your clothes.” Her hands tugged at the neck of his crisp white shirt. “I want them off.”

Her desperation made him kiss her skin, tonguing delicately over it in a circle. “Yeah?” She nodded, digging her fingernails into his fabric-covered shoulders. “Can ya help me, love?”

It was a poor excuse to get her hands on his skin, but he knew she didn’t mind. She sat up, Harry slotted between her legs, and slowly released the buttons on his shirt. With each exposed area of skin, she kissed it just as he had, and the feeling of her lips on his skin had him fisting the duvet cover, the warm hot air sending him spinning. By the time she had all of his buttons undone he was a panting mess, so when she pushed his shirt off of his shoulders and grazed her fingers over his nipples the deep, drawn out groan that ripped from his chest wasn’t far off.

She smiled at his reaction, and then she bent her head, her tongue flicking over the bars though his nipples, his body jerking against her. “Fuck, Ci,” he rasped, digging his fingers into her hips. Her skirts sat around her waist, so he wasn’t holding her bare skin, and he needed it. Needed to be able to run his hands across her, to mark her up as his. But she seemed to have other plans in mind, because when she sucked his nipple into her mouth he lost all ability to think, much less ask her for what he wanted. With her other hand she tweaked his other nipple, not wanting to leave one unattended, and together the combination had him rattling in her hold.

“I love these,” she whispered, releasing his nipple with a pop. She had told him that before, but each time she did he enjoyed hearing the words. It made his heart soar, the praise from her lips filling him up fully. Her eyes peeked up at him, blue irises blown out under her eyelashes. “What if I got some to match?”

He growled, a sound he had never made before, but it was just a natural reaction to the image of her perfect breasts with bars through the nipples. Of her body bending and jerking against him as he suckled on the sensitive skin. “Think I’ll never let ya out of our room,” he replied, looking down at her lips ghosting across his bare chest.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

His eyes widen at her words, and she giggled, the vibrations ricocheting off his body. “C’mere, you.”

She scrambled backwards on the bed as he shifted, rising onto the bed on his knees and crawling after her. Her dress still adorned her body and Harry wanted it off. Wanted to see her, all of her. His hands pushed up her legs, brushing at her skin and watching as her lips dropped open slightly, air puffing through them at the feeling of his hands on her. When he reached her underwear, she simply nodded, an answer to a silent question. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, pulling them down the length of her legs before tossing them to the ground, a forgotten memory. Next, he pulled her chest up and reached around her, blindly finding the buttons on her dress. The position meant she was pressed right up against his bare chest, and he didn’t think either of them minded, based on how her breath caught.

He popped each button with ease, fingers crawling down the freshly revealed expanse of her back as he made his way down. Once he was out of buttons, he pushed at the neck of her dress, exposing her shoulder. He moved without thought, wanting simply to cover her in kisses, and nuzzled her skin with his nose before gingerly brushing it with his lips. As he worked across her skin she shrugged off the bodice and then pulled it over her head.

Her fully revealed body knocked the air right out of him. It took him a moment to be able to think again, the sight of so much bare skin and just her brassiere, her underwear gone and showing him her most intimate parts. Between her breasts laid his cross necklace, the cold silver contrasting against her warm skin. His hands pressed to the chain and then her skin, eyes flickering over her face as her head dropped back in pleasure at his touch. Fingers popped the clasps on her last remaining garment, and once that was dropped, she was completely bare for him. Her blonde hair and bright eyes, soft pink lips swollen from his kisses, her seemingly miles of unmarked skin, except for a few red marks that he knew were from him. The prospect of leaving traces of him behind for her to find tomorrow had him hardening in his trousers. Ever since he had started thinking of her as his, he couldn’t find a more alluring thought.

“Beautiful,” he exhaled, unable to find any other words to describe her. There weren’t enough in the English language to encapsulate her. To explain the way his heart sung for her, how the valley of her breasts made his heart quick, the blush on her cheeks urging him to dust his lips across them. How he craved her hands on his skin, everywhere and anywhere she would put them. It was as if she had been designed for him, to drive him crazy and make him forget anyone or anything else existed. When he looked at her, it was all he could focus on—and he could barely do that, because the sight of her smile had his mind melting.

The air in the room was filled with a mixture of her perfume and remnants of his cologne, a chemically balanced combination that made Harry dizzy. Pants from her delicate lips filled his ears, the soft husky voice that murmured his name when he hadn’t touched her for too long, causing his eyes to flirt up to hers. “Remember what you did last time?”

“Wha’?” His mind was too hazy to think straight, to process what she was asking.

A blush creeped across her features, and suddenly Harry knew what last time she was referring her to. “Our last night,” she explained, rasping as he leaned in and nibbled at the taught skin at the base of her throat, her head bobbing to the side to give him more access. “When you—you touched me.”

How could he forget? It was all he could think about for days after. Her taste on his tongue, the way her fingers curled into his hair and tugged at his scalp. A tangy sweetness meant only for him, something she didn’t show anyone else, a piece of her that was his and his alone. It was intoxicating, the taste of her, and he was desperate for another sip. “I remember,” he answered, brushing his fingers up her neck to turn her head so she faced him. “What about it?”

“I...” She fumbled with her words, pupils darting around his face and then anywhere but them. He wanted her eyes back on him so badly it was embarrassing, begging for her attention, but he knew that she was bashful so he let her gather her courage away from his gaze. “I want to do that to you.”

Harry’s body practically shook at her words. The prospect of her mouth, those plush and warm lips around him, between his legs and her hands on his thighs? The image that his mind conjured forced a series of curses from his chest in a rasp, her name mixed in. “Ya sure? Don’t have to do that.” Of course he wanted it—he wanted whatever shreds of her that she would give him—but he knew that he wouldn’t last long anyways. Just seeing her fall apart would be enough for him to be over the edge right after her.

“I want to,” she said, eyes finally coming back to his face, connecting with his green ones.

“Never done it before, right, love?” She shook her head, ducking down, but he pushed at her chin softly. “Hey, none of that. I’ll show ya, okay?” Knowing she was nervous and embarrassed, he kissed her cupid’s bow tenderly, before connecting their lips for a short peck. “Love that I’ll be the only one who gets to feel your mouth.”

That had her smiling, her bashful expression gone and replaced with one of temptation and desire. When she pushed at his shoulders, forcing them to the side so that he laid on his back, her hovering over him, it had him keening into her. The sight of her naked body above him, his necklace hanging from her neck, her blonde hair creating a curtain around their faces of their world and their world alone, was enough for him to whine, low and desperate. She was the only person who could make him like this—utterly destroyed for her.

Harry decided to see how far she could go on her own, wanting her to build up her confidence before he started to guide her. So he let her fingers creep down his torso, hissing when she scratched over his butterfly tattoo, a coy smile fluttering across her face. She popped the button of his trousers and with a glance to his face for reassurance, pulled down the zipper. He lifted his hips so she could pull them down, her eager hands taking his boxers with them. When she saw him, hard and red against his stomach, her reaction wasn’t quite as surprised as the first time.

This time, she dropped to her stomach between his legs and Harry leaned back, letting his head fall to the pillows and the wrought iron headboard, watching her in rapture. Gingerly, she knelt her head down and licked the underside of his cock, a tentative touch that had Harry grasping at the sheets, breathless. It was so unexpected, the warmth of her tongue and the light touch that sent shivers up his body.

His eyes followed her as she explored, touching him with her index finger, running up the length of him. He hummed in response, pleasure coursing through his veins at the feeling of her hands on him. “So good,” he murmured, lifting his hand from the bed and threading it through her hair, softly pulling at the strands to show her how good it felt. When she paused, he knew that she didn’t know what to do next, so he moved his other hand to cover hers. “Can ya lick your hand for me, Ci?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion at his request. “What?”

“Makes it easier,” he explained.

With her eyes on his, she brought her hand to her mouth, opening her lips enough for her tongue to poke out. The same tongue that had been touching his hard cock just moments ago now licked a broad stroke up her hand, once and then twice. “Like that?”

He swallowed thickly, wondering if she knew what she was doing to him simply by existing. “Perfect. Now, hold me in your hand,” he directed, closing his hand around hers and guiding her to his length, helping her wrap her dainty fingers around him. The touch made him hiss through his teeth and her head bobbed up to make sure he was alright. “Feels good,” he told her, and the words made her soften, tension leaving her. “Now, run it up and down—yeah, just like that, love. Fuck.” The drawn out curse made the corners of her mouth turn up slightly, obviously pleased with herself.

Harry kept a loose hold on her hand, just enough to help her keep a steady pace, but soon he was faltering. Desire was swirling in his belly, and he knew if they kept this up too much longer he wouldn’t be able to last. But he wanted her mouth. He was selfish, and he wanted to feel her mouth wrapped around him, even if just for a moment.

“Wanna take me in your mouth?” He asked, hushed tones that made her nod. His hand on hers moved to her chin, running his thumb across her bottom lip. “Don’t use teeth,” he informed her, keeping his words soft, “and ya don’t have to take it all.”

She nodded, and then she opened her mouth, tugging playfully on the pad of his thumb. A strangled whimper left his mouth, the sight of her mouth on his thumb leaving him breathless for her. Then, she released him and bowed her head, licking softly up his length.

When her lips opened and then closed around his tip, Harry barely held back from bucking into her. She was warm, soft, and wet, a sinful combination that made his head fall back, a hungry groan ripping through his throat. Then she sunk down on him slowly, taking him bit by bit, keeping her teeth sheathed as he had told her. Harry was panting more than he ever had before, struggling to keep his eyes trained on her. He didn’t want to miss a second of this. The sight of her long eyelashes battering against her lids, her pink lips around his cock, watching his reaction, it was enough where he nearly came right then and there.

She seemed to quickly understand that she had to breathe through her nose, and did so as she moved up on his length. At his tip, she licked over it, her deft tongue circling where he was weeping for her. The hand that was holding her hair tightened, and he cursed at the feeling. But then she sunk back down on him, and Harry saw stars as she began to find a pace, moving up and down on him with ease.

He knew he was muttering utter nonsense, some combination of her name and curses and things like God, pet, feel so good, but he didn’t care. He could barely think, let alone censor his words. As she moved up and down, his hand wrapped in her hair so he could watch her, he could feel his abdomen tightening, the tell-tale sign that he was close. He didn’t want to finish her mouth, he wanted to feel her around him first.

“Ci,” he said, her nickname broken in his throat. “Gotta stop, love.”

Her head bounced off of him immediately, eyes studying his. “Why?”

He thumbed at the rise of her cheekbone, then slipped down to her lips, slick from her saliva around him. “Same reason as last time—not gonna last if ya keep goin’.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at him, before moving backwards, falling onto her ankles. “But I…”

His eyebrow quirked at her insinuation. “Did ya like that?”

She blushed, color fanning across her cheeks, and he loved it. “Maybe.”

The chuckle that spilled from his lips had her moving towards him, and he took her gladly, his arms securing around her naked body, eager to have her lie down on top of him. He moved his forearms so that they were under him, pressing up, so he could meet her halfway. They found each other as her legs were moving to either side of his right thigh, finding a perch on his body so that she could balance as they kissed, lips slotting between each other.

Then Harry had a particularly sinful idea, but one he thought she would enjoy. If he entered her now there was no way he would last long enough for her finish—he needed her to catch up to him, and he had just the solution. He moved his hands to her hips, pressing his ring-clad fingers into her skin and ever so slightly, brushed her back and forth across the swell of his thigh.

A sweet, little cry left her lips when her clit brushed across his skin, and Harry soaked in the sound. “How’s that feel?”

Her hands fell to his chest, her thumb brushing across his nipple piercing without meaning so, and it had Harry’s body jolting immediately. When his thigh jumped up, she mewled, curling her fingers into his skin. “You—it—yes,” she rasped. Her hair hung in her face as she leaned onto his chest, using his body to support her weight as he moved her across his thigh. He wondered how his leg hair felt against her skin, if it tickled it the way he imagined.

She was panting above him, and his eyes kept switching between her contorted facial expressions and where her center rubbed over his thigh, unable to decide which one deserved more of his attention. “Want to move on your own, love?” He asked her, squeezing the flesh of her hips.

Slowly, she nodded, and Harry released her hips, letting one of his hands fall to the thigh that was hooked over his own hip, the other pushing her hair out of her face so he could properly see her eyes. They were fluttered shut as she rocked back and forth. The confidence she was exuding was a sharp contrast to other moments they had spent together, but he loved how she was trusting her body, letting it tell her what she needed and how. Watching her take what she needed from him, the slick of her center coating his skin as she moved, it had him tugging his lip into his mouth, teeth biting into the skin.

A breathy, languid moan left her mouth, and Harry rose up, reconnecting their lips so he could absorb her sounds into his lungs. It was give and take, one of his arms around her waist as she moved slightly faster, and she chased the pleasure in her body, pants and moans falling onto his tongue.

“Harry,” she said, words broken as she pulled away, but Harry didn’t let her go. He had her lip caught between her teeth, a mewl from her throat being what finally made him release her. “I need you.”

He pushed at her hair, the feeling of her bending her head into the curve of his palm making his heart thrum. “Ya ready for me, love?”

“Please,” she begged, hands curling into the base of his scalp, her nails prodding at his skin.

He glanced down at their position. Would she want to be on top? He didn’t know. “Do you want to be like this?” She nodded, and so he tugged the knee that was between his legs to the other side of his body. Slowly, she shifted forward and Harry fell back into the pillows, letting her take the lead. He wanted her to take control in whatever ways she wanted, to show him what she desired and pursue it. So he let her hover over him, his fingers drumming on her thighs as she reached between them, her soft hand picking up his cock from where it laid on his stomach, hard and aching for her.

As she moved, her eyes flickered to his and they held one another’s gaze as she sunk down on him, bit by bit just as she had taken him into her mouth, both of their jaws dropping slightly as they reconnected. Cicely was panting above him, one hand anchored on his chest as she adjusted to his size, and Harry’s jaw was clenched, his teeth practically grinding together as he tried to hold himself together.

The feeling of her like this, above him, her hands grappling at his body to gain strength, her knees secured around him, it had him floating and falling at the same time. It was as if he was free-falling through the air and the only thing his mind was able to hold onto was her. The way her neck curved as she threw her head back, the shape of her lips in an O when she moaned at the feeling of him inside her, how her toes curled against his calves.

One of his hands smoothed across her cheek, gripping the spot below her ear, his thumb on her cheek and his fingers pressing into her scalp. The other fell to her waist, his palm cupping the curve of her waist as she sat on him, full and slightly shaking on top of him.

“Ya okay?” He asked, urging her to tell him how she was doing, to check in.

“Yes,” she answered, always a girl for proper words, not his butchered vocabulary from the war and sub-par education, her accent posh and perfect. He loved how it sounded in his ears, like sweet honey on a dessert. “You—you feel so good.”

He knew exactly what she meant, because so did she. And when she rose up on her knees, pressing the tops of her feet down onto his shins for leverage, and then sunk back down, Harry saw stars. The tight grip of her walls around him, sucking him deep into her, filling every nook and cranny. It was as if she was suffocating him, and he didn’t mind in the slightest. “You do too,” he managed to choke out. “Tight—so tight. Fuck, love, you’re too perfect.”

He didn’t realize there were tears falling from the corners of his eyes until she was bending down and licking at them, sopping up his salty tears with her tongue. “Don’t cry,” she murmured, rubbing her cheek against his. “I’m here, I’m not leaving, I’m yours.”

The words had his chest constricting, a ball in his throat he couldn’t swallow. The combination of her words and the tenderness of her touch and the way she was surrounding him was a combination he didn’t know if he could manage. He slipped his arm around her chest and pulled her close to him, wanting her flush to him. The pebbles of her nipples brushed against his, and they both moaned as they kissed, their lips a mess of saliva and hushed promises of love. His necklace nudged against both of their chests, the cold metal shocking to their skin. He helped her move, working her hips over his as she tired in his arms, neither of them wanting it to end.

Her fingers brushed his temples and his eyes fluttered shut, her soft skin always shocking him. He had never met someone who was so soft in every way—her skin, her touches, her words. She was like a warm bed on a Sunday morning that you never wanted to rise from, just wanted to stay curled up with your eyes closed. That’s what he wanted to, to curl up inside of her and let her have him, body and soul.

Their noses bumped and a giggle fell from her lips, the sound of it making him smile. “I love ya,” he whispered, the words caught in the tiny space between them. “Didn’t even know I could feel like this about someone.”

She nudged her lips with his, pecking and pulling at them, nibbling on his bottom lip. “I didn’t either,” she told him. As she rocked back on him, his cock hard and weeping inside of her, she scratched at his scalp, curling her fingers through his hair. “I can’t imagine ever loving someone else how I love you.”

For some reason, those words are what made Harry’s heart and abdomen clench, his orgasm moving through his bones. “Need ya closer,” he mumbled, dropping his head to fall into the crook of her neck. She cradled the back of his head there with one of her hands and then she managed to drop her body more into his, letting all of her weight rest on him.

Harry shifted so that his feet were flat on the bed, and bent his knees, using the position to push up into her. He could feel the exhaustion in her body, how she was holding on for him but was rapidly tiring. When he nudged deeper into her from the position, she whined his name, a Harry curling through the room like a wisp of smoke.

She was tightening around him, walls pressing more and more on his length, and he knew she was nearing her release. He pressed a string of open-mouthed kisses to the skin of her neck and shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent and nosing at the strain of her neck. “Let go for me,” he told her, echoing his words from their first time together, knowing she needed the reassurance. “I need it, love.”

He bucked into her once more, and that combined with a bit of harsh suction on her neck was all it took to have her shaking in his arms, gripping him like a vice. Her nails dug into his scalp and he grunted, pushing up into her two more times to push her through her orgasm. His name spilled from her lips, a prayer and a pleading beg all in one, as she scrambled for more, rocking down onto him. She was dropping her weight into him fully, letting him support her as she fell to pieces in his arms. Then, he pulled her hips up and pressed down into the bed, disconnecting their bodies so he could finish in the narrow space between them, his ropes of come landing on both of their stomachs.

The weight of her against his body as both of their breathing patterns slowed, her head resting on his chest, calmed Harry in a way he hadn’t experienced in so long. Exhaustion settling into his bones, a desire to sleep finally running through his veins. Her fingers danced up his arms, pressing softly into his tattoos and drawing circles on his skin. He was still sticky on his lower abdomen, but he didn’t care and she didn’t seem to either. Neither of them wanted to move from their positions.

“I love you,” she said, breath fanning across his warm, sticky skin. “Somehow, I have this feeling that I’ll love you forever.”

He ran his fingers through the strands of her hair that rested on his shoulder, humming softly. “Hope so.” He was going to wait to do this properly, be on his knees in front of her in a nice suit and everything, but with her pressing tender kisses to his skin and hugging him close, he couldn’t wait any longer. “Ci,” he said, forcing her eyes up to his. “Will you marry me?”

Surprise didn’t even cross her face, just joy. Joy in the way she grinned at him, how her hands grabbed at his cheeks tugging his head towards hers so that their foreheads rested on each others. “Yes. A million times yes.”

A rare graced Harry’s features, his heart soaring so high he didn’t know if he would ever come down. “Yeah? Ya will?”

“Already said,” she told him, nuzzling her nose to his cheek. “Need me to say it again?”

“Maybe a couple of times.” This banter between them was new, but Harry loved it. How comfortable they were in one another’s presence, how he was able to let his guard down for her, how no matter what thoughts crossed his mind they were safe in her hands.

Cicely leaned her elbows onto his chest, picking her body up, so she could properly hover over him. “Yes,” she said, pressing a kiss to his brow. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.” She peppered her lips across every bit of his face, covering his features with her lips until he was tugging at her head, a chuckle leaving his chest.

Harry was happy. It was a happiness he hadn’t felt in years, one without end, seemingly stretching into infinity. It felt almost like a dream, and he never wanted to wake up. “I was goin’ to propose to ya properly,” he admitted, pulling her head back down onto his chest. “Couldn’t wait though.”

“Hmm,” she hummed into his skin. “I wouldn’t mind if you did it again.”

“Yeah?” He kissed the top of her head as she settled into his skin. “Maybe I will.”

Her fingers brushed across his skin, tracing the bird cage tattoo. “I can’t believe you’re mine.” Her words were a whisper, but in the silence of their room is rang loudly.

“I’m the one who should be shocked,” he informed her, pinching at her hip. “I’m just some scrappy boxer. You’re this beautiful creature with class and poise who decided I could possibly be worthy.”

Cicely picked up her head, resting her chin on his chest. “That’s not true. You’re so much more than that to me.” Her hands ran across his cheeks, pushing at the tendrils of his hair with a tenderness that made Harry want to cry again. “You’re strong, you’re honest, you’re loving. You fight for what you believe in, even when it’s hard. You have fought in battles on every field imaginable, home and abroad, and you haven’t given up on life. You’re still you, even if you hide it from people a bit. How on earth could I not find you worthy?”

Harry ducked his head, and exhaled into her skin. Her words had struck a chord in him one that ripped through the walls he had constructed years ago and laid him bare for all to see. “I’ll always fight for ya,” he told her, voice raw and rough against her ear. “Every single day of my life.”

They looked at each other, the waves crashing against the shore outside their hotel in a tiny town, far from the worries that would one day reach them. For now, though, it was Harry and Cicely, Cicely and Harry, a combination no one expected but worked perfectly all the same.

That night, Harry was roused from his nightmares with soft touches to his cheeks and his name a hushed drawl in his ear, Cicely hovering over him and naked against his skin. His heart hammered in his chest, struggling to breathe as he hovered in that place between the dream and reality, trying to piece together what was happening, where he was, unsure if she was even real. He had dreamt of her for so long, so holding her hips as he inhaled slowly made him consider that perhaps he had never woken up in the first place.

“Harry,” she murmured, brushing a hand over his cheek. “I’m here, baby.”

The name made his heart clench, and his fingers dug into her skin, his breath coming choppy into his lungs. “Remind me,” he begged, voice broken. “Remind me of reality, Ci.”

Without a pause, she began to speak, telling him their story in the darkness of their room, perched on his lap. She told him about the moment when she first saw his face, about how she fell in love with him because of his hesitant touches and loving glances, how she craved him every second that they were apart. In hushed tones, she described their reunion, the first one and now the second one. Told him about how much she loved him, pressing a kiss to his ring finger where she would one day place a ring of her own on the man she adored with her whole being. By the time her story ended, Harry could breathe again, his face pressed to the valley of her breasts as she held his head, cradling him against her heart. They stayed like that until he could sleep again, and when he did, the ghosts of his past were nowhere to be found. Instead, they were filled with bright hues and her, her face in a kaleidoscope of color and emotion that he wouldn’t be able to describe even if he had the entire dictionary at his disposal.

Perhaps they were built for one another, constructed with equal similarities and differences, designed to balance one another’s ebbs and flows like nature did. His roughness matched by her tenderness, her exuberance tempered by his earnestness, their pasts both painful for different reasons, enough to where they understood pain and how to heal each other. Two sides of the same coin.

Or, perhaps, just two people unequivocally and endlessly in love.

THAT’S IT! come into my inbox and tell me your thoughts, feelings, emotions, favorite parts, etc. i love u all xo

TAGLIST: @autumn-sunflowers @afire-hes @harrydobedirectioning @harryinsweatersandbandanas @vapingisntmything @frindgeyy @froggystyles @magical-mischief-makers @heslilac @ursogoldenshan @hhh33-3l @grace-ful-gold @tbslenthusiast @smirkingstyles @taeboonie @samjo1986

#harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x mc #harry styles smut #1920s!harry #1920s harry #Boxer!Harry #boxer harry styles #harry styles boxer #harry styles boxer au #harry styles historical fic #boxer au #peaky blinders x harry styles

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kissinginkitchens · 3 years

Text

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Nine: Friday

a/n: happy friday lovies!! I am soooo excited for y’all to read this one bc it was my favvv chapter to write and I still get emo over it :’) also I think I should maybe let you all know that we only have two more chapters left in this series, and I can not thank you enough for all of the love and support you have shown it. It has been such a blast hearing your thoughts and sharing Halani with all of you lovely people, and I can’t believe the fun is almost over :( BUT we still have some time before we have to think about that soooo without further ado here is the next chapter, I hope you enjoy it :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character (Halani <3)

Warnings: swearing, some suggestive humor

Word Count: 9.5k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight

Monday

Harry takes a deep breath and raises his arms above his head, feeling every vertebrae stretch as he lies flat against the surfboard. The beaming sunlight warms him down to the bone and it threatens to lull him to sleep, but his attention is too occupied with the various sounds coming from each direction. Out of his right ear, he hears the waves lapping against the shore and the faint sound of children’s laughter. From his left, Mitch and Tom engage in a serious conversation about sharks. He lets one foot slide off the edge of the board and wade into the water below, all the while resisting the paranoia that he will be the next victim of Jaws thanks to his friends’ discussion.

“I’m gonna go switch out the camera.” Paul says beside him, already swimming back to the shore.

Harry gives a thumbs up in acknowledgement and lets the back of his hand rest against his forehead. He floats for a moment longer before swinging his other leg into the water and sitting up. His feet gently tread below the surface and he studies the area for any fish sightings, but his shoulders slump in disappointment when he doesn’t find any.

“I just think,” Mitch defends, legs crossed on his own surfboard. “That I would survive way longer than you,”

“It’s not a fuckin’ zombie apocalypse, survival rate depends on how severe the attack is,” Tom shoots back.

“Not if you’re smart,”

“Right, good thinking, mate. Just yell the Pythagorean theorem and swim away while the bloody thing tries to solve it,”

“You just don’t get it.”

“Stop bein’ a coward, then, and put your feet in the water.”

Harry shakes his head in amusement and continues scanning the scene for something else to occupy his attention. His eyes momentarily land on a couple in the distance, the pair facing each other on their shared surfboard and laughing. He smiles softly and glances back to the shore where his group has set up camp for the afternoon. Squinting, he tries to determine the time of day using the sun’s position overhead, but quickly gives up and swims back to the beach. The sand clings to his wet toes as he jogs over to his bag and digs inside for his phone. The time reads 2:37–Alani’s shift will be over soon.

She stifles another yawn and punches in her customer’s order, re-typing it when she realizes that it’s littered with errors. Her mind had been in a permanent fog since she woke up at 6:45 this morning. Harry had already slipped out by the time she reached over for him, but he left a note on his pillow this time.

GOOD MORNING SWEETS!

SORRY I HAD TO JET SO EARLY :( I’LL SEE YOU AFTER WORK.

H ☼

P.S. ALREADY MISSING YOUR LITTLE SNORES ♡

As if on cue, Alani’s phone vibrates in her back pocket and she slips it out to read the new text.

Harry: Meet me at Honoli’i after your shift?

She really wants to, but she’s also in desperate need of sleep.

Alani: Gonna take a power nap first, but I’ll be there

Harry: Can’t wait xx

********

In the distance, Harry hears The Cure blasting from a car in the parking lot. He hums along and picks at his bowl of fruit, saving the kiwis for Alani who once said they were her favorite. Jeff and Paul laugh about something between the two of them before the director catches Harry’s attention.

“How long you planning on staying here?” he asks.

Harry checks his phone again and the time reads 4:35. He wasn’t entirely sure how long Alani’s nap was supposed to last, but just as he’s about to answer, a text comes through.

Alani: Heading over. See you soon, sunshine💗

He smiles softly and shuts his phone off. “I actually have a surfing lesson at five. But I’ll meet you guys at the house after.”

Paul, the two Jeffs, Mitch, and Tom bid Harry farewell and decide to take a drive along the coast before heading to dinner. They mention the name of the restaurant they plan to go to, but Harry knows he’ll probably skip it and take Alani somewhere else. He sits back on his elbows, watching the palm trees sway in the breeze, when suddenly his vision goes dark when he feels hands over his eyes.

“Guess who,”

“The Queen of England?”

“Yes and I’m here to colonize your land and steal your jewels,” Alani jokes in a posh British accent. She leans over his head so they partake in an upside down kiss before settling into the sand beside him.

“You’ve already had my family jewels,” he teases with a suggestive wiggle of his brows.

Alani scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You are so insufferable sometimes, I swear to God,”

Harry lies back and rests his head in her lap with a shit-eating-grin plastered to his face. The damp locks along his hairline are curled and Alani twirls the pieces between her fingers.

“Saved y’some kiwis,” he informs her, nodding in the direction of his tote bag.

“Aw thanks, baby,”

“How was your day?”

Alani removes the lid and pops a slice of kiwi into her mouth. “Long, boring, tiring. A lot better now,”

“Feel the same way,”

“How’s your project going?” she questions, curious about his recent, mysterious whereabouts.

He shrugs. “S’fine, yeah,”

“What exactly is it, again?”

“It’s a,” Harry starts slowly. “Video thing… kind of,”

Alani narrows her eyes and lifts another piece of fruit to her lips. “Meaning?”

“It’s like—following uh.. the album ‘n stuff,”

“Ah the elusive album,” Alani nods. “Will I ever get to hear any of it?”

“Yeah,”

“When?”

“Dunno,” he blinks. “When’re you gonna let me read that article of yours?”

She smirks and taps her fork against her lower lip. “When it’s ready,”

“Then I’m withholding my thing ‘til it’s ready too,”

“That’s not fair,” she objects. “My article is contingent on your music,”

“One song,” Harry bargains, holding up his index finger. “In exchange for one paragraph. Seems fair to me,”

“Deal,”

He sits up suddenly and opens his mouth as an unspoken request for a kiwi. Alani tosses it in his direction and to her surprise, he catches it effortlessly.

“You really are a freak of nature,” she marvels. “What can’t you do?”

“Stay away from you, apparently,”

“Ditto,”

“D’you wanna head to the water for a bit?” Harry asks, his eyes landing on the board cast to the side.

Alani nods. “Sure thing,”

She strips down to the pink two piece underneath her clothes and accepts his outstretched hand. They shuffle through the sand, joint hands swinging, but Harry stops and scans her face when they reach the edge.

“What?” Alani asks, already dipping her toes in the water.

He runs his thumb over hers and starts hesitantly. “I know the water is kind of…”

“Oh,” she finishes when he trails off. “Yeah. I mean, for the most part I’m okay with it. Last time was just—I wasn’t expecting it,”

“I’m really sorry for that.” Harry apologizes with a somber look in his eye.

Alani reaches her free hand out to his cheek and offers a comforting smile. “No, it’s okay. I actually used to be pretty good at surfing,”

“Oh?”

“Haven’t really done it in years, though. I’m probably really rusty now,”

“Well maybe it’s time to get back on the horse,” Harry urges, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of her palm before leading them further into the waves. Alani gets up on the board first and it's clear that she’s a natural despite the lack of practice. Her muscles fall into a mesmerizing rhythm as they repeat the very motions she had done thousands of times before her accident. Harry’s eyes carefully study the precision of her determined arms slicing through the water and the way her feet gracefully meet the board once she’s found a strong enough wave. She glides back to the beach and revels in the familiar feeling of the ocean breeze against her skin. Harry whistles from the distance as she reaches the shore, turning back to him with a wide grin and two thumbs up.

“Your turn,” she calls, paddling towards him on her stomach.

Harry replaces her on the board and winces. “Maybe I should’ve gone first,”

“You’re gonna do great,” Alani insists. “Tighten your core muscles. Oh! And bend your knees, not your back. Just trust your instincts and follow through,”

He follows her advice and to his surprise, does well, though not nearly as graceful as she had. Despite this, Alani cheers from the side as he glides back to the beach. Harry takes a bow once his feet have safely met the sand below.

“I knew you could do it,” she beams when he swims back to her.

“Couldn’t have done it without my amazing coach,” he shoots back, leaning down to press a salty kiss to her lips.

With Harry’s help, she swings her leg over the board and sits so that they face each other. Their legs paddle gently below the surface and his hand finds the top of her knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

“You were incredible out there,” he muses. “Can’t even tell that you’re out of practice,”

She wrings her hair out and fastens it into a low bun at the base of her neck. “Guess it’s like riding a bike—the muscle memory and all that,”

“You’re a great coach, you know. Cause I usually just wipe out,”

“That’s normal,” Alani nods. “You have to get used to falling. And wait for the right wave,”

Harry admires the way the afternoon sun sets her aglow, skin shimmering and golden under the rays. “How d’you know when it’s the right one?”

“You just feel it I guess. It’s like a gut instinct that you have to follow. And no second guessing yourself, either, cause that’s when you mess up,”

“What if you do go for it and you still wipe out?” He questions, something besides surfing in the back of his mind.

Alani sighs. “Then you wipe out,”

“You just have to trust?”

“You just have to trust,”

Harry hums as he considers this. Three burning syllables bounce around in his skull, but he suppresses them for the time being. Carefully, he lifts himself to his feet and motions for Alani to do the same. It takes them a second to find their balance on the board, but eventually they do and Harry brings her closer with a protective hand on the middle of her back.

“D’you trust me?” he murmurs.

Alani studies the different shades of green in his irises and feels a flutter deep in the pit of her belly, so she decides to take her own advice and presses a soft kiss to his warm lips before responding.

“Yes.”

Carefully, Harry takes a step back and twirls Alani before pulling her flush to his chest and swaying to the music stuck in his brain. As best they can, the pair dances on the surface of the board but Harry’s foot gets caught in a slick spot and he tumbles backwards, bringing Alani with him. When they emerge, his heart races in worry, but the knot in his chest eases when he hears her laughter.

“Y’okay?” he checks.

“Yeah,” she assures him, her legs snaking around his torso under the water. “I’m alright.”

The sky turns pink as they continue to wade peacefully in the water, and the entire time Harry finds himself fixated on the weight of the three little words nagging at the back of his brain.

********

Tuesday

“Say it again,”

“No,”

“Please?”

Harry shoots Alani an unamused look through the corner of his eye. “Dunno what’s so funny about it,”

“Just say it one more time,” she pleads with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Tuesday,”

“Chews day,” Alani mimics and Harry rolls his eyes.

“You’re so clever,” he huffs. “Really, a true comedian,”

She giggles and leans over in her seat to press a kiss to his cheek. “It’s cute!”

“Yeah, whatever,”

“Okay, just one more—”

“Alani,” Harry chuckles, more endeared than irritated. “Don’t make me turn this car around,”

She pouts playfully and returns to watching the trees and passing cars. “At least I’m not asking you where we’re going,”

“You are so stubborn,” he shakes his head. “I told you we’re almost there,”

“I just don’t understand what it is with you and keeping secrets,”

“It’s about the mystery, darlin’, it’s romantic! Just trust me, okay? Have I ever steered you wrong?”

Alani nibbles at the skin on her lower lip and folds her arms. “No,”

“Okay, then,” Harry says finally. “Now change the song. I let you have fun with one Taylor, but it’s getting old,”

“Hater,” she grumbles, shuffling through the rest of her playlists before settling on Madonna.

Harry’s finger taps along to the beat against her thigh and his lips turn up when he hears Alani singing along. Her eyes are focused on the road ahead of them as she pretends to be in a music video of her own, creating hand gestures and choreography to accompany the lyrics. The chorus builds and she belts out the words as if her life depends on it.

“I’m crazy for you!” She performs, squishing Harry’s cheeks between her hands. “Touch me once and you’ll know it’s true. I never wanted anyone like this, it’s all brand new. You’ll feel it in my kiss,”

Alani presses a slobbery smooch to the side of his face and he groans, laughing when she continues melodramatically. The song goes on for another minute and Alani sings passionately out of tune, but it makes Harry’s heart swell. He briefly considers joining her, but decides to let her have her moment, too amused by the way she’s caught up in the emotion. When it’s finally over, she slumps down in her seat with a dazed look in her eye.

“Gotta love the 80s,”

“Maybe I should let you join the band,” Harry suggests.

“Really?

“No,”

Alani gasps in mock offense, her eyes wide. “Hey!”

“Yeah,” he smirks. “Doesn’t feel so good, does it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she dismisses offhandedly. “I’m a sweetie,”

“A sweet pain in my arse,”

“Arse? Did you really just say arse?”

“I take it back, you’re just a regular pain.”

The two of them drive for another forty-five minutes taking playful jabs at each other and watching the lush greenery whizz by. Harry had been characteristically cryptic in his instructions the night before, an idea suddenly popping into his mind when Alani reminded him of her day off. He had told her to wear something comfortable and practical, nothing that could flow easily in the wind. Furthermore, he revealed that he would pick her up at exactly 7:00 a.m. which made her eyebrows shoot up.

“Seven?”

“It’ll be worth it, promise,”

“Can we at least get McDonald’s hash browns for the road?” Alani had bargained.

Harry chuckled to himself, too excited to deny her. “Sure thing, sweets.”

Welcome to Waikōloa Beach, the sign read and Alani wondered what could possibly have possessed Harry to drag her out of bed and across the island at the crack of dawn. Her question was quickly answered when they turned onto Keana Place where a lot full of helicopters were lined up and waiting.

“‘Big Island Tours’,” she reads aloud. “Wait a minute, we’re not—”

“Surprise!” Harry beams, reaching behind her seat for a bag.

Alani scoffs, her mind still trying to process. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Come on,” he pleads. “Been dying to do it since I got here,”

“So bring Mitch! Or Jeff, or Tom or literally anyone else,”

Harry gives her a pout and bats his lashes. “But I’d rather be with you. Please?”

“Harry,” she sighs, taking another glance at the helicopters before her. They did seem secure enough, enclosed on all sides, and he had driven an hour and a half just to surprise her with something fun and totally outside of her comfort zone.

“Trust me?” he asks after a minute, kissing her knuckles gently.

Alani takes a deep breath and nods. “Fine.”

They exit the SUV and Harry takes her hand, slinging his bag over his shoulder. There’s a short, stocky man with dark sunglasses standing in front of one of the helicopters with a clipboard. He checks his watch when he sees the two of them approaching and reaches out a hand.

“Mr. Styles?”

“Harry,”

“Nice to meet you Harry, I’m Matt,” the pilot says with a firm handshake. “Is this your guest?”

“Alani,” she greets. “Is this…”

“It’s very safe,” Matt assures her with a warm smile.

Harry squeezes her hand gently and looks over their mode of transportation. “How long’ve you been doin’ this?”

“Almost ten years,” the pilot explains. “I was a commercial pilot for twenty-five and then started this when I retired,”

“I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of nervous fliers, then,” Alani speaks up, attempting humor to mask her jitters.

Matt nods with a knowing smile. “Oh yeah. Plenty of anxious girlfriends who kick their boyfriends for dragging them into it, but they always enjoy themselves in the end,”

Alani’s cheeks warm at his assumption of their relationship status, but neither her nor Harry address it. Instead, Harry clears his throat and asks his next question.

“So when can we go up?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Matt offers.

Once the three of them have settled into the aircraft, he hands Harry and Alani each a headset and goes over the basic safety rules. Her heart races and stomach turns, but she takes a deep breath and wills herself to give it a chance. Beside her, Harry is enthusiastically chatting up Matt and being his usual charming self; his confidence is reassuring and she finds herself sinking deeper into his side for comfort. He drapes an arm over her shoulders protectively, sensing her nerves, and presses a firm kiss to her temple. After a few minutes of discussion with the air base over the radio, Matt gives them a thumbs up and signals that they’re ready to go. Another deep breath and they’re off, the ground growing smaller and smaller below. They skim over Waikōloa Village and head west to Waiulua Bay where the water is so clear and blue, Harry has a hard time believing it’s real. Alani peers down at the tiny people all along the coast and in the water and her throat goes dry. She feels Harry nudge her shoulder lightly and looks over to where his finger is pointed.

“Down there you can swim with dolphins,” he says. “Looked it up last night,”

“And we’re not doing that because...?”

Harry flashes a dimpled grin and laughs softly to himself. “How are you not enjoying this?”

“I am,” Alani insists, which is steadily becoming true. She watches in amazement as they hover over the expanse of the lush, green landscape along the coast.

Over the headset, Matt points out some key landmarks and answers more of Harry’s questions. They pass over an active volcano and Alani momentarily feels a rush of terror, but her curiosity takes over as she snaps a photo of the molten lava below. She captures another one of Harry looking out his window before flipping the camera to selfie mode and making a peace sign. He turns to tell her something, but flashes a cheesy grin and presses a kiss to her cheek when he notices the camera. Alani writes a mental note to make it her lock screen later.

After half an hour in the air, Matt points to the cliff on their right hand side and says they’ll be landing there for a bit as part of the tour. A 200 foot waterfall feeds into a small pool and he lands them on a ledge across the way. The three of them exit the helicopter, but Matt says that he needs to check in with the base and lets them explore the site alone for a few minutes.

“This is incredible,” Alani marvels, looking over the edge.

“Knew you’d like it,”

She turns to him and snakes her arms around his shoulders, leaving a small peck to his lips. “Thank you,”

While she had been almost one-hundred percent sure that she would never enjoy a helicopter ride, Alani is glad that she was wrong. She is even more grateful that Harry had encouraged, but hadn’t pushed, her to try it. If Alani had been absolutely against the idea, she knows that he wouldn’t have pressed it any further and would have taken her to do something more her speed, hence the dolphin back up plan. It sometimes felt like they were from entirely different worlds, Harry being more sure of himself and adventurous while Alani was careful and preferred to have things planned. But he made her feel brave and spontaneous without pressuring her to change anything about herself. Harry had seen something special in her and wanted the whole world to see it, too. So he encouraged her to break out of her comfort zone and let her true self shine, but only at her own discretion. Over the course of the past few weeks, Alani had noticed herself opening up to new experiences and loving every minute of it, but this transformative feeling was far from one sided; because of their relationship, Harry learned the value of trusting his own instincts. For so much of his life, he felt like a member of an overcrowded democracy allowing himself to go with the majority rule even if it didn’t particularly please him. From their earliest moments spent together, Harry was inspired by Alani’s determination and self-confidence. He had always cared deeply about other people’s opinion of him and felt that it was his greatest weakness, but she seemed so unapologetically herself at all times. And though Harry sometimes worried that he was simply playing a part for the rest of the world, he never had to question who he was with Alani. She understood him, she grounded him, and amidst all of the unfamiliarity in his new life, she felt familiar and safe.

“You deserve it,” Harry says gently. “To see beautiful things.”

Alani presses their foreheads together and studies his emerald eyes like they’re the rarest gems she’s ever seen. “Well I’m looking at the best damn view right now,”

“Although, I wish you would’ve told me we were going to Jurassic Park, I would’ve prepared my Laura Dern outfit.”

Harry laughs softly and slots his lips between hers, those three, pesky little words nagging at him again. Not yet, he thinks, but almost there.

********

Wednesday

Alani takes an extended lunch and heads over to the recording studio with food for Harry and his friends. He had warned her beforehand that there would be filming, so they agreed to pretend, just for the afternoon, that she was his assistant. However, their true relationship was as much of a mystery to the both of them as it was to everyone else. Alani had considered, on many occasions, asking him to officially be her boyfriend. She didn’t know how else to refer to him when her mom had started inquiring about the Range Rover mysteriously parked across the street every morning. Each time Alani had gotten up the nerve to ask, however, she secretly worried that it was too soon, or worse, that he would say no. Much to her oblivion Harry had also wrestled with this question, and many others, but also feared her response. What they shared was undeniably strong and completely foreign, so they had independently decided not to put too much weight on the situation in fear of bursting the bubble too soon. Neither of them were prepared to deal with the fallout if it all came crumbling down.

“Lunch is here!” Jeff calls from the doorway as he escorts Alani inside.

He motions her over to the table in one corner of the room and helps her lay out the food, thanking her warmly when she declines payment.

“It’s on the house,” she reassures him.

The crew all take turns grabbing their lunch, Mitch ruffling Alani’s hair in a display of gratitude while he swipes his burger, and settle into various chairs and comfortable spots around the studio. Harry is the last one to claim his food and he lingers around the table as he does so.

“Thank you, Ms. Hale,” he offers politely, itching to give her an appreciative kiss.

She nods and returns the professionalism. “You’re very welcome, Mr. Styles,”

“How’s the weather?”

By now, Alani has come to recognize this as his go-to inquiry when he’s really asking for her attention or affection.

“Full of sunshine,”

“Glad to hear it.” he smiles softly. The casual slip of his nickname isn’t lost on him.

“Hey Harry,” the director calls. “Show Jason that Bob Dylan thing you were doing—watch, you’ll love this.”

Harry musters up a pleasant smile and quickly glances at Alani, wanting nothing more than to escape with her for the precious few moments she has left to spare.

“Occupational hazard.” she shrugs as her cue of permission. His fond look turns apologetic before he saunters over to the rest of the group.

Alani watches, amused, as he lifts a guitar and starts strumming a tune that she hadn’t heard before with a Dylan-esque lilt in his voice. The crew all laugh and encourage his impression, but she still wonders what the song is and reminds herself to ask later. After a few moments with the rest of the group, Harry’s eyes wander to Alani munching on a french fry and scrolling on her phone. Jeff notices this too and decides to help his friend out.

“Hey Alani,” he calls. “Come sit with us,”

She looks over to Harry and he grins eagerly, making room on the couch between him and Mitch.

“Alani makes the best smoothies in the world.” Jeff comments to the film crew.

“It’s true,” Mitch adds. “Harry loves ‘em.”

A subtle glare radiates from the singer, but Mitch simply winks in response.

“Well, you guys are my favorite customers,” Alani offers. “But don’t tell the others,”

The whole team makes Alani feel welcome and she’s endlessly thankful for it, making an effort to engage every crew member in some sort of small talk as evidence of her gratitude. Harry enjoys her presence among his friends and how easily she fits in. It serves as further proof of what his gut already knew: she was a missing puzzle piece in the image of his ideal life slowly coming together before his eyes. Alani checks the time an hour later and starts bidding farewell to the group, much to their disappointment. As she slips out the door and over to the Bronco, a familiar accented voice calls from behind. Before she has time to respond, a pair of warm lips meet hers and she hums.

“They’re all goin’ out for dinner at 5,” Harry explains gently. “Come back to the studio then, I have somethin’ I wanna show you.”

********

It’s 5:10 when Alani makes her way back to Napua. Harry had texted her beforehand to say that the door would be open, so she lets herself in and scans the quiet room. She hears the soft keys of a piano, but the room is dim and she has to get closer to see that it’s Harry seated there. Candles are perched around the room and Alani watches her step, reaching a hand to Harry’s shoulder when she reaches him. He stops playing and flashes a soft smile, inviting her to join him on the bench.

“Digging the ambience,” Alani remarks lightly, not entirely reading his mood.

He shrugs. “Just felt right,”

Harry’s fingers return to the keys and he starts with a somber chord that makes Alani’s breath hitch. His vocals are raw and gritty, but stronger than she had ever heard him sing and it nearly moves her to tears. She hangs on every word and burns them into her mind for safe keeping, though she doubts that she could ever forget this moment even if she tried. Harry picks up into the chorus and leaves nothing behind, diving straight into the wave without fear of wiping out. Alani tries, but she can’t contain the tears that spill over her cheek. It’s as if every ounce of apprehension and anxiety, every doubt and moment of insecurity is cleansed from her soul right in this very moment. When the song comes to an end, she immediately wishes to relive it and tries to find the right words in response.

“That was incredible,” Alani clears her throat. “What’s it called?”

“Sign of the Times,” he responds. “Not really sure about it,”

She furrows her brows in confusion, but quickly realizes that he’s being honest and not fishing for compliments.

“Why?”

“It’s… different,”

“Than?”

He thinks for a moment and chooses his next words carefully. “Anything I‘ve ever done before,”

“And why’s that bad?” Alani questions with a comforting hand weaving its way into his hair.

“Dunno,” Harry sighs, leaning into her touch. “I just don’t wanna get it wrong,”

At this moment, “it” isn’t just the song. Everything about his new solo career, and his life in general, is a toss up, and one that he isn’t sure will land in his favor. Alani has no doubts, though, not when it comes to her faith in Harry’s abilities.

“Are you happy?” she asks.

He looks over to her and thinks that he couldn’t possibly be more content. “Yeah,”

“Then you’re already succeeding. If you’re happy with what you’re doing, then no one can tell you that you’re not successful,”

Harry feels his own wave of emotions pooling at the bottom of his lash line and he’s grateful that the low lighting conceals it. He closes the gap between their lips, palm secure against the side of Alani’s face as he keeps her close.

“There’s somethin’ else I wanted to talk to you about,” Harry says gently and Alani feels her heartbeat pick up.

“Okay,”

He isn’t sure how to approach the subject, despite the fact that it’s been the only thing on his mind for days, so he decides to trust his gut and speak from the heart.

“These past few weeks with you,” he starts slowly. “Have been the best of my entire life. When I’m with you, it’s like nothing else in the entire world matters, and nothing bad could ever happen to me because there’s you,”

Another tear rolls down Alani’s face and Harry wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.

“All I asked for was a chance,” he continues. “And it feels like you’ve given me the entire world. Do you remember the day when we saw that rainbow?”

“Yes,” Alani nods, voice small.

“You told me to wish for something, and I did. I wished for a home. I didn’t know why, but that word wouldn’t leave me alone after you said it. But I think I understand it now, because I’m in a place I’ve never been before, physically and in my life generally, but you make it feel like home. You bring me home,”

Alani feels as if all of the air inside her lungs has been sucked out, and her grip on Harry’s wrist tightens because she worries that if he lets go, she’ll float away like a helium balloon.

“I know I’m not perfect,” Harry continues, voice wavering. “But this thing we have feels like it could set the world on fire, and I’d gladly walk in the flames for you. So would you please say you’ll be mine and let me prove it?”

“Yes,” Alani breathes, tears of relief and joy still streaming down her face. “But I need a moment to compose an appropriate girlfriend acceptance speech,”

Harry grins and presses their lips together as if she’s the only source of air.

“Seriously,” Alani chuckles when they pull apart. “Cause how the fuck could I top that?”

“Y’don’t need to. Saying yes was all I needed,”

She unclasps her fingers from his, draping her arms around his shoulders instead, and takes a deep breath. “You’re everything, you know that? You’re the sun and the whole universe revolves around you.”

“And you’re the most heavenly moon,” Harry responds thinking back to the meaning of her name. “Mahealani.”

********

Thursday

When Alani’s father had asked for her help setting up a wedding that was taking place at the resort this weekend, she jumped at the chance. It wasn’t often that she got to be involved in the events at Honu, but she adored the luxurious five star hotel and all of its amenities. She had helped her dad cater numerous events over the years and weddings were her absolute favorite, especially because of the beautiful gowns and all of the blissfully happy couples. It felt like a privilege to glimpse into the most special moments in the lives of strangers she would probably never see again. Alani had been tasked with meeting the bride and collecting any last minute meal cards or notes of dietary restrictions from guests. The wedding was to take place the following night, but all the food prep would begin that afternoon in order to adequately prepare.

“I think that’s all. There were just a few last minute adjustments,” the bride, Mila, says pulling out an envelope from her bag.

“No offense,” Alani starts. “But shouldn’t you be resting? I mean isn’t the maid of honor supposed to do all this? Or a wedding planner?”

Mila sighs, an embarrassed smile spreading across her rosy lips. “I know, I’m just a bit of a control freak. I like things done a certain way,”

“Totally understandable,”

“Like the music thing,” Mila rolls her eyes. “It was my fiancé’s idea. He said that DJs were boring and wanted to let the guests choose their own songs, instead. So that was my compromise. I’m trying,”

Alani offers a chuckle and shuffles the last of the cards into her stack. “Sounds like you’re already mastering this whole marriage thing,”

“Are you married?” the bride asks, curiously.

“Oh, no I’m not,”

“Got a boyfriend?”

Alani’s cheeks warm and her lips curl. “Yes,”

“Knew it,” Mila comments with a knowing smirk. “You’re too pretty to be single. And you’ve got the look,”

“What look?” Alani questions.

Mila flutters her lashes and sighs. “The ‘I’m in love and I don’t care who knows it’ look. Like a Disney princess,”

Alani laughs shyly and focuses her attention back to the envelopes in front of her.

“What’s his name?” the bride pries.

“Harry,”

“That’s a good one,” Mila considers tapping her lower lip. “Like the Prince of England. Maybe you will be a princess, after all,”

Alani is amused by the irony of her statement, but she chooses not to disclose the fact that her boyfriend actually is British, albeit, not a Royal. Instead, she chooses to deflect the attention back onto the bride.

“And what’s your lucky guy’s name?”

“Chad,”

“Like the country,”

“Yeah,” Mila giggles. “Like the country,”

“And what’s he like?”

Mila rests her chin in her hand and a dreamy look settles into her hazel eyes. “Funny. He wanted to be a comedian, but he became a lawyer, instead. That’s how we met— law school,”

“What kind of law do you practice?”

“Ironic enough,” Mila chuckles. “Family and divorce law. I never thought I’d get married, I mean I literally hear about people falling out of love every day. But the thing about love is that it’s effort, and a lot of people aren’t willing to put in the work. It doesn’t feel like work when it’s the right person, though. Just feels like ‘how can I be the best possible partner to this human that I love so much?’”

Alani considers this, her mind immediately wandering to Harry and all of his thoughtful gestures. “Makes sense,”

“Chad is a patent lawyer,” Mila continues. “He’s the more creative, outgoing one, I guess. He makes things light when it gets too heavy, you know? It’s good to have someone like that,”

“Yeah, definitely,”

“What’s your guy like? What does he do?” Mila asks with a flirty grin.

“He’s, uh,” Alani thinks for a second trying to be as vague as possible. “A musician,”

Mila gives an approving nod. “Dreamy. Bet he writes lots of songs about you,”

“Maybe,”

“Don’t be shy,” Mila urges. “Come on, it’s just us girls. Spill,”

Alani thinks for a moment and imagines that the same dream cloud must be present over her own features.

“Well he’s kind, thoughtful, romantic, and wise. Really funny, too. I don’t know he just—he makes me wanna be a better person, really,”

“Wow,” the bride marvels. “Sounds like a hell of a guy,”

“He is,”

Mila leans in conspiratorially and Alani does the same. “Speaking as an expert, I think it’s gonna last forever,”

“You think?” Alani asks.

“Oh yeah,” Mila assures her. “When you’re so used to studying fake love, you get really good at recognizing the real deal,”

Alani offers her an appreciative smile and nods. “Thank you,”

Mila’s eyes light up suddenly and she grabs Alani by both hands. “Hey you should bring him! Yeah, you two should come, I insist,”

“Oh, I—”

“Please, say you will! Maybe he can throw in some good music recommendations to offset the terrible ones,”

Alani chuckles and she knows immediately that Harry would leap at the chance to do so. “Okay, sure.”

“Yay!” Mila cheers, reaching into her planner and jotting a note down. “Harry and Alani at the lovebird’s table.”

********

“Hey, sweets,” Harry beams, pulling up to the front of the hotel in the Cadillac. “Waiting on your boyfriend or are you just in the habit of standing on sidewalks lookin’ cute?”

“The former,” Alani responds coyly. “He’ll be here any minute,”

“And he’s got a pretty girl like you waiting outside like this? You should dump him,”

She shrugs and turns on her heel for a stroll while Harry gently eases off the breaks to follow. “I don’t know, I’m kinda fond of him,”

“S’that so?” he continues with a smirk.

“Yup,” she sighs. “He’s kind of a dork, but I like that about him,”

“Heyyy—”

“And he’s a good kisser. The best at cuddling, too,”

“Sounds like a catch,”

“He is. You two should meet sometime,”

The car comes to a halt and Alani slips inside, scooting all the way down the bench seat next to Harry.

“Funny, you should be a comedian,” he quips.

Alani’s brow furrows and she shoots him a doe-eyed look. “What’s the joke?”

Harry laughs dryly, ignoring the pang of irrational jealousy that strikes him in the chest. “You’re a little too good at this bit, it’s starting to feel like we're not talkin’ about me anymore,”

“Oh, were we supposed to be talking about you?”

His head whips over to Alani who clutches her stomach with laughter. “I’m kidding, baby, of course I’m talking about you,”

“No, who is he?” Harry demands playfully with a deep furrow between his brows. “Tell me, I’ll hurt him,”

Alani slots their lips together and his pout eases into a grin.

“Hey what are you doing tomorrow night?” she asks, feeling the ocean breeze through her hair.

Harry flashes a dimple in her direction. “Anything you want, s’long as we’re together,”

“Will you be my plus one?”

“To?”

“A wedding,” Alani explains. “The one my dad’s catering at Honu,”

His eyebrows raise and he smiles wide. “Are we crashing it?”

“No,” she laughs. “We were invited. I was hanging out with the bride today and she added us to the list,”

“‘Kay, but I’m still gonna pretend we crashed it,”

Alani drapes her arms around his shoulders and leans her head against his. “Where are we going?”

“Damn, I thought I had you distracted,”

“Boyfriend rule #1: You have to tell me where we’re going always,”

Harry narrows his eyes. “That’s not a real rule because surprises are romantic,”

“Too bad,” Alani shrugs.

“But don’t you enjoy my surprises?”

“Usually,”

“Then I’m adding a new rule,” Harry bargains. “The girlfriend can not ask the boyfriend to disclose the location of a date if they’re already in the car,”

“That’s not fair, I was already in the car when the rule was made!”

“Too bad.”

Alani pinches his cheek and slinks back into her own seat. She tells him about the bride and the groom, what she knows, at least, and about the decision to have their guests RSVP with a song of their choice to play at the reception.

“D’you know what you’re gonna pick?” Harry asks.

“Yeah,” Alani nods. “I Wanna Dance with Somebody by Whitney Houston, obviously,”

“Obviously,” he agrees.

“You?”

“Dunno, yet. Have to narrow it down,”

Alani admires the heart-shaped glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “Well you better make it good, cause Mila knows that you’re a musician and she’s expecting you to balance out her friends’ shitty music taste,”

“You were talkin’ about me?” he teases.

“Well, yeah, how else do you think you got invited?”

“You have such a crush on me, s’cute,”

Alani playfully pokes his cheek. “We’re literally dating, dummy,”

“Don’t get defensive,” Harry jokes. “Cause I’ve got a crush on you too.”

“God, we’re so annoying.”

Harry grins and presses a kiss to her temple. They pull into the Port of Hilo and he magically produces a picnic basket from the backseat, a bottle of Moët et Chandon rosé peeking out. Alani slips her fingers between his and follows as he leads them to a sizable speed boat anchored and waiting for them.

“The Carolina,” Alani reads, admiring the golden cursive on the side.

“Like someone else I know,” Harry winks.

He escorts her onto the vessel and she waits to see when the captain will join them, but confusion washes over her when she sees Harry poking around with the equipment.

“What are you doing?”

“As much fun as it would be to eat at the dock,” he begins. “I think it would be more fun to take ole Carolina for a spin,”

“You mean you’re gonna drive this thing?” Alani questions, though she doesn’t know why she’s surprised by him anymore.

“Pilot,” Harry corrects. “But yes,”

Alani blinks and tries to wrap her head around the idea of Harry piloting a boat. “And you’re allowed to do that?”

“Sure.”

“Wow,” she marvels to herself with an incredulous laugh. “I’m dating a sailor.”

Harry flashes Alani a wink over his shoulder and before she knows it, they’re heading away from the dock. She carefully stands from the lounging area at the back and sneaks over to Harry, arms wrapping around his torso with her chin propped on his shoulder. He steers with one hand and extends the other, recreating the iconic Titanic boat scene.

“I’m flying, Jack!” he calls over his shoulder and Alani giggles, responding with her best improvised rendition of My Heart Will Go On.

They sail out for a bit longer before Harry stops the boat and turns to her. “Ta da!”

“By jove, he’s done it!” Alani praises.

Harry takes a bow and reaches over for the picnic basket, pulling out the rosé and two champagne flutes. He hands them to Alani and spreads their meal on the lounging area at the back: vegetable stir fry and noodles with chocolate covered strawberries for desert.

“You did all this?” Alani muses.

He takes each flute from her hand and fills them halfway. “It’s a special occasion,”

“I feel like an asshole for not knowing what it is,”

“Don’t,” Harry chuckles, handing her the wine. “I mean it’s not really like—I just realized it,”

“What is it?”

Harry raises his glass and clears his throat. “Exactly three months ago, I got off a plane and I stumbled into a little café where the most beautiful and funny and smart waitress served me about twenty glasses of water until I nearly pissed my pants in front of her,”

Alani giggles at the memory, disbelief settling in when she considers how fast the time had flown.

“And despite all of the embarrassing and idiotic things I’ve done since,” he continues. “She agreed to be my girlfriend, for reasons I have yet to understand. So today I celebrate her, and us, and all of lucky stars that brought our paths together,”

They clink their glasses together and Alani presses a cool kiss to his lips. “Cheers, baby,”

“There’s one more thing,” Harry says, holding a finger up.

Alani scoffs. “It’s like fucking Pandora’s box in there!”

He pulls out a velvet box and her heart stops.

“Wait, what are you—”

“It’s not what you think,” he explains quickly. “Sorry, maybe should’ve thought this through better,”

Harry opens the lid and lifts a gold chain with a crescent moon pendant and a smaller sun in the center.

“Saw it in a shop this morning,” he says softly. “Seemed like fate, so I got it,”

“Harry,” Alani breathes, eyes already glossy.

“D’you like it?”

“I love it! It’s beautiful,” she says, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. “Thank you so much.”

He fastens the necklace for her and she admires it with gentle fingers. The sun and the moon, a piece of them cast in gold and resting against her beating heart forever.

********

Friday

“Wow,” Harry gawks, his eyes raking in Alani’s appearance. A baby pink tulle dress falls just above her knee with puffy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, all cinched at the waist with a small bow. Tiny velvet hearts are speckled all over the dress, in true Alani fashion, and a pair of sparkling, pink heels accentuate her toned calves.

“Wow yourself,” she counters, drinking in the peek of exposed skin behind his cream colored blazer. The blue dress shirt underneath is unbuttoned just above the butterfly on his stomach and a cross is nestled in the valley between his pecs. He holds out a bouquet of sunflowers between his ringed fingers and Alani accepts them gratefully, moving to the side so he can step into the house.

“These are gorgeous, thank you,” she says, lifting them to her nose.

“Welcome,” he smiles softly, swiping the pad of his thumb against her chin. “You are gorgeous,”

Alani presses her rose tinted lips to his carefully and pulls back to admire him again. “And you are so good looking it actually makes me mad.”

Harry laughs and pulls her closer for another sweet kiss before he hears the clearing of another person’s throat.

“Have her back by midnight,” Pua teases with her arms crossed. “Or I’ll hunt you down.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry salutes before bending down to address Freddie.

Alani passes the sunflowers to her sister with a kiss to her cheek before hooking an arm under Harry’s and heading out. They hop into the convertible and the sun catches the golden pendant around her neck, bringing a soft smile to his face.

“Hope those are your dancin’ shoes,” Harry remarks. “Cause we’re goin’ full Dirty Dancing tonight,”

“Lift and all?”

“Lift and all,”

She runs her fingers over the silver rose on his ring finger. “You know, I think we’re finally gonna nail it this time.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry agrees. “They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

When they arrive at Honu, the other guests are shuffling from the parking lot and onto the private beach where the reception will take place. Alani plucks a card from her bag to drop into the box at the entrance while Harry pulls a medium sized box from behind his seat.

“You got a real gift?” Alani questions, a light laugh erupting. “We don’t even know these people,”

Harry tucks the gift under his arm and shrugs. “I put your name on it too, don’t worry,”

“Well now they’ll have a giftcard to Ikea and whatever’s in your mystery box.”

“It’s also a giftcard to Ikea, but wrapped in a big box.”

Alani nudges his shoulder playfully and scans the groups mingling and flocking to the mini bar. She waves to a member of her dad’s kitchen staff attending to the hors d’oeuvres before they are greeted by the manager of the guest list.

“Alani and Harry,” she says to the tall woman behind the podium.

“Ah yes,” the woman responds. “The Lovebirds table, number 9.”

“Guess Mila wasn’t joking about that.” Alani chuckles lightly, taking both of their name cards.

Harry locates their table and to his surprise, no one else is present yet, but he pulls Alani’s chair out for her and pushes it back in once she’s seated.

“Champagne?” he asks, nodding to the bar.

“Oui, s'il vous plaît."

He plants a kiss to the top of her head and makes his way to collect their drinks. Alani’s eyes follow the stringed lights overhead and she quickly realizes that they lead to a disco ball hanging above the center of the dance floor. Well done, Mila. She thinks to herself with an approving nod. The colors, she gathers, are lilac and periwinkle, incorporated into all of the floral arrangements and cloth details. They match the color of the sky above and Alani knows that the bride must be ecstatic over this detail. Harry returns with their drinks and sets them down gently onto the white tablecloth.

“None of our fellow lovebirds have arrived yet, huh?” he muses, taking a sip of his champagne.

Alani shakes her head and brings the glass to her lips. “Must be too busy making out in the parking lot,”

“You told me we didn’t have time for that.”

“I’m not gonna ruin my lipstick before we’ve even arrived.”

Harry shakes his fist to the sky and Alani giggles. They both admire the view and the children in the wedding party who are testing how close they can get to the water before an adult drags them away. The sky turns to a shade of cotton candy above them and someone announces that the bride and groom are arriving. Harry and Alani stand and welcome the newly weds with applause and whistles. Mila and Chad share a sweet kiss and the crowd goes wild. One man, most likely a friend of the groom, shouts “I love you Chad!” and laughter erupts. They take their seats and the rest of the wedding party follows suit, which means that the rest of the guests are free to return to their chatting and socializing.

“I’m beginning to think we were put in the time out table.” Harry jokes when they are still not joined by any other guests.

A light laugh escapes Alani’s lips and she looks around. “Yeah I guess so.”

The servers arrive with their meal and the pair eat happily, exchanging witty banter and observations of the scene around them. Harry sucks a piece of linguine between his lips and turns to Alani with a mischievous smirk.

“No,” Alani says, already knowing what he’s up to.

“Don’t leave me hangin’,”

“Eat your food.”

“Alaniii,”

She shakes her head gently and rolls her eyes, but decides to indulge him anyway. Their lips meet in the middle of the shared noodle and Harry smiles.

“Always wanted to try that.”

A few moments later, he notices a card in the middle of the table and lifts it.

“‘Trivia,’” he reads. “‘Test your knowledge of the bride and groom and win a prize.’ Let’s play, shall we?”

“What’s the first question?” Alani asks, peering over to read the small font.

“‘What year did Mila and Chad meet?”

Alani hums, thinking back to her previous conversation with the bride. “They met in law school, that’s all I know,”

“2009,” Harry guesses. “Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

“Definitely Chad,” she replies firmly. “Mila didn’t think she’d ever get married,”

“I thought you said you didn’t know these people,”

“I guess I was wrong,”

Harry squints at the next one. “What are their zodiac signs?”

“I wanna say Virgo for Mila,” Alani suggests. “Maybe… Aquarius for Chad?”

“That’s my sign,” Harry comments, writing down her guesses.

Alani’s brows raise. “No kidding. Makes a lot of sense,”

“What’s yours?”

“Taurus,”

“I don’t know anythin’ about astrology. Are we compatible?”

“Probably not,” Alani teases.

Harry shoots her a disapproving look and reads the next question. “Where did they go on their first date?”

“The movies,” she predicts. “Safe bet,”

“‘Akaka Falls,” Harry writes. “That was ours,”

Alani’s head tilts. “We weren’t even dating then,”

“Yeah but I was tryin’ to win you over, so it counts,”

“Sneaky.”

“Who is the bride’s celebrity crush?” Harry continues. “Hopefully not James Marsden or this guy’s fucked.”

Alani laughs and she pulls him in for a playful kiss to his cheek. The pink sunset dims into a deep navy and the stringed lights twinkle above, setting the whole scene in a romantic, golden glow. Guests walk past their table holding strips of photo booth pictures and Harry’s neck cranes to search for the source. His eyes land on a small line at the other end of the beach and he stands quickly.

“Let’s go,”

“Where?”

“Photo booth!”

To Alani’s surprise it’s an actual booth, curtains and all, and not just some poor sucker tasked with operating a polaroid camera the whole night. They stand in line eagerly behind two groomsmen and brainstorm poses. Once they’re inside, Alani settles onto Harry’s knee and watches as he operates the machine. The screen counts down from ten and they decide to flash a proper smile for the first one. After it’s snapped, Harry sticks his tongue out and Alani widens her eyes in mock surprise. The third one is a candid, slightly blurry one of them laughing after she accidentally poked him in the eye. A lipstick kiss is stamped to Harry’s cheek in the fourth one, but the pair innocently look away in opposite directions. The fifth and final image captures their affection mid kiss. They swipe the two sets of photos and Alani awes, admiring the black and white film strip. Before they make it back to their table, Alani feels a hand on her arm.

“Alani!” Mila beams.

“Hi!” Alani greets, pulling the bride into a hug. “You look gorgeous,”

“I’m so glad you came! I love your dress,”

Mila turns her attention towards Harry and gives him a warm embrace, too. “You must be Harry! So nice to meet you,”

“Thank you for having us!” he says over the music.

“I see you guys put the photo booth to good use,” Mila comments. “Now go dance! There’s an ipad next to the stage, just queue up your songs.”

Alani and Harry bid the bride farewell, but before they leave, Mila leans into Alani’s ear and whispers “he’s a hottie!” with a wink. They set their photos down inside Alani’s purse and Harry leads her towards the dance floor. She punches in her request and he secretly types the song that’s been stuck in his head all week. Fantasy by Mariah Carey is already playing when they reach the floor, so they join in excitedly. Alani’s hips sway and Harry’s head bobs, both of them mouthing the lyrics. The song fades and Alani’s pick begins, which makes the crowd roar.

“The people have spoken and they love Whitney!” she cheers.

Harry twirls her and shuffles his feet. Alani shimmies and sings along, the lyrics falling from her lips like a prayer.

I wanna dance with somebody

I wanna feel the heat with somebody

Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody

With somebody who loves me

The dance floor is flooded with bodies jumping and swaying, and the disco ball shimmers above the euphoric scene. Alani and Harry spin, making their way through the crowd and letting the music sweep over them like a magical spell. Beads of sweat form at the back of her neck and she lifts her wavy locks to let the ocean breeze cool her down, but her feet don’t stop moving. Eventually, her song peters out and a familiar guitar fills its place.

“I love this song!” Alani cries, immediately recognizing The Cure.

Harry pulls her closer, despite the warmth radiating from both of their bodies, and presses a passionate kiss to her lips. They are surrounded on every side, but in this very moment under the full moon and shimmering disco ball, Harry and Alani feel like the only two people alive. Their foreheads meet and they sway gently, his hands secure at her waist while her fingers toy with the hair at the base of his neck.

It’s Friday, I’m in love.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #ybmh #ALSO i would just like it to be known that I wrote this before *those* photos so harry get your own romantic gestures >:(#kidding bae <3

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wefoundloveunderthelight · 3 years

Text

Love or Duty by GleefullyCaptainSwan Chapter 3/8

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche

Chapter 3: A Truce

Ruby used the broken handle of the carriage door to knock out another bandit attacking her before she screamed at Killian. “Go!”

Killian didn’t turn back, chasing Emma into the wooded forest. Tripping over branches, he found himself tumbling down into the ravine below him. He groaned when he hit the ground, looking up from where he fell. He was wasting valuable time lying on the ground. He pulled himself up, beginning his climb up the rocky hill. He clawed his way to the peak, digging his hands into the muddy ground.

He could see the dark-haired barbarian a few feet in front of him. Emma was standing inches from the man, her arms raised with a large branch in her hands.

“Drop the stick, sweetheart, stop fighting me.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.” She screamed, swinging the branch, and connecting it with his head as the man tumbled toward the ground. When he stood up, a look of annoyance on his face as he wiped leaves from his shoulder, Killian saw the shimmer of silver as he yanked the blade from his back. Killian’s feet moved underneath him as the man lunged toward Emma with the dagger and he heard her scream out in pain.

He slammed his body into the bandit, landing on the ground with a thud as bone met bone. The man growled, rolling away from him. Killian stumbled to his feet, reaching for his sword, and finding an empty scabbard.

“Bloody…” The man lunged at him, the dagger nearly missing his shoulder as he leaned backward, avoiding the hit. He swung his hook forward, making contact with the side of his head. He kicked his foot toward the man’s stomach causing him to stumble backwards. The man quickly recovered, and Killian tried to avoid the fist that connected with his cheek, sending him toward the ground. He felt around in the leaves for anything to brandish as a weapon, turning quickly to try and stop the man from running him through when the man paused, his face crumpled as a familiar silver blade drove through his chest from his the man’s back.

Killian’s head fell back against the ground, trying to catch his breath as the man slid to the ground, Emma standing behind him, his sword firmly in her grasp. She stumbled forward, dropping the sword, and falling to her knees.

He sat up, examining the blood red stains expanding at her side. He reached out, pulling the torn fabric away from her body. “Is this how you get a woman out of her clothes?” She laughed weakly.

“All you had to do was ask, love.” He smiled, pressing his hand against the wound at her hip. He grabbed the hem of her tunic, ripping the fabric.

“What are you…” She complained weakly.

He bunched up the fabric and pressed the mass against her side. “Hold this steady to control the bleeding.” He looked around to see how far into the forest they had traveled, hearing a faint sound of horses in the distance. “Can you walk?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who saved you.” She said defiantly as she stood up from her spot. “I’m not some damsel in…” She stumbled as she tried to step forward and Killian jumped up to steady her.

“You can argue with me about chivalry once I get you safely to the castle.” Without another word he hoisted her into his arms, picking up his sword from the ground and heading in the direction of the carriage.

~*~

Emma groaned as Killian hoisted her into his arms, pain searing through her side as she held the fabric close to her skin. She glanced up at him, his jaw set firm as he stared ahead of their path. She couldn’t look away at the determination he displayed to get her back to safety.

“Killian.” She heard a voice shout.

“Emma.” Ruby screamed quickly after as they entered the clearing, rushing toward them.

“It was a dagger; we will need the surgeon once we get to Jonesboro.” Emma was lifted in the carriage and placed on the bench inside. “Bandits?”

“Aye.” She heard Liam reply outside the carriage. “We’re close to home; we need to make haste.”

Ruby was at her side, brushing the hair from her sweat drenched forehead. “Are you alright?” Emma sat up, annoyed at all the fuss being made at her expense.

“I’m perfectly alright, it’s barely a scratch.”

“What happened out there?” Ruby ask quietly but before she could answer, Killian entered the carriage and slammed the door shut.

“Liam is going to ride ahead to make sure the path is clear. We are not far from our home.” He sat down across from her, his blue eyes staring intently at her. “How are you feeling, love?”

She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Like I got stabbed.”

“Conveniently enough, you did.” He laughed. “No need to worry your pretty blonde head, we’ll have you stitched right up as soon as we get home. I supposed you can be thankful you’ve already landed yourself a husband.”

“And why exactly should I be thankful for that?”

“Gonna be quite the scar you’ve earned.” He said as his tongue swiped across his bottom lip, his eyes staring at the bloodied cloth beneath her fingers at her hip.

She sat up and tried not to wince. “Are you trying to imply that I would be unable to secure a husband because I’ve now made myself unattractive.”

“Never said that. In fact, some men might find that type of thing,” he paused, his eyes locking on hers, “quite attractive.” She didn’t know why but suddenly she felt like he was staring into her soul, or that he could somehow see beneath her layers of clothing, either way, it unnerved her. “But” He said with a click at the end of the t, “others might find it repulsive,” he shrugged, “I can assure you; Liam won’t care what you look like naked or otherwise.”

She shook her head, “Thanks for the assurance.” She said dryly.

“I am at your service, M’Lady.” He said in a sarcastic tone that made her want to toss him from the carriage.

“Do you think we are almost there?” Her handmaiden interrupted, breaking the eye contact she held with the arrogant Prince seated across from her.

“We should reach the castle walls before sunset.” He replied quietly, casting a worried glance in her direction before immediately turning away from her.

“I shall be certain not to bleed out on your mother’s satin.” She said with a laugh, gripping the sofa cushion below her, and the Prince smiled in her direction as if her humor had somehow assuaged his concern for her safety. If that was even the reason for his sudden change in mood. Emma could not be certain, but with all his bravado and arrogant remarks, he did seem to be genuinely concerned for her safety. After all, he had come to her rescue in the forest, and had it not been for his sudden arrival, she was not sure she would have gotten the upper hand with the bandit. Not that she would admit that to him.

The wound in her side was not grave, once they reached the castle, their healers would have her fixed up, but she also knew that the situation could have gone another way. If anything had changed, she would have to admit that the brothers Jones had earned her respect in the valiant way they defended her and Ruby.

She felt her eyes drawing heavy, sleep catching her before she could fight it. Images swirled in her head, a valiant knight climbing the castle walls, swords clashing around her until every last man had fallen. The man stood in front of her, bowing to his knees as he offered her his sword, swearing to protect her until his own heart stopped beating. He stood, removing his helmet, his sea blue eyes staring into hers as he pulled her into his arms and captured her lips in a searing kiss.

Emma’s eyes darted open, gasping for air.

“Emma, love, are you alright?”

Emma blinked her eyes a few times, her vision finally clearing as those same blue eyes stared at her in concern, his thumb rubbing circles against her arm as he knelt in front of her bench. She blanched, swallowing hard as she remembered those lips on hers in her dream, the way he held her so gently in his arms, the way his hand touched hers, the same way he was doing right now. She pulled away from him, sitting up and wincing in pain.

“I’m fine. It was a dream.”

She looked anywhere but at him as he sat back on his own side of the carriage, Ruby reaching over to check her wound.

“You were whimpering or moaning, I wasn’t quite sure.” She spoke softly and Emma felt her ears burn hot.

“It was a horrid nightmare.” She said more forcefully than she intended. She glanced at Killian and the smirk on his face angered her. Before she could come up with a sarcastic comment, the carriage came to a sudden halt and Emma braced herself on the bench.

The door to the carriage swung open. “Help Emma down and into the castle, I’ll advise father of the trouble on the road.” Liam demanded of his brother and Killian jumped into action, escorting her out of the carriage and then lifting her into his arms.

“You can put me down; I know how to walk.”

“I have my orders and I intend to follow them.” He responded with a frown, nodding at people as he passed them by.

“Prince Killian, in here.” She turned to see a man standing in an archway. “Your men arrived a short time ago.”

Killian sat her down on a hard table in the middle of the room. “It was a short dagger; I don’t think it went too deep.” He gestured to her side, reaching down, and taking the bloodied fabric from her hand. “Princess Emma, this is Victor, he’s our best surgeon. He’ll take care of you.”

He stepped away from the table and Victor followed him as they spoke in hushed tones. “Yes, your grace, as soon as I’m done.” He bowed and Killian slipped out of the room in a hurry.

~*~

“Are you sure they were Regina’s men?” King Brennan stood at the front of the room as Liam updated him on the trip to Jonesboro.

“Aye, they were wearing her crest.”

The King cursed, pacing the throne behind him as his mother sat in her own chair. “They are getting braver, attacking the King’s carriage.” His mother said strongly.

“This wedding will need to take place urgently.” His father announced.

“If we rush the nuptials, our people will not have time to embrace the Princess. They may not unite if they feel there is something amiss.” Liam countered.

“He is right, Brennan.” His mother agreed.

His father nodded, “Double the troops to defend the road between Jonesboro and Misthaven.” He announced to the guard in the room, who quickly exited.

“Court the Princess publicly, introduce her to the villagers, we need the people to love her.”

Liam snorted. “Good luck with that, she’s a real charmer.”

“Liam Jones.” His mother said loudly. “Do not besmirch your betrothed.”

“Apologizes mother, it is just…” He paused. “I do not think we are a suitable match.”

“A match.” His father laughed; a low deep belly laugh that made Liam’s stomach crawl. “I do not care if the two of you never speak behind your bedchamber door, hell, get separate rooms for all I care. This is your duty; I do not care if you ever love this woman. She is a Nolan, hold your nose, bite your tongue, but get it done.”

He bowed, “Yes father.” He stepped out of the room as Killian was pacing the hallway beyond him.

“What news of Emma?”

“Victor just sent word that he has stitched her up and they escorted her to her bedchamber to freshen up.”

“I shall tend to her at once.” He said with a frown, leaving his brother in the hallway as he went off in search of the woman. “Do you duty.” He grumbled as he climbed the stairs toward her room. As he stood in front of the heavy door, he reluctantly knocked on the wood. The door yanked open, and the dark-haired woman peered out.

“Good afternoon, I’m here to call on the Princess.”

“Of course, one moment, she’s finishing dressing.”

The door closed and he stood with his back to the wall as he waited. He felt like it took ages before she appeared in front of him, a frown on her face, her hair pulled up into braids against her head, and a new satin gown in place of the ruined tunic she had traveled in. “Prince Liam, so nice of you to come calling, I can assure you I am well.”

“Grateful to hear it.” He said honestly. “I thought perhaps if you were feeling up to it, I could show you around the grounds.”

“That would be lovely. I despise being trapped in my bed chambers like I’m a prisoner.”

“You have my assurances; you are no prisoner. Jonesboro will be your home. You are free to go anywhere you please.”

Emma sighed and Liam sensed sadness in the woman beside him. He understood what it must be like being told that she needed to move away from her home, her family, her townsfolk in order to bring about this unity with a man she barely knew.

“If it will cheer your spirits, know that I was just as pleased as you to hear the news of our upcoming union.” They continued to walk through the castle toward the garden. “It is my hope that you and I could be allies in this endeavor.”

“Does it not anger you to be told what to do? To have a decision, so personal, taken from you?”

“Aye, however, I was groomed to be King since I was a very young boy. It is my…”

“Duty.” She finished his sentence with a sour tone.

“It is my honor to fulfill my duty, even if it means the weight of the kingdom is on my shoulders.” He sighed. “I envy Killian, never having responsibility, being carefree to behave how he wishes, woo any woman he sets his sights on.” He laughed, “Being the eldest requires a sense of duty, but I am proud to carry the burden.”

“Men are given the responsibility to rule, while woman are told to submit to their husbands, tend to their needs, stand in the back while the man fights with honor and pride.” She snorted in disgust. “Your duty is to serve; my duty is to give away my autonomy.”

“I’m sorry, Emma. It is not my intention to take away who you are.” He paused, taking her by the arm to still her. “I do not require you to give away or tend to any of my needs. I would not take anything you did not give away willingly.” She looked toward the garden. “Emma, you and I must marry, but you are free to reject our marriage bed. I know you do not love me.”

“What do you know of love?” She said softly, her gaze off in the distance.

He frowned, lowering his head, and dropping her arm. “Sadly, more than you realize. Have you ever been in love, Emma?” She turned to face him.

“No, I have never been in love.”

“We are royalty, and as royalty, my father believes that love is something that is given to you, but I believe that it is something that must be earned. Perhaps one day I will earn your love.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume I understood your place in all of this.” She said with a sigh. “I know this was not your choice. It is not my intention to direct my fury on you.”

“Are you certain about that?” He smiled.

“It is not my intention to direct my fury on you, anymore.” She corrected.

“Emma, I would very much like us to be friends. It will be much easier to get through this if we are able to get along.”

“Perhaps a truce?” She said with a soft smile.

“Aye, I would like that.”

She leaned up on her tip toes, brushing her lips against his cheek and Liam wrapped his arms around her, embracing her.

~*~

Killian stood in the shadows of the garden trellis, watching the scene unfold in front of him. Liam and Emma had been admiring the garden, their talk appeared serious yet friendly. He watched as the blonde leaned up and pressed her lips to her brother’s cheek and the two embraced.

Killian felt a stir in his stomach, a sickness he didn’t understand. A crack behind him brought his attention to the other side of the walk. Behind a trellis, Elsa was also staring at the couple embracing in the middle of the garden, a sad look on her face.

Killian stepped into the light and Elsa jumped as he appeared to her. “Oh, Prince Killian, I’m sorry I did not realize…”

“No need to apologize, Elsa, how are you?” He took one last look to the garden and then turned his attention to the lovelorn lass in front of him.

“I…I’m fine. How is the Princess?” She squeaked out.

“She’s quite different than I imagined she would be.” He laughed. “I’m certain she has less interest in marrying my brother than he does of his union with her.”

“She didn’t appear disinterested.” She said sadly.

“It is important that they appear in love, of course.” He said reassuringly, hoping it would remove the frown from the woman’s face.

“Sorry, I forget my place. It is not my concern if Lia…Prince Liam and Princess Emma are in love or not.”

“You care for my brother.” He said, less of a question and more of a statement.

“Of course, I do, he will one day be our King, it is my duty to care for your brother.” She said startled.

“Aye, Lass, of course.” He smiled, walking toward the kitchen with the blonde, hoping to shield her from the broken heart he was certain lie beneath her chest.

When he joined his parents for dinner that evening, Liam and Emma had made their rounds through the castle and judging from the report his father’s guard had provided at the table, the townspeople were enamored with the blonde beauty from Misthaven. Perhaps her conversation with his brother in the garden had softened her anger toward the situation.

Suddenly the doors to the dining room flung open and a guard appeared, distressed. The King and the guard spoke softly, exchanging nervous glances. He nodded and the man disappeared from the room.

“Regina’s bandits have burned the town of Locksley.”

Killian wiped his mouth, hardly believing his ears, Locksley was half a day’s ride from Jonesboro, the armies were drawing nearer.

“Liam, I need you to ride out and speak to Lord Locksley, ensure that their people are taken care of, we have shelter here if needed.”

Killian stood from his seat, “Father, I can go.”

“Sit down Killian, this is your brother’s responsibility. You will stay at the castle and ensure that Princess Emma does not get bored.”

He made eye contact with the woman across from him.

“I am not a sitter.” He complained. “I am fairly certain the lass can take care of herself.”

“Killian.” His mother’s voice raised from the end of the table. “Your father has spoken.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes mother.”

Liam stood and dropped his head to his father. “I will ride out at once.” He bowed to Emma and left the room hurriedly.

Killian poked at his food, moving the peas across the plate before stabbing at the meat that sat upon a bed of potatoes. His father did not trust that he was capable of representing or protecting Jonesboro, Killian had always been an afterthought to him.

He could feel her eyes upon him, watching him intently as he stewed in his anger. When he looked up, she smiled softly. “Perhaps tomorrow you could show me your stables, do you ride?”

“Aye.” He responded shortly.

“Then you shall take me for a ride, show me the village.”

“That sounds lovely.” His mother added with a sickening tone.

“Stay near the town, I do not wish to waste resources to escort you.” His father interjected and Killian tried not to wince in anger. He didn’t need a guard to escort him anywhere.

“Then it’s settled, you shall escort me on a ride around the castle tomorrow.” Emma said with a smile.

“As you wish, M’Lady.” He said with a mocking bow of his head, disinterested in the chores of being left to keep a watchful eye on his brother’s bride.

#love or duty #stacy's fics #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan fics #captain swan au #captain swan

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maybeimamuppet · 3 years

Text

tale as old as time

Cady is sitting across from Janis at their lunch table on the last day before winter break, chattering excitedly about her plans for the holidays when Damian suddenly mopes his way over and plops his tray down next to her, sitting down with a quiet huff and picking at his pizza. Neither of the girls know quite what to do, Cady cutting off mid-word to look his way. Damian comes to lunch directly from his theater class, usually full of energy and excitement about whatever new thing he’d learned that day.

“What’s the matter, Dame?” Cady asks sadly, hugging him gently.

“They just announced the spring musical. They’re doing Beauty and the Beast.” He pouts.

“Are you still that hung up on Phillip?” Janis teases.

“Janis, don’t be mean! Damian’s sad,” Cady scolds, going full koala and trying to wrap her entire body around Damian’s torso. It doesn’t quite work due to their size difference, but she doesn’t let it stop her.

“Yeah Janis,” Damian responds jokingly, returning Cady’s embrace. “Damian’s sad.”

Janis and Damian stick their tongues out at each other, Janis moving to his other side to hug him as well. “Sorry Damie,” she says, genuine this time as she rests her head on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, I know you were joking. I’m just wondering if it’s worth it. I’ve already been in the show before, y’know? Do I really need to do it here?” He asks, resting his head against Janis’.

“Damian, you have to do it! It’s your last ever musical at North Shore,” Cady gasps, aghast at even the mere suggestion of him pulling out.

“Yeah, Dame, don’t you want that experience?” Janis asks, now more worried about him. She didn’t think it was still that big of a deal to him.

“I don’t know. I want to, but I just have so many, like, tainted memories of it now or whatever. I don’t know if I wanna put myself through that again.” He says morosely.

“What if I did it with you?” Cady asks, completely out of nowhere.

“What?” Janis asks, stunned.

“You would do that?” Damian questions, also quite shocked.

“Yeah! I’ve been wanting to try theater anyway, it sounds like fun. I probably won’t get a big part, but we can still hang out at rehearsals and stuff. We’ll make new memories!” She chirps excitedly.

“I’ll do something too, Dame. Mister Gordon already asked me to do set design, I’ll see if I can be stage manager too, maybe.” Janis adds. What the hell, she has nothing else going on.

“You guys are the best,” Damian says, patting both of their cheeks.

“We know,” Janis jokes, moving back to her side of the table. “Grab the audition stuff for Caddy and ask Gordon about managing for me.”

“Done. Wait, has Caddy even seen the movie yet?” He asks, suddenly serious.

“Nope!” Cady says, stealing one of his fries.

“How did we miss that one? It’s a classic. Both of you come over tonight, it’s movie night anyway. Bring your sleepover stuff.” Janis says definitively, pounding the table gently with a fist.

——-

All three art freaks sit nestled on the small couch in Janis’ basement, Cady in the middle practically shaking with excitement at the opening credits and no fewer than four bowls of popcorn and candy on the coffee table in front of them.

As the movie goes on, Janis is watching Cady more than she’s paying attention to the screen. She’s trying desperately not to think about how her crush is pressed so close against her, how she could easily just lean over and be cuddled up with her. For all the staring she’s doing, she doesn’t notice how tense Cady seems to be growing as the tale is told.

Damian says, “Adam!” exactly like the Vine when the prince finally reveals his face, making both Janis and Cady burst out laughing.

“He was hotter as a beast,” Janis mutters, watching the final few scenes.

“Jan, you’re gay.” Damian says.

“And? Tell me I’m wrong,” she challenges.

“Fair point. What did you think, Cads?” He asks, looking to her.

She seems frozen for a moment before she suddenly yells, “IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE!” and jumps to her feet, starting to pace back and forth.

“What do you mean?” Janis asks, glancing warily to Damian. They’ve never seen her this angry.

“The curse is either made permanent or has to be reversed by his twenty-first birthday, but in Be Our Guest Lumiere says they’ve been stuck like that for ten years, so the prince would’ve been what? Eleven when the enchantress showed up? He was a kid! He was absolutely right not to let some strange old hag into the castle! And why was he even answering the door in the first place? He’s the prince! They clearly had servants for that!”

“Okay, but-“

“And then why does he have a portrait and a bunch of stained glass of him as an adult if he was a kid when he was turned into the beast?! And also, he’s the prince! Where are the king and queen? Are they dead? Why does nobody talk about them?!”

“That’s fair-“

“AND when Gaston steals Belle’s book he asks how she can read it because there’s no pictures but when she was reading it by the fountain it showed that there clearly was a picture in it! And then- and then later Gaston just swallows a bunch of eggs! Whole! He doesn’t even crack them first, who does that?! And if he eats five dozen eggs every day, that’s twenty-one thousand, nine hundred eggs per year. The average chicken only lays three hundred eggs per year -don’t ask me how I know that- which means it would take a minimum of seventy-three chickens just to feed him!”

“Caddy-“

“And Maurice! He took a ‘shortcut’ to get to the fair, how is anything a shortcut if it goes in an entirely different direction?! That doesn’t work! The whole story could’ve been avoided if he just listened to the horse!”

Damian just silently passes a bowl of popcorn to Janis, as Cady shows no signs of stopping anytime soon and frankly her ranting is quite entertaining.

“And don’t even get me started on what goes on in the castle! Like when Cogsworth falls down and loses a bunch of gears, what were those supposed to be?! His kidneys? Did he break bones? What happens when Lumiere runs out of wax? Is he shorter when he turns human again? And can they feel what they do? Does Lumiere burn his hands a lot? Does Mrs. Potts feel like she’s drowning?”

She hasn’t noticed that they’re not even trying to interrupt her anymore.

“And then Chip! What’s his deal?! Where’s his dad? How old is he? He’s clearly younger than ten, so do they age while the curse is on? If not, then how does the timeline add up? And if they do, then how is he still a little kid? Also, who turns a little kid full of energy into fine china?! He’d break himself! How is the enchantress not the villain here?! And is Chip an only child? There’s clearly plenty of other teacups! Why is he the only one that matters? And then, for all her favoritism, Mrs. Potts doesn’t even realize when he runs away!”

Janis and Damian lock eyes, stunned. How did they not notice this stuff?

“And way later, everyone in the town seems to just suddenly realize there’s a big castle in the middle of the forest! Did they forget about the whole royal family? And where did the cooks in the castle get food and stuff?! Also, they don’t ever mention to Belle that the Beast is the prince, or that he’ll be human again if she breaks the curse! So was she just, like, down to date this monster who, to her knowledge, could’ve eaten the real prince or something?! And also, if it’s a kingdom, what happened to their international relations?! What do the other countries think happened?”

“Are you done?” Janis mutters, amused.

“No! Somebody stop me, please,” Cady hollers. Janis goes to pull her into a hug, rubbing her tense back and hushing her gently.

“Deep breaths, Cads. You brought up some good points, we can look into it later. Let’s go have some hot chocolate, hm?” She murmurs as Cady finally relaxes, panting slightly as she nods into Janis’ shoulder.

“Then we can watch the live action one!” Damian says.

“Damian, no!”

———

All of them went out of state a few days later for Christmas to visit family. Unfortunately, they all went to different states; Cady went to Indiana, Janis to Ohio, and Damian to West Virginia. This meant that Damian and Cady didn’t get to start working on their auditions together until just before New Years.

So now, they’re curled up next to each other on his bed, listening to A Change In Me on repeat so Cady can learn it. The audition cut is just a few bars towards the end, but she would have to know the whole thing on the off chance she got a callback. The first few times, she would just listen and read along with her sheet music, but she eventually starts humming the tune and murmuring little phrases under her breath as she caught on.

Once Damian notices she’s muttering the whole song, he asks if she wants to try singing it with the piano recording for the first time. She nods after another quick glance at her music.

Damian brings up the recording the director had sent out, explaining what she needs to do and when to come in, then handing her the phone so she could start whenever she felt ready.

She takes one deep breath before hitting the play button, and starting to sing. The second the first few notes flow from her mouth, Damian feels his jaw drop slightly. The girl could sing. She wasn’t perfect by any means, but she had undeniable talent.

“Holy shit!” He bursts out when she finishes, clapping for her.

“That was good?” Cady asks, blushing slightly.

“Yes, that was incredible!” Damian praises. “Oh wait, I should send you the recording so you can practice on your own. Let me do that before I forget,” He says as he takes his phone back.

“I have to go to the bathroom, can I try again after?” She asks shyly, as if she hadn’t just completely blown his socks off with her very first attempt.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead, Little Slice,” he hums, already moving to text Janis.

sashafierce: Jan holy shit

sashafierce: Your girl can sing

gaylien: she’s not my girl

sashafierce: Yet

gaylien: shut the hell ur mouth

sashafierce: I Will Not

gaylien: anyway, caddy can sing ?

sashafierce: Yeah

sashafierce: Like ‘might get the lead even though she’s never set foot in a theater’ can sing

gaylien: damn

gaylien: proof

sashafierce: You just want to hear her voice you soft little dork

gaylien: shut the fuck

Cady comes back in at this point, so Damian puts his phone down. He asks if he can record her singing to help her get better, not mentioning he would secretly also be sending the recording to Janis. He feels a little guilty about keeping secrets, but this won’t hurt anyone. Janis won’t do anything with it.

Cady agrees, settling in again. Damian braces himself slightly before hitting record as Cady hits play again. She sings her cut, and then looks to Damian for feedback.

He stops the recording and fiddles with a few things to get it sent to Janis before asking if she’d like to hear it played back. Cady gives a shy nod and cuddles up to him again.

“See, you sound really good! We just need to work on your movement and expressions and stuff like that. If you can’t act nothing will happen, no matter how well you can sing. But really, that’s impressive, sweets.”

“Can we work on that later? I want to hear you sing too!” She pleads, gently nudging his arm.

“Oh, absolutely,” Damian says, bringing up

his own audition cut and striking a pose. Cady giggles at his antics, giving him a standing ovation when he finishes.

Their phones chime at the same time, Cady’s with a message from her mom telling her to come home, and Damian’s with a response from Janis. He hugs Cady goodbye before checking it, bursting out laughing when he sees what she’s sent.

gaylien: i just spat coffee all over my cat

gaylien: oh god

———

Auditions are held the day after they get back from break. Damian had been continuing to work with Cady over the break, in between movie nights and sleepovers with Janis.

Cady’s been shaking with excitement all day. She’d grown much more confident with all her practice, and she was also looking forward to seeing her friend truly in his element.

Damian leads her by the hand towards the theater classroom to get checked in, filling out their forms and grabbing their numbers. They have to wait a while before they get to go to the auditorium and get started, so they sit on the floor and look around. After a few minutes, Damian notices Cady start drumming her hand rapidly against her leg, her most common stim when she’s nervous.

“Do we need to get out of here for a minute?” He asks quietly, making sure nobody else can hear them. She nods quickly, taking his offered hand to stand up. Damian leads them into the hallway, where it’s less crowded and much quieter. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. There’s just... a lot of people in there. It’s really loud too,” She mutters, shifting her lips side to side, another anxious stim. “I’m nervous.”

“That’s normal. I’m a little nervous too, actually. We can just wait out here until it’s time to go start warm ups with everyone,” Damian comforts, pulling out his phone and earbuds so they can watch animal videos together. Cady takes the proffered earbud and puts it in as she cuddles into his side and focuses on the video.

Eventually Karen comes bouncing down the hall, lugging a slightly panicked Gretchen behind her. “Gretch, come on, you just have to sing part of a song once and then it’s all over! You can do it,” Karen comforts as her girlfriend freezes just outside the door. “Oh, hi Cady! Are you trying out too?”

Cady nods, feeling her confidence coming back with every passing second. “Yeah! I didn’t think you guys would be into this sort of thing,” she says. She had kept in touch with them throughout the year and they still hung out frequently, but Cady had distanced herself slightly from the former Plastics while the events from junior year were still raw in everyone’s minds.

“I’ve always wanted to try it, but Regina never let us. She said theater was for dorks. No offense, Damian,” Karen says sheepishly. She liked Damian, he was always nice to her even though she had to be so horrible to his best friend.

“None taken.”

“But yeah! I decided to go for it and got Gretch to do it too so I wouldn’t be alone!” She says, turning to look at her as Gretchen starts coaching herself through breathing exercises.

“Are you okay, Gretchen?” Cady asks gently.

“Mmhmm. I’m fine,” she responds, looking close to passing out where she stands.

“You guys should go get signed in and come wait with us out here,” Damian offers, much to Cady’s relief. She’s missed them, but didn’t want to invite them in case Damian didn’t want them around just yet.

“Sounds fetch! We’ll be back soon,” Karen cheers, dragging poor Gretchen by the hand into the classroom. They come out after a few minutes, noticing their numbers are just after Damian and Cady’s.

They chat happily for a few minutes, getting caught up on the events of the few weeks since they’ve last spoken. Eventually the theater teacher, Mr. Gordon, and the choir director, Mrs. Baker come down the hall, entering the room to let everyone know that group warm ups are starting.

They follow the crowd into the auditorium, everyone finding a place on the stage as Mrs. Baker takes a seat at a piano in the pit. Mr. Gordon explains the routine for those who were new, then passes it off to her to lead vocal warm ups.

They go by fairly quickly, and then everyone moves to their seats in the auditorium to watch individual auditions, clapping politely for each one. Damian goes just before Cady, rocking his cut before bowing sarcastically and returning to his seat.

Cady steps up, says her name, and then just tries to focus on everything Damian has taught her. She blinks and the song is done, so she moves on, giving Gretchen a sneaky thumbs up since she’s up next.

Gretchen can sing well, but it’s painfully obvious she’s panicking inside and she stumbles off the stage when she finishes. Surprisingly, Karen actually does quite well, she’s confident and it shows.

They listen to the rest of the auditions together and chat quietly on their way out of the building, splitting back into their duos as they reach the doors.

Janis is waiting for them by the main entrance, leaning casually against the wall. She stays after school to paint sometimes, so they don’t suspect anything, but she was actually hiding in the auditorium to watch their auditions today.

Cady squeals, “Janis!” as she rushes up to hug her, and Damian shoots Janis a look when they lock eyes. Janis just shakes her head and wraps her arms loosely around Cady.

“You guys wanna come over? Jules has a dance thing tonight so I have the house,” Janis says, letting Cady go. “Movie night?”

Damian has been trying desperately to get the two together since the school year began, any alone time they get together is a chance. “I can’t, my mom’s making my favorite dinner tonight,” he lies. Janis glares at him, she’s caught on to his plight. She’s also just known him long enough to know he doesn’t have a favorite dinner, his favorite food is just whatever he’s eating in the moment.

“I can go!” Cady pipes up happily, excited to have a little alone time with her crush. Janis hasn’t shown any signs of reciprocating her affections (that she’s noticed), but she tries to get as much alone time with her as possible regardless. She’s starting to realize it’s probably not healthy, but she doesn’t want to stop spending time with her abruptly in case Janis gets suspicious.

“Tits, what do you want to watch?” Janis asks, still glaring at Damian, which Cady somehow doesn’t notice.

“The Lion King?” Cady says sheepishly.

“Of course you do. You owe me a slasher, though.” Janis sighs, accepting her fate.

“I can live with that,” Cady giggles. “Just nothing too gory.”

“Fine,” Janis pouts. “Let’s go, Africa. We got movies to watch.”

Cady hugs Damian goodbye and rushes out into the parking lot, and he manages to call out, “Remember the callback list gets sent out at nine!” just before she’s out of earshot. She gives him a thumbs up and continues running to Janis’ truck, Janis jogging sluggishly after her.

“Later, Dame. Love you, loser.” She calls over her shoulder. “Have fun with your mom.”

“Love you too art freak, have fun with your date!”

“It’s not a date!”

———-

Pancakes makes a beeline for Cady as soon as she steps in the door, rubbing against her legs with a welcoming meow. She bends down to scritch behind his ears, cooing at him in a baby voice.

“Hello Pancakes, how is the best little cat in the whole wide world?” She says as she scoops him up for better snuggles.

Janis just glares at him, grumbling, “Oh sure, I had to spend months and have trainers to get you to like me but little Miss Kenya comes over a few times and she’s your new best friend,” under her breath.

“Aww, Jan, don’t be jealous. He still loves you,” Cady pouts.

“I’m not jealous. He’s a dummy anyway. He stuck his paw in my coffee this morning and then yelled at it for getting his foot wet,” Janis says, as if that somehow redeems her. She actually is a little jealous, but only that Pancakes is getting Cady’s cuddles instead of her.

Cady laughs at that. “Orange boy cats are always dumb, that’s why they’re great. Why did you name him Pancakes anyway?” She asks as Janis leads them to the basement, cat still laying contently in her arms.

“He was really fat as a baby and when he sat down the way he would squish out made him look like a stack of pancakes,” Janis says, digging through her DVD collection for a movie. “I dunno, I was thirteen, it fit at the time.” She mumbles as she finds The Shining and puts it in.

Cady plops down next to her on the little couch, pouting as Pancakes decides he’s had enough and leaves with his tail flicking arrogantly. Janis mutters, “Little bastard,” under her breath affectionately as he trips on his way up the stairs.

Cady inches closer to Janis as the movie starts, pretending to be slightly more scared than she actually is. She does genuinely jump and bury her head in Janis’ shoulder at the first jumpscare, deciding to stay there as Janis wraps an arm around her shoulders to keeps her close.

She peeks out eventually, only to see a man with an axe in his chest and hides again with a little squeak of fright.

“You said you watched a snake eat a whole cow, why are you so scared?” Janis teases gently, playing with her hair to comfort her.

“Because this is people? I never said I liked watching the snake eat the cow either,” Cady points out.

“Fair enough,” Janis giggles. “Should we just skip to The Lion King now so you can actually sleep tonight?”

“No, you can finish, I’ll just stay here,” Cady says, muffled by Janis’ shoulder. She’s secretly kind of glad she has a reason to be this close to her, content to just breathe in the comforting scents of vanilla lotion and paint that follow Janis as she’s held tightly.

Janis laughs again. “Suit yourself, Peanut,” she hums, resting her head against Cady’s.

Once the movie ends she stretches out, standing up to switch the tv off and holding a hand out to help Cady up. “Let’s watch the rest upstairs, this couch is too small,” she says.

Cady follows Janis to her room, jumping onto her bed and wrapping herself up in the pancake blanket so that only her face peeks out. Janis grabs her laptop to bring up the movie, laying down next to her but making sure to leave a little bit of space between them.

Cady decidedly ignores the gap and inchworms herself closer to rest her head on Janis’ belly, Janis freezing for a second before relaxing. Cady’s love language was obviously touch, and if she trusted you she would not hesitate to make that known. It had taken some getting used to for Janis, being made into a social pariah and then having that all collapse last year didn’t exactly lead to many pretty girls wanting to cuddle with her. Every once in a while it was still a shock, but she treasured every little hug and cuddle she got from her crush.

By the time Hakuna Matata is playing softly from the speakers, Cady rolls over and Janis notices she’s sound asleep. She turns the volume and brightness down on her laptop and switches to watching The Little Mermaidinstead. She only watches The Lion King with Cady now, and if she wasn’t watching anything she would just stare at her sleeping face the whole time. She just got people to stop thinking she’s some kind of creepy molester, she doesn’t need Cady waking up and noticing she’s been watching her sleep.

She only gets a few minutes into her movie before her phone chimes with Damian’s text tone. She stretches gently over to her nightstand to grab it, trying not to wake Cady up.

sashafierce: Is Caddy still with you?

sashafierce: She got a callback for Belle and she’s not answering my texts

gaylien: Sent a picture: she sleep

sashafierce: Aww

sashafierce: Gay

gaylien: no

sashafierce: Yes

gaylien: she’s just a cuddly person

sashafierce: Yeah, with you

gaylien: she cuddles with you all the time!

sashafierce: Only when you’re not around, you’re clearly her favorite

sashafierce: And she has never fallen asleep on my lap like a little kitten. Not once

gaylien: point made but i still say ur wrong

sashafierce: And I still say when y’all start dating you have to give me 20 bucks

sashafierce: Anyway I hate to disrupt that little burrito but you really should wake her up and tell her, she needs to make sure she knows the whole song by tomorrow

Janis tries to shake Cady awake, only getting a sleepy groan in reply. “Peanut, you gotta wake up really quick,” she murmurs, shaking her again.

“Wha’ happent? Why’d you wake me up?” Cady grumbles, cranky about being so rudely awakened.

“You got a callback for Belle, Damian wants to make sure you know the song for tomorrow,” Janis says, grinning as Cady rubs at her face like a cat.

“‘ll call’er back later. Lemme sleep,” Cady groans, smushing her face against Janis’ tummy. “Goodnight.” She says, muffled as she reaches up to pat Janis’ face before falling back asleep.

gaylien: she just said “i’ll call her back later” and went back to sleep

sashafierce: LMAO ok

sashafierce: I’ll talk to her about it in the morning I guess

sashafierce: Enjoy your little totally platonic sleepover, love you both

gaylien: she’s just a cuddly person!!!! she doesn’t like me back there’s no way

gaylien: i love u too but ur the worst sometimes

sashafierce: And you’re a whole idiot sometimes you oblivious sap

gaylien: damb i’ve been called tf out

gaylien: goodnight loser

sashafierce: goodnight dork

Janis texts her mom to ask if Cady can sleep over, since she definitely won’t be able to wake her up enough to get her home by this point. Her mom agrees, letting Cady’s parents know as well.

They both wore clothes they can sleep in, so Janis only has to wake Cady up to take her contacts out before they can both go to sleep. Janis boops Cady’s nose gently in an attempt to wake her, trying to contain her giggles as she scrunches it like a bunny and the corners of her mouth tick up in a grin.

Once Cady’s contacts are out, she flips down onto the bed and buries her face in Janis’ pillow. Janis reaches over to shut the light off before lying down next to her, making sure to leave a few inches of space between them.

“Goodnight, Caddy.”

———-

The next day is the dance call and callbacks. Everyone gets to meet the choreographer, Mr. Dunn, as he leads them through some basic stretches and a few pieces of basic choreography that would be in the show. He calls out certain people’s numbers after every section, making Cady nervous when hers is never called until she notices Damian’s was never called either. Maybe it’s a good thing.

She has a roughly ten minute break to cool down from the exercise and prepare herself for her callback audition, sucking down water from her small bottle and doing a few of the warm-ups Damian taught her. Belle callbacks go first, so she goes to stand with a crowd of about five other girls in line.

She’s more confident than she was yesterday, Damian’s new tips fresh in her mind since they had worked on it a little at lunch. She’s technically excused after she’s finished, but since Damian is her ride home she goes to take a seat in one of the cushy chairs and watches him do his.

Damian got a callback for both the Beast and Lumiere (again), but since the audition song was the same for both he was only required to stay for one. He shoots Cady a wink once he finishes, and she claps silently for him so she doesn’t disturb the other people preparing.

They meet in the cafeteria, Damian rushing to scoop her up and spin her around in congratulation. “You did so good, Cads! I seriously think you might get it.”

“You did good too, Dame. I hope you get whatever part you’re wanting,” She says as he sets her down again.

“We’ll find out later tonight, they’re sending the cast list out at eight. Janis wants to take you-us out to dinner, by the way. She says you get to pick,” He says, faking annoyance about not being allowed to pick where they go.

“Aww, that’s nice of her. We could go to that buffet place, they have everything. Then you can pick what you want too,” She says, trying to compromise even though he was joking.

“Sounds good, Little Slice. She’ll meet us there, let’s go,” He says, scooping her up again and carrying her towards the parking lot as she shrieks with laughter and wraps her arms around his neck.

———-

Once all three are absolutely stuffed, they meet back up at Damian’s house for a weekend sleepover. All of them immediately flop on the ground in the living room, Pippa coming over to sniff and lick at their faces before settling in on Cady’s chest for a nap.

“I’ve never been so full in my life,” Janis groans. “How did I even make it here, I shouldn’t have driven.”

“You drove me here,” Cady says, concerned.

“That’s on you for trusting me, dork,” Janis says as she somehow manages to peel herself off the carpet and trudge over to the couch. “What movie do y’all want to watch?”

“Let’s just nap,” Damian grumbles. “Come back, Jan.”

They form a cuddle puddle on the ground, Cady in the middle pressed against Janis, and Damian on her other side. Janis pulls her closer, squishing poor Pippa between them and resting her cheek against the top of her head.

When they wake up again, it’s dark outside and Damian’s mom is back from work. She put a blanket over the lot of them and gave them each a pillow, but Cady moved from hers in favor of laying her head on Janis’ chest.

“Morning, sleepy heads,” Mrs. Hubbard teases from the couch as they all sit up and rub their eyes.

“Hi, Ma. What time is it?” Damian asks blearily.

“Just after eight. I’m assuming you girls are spending the night?”

“Yeah. Cads, that means the cast list is out, come see,” Damian says, grabbing his phone as he stands up to stretch. He sees his mom sent him a photo of the three of them curled up on the ground, making it his lock screen quickly before moving to his email to bring up the document the director sent out.

Cady pokes her head around to look at the screen just as it loads, and they both gasp excitedly as they see the first name.

Belle: Cady Heron

Damian keeps scrolling, seeing he’s been cast as Lumiere once again. That makes him a little nervous, but he had a lot of fun in the role last time.

Karen was cast as Chip, and Gretchen was in the ensemble and would also be portraying the enchantress.

“Holy shit, Cads! You got the lead!” Janis cheers, stopping herself at the last second from kissing her and playing it off as a hug instead.

“That’s crazy, I thought they only gave big parts to people who’ve done it before,” Cady says dazedly, suddenly nervous as she returns Janis’ embrace. “But Damian is Lumiere, that means we get to be together a lot,” She adds as she pulls him in to make it a group hug.

“And I’m stage manager, we get more time together too,” Janis adds, rejoicing internally.

——-

Rehearsals begin on the first of February, Janis working on taping out the stage for blocking set pieces while Cady sits in the auditorium seats with the rest of the cast for their first read through of the script. Every time she hears her sweet, soft voice ring out Janis’ heart skips a beat.

Cady comes to find her when they get a break, while Janis is working on painting a piece that will eventually be the door to the house. “That looks really good, Jay,” She says, accidentally startling Janis as she comes up from behind.

“Thanks, Caddy. How’s practice going?” Janis says, plopping her brush into the water cup next to her and leaning back on her hands.

“It’s fun! Sonja keeps getting yelled at because she’s not supposed to swear but does anyway and Dawn doesn’t want to flirt with Damian, but I like it. Everyone’s really nice,” Cady answers as she sits next to her.

“That’s good, if they weren’t I’d show them my fists,” Janis says, brandishing her weapons. She had actually started working out lately, so that on the off chance she ever encountered a homophobe or bigot she’d be able to deck them with the most force possible. It’s a genuine threat.

“Your rings would hurt a lot,” Cady laughs, leaning closer to see how Janis reacts. She blinks at her for a second, but eventually also leans closer.

“I was listening to your run earlier, you sound good, by the way. You do her character really well.” Janis compliments.

“Thank you. It’s actually kind of easy. Belle’s a lot like me, I suppose. She’s from somewhere else and never quite fits in, loves to get lost in other worlds, she loves her family...” She falls for someone she never thought she would, Cady adds in her head as she trails off, looking meaningfully at the gorgeous girl sitting next to her. “I have to get back, I’ll see you later.” She stuns Janis with a peck on the cheek as she goes, leaving her blinking rapidly and gaping at the wall.

“Bye,” Janis replies, several minutes after Cady’s already left.

——-

They’re only more distracted by one another when they start dating two weeks into rehearsals. Janis nearly ruined one of the rose props because she was so distracted listening to Cady working on a scene, and Cady had lost count of the times she’d nearly fallen into the pit while looking to see where Janis was.

Cady also had a tendency to hyper-express her emotions; if she didn’t say out loud what she was thinking or feeling her face would let you know. It was quite useful when she was acting since she didn’t have to try very hard to get the mood across, but when she had other things on her mind it could be an issue.

She got several notes about it one day. She kept giggling during an emotional scene, remembering Janis trying to clean out the fog machine and having it puff out in her face. Then later, she looked too bored during Be Our Guest causing Damian to resort to increasingly ridiculous measures to get her back, but she was actually just disappointed that Janis wouldn’t be in her eyesight anymore now that she had switched to working up in the booth.

Janis was also struggling to keep on task, her mind occasionally elsewhere. She missed a cue she was supposed to call up to lightning because she was laughing so hard watching her (now literally) flaming homosexual best friend pretend to flirt with Dawn Schweitzer, who was Babette. A few days later, she was so distracted staring at Cady in costume for the first time that she absentmindedly started singing a song from High School Musical at one of Sonja Acquino’s (Mrs. Potts) lines under her breath.

It wasn’t until she heard “Sarkisian, your mic is still on,” buzzing into her headset that she realized she never hit the button after calling her last cue and scrambled over to the switchboard.

Eventually, the director has to pull them both aside before practice one day and ask them, politely, to get their shit together. They both nod, embarrassed, but he just ruffles their hair and says it’s cute, but they need to focus on the show during rehearsals.

———

As they get down to the wire, Mr. Dunn asks Cady if there’s any way she could work on the waltz scene on her own time for extra practice. She had terrible coordination with her feet, so she wasn’t too surprised she’d have trouble dancing.

“I just don’t know who to ask, I don’t know anyone who can dance,” She complains to Damian while they get their snack break, crunching frustratedly on her celery.

“Janis could help, she did ballet for almost ten years,” Damian says, putting a hand over his mouth as he does. “Don’t tell her I told you, she’ll kill me.”

Cady has to bite her lip to contain a squeal at the mental image of a young Janis in a leotard and tutu. “Don’t worry, Dame, I won’t tell her.” She says comfortingly once she’s recovered.

That night, Janis comes over for a movie night, sans Damian who was “busy”. Cady immediately pins her to the couch for cuddles, not that Janis is complaining. They lie there for a while, talking about their day and peppering kisses wherever they can reach. Eventually Cady pipes up again, saying, “I learned something interesting about you today.”

Janis tenses, that could quite literally mean anything. “Oh?”

“You never told me you were a ballerina,” Cady says, leaning on her elbows to hover over her and playing with the ends of her hair as Janis visibly relaxes beneath her.

“I haven’t told you a lot of things,” She teases. “Who told you?” It could only be Damian or Regina, they’re the only ones who know.

“Nobody.”

“Damian?”

“No.”

“I’m not gonna do anything to him, you can tell me,” Janis coaxes. “I’m not embarrassed about it or anything, I just have some bad memories associated with it. It’s how I met Regina, actually. Plus it just doesn’t really fit my vibe now, either.”

“Okay, yes it was Damian. But he didn’t mean to, I just need more help learning the dance for Tale as Old as Time, and he thought you could do it,” Cady mumbles.

“I probably could, I’ve watched you guys working on it enough. I think I know the steps,” She says, reaching for her phone to bring up the song as she stands up.

They push the furniture out of the way so they have room, Janis guiding Cady to where they should begin. “Okay, so you put your hand here,” She says, taking it gently and resting it on her own shoulder. “And then mine goes here.” She places hers on Cady’s waist, pulling her slightly closer.

Cady grins up at her as the music begins, following Janis’ movements and trying very hard not to step on her toes. It’s obvious she has some kind of dance background, she can follow the rhythm easily and the passion she puts into the movements makes Cady want to kiss her senseless right where they stand.

“That was good, Butterfly. Just loosen up a little, you’re so tense,” Janis says once they finish, still lost in each other.

“You’re really pretty,” Cady blurts after a second, staring into Janis’ eyes.

Janis laughs. “Thank you. You’re pretty too. Beautiful, even. Ma belle fille,” She coos, pressing a kiss to the tip of Cady’s nose.

“You know French?” Cady asks as they return to their starting positions to go again.

“Oui. My dad was French. I was born there, actually. He got sick a few years after, and he wanted my mom to have her family to support her through everything so we moved back here. My mom kept teaching me what she knew after he died, and his side of the family kept helping when she couldn’t anymore,” Janis says, smiling fondly as memories of her family run through her mind.

“That’s sweet,” Cady says, trying to remember the footwork and have a conversation at the same time. It does feel better now that she’s released some tension. “Wait, then why are you only in French 4?” She asks as the realization hits.

“Because nobody’s supposed to know,” Janis teases. “I get things wrong on purpose so nobody suspects anything. I didn’t want to be bumped up to a class with people I don’t know.”

“You’re such a dork, oh my god. Only you would purposely lower your grade in a class,” Cady laughs.

“What about you? I thought you were fluent in French too,” Janis points out.

“I used to be, but I speak so many things that are similar to it and I wasn’t using it regularly when we moved. I wanted to pick it back up, so that’s what I scheduled, and I tested into this one.”

“That makes sense,” Janis answers, spinning Cady out into a twirl before pulling her back. “Remember you’re gonna be in a big dress while this is happening, you’re not going to be able to be this close.”

Cady pouts. “But I like being close to you,” she whines.

How is she so cute? “You can be close for now, but you’re gonna have about five pounds of fabric between you and the Beast when the time comes,” Janis hums, kissing her soundly once the music ends again.

“I wish you could be my Beast. I like you much more than Jason,” Cady says lovingly. “Can you help me run lines while we eat?” She asks as her mom lets them know that dinner is ready from the other room.

“Thanks, baby. I like you more than Jason too,” Janis laughs. “Let’s go get food, I’m starving.”

———

Tech week hits and everyone is immediately exhausted. Other than in classes and watching each other on stage, the art freaks barely even get to speak. They still have homework and chores, so sleepovers and movie nights have taken a backseat and probably would until the show closes.

After the last hell week rehearsal, Janis is cleaning up backstage as everyone files out to head home. As she finishes, she notices Cady lying spread eagle in the middle of the stage, staring up at the ceiling. Slightly worried, Janis decides to investigate.

“You okay there, Butterfly?” She asks, nudging her with her foot gently.

“Yeah,” Cady says, patting the ground next to her. “Come lay with me?”

Janis does, settling next to her and resting her head against Cady’s shoulder. There is something relaxing about it, staring up at the scaffolding and set pieces hanging above them. It’s the first moment they’ve had alone all week, both of them soaking in the other’s presence as much as they can.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Janis asks quietly after a while.

“Yeah. I think I am,” Cady says softly.

“I’m so proud of you,” Janis says. “I can’t wait to see you in it for real.”

“I love you,” Cady whispers after another beat, rolling on top of her and leaning down to kiss her. Janis grips her hips tightly, pulling her closer and flicking her tongue against the seam of Cady’s lips.

They lie there for a while just kissing softly, lips meeting again and again as they’re illuminated by the stage lights. Cady pulls back after several minutes, drawing a frustrated whine from Janis. “Can you take me home? I forgot that’s why I stayed behind, I don’t have a ride,” Cady asks. “You can spend the night,” She adds seductively, rolling her hips slightly.

“Yes, I can, let’s go,” Janis says quickly, scrambling to her feet as Cady giggles. She shuts off the stage lights, and they escape the building guided by the soft glow of the ghost light, hand in hand.

——-

Janis is rushing around backstage frantically, headset around her neck as she nearly plows over several people. One of the bars broke on the dungeon set, and she has to find a last minute fix for Belle’s basket.

She’s dashing past the girls’ dressing room when Cady pokes her head out, barely hearing the “Janis?” called after her.

She spins around on her heel, heading back towards the room. “Yes, princess?” She asks breathlessly.

“Can you help me? I can’t get my bow in,” Cady pouts, holding out a blue ribbon. Janis takes it from her gently, spinning her around and tying it around her curly auburn ponytail.

“There. Vous êtes belle,” Janis hums, wrapping her arms around Cady’s shoulders and pressing a sweet kiss to her cheek. “You ready?”

“I’m nervous,” Cady mumbles, fiddling with the hem of her apron.

“You can do it. You’re my tough Kenya girl, this is just your next adventure. You’ll soar out there, my butterfly,” Janis comforts, squeezing her before letting go. “Break a leg, baby. Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime aussi,” Cady giggles.

———

Cady is killing it. Janis can feel the energy of the audience, the way they’re totally engrossed in her performance. She is as well. She has to hold back tears as Cady weeps at being torn from Maurice, has to tamp down actual jealousy at her stage relationship with the Beast.

Damian’s a crowd favorite as always, getting laughs in all the right places and lots of applause when he finishes his number. Lumiere really is the perfect role for him. He does comedy better than anything, as Janis knows well. She’s been in the audience for every single show he’s done since they were freshmen, and she can tell he’s giving his all to the last one he’d do here.

Karen nearly gets more laughs than Damian, her comedic timing is on point, and Gretchen looks remarkably comfortable onstage surrounded by the rest of the ensemble. She had really come out of her shell during rehearsals, and Janis is oddly glad to see her looking anxiety-free for the first time in a long time.

She tries not to be too surprised when she spies none other than Regina George in the audience at intermission, two bouquets of flowers on the seat next to her and nibbling on some peanut M&Ms she’d bought at concessions. Regina has changed a lot over the past year. Janis doesn’t necessarily think they’ll ever be friends again, they don’t spend time together without Cady, but it’s still nice to see.

The whole show nearly goes off without a hitch, other than Jason getting stuck hanging from the ceiling during the Beast transformation scene and Cady nearly getting run over by a set piece during a scene transition. They’re both incredible actors and play both off in character near perfectly.

Before either of them are really aware of it, the show is over and the final number begins. Cady is looking directly at the booth as she sings the reprise of Tale as Old as Time, looking right at Janis. She’s unable to leave the box until the audience exits, but she cheers loudly for Damian during his bow with Mike Thurman, who played Cogsworth.

Cady’s bow is last, and she comes running out onto the stage in her poofy yellow dress with the biggest grin on her face. The audience (and Janis) claps loudest for her, giving her a standing ovation as she bows proudly and leads the acknowledgement of the pit and crew. She blows a kiss as she gestures to where Janis is in the booth, able to pass it off as going to the audience, but Janis knows it’s just for her.

——

Cady is standing amongst the crowd in the cafeteria with her parents, hugging them

both tightly and accepting the bouquet of roses they got her. People are constantly congratulating her, and she’s high off the adrenaline of the night.

She bids her parents goodbye and turns to go congratulate Gretchen and Karen, who are currently chatting with Regina. Aw, Regina got them flowers, she thinks, when suddenly a small form rockets into her leg and hugs her tightly. She looks down to see a little girl, no more than seven, wrapped tightly around her leg and smiling up at her with missing front teeth.

A woman, presumably her mother, comes rushing up, apologizing frantically and gently scolding her daughter. “I’m so sorry, she got away from me. Darling, I’ve told you not to leave my side.”

“Oh, it’s okay, she’s fine,” Cady says calmly. “Hello!” She chirps to the girl being pried from her skirt.

“Oh, she’s mute. Only speaks at home,” her mother sighs.

“Does she know sign language?” Cady asks.

“Yes, but we’re both still learning,” the woman answers, looking surprised as Cady crouches down to the girl’s eye level.

“Hello there, what’s your name?” Cady signs slowly.

“Hi, I’m Willow.” She signs back, fumbling over a few of the shapes.

The woman gasps, “You know sign?”

Cady nods. “I was mute too, I didn’t really speak until I was six,” she explains.

“I like your dress,” Willow signs once Cady looks back to her.

“Thank you! I like yours too,” Cady reaches out to tug gently on the hem of it, making Willow giggle. “Did you like the show?”

Willow nods rapidly. “Lumiere was so funny!”

Cady laughs as she stands up. “That’s my best friend, would you like to meet him?” She says out loud, holding out a hand. Willow takes it with an excited nod, placing her little hand in hers.

Cady leads them through the crowd to Damian’s tall form; made even taller by the candle hat he has on. He spins away from talking with Janis when she taps him on the shoulder, immediately pulling her into a tight hug.

“I’m so proud of you!” He exclaims, letting her go. “Who’s this?”

“This is Willow, she wanted to meet Lumiere,” Cady says, allowing the little girl to hide behind her skirt. Damian can be kind of intimidating if you don’t know how gentle he really is.

“Oh! Enchantée, petite,” He exclaims in character, turning his candle hands back on and kneeling down to her height. Willow seems to realize he’s not actually a threat, just very tall, and comes out from behind Cady’s ballgown signing excitedly to Damian.

“She says you were really funny, and you’re her favorite character in the show,” Cady translates, also bending down. “Oh, except for me.” She adds with a giggle.

“Ah, merci! I’m glad you liked it,” He laughs, adding, “Belle’s my favorite too,” in a whisper as if it’s some sort of terrible secret. Willow giggles again.

“Willow, we have to go now, darling. Say goodbye,” Her mother says from behind them. She frowns, but hugs Damian gently before throwing her arms around Cady again. Janis has to turn around to avoid cooing audibly at the adorableness.

Cady hugs her back just as tightly, saying, “Oh, adieu, little one. It was lovely to meet you,” as she passes her back to her mother.

Willow waves goodbye to them as she takes her mother’s hand, Cady and Damian both waving back. The mother thanks them both several times, nearly in tears as she leads her daughter out the doors, the little girl signing excitedly that Belle was just like her.

“That was sickeningly adorable, I hope you know that,” Janis says once they’ve gone. Cady is incredible with kids. Maybe they’d have a few mini-Cadys running around someday.

“I do indeed,” Cady giggles, finally getting to hug her girlfriend. “Now let’s go take some pictures, my mom wants some of all of us together before we get out of costume.”

——-

Damian drives them to Waffle House after they change into sweats, Cady still in full makeup and him with his gold-painted face.

Cady’s still off her face on adrenaline, chattering about how much fun she had that night so quickly that neither Janis or Damian can make a word out. She rushes inside the restaurant once they get there, bouncing excitedly at the promise of waffles. The waitstaff look a little frightened when they see she’s clearly in show makeup, but calm down once they notice it’s just the three of them.

They pick a booth, Janis pinning Cady to the inside so she can’t cause too much property damage with her excitement.

Once their food arrives, Cady wolfs down her meal and promptly falls asleep on Janis’ shoulder. Janis shifts to cradle her sleeping girlfriend like a baby, wiping some stray whipped cream off her lip and grinning down at her.

She continues talking to Damian as they finish eating, glad they finally have a chance to catch up. They didn’t get as many chances to hang out just the two of them now that she was dating Cady, and it had only gotten worse once the show had started getting more intense. They would always be first in each other’s hearts, platonic soulmates, but she’s still missed him.

“You two are so soft,” Damian teases once he’s paid for their food. Cady has to wake up for a minute so Janis can actually stand up, practically falling asleep on her feet until Janis picks her up. Working out also came with the added benefit of being able to carry her girlfriend around, which they both loved. Especially since Cady had a tendency to fall asleep in inconvenient places.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Janis answers as Cady wraps her arms around her neck and legs around her waist loosely, burrowing into her shoulder and going back to sleep.

Damian just gestures broadly at the whole situation as he leads them back towards his car. Janis decides to sit in the back, laying her girlfriend down gently before sliding in after and placing Cady’s head on her lap.

As Damian peels out of the parking lot, Janis smiles down at her girl, running her fingers through her soft auburn curls gently and trying not to giggle too hard when Cady puffs happily in her sleep and nuzzles into her hand slightly.

“Je t’aime tellement, mon papillon,” she whispers softly in French so Damian won’t understand. “Merci de m’aimer aussi.”

And they lived happily ever after.

------

thanks for reading! as always any and all feedback is appreciated, but please be kind.

lots of love,

ezzy

#cadnis #cady heron x janis sarkisian #paint by numbers #cady heron #janis sarkisian #damian hubbard #karen smith #gretchen wieners #regina george #karen smith x gretchen wieners #mean girls #mean girls musical #mean girls broadway

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galaxina-the-pyro · 3 years

Text

A Cure That Ails You

"IT'S NOT FAIR!" "I'm sure it's not, hon..." "Like, he asks me to all these things NOW?! While I'm trying to get over him?! That oblivious, kerfluffin-!" Schnitzel sighed deeply, rolling her eyes towards a sobbing mess of a seventeen-year-old Isabella. In hindsight, this was all on the former Fireside Girl - Phineas had asked her out to some stupid festival that Danville was setting up. Isabella turned him down. Phineas was disappointed but never once felt upset over Isabella's answer, only telling her that he'll still meet up with her at the festival or whatever with whomever she was gonna go with. She told him that that one kid named...uh...what was it...Everett? No, wait, that was the bastard who broke her heart after her Bat Quincinera Mitzvah party thing. That other boy who started showing signs of having a thing for Isabella was that one kid with that completely fake British accent. Bland and forgettable to Schnitzel, though Isabella fawned over the kid's sense of humor at the very least. Humor was important in a relationship. But if Schnitzel remembered this particular kid, she remembered that he seemed much more...flamboyant for someone Isabella would be pursuing. Not that Phineas didn't have those moments, it was more like this particular kid- "CLINTON!" Schnitzel shouted, "That's his name! Clinton, right?" Isabella whined. "Yes, Clinton," she leaned her head back against her couch, covered in crumbs of cookie dough and chips, "He already asked me before...before he did. I told him I was gonna think about it..." She scooped another clump of cookie dough into her mouth and chewed. Schnitzel examined her jaw bobbing up and down like a well-oiled garbage disposal. "Don't you like that kid?" she asked, "You told your other friends you liked him, anyway. They won't shut up about how..." she trailed off and shook her head, "You flipping lied to them, didn't you?" Isabella threw her hands up into the air, nearly sending her spoon flying into the air in the process. "They wouldn't shut up about it!" she cried out, mouth still full of dough, "The girls kept pushing how I shouldn't give up on him just yet!" she had the sense to swallow before she could choke on a chocolate chip, "That we were meant to be! Love knows no limits! You have to wait for it-UGH! I just-I couldn't take it anymore!" "I get what you're saying, kid," Schnitzel frowned deeply, "But that's not a cool thing to do to a guy like Clinton. He's a cool...well...nice dude, at least. Leading him on is kind of a jerk move on your end." The fat woman could feel the sense of irritation drooling from Isabella's tone as she turned to face her. Isabella sighed. "You really can't tell?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, "Clinton's gay. Like, really, really gay." Schnitzel was taken aback, but not by much. "...then," she paused, "Then why is he-?" "He's not out of the closet yet," Isabella shrugged, "I and another one of his friends are the only ones who know. Though honestly, I'm surprised no one's figured it out by now. It's kinda obvious." Schnitzel blinked. "I mean, I figured," she admitted, "But, like...why would he be pretending to-," she facepalmed, "Oh, duh, this is a setup. You're trying to cover up your crush, he's trying to cover up his," she smirked, "Which one of your friends is he pining for?" "Buford," Isabella said, "Totally Buford. He hangs out with him the most. The two like to jerk around with each other." Schnitzel nodded, smiling for a moment before she noticed Isabella slumping back into a depressed pile. The former villainess scowled slightly at the sight, having hoped changing the conversation to that of Clinton's dilemma would snap Isabella away from what happened with her and Phineas. Schnitzel picked up one of the empty cookie dough canisters and lifted it up for examination. "You know," Schnitzel said slowly, "You really don't have to lie to your friends. Just talk to them. Explain that you don't appreciate-." "They wouldn't understand," Isabella insisted, "They only ever backed off when I was with...you know...and now they're kinda backing off now that I'm...interested in Clinton, you know? I...I wanna keep it that way." "It's a dumb move," Schnitzel stated bluntly, "But...I see why you're doing it...at least partly," she turned the cannister, looking for the ingredients - the odor of the dough making her lick her lips, "Your friends mean well. They do. They shouldn't push this stuff, but they definitely care," she looked over at Isabella with a frown, "But maybe you're backing the wrong horse here, too?" Isabella squinted her eyes at the greying woman in her early fifties at best. "What do you mean?" she practically scowled. "I mean that maybe," Schnitzel leaned back slightly, not looking at Isabella, "Maybe they have a point...I'm not saying you should go back to how things used to be," she briefly placed the plastic onto her lap, "It's good to take breaks. Learned that from experience," she turned to the teen carefully, "But...is giving up on the kid entirely really what you want? Or do you think it's what you have to do because you need to start 'growing up' and moving passed those supposedly childish endeavors?" "I can't revolve my entire being to him all the time," Isabella insisted, "I'm more than that!" "Yeah, well," Schnitzel drummed her fingers on the bottom of the plastic canister, "Who said you had to give up on being with Phineas in order to do that?" Schnitzel regretted her choice words, regretted the look of sheer agony that graced Isabella's face from hearing the name of her heart's desire ring in her ears. The floodgates reopened as the strong, fearless leader, Isabella, once again succumbed to a sniveling mess. Schnitzel let out another deep sigh as she returned to examining the cannister. "Why does the world hate me?!" "Heck if I know." "I don't understand why emotions work the way they do! Why can't I just MOVE THE HECK ON?!" "Feel ya, girl. I really do," Schnitzel lit up, "OH! Here it is! Ingredients!" Isabella wailed, "H-he's just so PERFECT, Alice," she insisted, "Why must he make it so hard for me to move on from?! Why does he feel the need to squeeze at my heart?!" The broken sobs that followed were bone-shattering, even for Schnitzel. A wave of guilt washed over onto her, even as her eyes refused to leave to words on the container. "Oh, Isa..." she paused upon looking at the part of the container that specifically said 'do not consumer before baking' in bold letters, wondering why she hadn't noticed that before; she glanced around the empty as well as the partly empty containers on the ground, and barely noticed the large black garbage bag beside Isabella, slowly putting two and two together, "...uh...Isabella, how much cookie dough have you been eating?" Isabella's response was a mere hiccup and a cough, having nearly choked on some more cookie dough. "Why won't Phineas love me?" she sobbed before hugging her current container close to her chest like it was her offspring. Schnitzel swallowed some air and slowly stood up, the container in hand. "Ooooookay, that's enough cookie dough, Is," she looked at the container once more and gaped, "Why...why would you buy cookie dough that uses unpasteurized eggs?" Isabella coughed again. "Why does THAT matter?" she groaned. "Well," Schnitzel walked towards the garbage bag, opened it, and saw a lot of containers and empty chip bags of varying flavors, "Raw cookie dough already gives you a strong likelihood of getting foodborne diseases," Schnitzel failed to notice Isabella's coughing suddenly turning into gagging, "But when you use unpasteurized products, it also gives you the high risk of getting-" Schnitzel cringed as she heard Isabella lurch forward and, for lack of a better word, tossed up her cookies all over her feet. The woman need not turn to look at the poor child, but did so anyway and sighed as Isabella trembled in a bent up position, whimpering. "...salmonella." (~) "Oh, Izzy...oh you poor baby..." Isabella moaned as she leaned against the toilet, feeling Phineas' hands gently rubbing her back. He sighed and shook his head, as if somewhat disappointed in her. It was both painful to see, yet far more comforting than any medicine would do for her right now. "You really should be more careful," he said sternly, "What compelled you to eat all of that anyway?" "I was," Isabella gagged again and clutched the seat, wincing, waiting...but nothing came; she slowly turned back to Phineas and swallowed dryly, "Clinton broke it off with me. I...I didn't take it well." The look on Phineas' face was as heartbroken as it made Isabella feel. She hated to see Phineas look so hurt, even when it was because she was the one in pain. She felt his arms gently wrap around her waist and his chin rest on her head ever slightly. "I'm so sorry," he said, "I know you liked him a lot." "I...yeah," Isabella laughed softly, "I did...I do...but..." her chuckles became shaken, "Phineas, I...I need to..." she fought the need to wretch as the words echoed in her mind like a broken record. "Who said you had to give up on being with Phineas...?" "Isabella?" Isabella could barely turn to look at Phineas like her neck was locked into place. But from the corner of her eyes, she could see the kindness and love that Phineas had on his face. Platonic or not, that love was real - that love was far more than worth fighting for. Worth pursuing even. He proved that by coming over today on such short notice. He proved that by dropping everything just to go see if she was doing okay. He loved her. He loved her so much... "I lied." Phineas blinked, tilting his head. "Lied?" he asked, "About what?" Isabella breathed slowly. "About me and Clinton," she explained, "I made it-made it all up," she sucked up on some air and choked in down, "I'm so, so sorry, I was," the tears poured, "I was just so tired of it all...they had so many expectations for me," she shook her head, "I just couldn't stand it. I wanted to prove I could really stand on my own." "What are you talking about?" Phineas seemed to pull in closer to Isabella, his voice filled with...hope, perhaps? Isabella wasn't entirely sure. But she desperately wanted that to be the case. That would make this so much easier to do. "From the day I met you," Isabella paused, "No, that's silly...for a long time, since we were little," she grimaced, "I felt strong feelings for you...I...loved you...and whether I wanted to or not, I," she almost broke out into a sob, the pain too much for her to handle as her stomach twisted, "I still love you. I still want you. I wish I was," she shook, "I wish I was strong enough to have told you this when-." "Izzy." Isabella flinched at her nickname, her body finally allowing her to turn and look at Phineas, who pulled his arms away from her. He cupped her face. A tender grin formed on the boy's face as he rubbed his thumb across her cheek to wipe away a stray tear. "Izzy," he repeated, "I always-." Before he could finish, Isabella gasped out in agony and turned back to the loo, chundering once more. Phineas immediately went into position, lifting up Isabella's hair, serenely humming as she finished, a worried frown still in place even as he continued to try and soothe her. Once Isabella had finished, she looked over at Phineas, a shaken up smile forming. He opened his mouth to finish his previous statement before the door opened. "I'm back with some water," Schnitzel stated walking in slowly, looking around, "Were you...talking to someone?" Isabella was afraid to look away from Schnitzel. She was afraid to look behind her. She really didn't have to. She already knew the truth, anyway. But that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt her to see the confirmation first hand. And yet her head turned. Like an idiot, she looked, a small, stupid bead of hope shining in her chest. The same one that refused to die like the rest of it. And the fruits of that hope was met with an empty spot where Phineas was once kneeling at. Some hair that he had been caressing slid onto her skin as she sniffed. Schnitzel took another step closer. "Isabella?" The automatic action of any human being with even the smallest shred of decency was to immediately reached down and clutch the poor, sobbing mess close to her. The once ugly tears of over-dramatics had turned into something far more self-destructive. Schnitzel felt this the moment she felt Isabella's tears on her shoulder as she hugged her close. Rather than disappear, the bead of hope in Isabella's chest proceeded to taunt her with small maybe's and what if's before it was briefly drowned away in fragmented sorrow. Who did Isabella think she was kidding? Phineas would never truly feel that way for her, no matter how many times she could've sworn he did.

"Let it out, Izzy," Schnitzel cooed, brushing the girl's black locks between her fingers, "Let it out..."

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fandom-puff · 4 years

Note

hi! could i maybe request for arthur shelby (mlm if you can? but if not thats ok!) maybe where he meets someone who has a child from a previous relationship (who they looks after on their own) and arthur sort off takes them under his wing i just need arthur getting all the love he needs and deserves

Hiya :) i hope you like this! This is the first time I’ve written a male reader, so plz be nice to me! I also had a go writing in the third person (he, his rather that you, yours) let me know if that’s something you’d like to see more of

A Helping Hand

warnings: swearing, period typical internalised homophobia

“Morning... this the bookie?” YN asked, chewing his lip nervously.

“Depends who’s askin’,” the man at the door responded with a gruff voice. YN dug his hand in his pocket, pulling out some coins.

“No. I’ve come to put a few bob on a horse or two. I’m piss-poor and I was told the Shelby’s have the best rates,”

“Piss-poor, eh, and spending your last few bob on horses? You’re in the right place. You’d better come in then, hadn’t you?” he jolted his head for you to come in, but his eyes widened when he saw the little girl stood holding his hand. “Er... I’m not sure if she...”

“Sir, I’m not leaving my daughter on the street. She’s only three and we don’t know anyone around here,” he set his jaw, and Arthur sighed.

“Gimme a minute,”

YN waited, picking his daughter, Evelyn up. The little girl wrapped her arms around his neck and hid her face, her dark hair falling out of the wonky plaits he had put it in. “I know, darling,” he murmured, kissing her cheek. “Just this shop and then it’s home time, alright? We’ll have tea and then tuck you up in bed, hey?” Evelyn nodded and settled in his arms, already dozing.

The door creaked open and another man surveyed YN. “My brother Arthur says you’re wanting to blow your last few bob on bets. Can you afford to do that?” he gestured to the girl in your arms.

“Sir... it’s my only option to come into a bit of money. Spread it over a few horses, I’m bound to get something back. I’ve tried the mines and the factories but they won’t take me on because of... well, my situation and my... injuries sustained from the war,”

“The war eh? You’d better come in then. Your daughter can come too,”

YN nodded and followed him into the shop. The man, Tommy, pointed him into an office labelled Arthur Shelby and the man who initially answered the door looked up. “Arthur, see which horses this gentleman wants to bet on. Then take down his details. I need a new bookie and he needs work,”

“Yes, Tom. Er... come in, Mr...?”

“YLN,” he filled in, and sat in the chair opposite Arthur, Evelyn settled on his lap.

“Right well... Monoghan Boy has been doing well, you’ll get a few quid back on him. Best have a go at Secret Comrade as well, and-”

“Hanna’s Hope,” YN said suddenly, pointing to a name lower down on the list.

“Er... well, she’s not got the greatest odds, see, and if you’re wanting to make some money...”

“Hanna... my wife’s name, that,” YN said softly, fingertip still tracing the name.

“She not with us anymore, mate?” Arthur said gently.

YN shook his head, holding Evelyn a little closer to his chest. “Died a few months ago... Spanish Flu. My little Evie is all I have left,” he cleared his throat. “Sorry, getting all sentimental. Not very manly.’ Id like to split this between Monoghan Boy, secret Comrade and Hanna’s Hope please,” he put his money on the table as Arthur wrote out a receipt.

“Right, here you are. They normally get the races on the radio in the Garrison. gets rowdy on race nights though,” he nodded at Evelyn. “It’s in the papers though, the next day, and you can bring that in to pick up your winnings for up to two weeks after the race. And er... Tommy wants me to get a few details. says you need a job,”

Half an hour later, YN was being walked home by Arthur Shelby, carrying a sleeping Evie as they walked. “So you were a soldier then? You said Evelyn was only three?”

He chuckled slightly. “I got given leave after the Somme. Shattered my shin bone, couldn’t walk for weeks, let alone march. Hanna was heartbroken when I had to leave again in 1917,” he was silent for a moment. “I’ll never forget the day I came off that train and was home for good... My Hanna stood waiting for me with Evie on her hip...”

“I remember seeing my little brother and sister,”

“Did Thomas not go to war with you? Everyone said he threw his medals in the cut,”

“I’m the oldest of five,” he grinned, hands in his pockets. “It was me, Tommy and John who went to France. Ada played nurse down the community centre and Finn was just a bit older than your Evelyn when it all kicked off,”

They chatted a bit longer before they reached the front door. “This is us,” YN said, fishing his keys out of his pocket. “Thank you... for listening and not taking the piss,”

Arthur grinned. “It’s alright. We were all comrades in France, eh? Oh... be at the shop at nine sharp tomorrow alright. Don’t worry, you can bring Evelyn. John’s wife is up the duff and she sits in the back all day with her kids. She’ll be in safe hands,”

YN hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Thank you, so much. Will you tell your brother, and your other brother’s wife in advance for me?” Arthur nodded.

“Go on. Go and get that one to bed, she looks knackered. You look like you could do with a good night’s sleep too,”

***

Almost a year later, Arthur and YN had grown close. With his earnings from the bookies, YN was able to move into a nicer house with Evelyn and Arthur was a regular visitor. One evening, after Evelyn was tucked up in bed, the two men were sat drinking whiskey in front of the fire.

“I still don't think i’ve thanked you enough you know,” YN said, setting his whiskey down.

“You have, trust me,” Arthur said gently, leaning forward slightly and knocking back the rest of his drink. YN leaned forward too, his eyebrows tugged as if in question, before his lips barely brushed against Arthur’s.

YN jolted back suddenly as if zapped by lightning. “Shit. Shit. Arthur, I’m so sorry. Please, please don’t tell Tommy- I- I can't lose my job. I can’t lose Evie. Please,” he flinched back, expecting to be beaten to a pulp.

Arthur stared at him, still in the same spot. “You’ve very soft lips,” he murmured, rubbing his lips with the pad of his thumb. “C’mere, calm down. you won’t lose Evie or your job. C’mere,”

Tentatively, YN stood from his seat and stumbled over to Arthur. He rested his head on his stomach and wrapped his arms around his waist. “You make my head go quiet, YN,” he mumbled. “All I ever hear is screaming a-and bangs. But you... you make it go away. I feel safe near you,”

Instinctively YN stroked his fingers through Arthur’s hair, shutting his eyes. “It’s illegal, Arthur,” he murmured, though he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Everything I do is illegal, YN... it fits doesn’t it? We’ll make it work. I promise. We’ll make it work. I’ll make it work for you and for Evie, alright? But just say the word and I’ll fuck right off and never touch you again,”

“Arthur... I don’t think I could live without you,”

And so the two men stumbled upstairs to bed, sharing another tentative kiss on the way. They slotted together perfectly under the covers, Arthur's lanky arms and legs engulfing YN’s, and together they settled into the first peaceful sleep either had had in years, at peace with themselves and the world, despite the everyday horrors surrounding them in Small Heath.

#peaky blinders #fanfiction #imagine #fluff #arthur shelby x male reader #male reader #arthur shelby #request #mlm #lgbt fanfiction

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offbrandmercyplates · 3 years

Text

An OBMP Holiday Fanfic Special

Me: I should do a thing, get back in the writing spirit and all that.

Time of Year: *Is a holiday*

Me: I think I know what I’m going to do today.

So, yep! It’s a OBMP fanfic holiday special! WHOOOP! This thing actually went through a few different versions before I finally settled on one. There were some weird versions, which reminds me: what would happen if you tried to bake cookies without proper ingredients? One of the versions involved trying to make chocolate chip cookies with powdered milk, egg protein, and no baking soda. I have no idea what would happen if you actually tried that. I can only assume the worst. Also, there was a salt rock. And an elaborate traipsing through the halls and down the stairs. Not the best setup.

Anyway, this one should be much better! Please enjoy!

…

Messy Gyftmas!

Emmibee’s cozy cocoon of warmth and hazy sleep was viciously torn open by a muffled buzzing sound. She quickly scrambled to shut off the old alarm clock she had buried in clothes and towels on her side table. She flopped back onto the bed. Just a few more seconds… a few more seconds…

…Kind of weird that Dr. Gaster hadn’t come into her bedroom to see what the alarm was about.

…Dr. Gaster?

Emmi snapped upright. That’s right; Dr. Gaster was taking his once-a-week night off and actually sleeping! (It was very, very slow progress in getting him to sleep more properly, but progress all the same.) She quickly threw off the covers and slipped on the fuzzy pink socks she had managed to find at the Snowdin Shop recently. She tiptoed out of her bed room and past Gaster’s room.

She was halfway down the stairs when she heard a gravelly snore that made her freeze. She turned towards the couch and spotted the skeleton doctor sprawled across the couch, glasses askew and a bunch of papers over his torso and lap. It seemed that he had fallen asleep while working instead of sleeping in his room like they agreed.

She shook her head. That stubborn old man…

Well, he was actually asleep, so that was good enough for today.

Emmi stepped into the kitchen and reached into the fridge. She had been meaning to ask why exactly Dr. Gaster kept so many bags of Popato Chisps in the fridge, of all places, but they hid Emmi’s personal purchases more than adequately, so it didn’t matter right now.

She retrieved the frozen waffles, bagels, and the two different kinds of spreads, and set them on the countertop. Two waffles were popped into the toaster, a few bagels were cut in half put in the oven to warm, and the two spreads— plain and strawberry flavored cream cheese— were opened and set out to soften a bit.

Emmi grinned and clapped her hands together quietly. A nice, warm, sort of-nutritious breakfast would hopefully give the doctor a reason to have more regular sleep schedule.

She pulled a large plate out of the cupboard and began to tastefully arrange the food (ha, puns). It was a shame she couldn’t find any maple syrup to put on the waffles, but maybe Gaster would appreciate being able to hold them in his hands and bite them like cookies. Once the plate was arranged to her taste (somebody stop her; she’s having a pun-derful morning!), she picked it up and began to carry it over to the coffee table by the couch.

At least, that’s what she intended to do, before a crunchy *thump* sounded from outside the house, followed by a strange, almost annoyed-sounding lowing. Emmi set the plate down and peeked out the window.

The snow wasn’t glittering with the warm, orange lights of the buildings in town, which meant that by all standards, it was still nighttime. Still, Emmi’s eyes quickly adjusted to see a strange, four-legged creature stumbling around in front of the house. Perhaps a fellow monster needed help?

She stuffed her snow boots on over her socks and grabbed her heavy coat. She opened the door to the house and stepped into the cold.

It was snowing, as it did every night in Snowdin. Emmi realized that the monster wasn’t stumbling; rather, it seemed to be bucking like a horse, a donkey, or a deer. The crunchy *thump* from earlier was likely caused by them tripping and smacking into a snowbank outside the house. They lowed again, more loudly, and shook their antlers. The movements were accompanied by tinkling bells, rustling paper, and other sounds.

A Gyftrot, Emmi realized with a quiet gasp. She had not yet met this particular monster, but the distressed noises it made were probably because of the decorations adorning it.“Hello?” Emmi called. Gyftrot snapped their attention to her, and she flinched.

Even when playing Undertale in her old life, Gyftrot was a funny looking creature. In person, though, they were almost terrifying. Their big, gaping eyes seemed both sunken and laser focused, and their sideways mouth steamed in angry sounding puffs and clicking teeth. They towered over her, their antlers almost doubling their height. They growled and backed away, dragging their hooves in the snow.

“W-wait!” She called. “I promise I’m not a child! I’m a perfectly grown-up adult!”

Gyftrot paused, then tilted their head in a way that seemed to say, “Oh, are you, now?”

“I am!” Emmi insisted. “Look, I’m not wearing a striped shirt.” She opened her coat enough to show off her pastel-colored nightgown, then closed it quickly. She was not built for cold weather.

Gyftrot rolled their eyes and huffed out another cloud of steam. “Okay, fine,” they seemed to be saying. “Now what?”

“You look like you could use some help. Would it be okay if I undecorated you? I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Gyftrot squinted at her for a good few seconds before folding their legs and resting in the snow, their antlers more at Emmi’s level.

“Thank you,” Emmi bowed politely and approached them. The tinkling bell sounds came from some thin plastic balls smacking together, looped over the prongs of Gyftrot’s antlers. The rustling paper was, in actuality, several strands of threadbare garland strands, wrapped around their neck and, again, their antlers. Following these were some of the strangest items Emmi could imagine: multiple stockings, tiny walking canes, boxes of raisins, a few car fresheners, and for some reason, a small, very confused dog. Emmi could have sworn the dog gave her a knowing wink before bounding into the forrest.

She looked over her handiwork and nodded. “Everything looks good.”

Gyftrot rose back to their hooves, and Emmi gave them some space. “Thank you, Miss,” they said in a deep voice. “I was asleep on the edge of the forest for the night, and when I awoke, I was covered in all manner of trinkets and nonsense. No doubt the work of some young punks. Oh, and pardon me for thinking you one of those children. You have a youthful demeanor about you, and you are very short.”

“Hey!” Emmi laughed with mock indignation. Gyftrot snorted a few times, a mischievous gleam in their eyes. Then their gaze dropped, and they went quiet. “Something wrong?” Emmi asked.

“It’s a bit silly, but… after all of that, I’m a bit hungry.”

Emmi thought for a second. “Well, I was making some breakfast for a friend when I heard you out here… Would you like me to bring you some?”

Gyftrot’s ears flattened a bit. “Well, I’d hate to take the meal you made for your friend…”

“No worries! I can make more. Wait right here; I’ll bring you a plate.” Before they could protest, Emmi sped-walked into the house, grabbed the plate of food, and brought it outside. “Here we are! Waffles and bagels. Do you like cream cheese—?”

As soon as Gyftrot spotted the plate, their eyes grew as big as saucers and they stuck their snout into the food. They were an enthusiastic and sloppy eater, but Emmi was too distracted by watching the way their jaws worked to notice the bits of cream cheese and crumbs spilling onto the front of her coat.

They grinned at her when they finished; a grin that, without context, would have seemed almost sinister. Emmi knew it was a smile of satisfaction. “Thank you again, Miss. Perhaps we’ll meet again, at a better time of the day. Good night.” Gyftrot trotted out of sight.

Emmi watched them go. Her socks were starting to become soaked through her boots, but the warmth in her SOUL distracted her from the cold.

The snow began to glitter orange in certain spots around her. “Emmibee?” She looked up to see a tired Gaster standing in the still open doorway of the house. Oops. “Why is the door open at this hour? You hate being cold.”

He stepped into the snow, not bothered by the weather, and stood over Emmi, looking her up and down with an analytical curiosity. She turned to face him, grinning just a little deliriously. Maybe she should have gone to bed earlier instead of reading all night…

“…What are you wearing?” Dr. Gaster asked.

She looked down at herself, seeing the crumbs and cream cheese smears from Gyftrot’s early breakfast, as well as a few of the decorations she had removed from Gyftrot’s person. Somehow, the garland had wrapped around her shoulders, a tiny walking cane hung around each of her ears like strange headphones, and a few stockings hung from the buttons on her coat. She blinked for a moment. Then, she smiled up at her housemate. “I’m the messiest Gyftmas tree. Hohoho, heeheehee.”

Gaster squinted at her, his bone brow furrowed as he tried to comprehend what she just said. “…You’re a very strange woman,” he finally stated.

“Actually, if you recall, I said I’m—”

“Yes, I heard you the first time. You are the messiest Gyftmas tree.”

“You have to say ‘hohoho, heeheehee’ after that part.”

“No.”

“Phooey.”

“Will you explain why you’re outside at this hour now?”

“After we go inside. I’ll make more breakfast.”

In the time it took Emmibee to remake Gaster’s breakfast plate and tell her story, she was barely standing on her feet. Before she could fall over, Gaster guided her to his spot on the couch, removed her coat, boots, and decorations, and tossed his lab coat over her sleeping form, since it was the closest thing to a blanket within arm’s reach.

He found himself glancing at her repeatedly and he ate the breakfast she made. Her curly brown hair was frizzy and tangled from the snowy winds, and her round little face was pink from the warmth of the house. It filled him with… nondescript contentment. It definitely didn’t make him feel nice. Most certainly not. Definitely not.

…So what other word could he use to explain these feelings?

…

A strange and messy Gyftmas, but satisfying all the same, I hope.

Gyftrot showing was one of the first things that came to mind for this story. Who could be more perfect for a holiday special? And, one of my favorite parts: it shows off Emmi’s integrity. Even a scary looking fellow like Gyftrot deserves a good breakfast and not being covered in weird decorations. (Seriously, though; look at Gyftrot’s battle sprite and tell me that wouldn’t be a little spooky in real life.)

There were some little tidbits in some of the earlier drafts that didn’t make it into the final story, like Emmibee spending her evenings in bed reading by candlelight, the exact spots that don’t squeak on the stairs, and little things like that. Now that I think about it, I don’t know if flashlights would be prevalent in the Underground, or if they’re a more limited resource. It can’t be that easy to find fresh batteries in the dump heap, but maybe the Underground is able to make batteries with the materials it has. For some reason, my mind was in a kind of archaic rut, so I think I imagined the Underground having more limited resources than it probably does; hence the earlier draft with the powdered milk cookies.

Gaster: What is this feeling? It couldn’t be… the warm fuzzies!? No! I’m too sophisticated and cool to have the warm fuzzies!

It has been said before, by many different sources, and it shall be said again: Emmibee is a smol.

Also, the “messiest Gyftmas tree” is a reference to the song “The Happiest Christmas Tree.” It’s… interesting.

Okay, I think that covers all the extra bits. With Ms. Emmibee’s permission, I’ll be posting this to my fanfiction and AO3 accounts at a later date. I hope everyone had a happy holiday! Let’s hope next year’s just a little bit better. Until then!

~~~

THE WARM FUZZIES!!

Apologies for posting this so late, but I truly truly appreciate and adore this fic. Gyftrot is one of the most interesting monsters, I think, and Emmi’s interaction with it is SO pure????? This is wonderful and I love it and THANK YOU!!!!

Please post it to FF and AO3 at your leisure!!

#OBMPfanfic #yours the author #submission #i usually try to comment more on these but im so exhausted #i read it when it was first submitted and it really cheered me up at a tumultuous time #so thank you for that

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beyoncesdragon · 4 years

Text

The Sin pt. 2

The confession

Pariring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: some making out bc I want that and lots and lots of swearing

Summary: It’s an invite that went missing and feelings that got returned. Just a little late, a little unfortunate and a little unholy. In this part: Where Tommy confesses something to the reader and Grace plays a different part in it than imagined.

Here: Where Tommy finally comes home.

a/n: first of all: I am so so so so so sorry for taking ages to write this. believe me I have around 4 different versions of this, all over 3k words long. I struggled greatly with this, and it’s my own fockin fault. I think I have never, and I mean never struggled more and I hateeeee this. but it just doesn't seem to get better. I am sorry. I hope you still read and enjoy🥺

Just because I can remember @soleil-dor asking specifically...this for u. I am so SORRY fuck

My Masterlist

My doorbell ringed at the same time the church bells stroke midnight and it scared me half to death. I’d fallen asleep on the couch, only dressed in my flowy nightgown and a light blanket over my shoulders, the book had already slipped from my grip. I sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders, carefully approaching the door. I heard a rumble from upstairs, probably Elise jumping out of her bed. I sighed, deciding that I would just open the door myself.

The last man I had expected to stand in front of my door, soaked to the bone and with pale face and tousled hair was him. Not that I had expected anyone, but especially not him.

My eyes flickered over his silhouette and back to his face. There was something strange in his eyes, something broken from the inside, almost. His posture remained as always, proud, upright and unbothered but his eyes…I remember how Polly had once mentioned to him that the eyes were the doors to the soul. Tommy had just blankly stared at her, given her an unfazed look before lowly explaining that he, in fact, must’ve lost his soul in France then, because nobody would ever read him through his eyes. And I had almost believed him. Almost.

I snapped out of my thoughts and tilted my head. I wasn’t entirely sure if I wanted another Shelby around at that time of the day.

The white light of a lightning flared across the dark night and made me flinch. To hell with this, I was not letting anyone stand outside my door during weather like this. With a small sigh I stepped aside, letting him pass me to come in. Elise, my loyal handmaiden who had peaked from behind my back, quickly shuffled aside, the worry still haven’t left her face. Usually it would’ve been her opening up, but I had allowed her to go to sleep already because I really wanted to finish that book...so she’s been freed from that duty. However, it didn’t stop her from come running when she heard the doorbell ring.

My eyes fell on a gun in her hand, as it suited the only handmaiden in an unprotected house. Yet I still always chuckled seeing her like this: wearing a light green nightshirt which reached down over her knees, backless slippers and a nightcap to protect her light brown curls. And then a bloody gun. I supressed a grin.

“Madam…?” she whispered as I closed the door shut, giving him a suspicious look. “It’s fine Elise. It’s just Tommy he…he’s okay. You can go to bed again. Or maybe if you would just prepare a the kettle with some hot water for tea…” I suggested, eyes trailing over Tommy. This man needed tea, urgently.

She nodded almost reluctantly before hinting a curtesy. Almost secretive she however handed me the gun, as if to make sure I could still shoot him if in need. I bit back a smile and nodded at her, before looking back at Tommy.

He had his eyes locked on me, a strong unbroken gaze. He didn’t even blink. His black coat was dripping down onto the carpet, his hands held his hat tightly. His eyes left me to follow the young frame of Elise leaving the kitchen with a nod into our direction and tiredly climbing up the stairs.

“She’s handed you a gun.” Those were the first words he had said to me since that phone call, around two weeks ago. His eyes now fell to my hands before I could place the gun down or hide it…so I wouldn’t offend him. But he’s seen it, obviously.

“She has. People are not scared enough of women to leave us alone.” I explained with a shrug, looking down at the shimmering weapon in my hand. “Y’gonna use it?” I looked up surprised. “Against who? You?” he shrugged, face blank and impossible to read. I could only chuckle at that, shaking my head and placing it down. “Obviously not?” he nodded in a matter-of-factly before suddenly grabbing my hips and shoving me against the wall behind me. His hand were everywhere and his lips left burning kisses all over my neck and jaw.

“T-Tommy…?” I could only stutter, completely taken aback by his eagerness, his neediness and his want. His cloak was still wet and cold and I could feel it soak through my thin silky nightgown as he pressed his body against mine.

“Wet.” I could only mumble against his lips before he bit down on my lower lip, urging me to stop talking. He however did start to shrug the jacket off of his shoulders, getting frustrated when it wouldn’t work. I pushed him away gently, helping him slipping out of the wet coat. it took me about ten seconds but I already missed his touch like an addict craved a line of coke. He let the probably completely overpriced coat fall to the ground and instead of picking it up he was back on my lips in no time. His hands were roaming over my body, pulling me tighter every now and then. His tongue urged me to open up my lips to let him deepen the kiss. I did, not hesitating a second. The sharp whistle of a teapot made us snap apart. His breathing was heavy, just like mine.

He stepped back in silence, letting me pass in an almost awkward silence. Tension lied heavy between the two of us, so thick and noticeable it made me dizzy. He made me dizzy.

“Is Earl Grey fine? No wait, camomile is actually better…or lime blossom…” I coughed, trying my hardest to overcome the husk of my own voice as my fingers traced along the carefully stacked tins filled with the best herbs and mixtures.

“Whisky does the job.” His husk voice caught me off guard since it was way closer than I had expected. “Lime blossom it is then. Fuck off with whisky, do you know what time it is?” he said nothing after that, his eyes silently following my every move as I set up the teapot to pour the boiling water into. There wasn’t another word spoken during the time the lime blossom soaked in, we kind of just stood there, watching the steam from the teapot and each other.

He looked worn out in the dim light of my kitchen. His skin was paler than usual, his hair a tad messier than I was used to (which could theoretically also be my fault though), his eyes less deep and colder.

Now, where he had removed his dripping coat he looked a bit less buff. Still a hunk of a man, still towering me. Especially because I wasn’t wearing heels, which was a thing I usually did, especially around men. Their ego was often big enough to treat me more like a servant and less like a business partner simply because I was a woman and they were taller. It was ridiculous really. Tommy had never treated me like this, I had never feared to be treated like an underdog. Sure, he was sly and witty, he knew how to bargain and twist everything to his profit. But that wasn’t done in a condescend manner at all. Maybe that was why I was drawn to him the way I was. The second he stepped out of his car and walked towards me, proud and seemingly uncaring of all the stares he was receiving from my workers. It had been truly stunned when he stopped, eyes wandering over my stable lad and me, before approaching me. Usually people tended to approach Gregory first, a thing I watched with great amusement. Not so Tommy, he’d approached me from the beginning. And he ended up buying one of my best horses immediately, Yastra, a horse I had never planned to sell in the first place. She wasn’t even named properly for the race tracks. Tommy couldn’t care less. He’d given the proud sand coloured steep a long look before offering his deal. Yastra still lived on my property and I still trained her, just like the two other horses he’d bought later on. Only one, a brown mare by the name of Pacific Princess II stood in his stables.

The strong and sweet taste of the lime blossom made me shake my head and snap out of my thoughts. Tea was ready and if I would leave it too long without serving, it would turn bitter. “Get me a stand from in there.” I turned to reach for the honey when I suddenly felt his presence behind me. I turned around, almost bumping into him. He had his lips on mine before I could even say something, picking off the unsaid words from my lips and swallowing them down. His tongue urged me to open up my lips to let him deepen the kiss. I did, not hesitating a second.

It wasn’t a sweet kiss, not at all. It was more like a violent, unrestrained kiss, a kiss with teeth nipping on swollen lips. He was devouring me, drinking all of my being in with one kiss, and I felt like he was sucking the air straight from my lungs.

Tommy kissed so hard it was like he was trying to leave the memory of the imprints of his lips in my mind forever. And he probably accomplished just that by now.

His hands were roaming over my body, pulling me tighter every now and then. He pushed me back against the countertop, lifting me up to place me down on it immediately.

He let out a throaty groan, splitting my legs with his body to come even closer. He tasted sweet, kissed filthy as ever and set my skin on fire. My mind was blank, all I could I think was Tommy, his hand on my back, the other one trailing shakily from my waist up, over my breast before halting at my collar bone. He brought it up to my neck, deepening the kiss even more, making it just a tad more desperate.

In moments like these it was when I realised once again how I would never ever get over Tommy Shelby, not in this life and probably not in another one. He just swept me off my feet every time. He did it when we had kissed first, needy and thrilling, in the stables a few years ago. It had been the third time we had met, this time for inspecting one of his race horses because of breeding options. Monaghan boy, a black stallion with a beautiful neck. As always, tension had lingered between the two of us like a thick fog, but he had been the first to give in. He had this thing where he liked to back me up against the wall, preferably dominant and always in charge. It had made my knees weak in an instant and it didn’t help that he had a tongue to sin with. From that day on, our meetings consisted of either heated discussions about horses and life or sex. Or both, most of the time…then he had met Grace and whatever we had, stopped. And it stopped in an ugly way, rather. I could’ve understood if he had come to me and told me that he now considered a serious relationship with someone who was not me. I would’ve let him go, heartbroken but at peace. But he had not had the decency to do so, oh no. he had rather left in a hurry with a few stuttered words about “This can’t happen anymore…I’m sorry.”

And yet here he was, for the second time since he said that and ran. And I was letting it happen again, like the fool I was. We parted swiftly to catch out breaths again before Tommy connected his lips with my neck again. He sucked lightly at my skin and left a trail of burning marks down to my shoulders. I moaned quietly as he bit down on my sweet spot right above my collar bone, and pushed his face up to mine again. Instead of kissing me again, he just looked at me, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Regretting this already?” I pushed out, almost in spite since he still waited. He quirked an eyebrow, eyes growing dark again. “Why do you always try to piss me off?” good question actually, on the other hand, who the fuck was he to ask anything. “Because you’re hot when you are angry.” He growled lowly, bringing his lips to mine again.

I don’t know what it was that broke the spell and made a weird form of panic flood my bones. Something in my brain switched when he suddenly picked me up, his hungry lips still on mine. This was a married man with a son and a wife at home. What the hell was I doing here? But before I could say something, Tommy had carried me into the livingroom and placed me on one of the couches. He was over me in an instant, pressing me down gently.

“Tommy…Tommy what are you doing?” I asked breathlessly, panting for air. He stopped, eyes flickering over my face, dark with lust.

“What does it look like.” He was equally out of breath, his voice just a tad throatier than before. I said nothing, just brushed a strand of hair out of his face. A whirlwind of emotions flickered through his eyes, like a thunderstorm of realisation, lust, angst, regret, maybe? It was quiet in the room for quite a while, only the crackling fire and wind hitting the windows could be heard. Then Tommy did something I had not expected at all: he let his head rest on my chest, arms around me, unmoving like a heavy organic blanket. My fingers found their way up to his hair, carefully brushing through the longer curls. I was still a bit taken aback by the sudden switch of attitude and mood.

“What’s troubling you, Tommy?” I asked softly, still stroking through his hair. The raw and vulnerable energy that surrounded us now, almost took my breath away. Tommy just shook his head swiftly. He wasn’t ready to talk about it, or so it seemed.

“Do y’ever wear it?”

I was confused first. Wear what? Then…my hand wandered up to my neck, as if searching for the green emerald. But there was nothing, just hot skin.

“I do. I took it off for bed.” I explained, almost physically feeling the weight of the precious stone on my collar. “Why did you even send it back?” I asked carefully, that question had lingered in the back of my mind for quite some time now. Tommy sighed deeply. “I took an envelope and…” I snorted quickly, cutting him off. “Stop bullshitting me Tommy. I gave her the necklace. Did she not like it?” He sat up, looking down at my lying frame beneath him. There was almost a sly glint in his blue eyes as his gaze met mine again.

“Someone convinced her that the heart was cursed. Gipsy magic.” I gasped in outrage. “Excuse me? Someone?” Tommy just leaned back, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Someone.” He confirmed, still that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Fuck off Tommy. She probably hates me now. Good job, this is one way of keeping me away from your parties.” He let out a snort, almost a chuckle.

“That won’t be a problem anymore. You can come whenever you like.” I rose my eyebrows surprised. I felt like we were slowly getting to the reason why he appeared on my doorstep at twelve thirty in the night.

“She’s…well…she’s left.” I sucked in a startled breath. “Left? As in…ran away? Divorced?” Tommy had his face turned away from me, his eyes watching the fire in the fireplace crackle. “Left.” I gulped, not knowing what to say or do. “I am sorry…really sorry.” I only stuttered, watching the flames reflect red in his eyes. They seemed glossier than before…Jesus Christ I really had no idea how to deal with this situation as a whole. Only hesitantly I placed my hand on his arm. It was weird how I now felt so…shy touching him, when only minutes ago we were making out like our lives depended on it.

“Is it because…because of me?” I whispered, scared of his answer. He snapped back to me, eyes then trailing over my hand.

“No…she’s been married before me, you know. Only she told me that her man had killed herself after she left him.” it made sense now to me, her purple dress. A dress symbolizing that one was still mourning…and I had wondered over who, at a wedding after all.

“Turns out that he’s very much alive.” His voice was bitter and heavy of anger and I traced small circles into arm. “We’ve had an argument you know…about horses and who trains them.” My interest peaked up some more. “I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of May Carleton…” I nodded swiftly. Of course I did, she was a mutual in every way after all.

“Suppose you had something going on with that one too?” Tommy hesitated a moment before nodding quickly.

“I never loved her. It was just…sex?” he almost asked me that and I chuckled softly. “Who am I to judge Tommy. I don’t know if you had feelings for her. After all, you shouldn’t degrade what the two of you did…are we not the same?” that made him snap around to me. “We? Just sex?” his eyes narrowed and it seemed like a new fire ignited them. I waved it off, drawing another circle in his arm. He shook his head, continuing.

“It stopped when Grace came back from New York.” I hummed before waiting for him to continue. “She trained my horses…” I gave him a pointed look. “I can sense betrayal.” He gave me a pointed look.

“What?” I couldn’t help but grin. “Training your horses by another woman…I am hurt. You coward.” He shook his head slowly. “You don’t know how difficult you are sometimes.” I chuckled softly, giving him a wink.

“You love me.” He said nothing, his face falling a bit. I frowned, wanting to assure him that I was only joking but he cut me off. “Do you have whisky?” I nodded, getting up swiftly and walking over to a cabinet. “What would you like?” I asked, stepping aside for him to see the dusty bottles. He got up and walked closer, eyes wandering over the labels.

My eyes wandered over his face, that worn out but handsome face, a face that haunted me and basically ruined all other men for me. My thoughts flickered to the expression on his face when I made the joke about him loving me. I had meant to read something like guilt in his features, but why? Sure, love was a strong word and I wasn’t entirely sure if I could ever expect love from someone like Tommy Shelby, especially after he just broke up with Grace…no, after she just broke up with him. Or called off the engagement, or whatever.

“That one.” I snapped out of my thoughts and grabbed the bottle he chose. I prepared two glass of the orange brown liquor carrying them over to the couch again.

I sat down whilst Tommy kept pacing around the room, his glass in his hands. I noticed the absence of a ring and it almost felt…relieving. But then again…it didn’t. because I couldn’t help but feel guilty for all I’d done.

“She took the boy with her. To fucking New York.” He suddenly pressed out, necking the whisky in a swift move. My mouth parted in surprise and I could only stutter my words of condolence. “I’m sorry to hear that…” I started, silenced by his angry glare immediately.

“Stop lying.” I rose my eyebrows. “Lying? Why should I lie?” he shrugged, visibly frustrated now. “Can I smoke?” I shrugged, watching him light up a cigarette before turning back to me. “Because that’s what you…I don’t fucking know!” he then started, not even daring to finish his thoughts. And maybe it was that what finally ticked me off.

“You wanted to say, because that’s what I wanted? Is it that? Finish your damn sentences!” his eyes flashed up in irritation, but I went on before he could even reply to anything.

“By the way Tommy, what I want is something that should be entirely unknown by you, since you’re not me! And, just to clarify, before you use that…thing that there was on that party two weeks ago: you kissed me! I only turned up because of…I don’t know, spite, anger, whatnot. But I never intended to do anything like…what we did.” He laughed dryly. “You wanna say, you regret it?” I tilted my head, leaning back a bit. “I never said that.” He hummed, an angry glint in his eyes again. Or rather, still.

“Maybe you shouldn’t’ve turned up then, and sure as hell not given her that damn necklace…” I shook my head.

“I think we both know that this is not about you and not being able to handle her wearing some green, glittery rock.” He took a sharp breath. “By the way, do you even realise how dangerous a rumour like this is for my reputation? That I jinx stuff? Curse chains and…jewellery? There is a legit possibility of my name being ruinedbecause of your little lie.” he said no word, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, grey smoke passing through his lips.

“Are you done?” his voice wasn’t as calm and collected as usually, instead is was heavy with anger and maybe hurt. His icy eyes snapped back to mine, piercing through them as if to strip me off of all of my dignity and leave my soul linger nakedly in front of him.

“Am I done?” I repeated quietly, anger making my voice hoarse. He’d always had a special talent for pissing me off, but this was topping anything. I didn’t even knew what to respond I was so angry. “Yes, are you done. Done, because then I can tell you why the fuck I decided to send that goddamn thing away, back to you.” he took another pull from his smoke before flicking it into the fire. “Can you remember why I gave you this necklace? When I gave it to you?” of course I could, clear as day. It had been a promise, a small, weak promise to care for each other. We had been out, a lovely and peaceful walk with the horses he had just bought, the stars bright and the night cold. He’d been nervous the moment he presented the beautiful stone to me, an almost angsty flicker in his eyes, as if waiting for a rejection.

I had not rejected, obviously, and Tommy had slipped the necklace around my neck whilst pressing butterfly kisses to my neck. But still: the one who ran and broke his own promise had not been me, but him. I crossed my arms over my chest, shaking my head slowly.

“Of course I can. But it still explains nothing.” He grunted angrily. “Not, eh? Maybe that I don’t need a reminder of us around me every day?” I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You mean, you are selfish Tommy? You mean that the fact that you broke your own fucking promise, is making you regret certain decisions from your past? And I am not talking about marrying another woman, I am talking about that hit and run number you pulled there, and then not inviting me to you bloody wedding-celebration…” he slammed his fist down on the chair back, me regret my decision to jump up immediately. But I couldn’t just sit down again, I wouldn’t back off now.

“Do I look like I need a bloody reminder that I fucked up, eh? Do I really look like that to you? And you come and have the fucking nerve to…blame it on my selfishness? My selfishness? When you knew ex-fucking-sactly, what would do to me, if you gave her this necklace?” I was robbed of words to shoot back at him, stumbling back at the force of his words. He followed up, it felt like I was back in his office again.

“You don’t leave my head, my thoughts, my mind, not at night and not at day. You’re there constantly, alright? And I am…was fucking married, alright? I have a bloody kid with that woman, a life, a house, a business. I don’t need a reminder of you on my spouses neck. Fuck!” his eyes were wild and full of emotion, his breath quick and hot and grazing my lips, he was so close.

“I’m sorry.” Was all I pressed out, not exactly knowing what else to say. Tommy just shook his head. “I am sorry. I think I just…” his whole attitude changed all of a sudden, again as if all the anger and hurt left his body and left him behind tired and worn out.

“I think I just missed you.”

I carefully linked my fingers with his before pulling him into a hug. “I missed you too, Tommy. A lot, y’know?” he just buried his face in the crook of my neck and took a deep breath. After a few second he let go of me, stepping back a bit. Not far, and never fully letting go of me. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? You can have the guestroom if you need space…” he just tilted his head. “or you can sleep in my bed. With me present of course.” A shy smile played around his lips as he nodded softly. “I am comfortable if you are.” I just pulled him upstairs.

It felt different when Tommy slipped under the covers now, as if we’d never spent a night in the same bed. Which was close to ridiculous because that wasn’t the case at all. The energy just had never been so honest and so…vulnerable. I could hear him take a deep breath, before I felt his arm wrap around me. I turned around to him, glimpsing up at his face. The dark almost swallowed him whole, but I could make out a soft shimmer where his eyes were and the light from the window illuminated his silhouette.

“Are you okay?” I asked carefully, tangling my leg with his.

“Can I kiss you?” I chuckled softly, arms resting on his shoulders. “Have you not already? Like, when you ruined my nightgown, not that long ago?” I could almost hear his little smirk when he hummed, but I could definitely feel it when he brought his lips down to mine. His arms tightened around me when we parted and he let out a soft sigh.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Tommy.” I whispered, leaning into his arms. He mumbled something, words so quiet I couldn’t quite catch them. I raised my head back up.

“Hm?”

“I just…I said that I’m back home.”

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #the sin #the peaky blinders #the peaky fookin blinders #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #michael gray #arthur shelby #john shelby #Birmingham #cillian murphy

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savannah-lim · 3 years

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Chopsticks and Chopped Heads || Marley & Savannah

Timing: Just after Halloween Location: The Golden Dragon Parties: @savannah-lim and @detectivedreameater Content: Gore, violence, blood, head trauma mention Summary: A trip to get takeout turns into Marley and Savannah witnessing the Dullahan together.

Sometimes, you just really needed Chinese food. Savannah, bless her heart, hadn’t noticed anything too different about White Crest on Halloween versus White Crest at any other time. The place was usually weird as shit, and she’d found the Halloween decorations and novelty purposes that showed up in the stores charming. Some kids (or more accurately, young teens) ran by, still in hyper realistic costumes based on one of those superhero movies she couldn’t differentiate, nearly knocking her flying. “Knock it off!” she called after them, stepping back into the street from the curb and into the Chinese place to pick up her order. She had just finished paying when she caught a glimpse of the Headless Horseman costume from the window. “Oh, come on,” she grumbled, mostly to herself. “Halloween is over. If that horse shits in the street, you better clean it up.”

Get back to normal, the doctor had said. Just try and get back to a normal life. With the caveat, of course, being that she would need regular medical attention for the rest of her life, probably. The anger that had built inside of Marley when she’d heard the diagnoses that Queenie had given her, and the symptoms she would experience, felt like it was consuming her insides whole. Marley wanted nothing to do with it. She didn’t want to have to rely on anyone else to hold her up or keep her healthy. She had been alone all her life and that wasn’t going to change now just because of one stupid injury. One, stupid head injury, albeit, but all the same. Marley wasn’t going to let it get her down. She just couldn’t. And so, taking a walk through town had seemed like a good idea, at first. Until she’d heard all the screaming down the street and stopped in front of the Chinese place, eyes wide. Because, well, there he was. The headless horseman. A dullahan, in the flesh. Her phone dropped from her hands while she stared wide-eyed. “No way…” she breathed, walking slightly towards him. The door to the restaurant opened and Marley stumbled back, glancing inside. She noticed a familiar face, but couldn’t quite place it, squinting at her. “You’re seeing this, right? I’m not, like--” swallowed, hard, “--imagining him, right?”

Savannah heard the smash as the phone hit the concrete. Oh, crap. It wasn’t long ago she’d lost two in as many weeks. Those things were expensive. Her first urge was just to mind her own fucking business, difficult as that was for someone like her. Pretend you saw nothing and keep walking. It doesn’t matter to you why the other person is so freaked out. But then, Marley addressed her. She seemed vaguely familiar, possibly having crossed Savannah’s path during the last few months when she’d been back and forth to the police station picking up documents and working on the Javier case. That damn case. “Do I see it?” she repeated. “Yeah, I see it. It’s a little late for Halloween.”

She saw it. Which meant it was real. He was real. Fucking Morgan had been right. The headless horseman was real. “Halloween?” Marley asked, not taking her eyes off the figure in the road, enthralled. “No, no-- this is so much better.” She ushered the woman closer. “Don’t you know who that is?” she asked, turning to look at her, eyes filled with excitement, as if she were a child seeing her idol for the first time. And perhaps, just a little, that was true. The figure lifted his hand. Marley stumbled in her spot a little. He was going to mark someone. “Shit-- get...get back!” Because for all his glory, she was a police officer, and she couldn’t just let people die in front of her. Right?

“Better?” Savannah repeated, a scoff of disbelief in her words. “Are you one of those cosplayers, like Agatha?” She didn’t even have to know Keen that well to know she’d get all dizzy and excited about such an intense and dramatic display. “I mean, it’s good, but…” Savannah was hesitant, but drew closer to Marley at her request, as if expecting to see something new from the other woman’s perspective. “What am I supposed to be looking at?” she asked, tone more desperate as she moved back with Marley’s instruction.

“Cos--what?” Marley asked, blinking, then ignored the other woman. She was way too enthralled with the headless man on the horse, whose eyes burned like fire. She almost envied bugbears in that moment, wishing she, too, could recreate this illusion for all time. The figure lifted its severed head, then and thrust it forward and Marley watched as a cascade of blood fell upon some of the people standing in the street. “He marked them,” she said with a strained gasp, feeling her ribs throb at the tension. He then raised the sword by his side. “Oh, shit,” this wasn’t going to be good. Marley turned and shoved Savannah back into the restaurant, just as she heard the squelch. Then screaming. Her head jarred at the sound and she froze up, feeling it pulse and pound. More screaming came from outside as a heavy thud hit the ground. She wanted to look so bad.

“Dressing up? Wearing a costume?!” Savannah exclaimed, as if she hadn’t needed to google the same thing back when she’d heard Keen talk about it. She watched Marley’s face, puzzled by the enthralled stare she gave the rider. She felt like there was a piece of the puzzle she sorely lacked. “Marked? I--Stryder, are you okay? I don’t know what the hell that means--” But whatever it meant, Savannah didn’t have to wait long to find out. Her mouth fell open, jaw wide. She didn’t get the chance to see anything, but she heard it. Sword on flesh. She heard the screams outside as the blood hit the air, and the footsteps of people running. Several of them pushed their way inside the restaurant, covered in blood from the arterial spray that had spread for several feet around the body. “Block the doors and windows,” she instructed, waving her badge, her dinner and its takeout bag abandoned. “Stryder, can you call for backup?”

Marley looked back outside. Blood coated the doors, dripping down slowly like paint. She couldn’t look away. The horseman sheathed his sword and pulled out his whip. It cracked with each movement, the bones of the spine clicking together. Marley felt a shiver go up her own spine, licking her lips. She wandered closer, pressing the door open. She didn’t even hear Savannah yelling at her to block the doors, to call for backup. She didn’t care. Even if she died right here and now, she wanted to see him. She couldn’t help it. It was as if she were drawn to him and to the fear and chaos he created. Someone ran into her, screaming, and ducked behind her. “It’s okay,” Marley said to them, smiling, “he hasn't marked you.”

The reality had dawned horrifically on Savannah that this wasn’t a costume, and now she was in full on-duty mode. Her past experiences in White Crest had taught her she needed her weapon on her at all times, so she held it instinctively, flashing her badge. “Everyone stay calm, work together to make sure the doors and windows are covered.” Half of them had already ran through the restaurant kitchens in chaos and fled through the back alley, several others stood in place. “Stryder, what is that thing?” she muttered under her breath. “You seem to know about it. No bullshit. I need to know what’s going to happen if I call backup down here.”

Marley took a moment to herself to revel in the fear rustling through the air. Each person that passed had their own. Marley reached out and grabbed someone running by, letting herself absorb the fear they were letting off through the touch. They cried out, yanked from her grip and she frowned. “You’re no fun,” she muttered, rubbing her head. She hadn’t fed in a long time, not properly, and this was an opportunity she needed to seize. She looked back at Savannah when the other woman spoke and she smiled again, suddenly excited to share her knowledge with another person. “He’s the dullahan! I wasn’t sure he was real, but he is! He’s here.” Her attention turned back to the horseman. “There’s nothing we can do, now,” she said with a sigh, “we can only watch. He won’t stop until he has his marks.”

Savannah didn’t know Marley well enough to know if this was how she usually acted, but she knew enough to know that this excitement at a dangerous situation was strange for anyone, let alone a police officer. “Stryder, you gotta calm the hell down. You’re freaking them out,” she muttered, doing her best to take control of the situation and give the civilians a task to do to keep them occupied. “It’s okay, folks. As long as we’re all in here together, it’s going to be alright. Detective Stryder and I are going to stay with you until it’s determined to be safe.” She called the station to let them know about the situation regardless, but somehow she knew Marley was right. “We can still try and help.” She kept the civilians back from the doors and windows, making a barricaded line with the restaurant’s tables and chairs. She and Stryder stayed on the other side of it, practically against the glass, watching through their makeshift barriers. “I don’t have a fucking clue what a Dullahan is, and we’re probably going to be here a while, if you wanna clue me in.”

Savannah was working hard to calm down the citizens and control the crowds. Marley wanted so bad to wade through everyone and go to him, go to the headless horseman, but she was being pulled back, pushed by everyone else running into the restaurant for safety. Begrudgingly, she helped barricade the door, shoving tables up against it and chairs to hold them in place. She knew it wouldn’t help, it didn’t matter, but she was also a police officer. She needed to get her head back in the moment. Remember who she was. What she did. Savannah was talking to her again and Marley turned back to look at her, mourning the loss of her one chance to meet the creature in the flesh. Still, she couldn’t complain about the fear buffet now waiting huddled inside the chinese restaurant with her. “He’s a legend,” she said, her eyes still twinkling a little bit. “I’d love to clue you in, but I’m not actually sure you’d believe me.”

The staff back in the kitchens were blocking the back exits too, much to the annoyance of any kitchen staff who were still due their cigarette breaks. Priorities, right? At least they were stuck somewhere with plenty of food. Not that anyone really felt like eating right now. “It looks like he’s moving on,” Savannah whispered, craning her neck to try and watch the man, person, mythical being? as he disappeared from sight. She listened carefully for the sound of horses hooves disappearing into the distance, breaths coming more easily now. They still needed to wait for someone to ensure the scene was secured though. No leaving until they got the go-ahead. “Try me,” she shrugged. “You’d be amazed what type of crazy shit I believe these days.”

The dullahan was leaving and the clops of his horse’s hooves made Marley’s heart sink with each moment. And once they were gone, she sank onto one of the tables in a huff and looked over at Savannah. At least the buffet was still giving her plenty of fear to feed on. “Guess there’s no point in denying it,” she muttered, “I’m not currently working so you can’t threaten my job. He’s the dullahan,” she explained, “a spirit. A very powerful and old spirit.” Tried to keep the awe from her voice, clearing her throat. “He marks victims with blood, and then takes their heads. I didn’t think he was real-- he was just a rumor, a legend, whispered among us,” a sigh, “but I guess he is real. And we were so lucky as to meet him in person.” Slid from the table and glanced out the doors, tapping on the glass. There was a lot of blood on the ground, and a lot of dead bodies. Best to play this one cool. “Time from station to downtown in emergencies is no less than 3 minutes. They should be here soon.”

"I don't care to threaten your job, Stryder," Savannah sighed. If anyone back at The Bureau found out what she was up to, she'd be the first one on the chopping block. The FBI didn't appreciate government resources being used to investigate squid-people and mermaids, she was sure. "You just talk about this? Just tell some stranger about it?" she asked, eyes narrowing as she tried to establish whether this made sense or not. She had seen the blood. She had seen the headless man on the horse. And she'd seen the decapitation. "I don't know whether I'd call this lucky." She checked her watch. Sure enough, she could hear the approaching wail of sirens. "They'll need to block everything off and make arrangements for everyone to leave safely before they come for us.” Time enough for Marley to fill in some blanks. "You said 'among us'. What does that mean? What's 'us'?"

“Lucky me,” Marley answered back, rubbing her head. She was getting tired again. Her body always seemed to get tired so much more easily now. She cast a sharp glance Savannah’s way, considering the option of just fear gazing her and bolting-- but she wasn’t that person anymore. She couldn’t be. She rubbed her palms into her eyes before speaking again. “Well, first of all, you asked. Second of all, you’re not technically some stranger. You’re FBI. Not that I trust any sort of authority with this kind of shit.” She gestured lazily outside. “Oh, trust me-- we were lucky. You still have your head on, right?” Waited for any sort of acknowledgement. “Lucky.” She headed away from the doors and looked across all the citizens still crowded in the aisles and tables. Glanced back at Savannah. “Did I?” she shrugged. “I just mean that it’s hard, in this town, to deny shit like this exists. The supernatural has always been a part of my life, whether I knew it existed or not.” A pause. “Welcome to White Crest, I guess.”

Lucky me, lucky us, lucky them. Savannah found it hard to accept that being in this situation had anything to do with luck, unless it was bad luck. "Thankfully, yes, I still have my head. But I'm a stranger to you. We've seen each other a handful of times around the station, but..." She shrugged, not really invested in arguing the point any further. "I never used to believe in any of this shit, you know? I spent months telling myself there had to be some reasonable explanation for what happened to Agent Sterling. I like to think I'm a pretty reasonable person, but at some point, being reasonable means no longer denying what's right in front of you." She could feel the room getting antsy as the sirens drew closer. A few more minutes now. "You seemed awfully excited to see him for someone who knows he kills people."

“Then, maybe,” Marley said, turning fully to look at Savannah now, her expression mute, “it’s because you are a stranger. Your opinion means nothing to me. Whether or not you believe me means...nothing to me.” She noticed a man coming towards them, and she moved around Savannah to intercept him, reassure him that authorities were arriving on the scene soon and that once it was cleared, citizens would be let out after giving statements. She turned back to look at Savannah. “You know, I wish more people were like you. You have no idea how much of the department still denies this shit, no matter how many weird cases pass their desk.” With a sigh, she leaned against the wall. Her head was beginning to pound now, and little spots ate at her vision. She blinked, rubbing her eyes. “What? You’ve never been fascinated with the morbid? Haven’t you ever wanted to meet a serial killer? Wouldn’t you do anything to talk to someone like Ted Bundy or Jeffrey Dahmer or John Wayne Gacey? I wanna know what goes on inside their minds so bad. I wanna know what makes them tick, what they’re afraid of. What they dream about. Maybe that makes me disturbed or whatever, but it also makes me good at my job.” Police lights pulled up outside and Marley pushed away from the wall. “Cavalries here,” she noted, pointing, “hooray for us.”

"Well thank you. I appreciate the honesty," Savannah said with a humorless chuckle, and meant it. She was usually not quite that blunt, but she'd been accused of being a little on the direct side. Many people were intimidated when women - especially of color - were quite so frank about their thoughts. They were expected to gloss everything up, put a little bow on it. She was guilty of it too sometimes. "Actually," she said, contemplative, "I probably understand that better than a lot of people in this town. I found out someone had wings and my first thought wasn't to be afraid but to ask if I could touch them. People don't get into the FBI because they like nice, happy things." She stood up from her seat at one of the tables, unblocking the door once the officer outside motioned for them to do so. "Alright folks, stay calm, we're going to leave one at a time and the officer is going to take your details on the way out in case we need to take a statement, okay?" When things were in motion, she turned back to Marley, giving her a nod. "I know you're not working right now, but text me if you wanna go out for Chinese food and talk about creepy shit some time, okay?"

#paras #with: marley

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

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Start of Time: 7/9

In this chapter, Wendy/Emma worries things will be awkward after the kiss, and "Wendy's" real life may be closer than she thinks.

Summary: Killian and his son are driving through a bad snow storm when they find a disoriented woman walking down the road. The question is, how can they help her get home when she has no idea who she is? Written for @teamhook on her birthday.

Rating: T

Trigger warning: Alice Jones appears in this fic and Alice and Henry are both Killian’s adopted children with Milah. Henry isn’t Emma’s. Positive past Millian. No Neal.

Words: about 2,500 in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals::@snowbellewells @kmomof4@jennjenn615 @kday426 @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @profdanglaisstuff @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @tiganasummertree@whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @distant-rose@shireness-says @xhookswenchx @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @branlovestowrite @welllpthisishappening @stahlop @hollyethecurious @ekr032-blog-blog @scientificapricot @wellhellotragic @vvbooklady1256 @sherlockianwhovian @superchocovian @nikkiemms @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @ohmakemeahercules

Wendy had a fitful night sleep as she replayed the kiss in her mind. Sometimes she fantasized about it - her heart pounding as she remembered the feel of his lips on hers and his fingers lightly tracing her skin. Other times she beat herself up for grabbing him like that. It wasn’t fair to him at all when she had another life out there to return to. He was a father, too, which made it ten times worse. She hadn’t just gotten too close to Killian - she’d gotten far too close to Henry and Alice as well. She was an awful person, there was no way around it.

She also tossed and turned wondering how in the world she could face him again. First she’d initiated a kiss, and then she’d pushed him away? She’d seen the tormented look on his face - as if he’d done something wrong. She punched her pillow in irritation a couple of times before giving up on sleep altogether.

It was a quarter past four in the morning when she slipped from her room and headed down the stairs. She paused at the bottom step when she thought she heard sounds coming from the deep recesses of the house. She tilted her head. Was that . . . music? Wherever it was coming from, it was faint. She veered around the kitchen, heading towards the hallway off the foyer instead. She’d never ventured into this part of the house. She knew it led to the garage and Killian’s veterinary office on the other side, but she’d never had reason to go there.

Wendy slowly eased open the door to the garage. It was surprisingly warm, though still a bit chillier than the rest of the house. She flipped on a light switch and gasped in surprise at what she saw. She knew the Joneses didn’t keep their vehicles in here, and she had heard Alice mention painting in the garage, but she hadn’t expected this. The room was insulated and heated, for one. The floor was still concrete, though, and for good reason - Alice had free reign to be as creative and messy as she wanted. The floor was splattered in a haphazard way with various colors, and glitter and tiny bits of paper added to the creative mess. There was an unfinished oak table in the center of the room with matching oak chairs. These were also splattered with paint and scribbled all over with markers and crayon. Two easels were set up: one was a chalkboard, and one held a canvas. Bins lined the opposite wall, filled with all the art supplies a girl could dream of: buttons, pom poms, pipe cleaners, stickers, glitter, and half a dozen others. A cabinet next to it was littered with various mediums from acrylic paints to oil pastels. It was a legit art studio, and Killian had made this for his daughter.

The music she had heard was coming from her left, through a door that she assumed led to Killian’s office. He had told her the entrance for customers was on the outside of the house, but she also knew the kids had access to his space from inside the house. This must be it. Wendy’s lips ticked up in a smile as she imagined Alice interrupting her dad to show him her latest creation.

She tiptoed across the floor, the concrete ice cold even through her socks. Slowly Wendy opened the door. Killian’s back was to her and at first she wasn’t sure why he was hunched over. As she stepped into the room, it became clear: he was playing the guitar. He was singing, too.

“Touch your lips just so I know. In your eyes, love, it glows so. I’m bare-boned and crazy for you when you come crash into me, baby . . . “

He hummed then, either because he didn’t know the rest of the words or because he was concentrating on strumming, and Wendy cleared her throat. He startled at the sound, then relaxed when he turned in his chair and saw her.

“Sorry,” she apologized, “I couldn’t sleep, and then I heard music . . .”

She trailed off as she realized that she was doing the very thing that had kept her up - facing him. The early hour had given a surreal quality to everything, but now it slammed into her that he was only a few feet away. If he felt as awkward as she did, however, he didn’t show it.

“No, no, don’t apologize. I hope I didn’t keep you up. I usually don’t disturb the kids way out here -”

“No, it was fine, really. I was already up. I could barely hear it, but I was curious.”

He simply nodded. “I’m a bit rusty,” he confessed. “Hope it didn’t sound too bad.”

“Not at all. And you have a great voice.”

He ducked his head, blushing at her praise. Wendy found a folding chair and dragged it over so she could sit down. She reached her hand out towards the instrument.

“May I?”

“Of course,” Killian told her, pulling the strap up and over his head and relinquishing the guitar.

A thrill went through her - it felt so familiar, so right in her hands. She put the strap around her shoulders, then adjusted the guitar on her thigh. She plucked a few strings, then began to strum. Once she felt comfortable, it just came to her, and she was suddenly playing a guitar solo. Killian’s eyes widened, and she just grinned. She transitioned to strumming as she began to sing.

“If we still have time, we might still get by. Every time I think about it, I want to cry. With bombs and the devil, and the kids keep comin’. No way to breathe easy, no time to be young. But I tell myself I was doin’ alright. There’s nothin’ left to do at night but go crazy on you. Crazy on you. Let me go crazy, crazy on you.”

She trailed off when she saw how Killian’s jaw had dropped. Her own mouth hung open in shock as she stopped the sound of the guitar with her flattened palm.

“I can sing!” she exclaimed. “And I know how to play the guitar!”

Killian blinked and shook his head. “That’s an understatement love! That’s Nancy Wilson’s guitar solo you just played! My God, lass!”

“Yeah,” Wendy mused, “Nancy Wilson from Heart. That’s not easy to play, is it?”

“Not like that it isn’t! I’m sort of embarrassed that you heard me muddling around just now.”

She shrugged. “I thought you had promise,” she teased.

He laughed and shoved her playfully in the knee. “Come to think of it, I did hear you belting out ‘Brass in Pocket’ the first night you were here.”

“Wait a minute!” Wendy exclaimed. “I was singing that in the shower!”

Killian’s face turned bright red and he scratched furiously behind his ear. “I was just leaving you some clothes, I swear. I turned right back around!”

Laughter bubbled up out of her. “I thought one of the kids left those clothes. They were all balled up and half falling on the floor.”

“I told you I got out of their post haste!”

They were both laughing now, and it felt wonderful. She should have known he wouldn’t make things awkward. She stared down at the guitar in her lap and idly strummed.

“About you not sleeping -”

“Don’t, Killian, please.”

“We need to talk about that kiss.”

“No, we don’t. It was a . . . one-time thing.”

Killian sighed and then stood wearily to his feet. “As you wish.” He made his way slowly to the door. “You coming?”

“Would it be alright if I stayed in here and played a little longer?”

He smiled gently at her. “Of course, love. God knows that guitar deserves someone with more talent than me.”

The sadness infusing his words lingered long after he’d left, and Wendy could only hum while picking out a few chords. Then, suddenly, words that she knew were in no recorded song she had ever heard before, yet were familiar all the same bubbled up out of her along with a melody for the instrument in her hands.

“Once I lived in darkness out there on my own. Left to brave the world alone. Everything seemed hopeless, no chance to break free. Couldn’t hear the song inside of me.”

She stilled the music with her palm once more. Where the hell had that come from?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steam rose up from the colander where Killian was draining the pasta. Behind him, the oven timer starting going off.

“Henry, can you grab the garlic bread?”

Henry hopped up from the kitchen island where he was finishing his homework, grabbed an oven mitt, and slid the bread from the oven.

“When are Alice and Wendy gonna get home? I’m starving!”

Killian smiled as he shook his head ruefully. It seemed like the boy was always “starving.”

“I’m sure they’ll be back any minute. I hope so anyway. This food is gonna get cold.”

As if their conversation had summoned them, the front door suddenly burst open and his daughter’s giggles blended with Wendy’s laughter. The sound made his heart clench and his smile widen. He looked over his shoulder as the two of them tumbled into the kitchen, dropping bags on the table.

“Come see what we got Daddy!” said Alice.

Killian wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. “Okay, but only for a minute. We don’t want the food to get cold.”

“Where’s Mary Margaret?” Henry asked with a frown.

“She had to get home and help David with something with the horses,” Wendy told him, “but she said to tell you hi.”

“Okay, girls, what do we have?” Killian asked.

“This is mine,” Alice said, digging something white and frilly out of one of the thrift store bags. She shook it out and held it up for them to see.

“An apron?” Henry scoffed.

“I’m gonna be Alice, get it?” Alice pressed the apron to her torso and frowned at her brother. “You know - Alice in Wonderland. I’ll wear this over my blue Easter dress.”

“Oh,” Henry said, “I see.”

“We also bought some blue ribbon at the craft store to tie around her hair,” Wendy added.

“And this . . . “ Alice announced dramatically, pulling a long, stainy, light blue nightgown with capped sleeves out of the other thrift store bag, “is for Wendy.”

“We’re casting ourselves to type,” Wendy said to Killian with a shrug.

“I like it. But this is a couple’s dance.”

“Daddy, we know that,” Alice countered with a roll of her eyes. “You and Henry will match us. So Wendy is - well, Wendy, so you can be Peter Pan.”

Killian narrowed his eyes. “I am not going as Peter Pan. You are not getting me in green tights.”

Wendy and Alice exchanged knowing glances. Wendy reached into a bag from the party supply store. “We had a feeling you’d say that, so we got you this.”

Killian chuckled as he took it from her. “A plastic hook. Okay, I’ll go with it.”

“I thought we should get a pirate hat too, but Wendy said you wouldn’t go for it.”

Killian caught the woman’s eye. “She already knows me so well.”

Wendy glanced away as a blush stained her cheeks.

“What about me?” Henry demanded.

“Well, since I’m Alice, we got you this.”

“Sweet!” Henry exclaimed as his sister handed him a tall, purple velour hat with a giant fake price tag attached. He plopped it on his head and grinned up at Killian. “Can I borrow one of your vests, Dad?”

“Sure, son.”

“We are going to look so cool!” Alice squealed as she jumped up and down. She grasped Wendy around the waist, and the woman hugged her back with enthusiasm.

“I know,” Wendy agreed, “I’m so proud of us! And we only spent like twenty bucks!”

Killian watched his daughter planning out her costume with Wendy, and first his heart warms at the way the two of them have bonded. On the heels of that emotion, sadness washed over him as he realized that his daughter could also get hurt.

***********************************************************

Zelena Green really thought that that teaching her spinning class would get all of her frustrations out, but she stepped out of the showers fuming just as much as she had when she’d arrived that afternoon. Her mother had always warned her she came on too strong with men, but Killian Jones had really seemed to be warming up to her. Until this infuriating Wendy person showed up. Amnesia? Yeah, right. Zelena was a master of manipulation, and even she hadn’t stooped low enough to try that tactic.

As Zelena stomped out of the locker room, her students gave her a wide berth, many of them still struggling to breathe after the torture she’d put them through. She ignored the teenager at reception, her boss asking to speak with her, and the tiny brunette named Dorothy who cried out in irritation when Zelena practically bowled her over. Curses spilled from her mouth when she collided with a corner of one of the tables in the lobby littered with magazines. They all slid to the floor, and Zelena cursed again. She tossed her gym bag down and started scooping them up.

She froze when she saw a copy of last month’s Rolling Stone. Normally, the small blurb on the members of a moderately successful female indie rock band going solo wouldn’t have caught her attention.

But there was a blonde in the picture she had seen before.

********************************************************

“Ms. Mills, you have a call on line one from a Zelena Green that you really need to take.”

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” Regina told her assistant archly, “so just say I’m busy.”

“Begging your pardon, but I really think you need to hear what she has to say.”

Regina rolled her eyes as she swiveled her chair to face the incompetent woman interrupting her. “And why is that?”

“Because she says Emma Swan is stuck in rural Maine with a case of amnesia.”

#cs ff #cs modern au #snowed in #daddy!killian #knightrook #amnesia #angst #pining

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